The Witches Of Denmark (11 page)

“I think I’d better pass on that, Father,” said Mom, tiredly. “If there is something lighter, like white wine, I’ll be happy with that.”

“I’ll see what they’ve got, Sil,” said Dad, pausing to deliver an affectionate peck on her forehead. “Be right back.”

Alisia and I headed for the food line, watching with envy as Dad and Grandpa stepped over to the Good Times line.

“I can make us a few of those later tonight,” Alisia said quietly. “It really sucks looking so young sometimes. Ya know?”

“Yep. Why must we be two teenagers in hell?” I hummed the words to the old fifties tune,
Teenager in Love
, tickling her ear from behind. She laughed. Hey, believe it or not, that was once our theme song from the end of the school year in 1959 until it became awkwardly dated for us in 1965.

Meredith Mays smiled at us as we joined the serving line, and looked like she wanted to say something to me once we reached the spot where she stood.

“I really like your house,” I told her, fearing what this woman could sense or psychically ‘see’ about my family and me. If she was anything like Mom, she likely understood the essence of what we were. And, if she wasn’t as gifted as my mother, she still might’ve picked up on the fact we were vastly different from what was considered normal among the mortal human race. “Your backyard is really cool, too.”

She studied me with those unusual eyes of hers. Beautiful eyes, I might add… but a little spooky, too. She was wearing a gold and black top that evening, and I swear to Christ her irises that were blue or turquoise the other night were now completely gold in color. How in the hell was that possible? I drummed my fingers beneath my paper plate nervously at the thought she might be thinking the exact same thing about me and my true nature, or Alisia and hers, my parents and grandparents….

“Julien said you’d like to play the organ,” she said, surprising me that it was the thing she mentioned from my earlier tour. “Maybe later you can play us something from Chicago.”

She smiled knowingly, and I must confess that a slight chill crossed my spine. To my knowledge, no one in Denmark knew that I could play keyboards, and fairly well, though I hadn’t done so since the early 1970s when I was allowed to participate in a middle school jazz band. It suddenly made me wonder about Julien’s offer the afternoon before, which I had assumed was simply a bone thrown to a kid who might be curious what the old pipe organ sounded like.

“I guess so,” I replied, feeling uncomfortable and determined to avoid her probing gaze. “Thank you for the sandwich.”

“You’re welcome, Bas,” she said, while a slight smile seized her lips.

“What was that all about?” Alisia asked as we moved to rejoin our parents’ protective aura.

“I don’t know… maybe just an offer to play the organ.”

“There’s an organ here? Like a big one?”

“Yep. It’s frigging gorgeous, too.”

“Ah, huh… Meredith is a lot like Mom, except she won’t be around in forty years,” said Alisia, wistfully.

“I was afraid of that.”

“What? That she won’t be around when I’m your age?”

“No,” I said. “I mean I was afraid she’d be like Mom… and she certainly does seem like her.”

Once we took our places at the table, I soon forgot about the awkward moment speaking to Meredith. From what I could tell, Mom and Grandma were unaware of it, too… or, maybe they didn’t consider what happened to be a big enough deal to worry about. They seemed to be enjoying the company and the liquor, and it was hard to determine which one they enjoyed most. After dinner and two helpings of Sadee’s blueberry cheesecake, some of the older adults began dancing to a medley of soft jazz, while Julien and Harrison were sharing something funny with Dad.

It was good to see him laugh, and even Mom appeared to be loosening up. The combination of new friends and a need to escape from thinking about the ominous confrontation ahead of us, perhaps? I worried about how much alcohol was being consumed, and I felt certain that before the night ended, either my parents or grandparents would start jabbering in Romanian. I even braced myself for that embarrassment.

Meanwhile, I scanned the backyard, looking for the kid named Harris, whom I assumed would be the oldest child of a friendly looking African-American family sharing a table with Meredith and the Hamilton’s. I had glimpsed a black teenager ahead of my sister and me in the food line earlier, but now he was gone. Only the two younger kids remained, a boy and a girl. I would’ve liked to have met him and chatted for a bit, since Julien made him sound interesting. Not to mention, meeting the other two Harry’s had become a goal of mine since hearing Julien’s outrageously funny tale from the afternoon before. ‘First Harry’ could very well be in attendance, but until I was introduced I wouldn’t have a clue who he was.

But, at least the other Harry—the horseshit version—was nowhere to be seen. Either he and his family were excluded on purpose, or his disagreeable ass decided not to show up.

The party wouldn’t officially begin to wind down until after ten o’clock that night, according to what Dad told us that afternoon. But around nine o’clock, the roar of a sports car racing through the neighborhood and skidding through the intersection of Chaffin’s Bend and Old Dominion threatened to end things early, as it commanded everyone’s attention.

“What in the hell?…” Sadee rose to her feet to investigate.

Julien and Meredith moved to the edge of the backyard’s cedar fence, peering over it to try and catch a glimpse of the motorist who had slammed on the breaks two blocks down and was now speeding back toward us.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” said Julien, sounding amused. “I do believe this is the first Maserati I’ve ever seen in Denmark!”

“Are you sure that’s what it is?” asked Harrison, casually, as he peered over Julien’s left shoulder. Harrison’s much shorter wife, Jennifer, stood nearby, as if waiting on his report. “It could be an Aston Martin.”

Julien cut him an admonishing look, likely since it was merely splitting hairs between the two high-end luxury brands.

“But, I do believe you’re right, Julien… it definitely sounds like a Maserati,” continued Harrison, once the black roadster gained speed. It screeched to a halt in the middle of the road, right smack in front of the Mays’ house and our place. A couple of crack dealers I recognized from their afternoons spent ‘working’ the nearby intersection of Depot Street and Chaffin’s Bend got out from the passenger seats. Then the driver’s side door opened.

A slight gasp escaped from my grandmother’s throat. A tall, blonde stepped out and at first gazed at our place. Then he coughed twice while cuffing his hands around his neck like he was gagging, and slowly turned around to face us all, as we peered over the fence at this gangly miscreant. The gesture was obviously intended to insult and get a rise out of my family. It worked like a charm on Alisia. Before I or anyone else could stop her, she pushed her way past everyone and stormed through the gate. I ran after her, and soon found myself standing less than ten feet away from Serghei Matei, Simion and Magdalena’s oldest child.

“So this is the latest ‘slumland’ the Radus have crawled to?” he taunted, stepping to where he was spotlighted by the lone streetlamp that protected the intersection. His blue eyes were aglow with malice, matching his tone. “Truly, we should leave you to wallow in your mediocrity and incessant need for normalcy. Have you found the Pax Romana for your soul, Sebastian?”

I was stunned. He and I had
never
spoken before—not ever in my entire life, which mimicked his…. I would’ve expected a ‘Hi, I’m Serghei’ to start things off nicely, and
then
the gloves could come off. Hell, they weren’t even strapped on before this asshole picked a fight!

I heard my father and grandfather creep up behind me. But before any of us could defend our family’s honor, Alisia rushed him, forcing Serghei up against the hood of his car as she got in his face. An unsettling moment for my parents and grandparents, I couldn’t help but smile, since he was totally freaked out by my sister’s bravado. Certainly, he never expected to be challenged by a female, made worse when she began addressing him in Romanian. To all of our surprise, Serghei had no response. She moved to Latin and he seemed like he understood a little of what was said, but not enough for an effective comeback.

She huffed and walked back to us, looking disgusted with her hands on her hips.

“This jerk-off doesn’t know the language of his homeland? And yet he crows like Commodus!”

He was about to get back into his car, but Alisia said this loud enough for him to whip around and glare at her.

As if she could sense his livid gaze, she casually looked over her shoulder at him and continued her verbal abuse.

“
Ce fel de inaltat sunt ai, ai cascata cat?” she shouted at him. For those unaware, that’s Romanian for
‘What kind of sorcerer are you, you pussy cat?’

Serghi almost retaliated, and I could sense Dad and Grandpa tense along with me. The bastard was armed with a wand. I saw the sucker stuffed in his back pocket. He touched it, like a holstered gun or knife, until Grandpa swiftly moved to block the direct line between this Matei vermin and his beloved granddaughter. Then Grandpa produced a longer wand, seemingly out of thin air.

“Don’t you have someplace you would rather be?” Grandpa’s tone matched the loathing in Serghei’s expression, which softened as the bested bully warily tracked the focus of my grandfather’s wand that was emitting small streams of amber sparks.

Serghei nodded subtly, and Grandpa surely knew this was as good a surrender as he would get from him.

“Then I suggest you be on your way,” said Grandpa, motioning for Alisia to rejoin us. “Oh, and would you be so kind as to drop off the trash at the police station that’s just two blocks away?”

“Looks like they’ve got a new supplier,” I whispered to my sis. She chuckled and nodded.

“Don’t worry, man… we’s on our way outta here,” said one dealer to Grandpa, to which his dreadlocked buddy nodded, grinning wide enough for the tips of his gold grill to sparkle under the streetlamp’s glow.

Grandpa waited for them to make it halfway down Depot Street, where Denmark’s nefarious neighborhood lay, before turning his attention back to Serghei.

“Give my regards to Valerian,” he said. “And as for you, young Serghei? If I catch you anywhere near this neighborhood again, you won’t have to worry about seeing a Radu ‘slumland’ ever again. Am I clear?”

Serghei didn’t respond, other than to shift his angry eyes from Grandpa to me, and then to Alisia before getting into his ostentatious automobile. He revved the engine as he prepared to leave us… but my sister wasn’t through messing with him.

Before he engaged the gears, I saw her subtly twist and point her right forefinger toward the rear of the Maserati. Two of the lug nuts on the left back tire twisted off and landed on the street. The car had lurched forward, but stopped. Serghei got out, and walked stealthily around the vehicle until he found the lug nuts lying on the street. He picked them up and cast one more menacing look towards Alisia while absently throwing the lug nuts at the wheel. I silently prayed no one else saw the little suckers spin back into place, and didn’t let up on that prayer until he had climbed back into the car and slowly drove away, the heavy rap music lingering in the air until the Maserati reached Woodard Street.

Once the nuisance was gone, the reality of where we were and who had watched it all unfold hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks. Alisia faced the fence, and the whispered voices behind it, wearing an expression not unlike the wistful one from earlier that night.

“Are they still there?” I asked her, knowing the obvious answer, but wanting a confirmation anyway.

“Yes.”

“Are they looking at us like the congregation did at the Elmhurst First Episcopalian Church, back in 1947, after we put a zoot suit on Jesus hanging from the cross?”

“Not quite… but close.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yep.”

Grandpa was dealing with his own awkward moment; still holding the wand that drizzled sparks like a newborn’s wee-wee. But unlike my sister and I, he wore a confident smirk.

“Sorry about that, everyone,” he said, looking like Merlin with his long hair lifted by a gentle breeze, and holding his hands prayerfully in front of him with the wand hanging precariously while it leaked magic. “It is most unfortunate that a belligerent punk sought to crash tonight’s get-together. However, I am happy to inform you that we ran him off with what amounts to a party favor, or more accurately, a sparkler!”

He held the wand up for all to see, as if they needed a reminder. A stronger stream of sparks began to flow, alternating between green, red, and blue. Laughs and a surge of applause erupted from the other side of the fence

“It’s completely harmless and is sort of a gag deal, since it runs on batteries. I was hoping to show Julien in private tonight, since we have a surprise planned for everyone on the Fourth of July,” he continued, laughing too. I could feel him gaining confidence with his glorious fib. The fabrication was gaining strength as a believable yarn, and one that could easily become reality when aided by bits of truth and the power of a master warlock. “All of you are hereby invited to join us at Kentucky Lake, and I apologize that it is no longer a surprise that my daughter-in-law had planned to spring on everyone next week. We have rented a pontoon boat, and next week I will see if I can also book a pavilion to support the feast we’re planning. How does that sound, everyone?”