Page 22

Chapter twenty-two

I t took him longer to leave Reapers than he expected. Constantine had fried the motor on his drone and Bartholomew was forced to help fix it. It shouldn’t have taken them long but working with Constantine was a test of patience. The cat was convinced he could do anything, even without having practical thumbs. As a result, Bartholomew was forced to show multiple times everything he did before Constantine was satisfied and move to the next step.

By the time Bartholomew left Reapers, it was way past lunch time. He pulled up to the small Mexican restaurant on New Boston Road, named after the owner, Abuelita. Small was a relative term for the establishment. The place was tiny, with enough room for a couple of tables, and a salsa-bar. It was quaint, with the best Mexican food in the twin-cities. The parking lot was actually bigger than the restaurant, and completely empty at this time of the day.

Abuelita did not discriminate with her clientele. She catered to both humans and every supernatural being that moved in Haven. It was the reason she became the hub of info in the entire region. Everyone was welcome in the restaurant, and everyone was protected. It also helped that Abuelita was one of the most powerful witches Bartholomew knew. Next to Isis’s godmother, Abuelita was up there.

Ting. Ting. Ting.

Bartholomew smiled as the chime on the door greeted him. The place even had pleasant chimes. Instead of those loud bells, that scared people to death every time they went off.

“Now this is a surprise.” Angelito met Bartholomew by the door. “You are roaming the town on a Wednesday. That’s new.”

“Hey, people have to eat around here.” Bartholomew rubbed his stomach.

Angelito took a long look at Bartholomew and just shook his head. “Boy, please. You are like five percent body fat. Do you actually eat?”

Bartholomew didn’t bother replying, and just walked past his instigator. Angelito was Abuelita’s grandson and was in better shape than anyone he knew. Isis had complained about Angelito for being lazy and a player. After she quit the restaurant, he stepped up. Around the same height as Bartholomew, with large, almond-shaped, brown eyes, and spiky, black hair, Bartholomew was sure Angelito had ladies chasing him around. But if Isis was right, he also had the same taste in women as Erick. Bad!

Maybe it was just a man trait to find women who would give them a run for their money. Why weren’t any of his friends interested in good, innocent girls? Bartholomew often wondered. Well, everyone but TJ. Bartholomew was hoping he eventually would ask Abby out.

“Am I too late to order?”

“For you, never.” Angelito told him. “Even if we were closed, Grandma would cook for you. But since you are here, I’ll run off to make my deliveries.”

“What?” Bartholomew spun to face Angelito. “Are you telling me you do deliveries? Door Dash?”

“I’ll be damned!” shouted Angelito. “It’s bad enough we extended our hours for all those hippies that have moved in. They can drag their butts here if they want food. I’m not delivering food.”

“What are you doing?”

“Bills.” Angelito showed him the stacks of letters he was holding. “Somehow grandma refuses to move to this century and pay these things online. What is wrong with this woman?”

“Constantine was like that for a while.” Bartholomew mentioned.

“Fine, but at least he is like thousands of years old, that makes sense.” He pointed to the kitchen. “She has no excuse.”

“Who are you talking to?” Abuelita’s voice came from the back of the restaurant.

“I’m off to the post office!” Angelito shouted. “Leaving you with a guest. Try to eat proper food, Bart. You are making the rest of us look bad.”

Bartholomew waved at Angelito as he ran out the door. Abuelita walked out of the kitchen into the dinner area to find Bartholomew staring at the door.

“Bartholomew, honey, how are you?”

Bartholomew didn’t have time to reply as she embraced him in a huge hug. It took Bartholomew a few minutes to gather his thoughts and eventually hug her back.

“What are you doing here? Figured you would be busy at the Station getting ready for the holiday,” Abuelita told him.

“We are definitely trying,” he replied.

“Are you hungry?”

“I’m never turning down your food.” Bartholomew gave her his best smile. “But I also have a to-go order.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” she teased. “Come. Join me at the bar while I get the food ready. Tell me, what is that crazy cat craving today?”

Abuelita adjusted her apron and headed back towards the kitchen through the set of double doors. Her silver hair neatly tied and held in place by a hairnet. Her mocha complexion didn’t have a single wrinkle. If it wasn’t for the hair, nobody would ever believe she was a grandmother.

Bartholomew took a seat in front of the large window that faced the kitchen. A thick polished bar had been set up for those clients who enjoyed watching people cook. It was his favorite spot. It also helped to avoid unwanted conversation from other patrons.

“Hold up, let me look at my notes.” Bartholomew pulled out his phone. “Interesting, I have a text from Abby?”

“What was that?” Abuelita asked.

“Nothing.” Bartholomew skipped the text and went directly to his note. He would check on Abby after he was done. “Okay, he wants half a dozen pork tamales, another half of chicken, four beef enchiladas, a large order of Menudo. I don’t know what that this.”

“It’s tripe,” Abuelita explained.

“I was better off not knowing.” Bartholomew shook his head and kept on reading. “Five brisket tacos, and three orders of chips and salsa.”

“Are you boys having visitors today?” Abuelita placed a large bowl of chips with a bowl of salsa in front of Bartholomew.

“Not that I know of.” Bartholomew munched away.

“This is all for you two?” Abuelita handed him a plate of pork and beef tamales.

“Nope,” answered Bartholomew. “We are only splitting the tamales. Everything else is for him.”

“Where does he put it?” she asked.

“Who knows, but I’m surprised he is not round.”

Abuelita laughed and poured two large glasses of Horchata, one for each of them.

“These are amazing,” Bartholomew told her.

“I’m glad you like them. Salud.”

They clinked their glasses together, and Bartholomew took a long drink from his glass.

“Now,” Abuelita said softly. “What do I owe the pleasure of your visit? I’m sure you are not just here for the food.”

“I could be just here for the food,” he argued, trying to swallow.

“But you are not.” She smiled at him. “You have worry lines all over your face, Bartholomew. You can’t hide your emotions very well.”

Bartholomew lowered his fork and smiled. “What have you heard about the stuff happening in Haven?”

“The missing kids?”

“That is a great starting point, and the mysterious deaths.” Bartholomew placed his head on his palms.

“Mysterious? Rumor has it they all died of natural causes.” Abuelita refilled her cup.

“Heart attacks in their twenties, and all shifters with no pre-existing medical conditions?”

“Now that sounds weird.” Abuelita took a long drink. “Haven’t heard anyone taking credit for the deaths. But there is a lot of talk about who is going missing.”

“Why?”

“What do you know about the bodies?”

Bartholomew started counting off their similarities with his fingers. “All males, under the age of thirty, in great shape, alcohol was involved, they were all shifters . . .”

“Stop there,” Abuelita interrupted him. “What kind of shifters?”

“Actually, I never asked.” Bartholomew pulled his phone to check his notes.

“They were all werewolves,” Abuelita supplied the info.

“Is that bad?” Bartholomew put his phone done.

“What do you know about werewolves, Bart?” Abuelita asked.

“Probably not much,” he said. “I know we now have multiple packs in Haven.”

“Werewolves are not like any other shifters you would ever meet,” Abuelita started. “They are pack creatures, like many of the canine families.”

“I figured that much.”

“That’s only the start.” Abuelita poured more salsa into Bartholomew’s bowl. “But they are territorial, overly loyal, and tend to take offense to the death when the pack is involved.”

“I’m not liking the sound of this.”

“Do you remember what started the Trojan war?”

“What?” Bartholomew looked around at the shift in conversation.

“How good is your history?”

“History or mythology?”

Abuelita smirked. “You are the ward of Death. Do you really think the gods of old were not real?”

“Good point.” He pointed with his chip. “Well, according to Homer it was fought because of Helen of Troy.” Bartholomew dropped his chip.

“Now you are getting it.” Abuelita took a chip from his bowl and ate it.

“We are amid a potential werewolf war because of a girl!” Bartholomew was ready to bounce from his seat.

“Rumor has it the fiancé of the Coleman’s heir ran away with a member of the opposite pack,” Abuelita explained. “The Colemans refused to believe she left voluntarily. Werewolves have been forced to pick sides, and the conflict keeps escalating.”

“This is madness!” Bartholomew finally shouted. “Do they understand if war starts, we will wipe them all out?”

“Is that still a thing?”

Bartholomew nodded vigorously.

“Well.” Abuelita went back to her drink. “This is bad.”

“Yes!” Bartholomew dropped his head on the bar. “But the Colemans claimed they are not the ones responsible for the kidnapping or murders.”

“We hear the same,” she informed him. “The elders think someone is trying to set them up to create more frictions among all the packs.”

“It’s working.”

“Knock, knock,” a melodious male voice said from the door. “Is this a party of one, or can others join?”

Bartholomew turned and waved at the Archangel Gabriel, in his more mundane human form. The angel was still brilliantly gorgeous, but at least he didn’t have massive wings. Golden hair floated by an invisible wind. Regardless of the season, Gabriel always wore Bermuda shorts with Hawaiian shirts. It was a very jarring sight, but it was a blessing the man was so beautiful.

“Gabriel, darling, come right in,” Abuelita announced, rushing around the bar to give the angel a hug.

“Hi, Gabriel.” Bartholomew waved a hand at the angel.

“You look frazzled, my friend,” Gabriel said, standing next to the young Reaper.

“You know, the usual, searching for a killer, stopping wars, trying to not commit genocide. Just another day in Haven.” Bartholomew dropped his head back down on the bar.

“Let’s totally avoid the genocide part,” Gabriel informed him.

“You wouldn’t know who is doing the killing around town?” Bartholomew asked, as Abuelita headed back to the kitchen for more chips and salsa.

“Remember, we do not interfere with the affairs of humans.” Gabriel took a chip from Bartholomew’s bowl.

“Right, free will and all.” Bartholomew made a waving hand gesture.

“Yes, free will and all,” Gabriel reminded him.

“Have you ever considered if your side got more involved, humanity would have fewer issues?”

“Free will,” Gabriel restated.

“Yes.” Bartholomew rolled his eyes.

“But I can’t stay long, planning lunch for the office party,”

Bartholomew snapped his head back up and looked at Gabriel. “Heaven is celebrating Halloween?”

“Not that holiday.” Gabriel shook his head. “All Souls Day.”

“That one, got it.” Bartholomew went back to his tamales and ignored the angel placing his order.

“See you around, Bartholomew,” Gabriel told him after his order was taken. “Don’t kill anyone.”

“It’s against company policy,” replied Bartholomew. “Unless you start a war in Haven, then all bets are off.”

Gabriel shook his head but didn’t reply. He waved. Bartholomew waved back as the angel left the building.

“It would be really helpful if that side took a more active role like the other did,” Bartholomew told Abuelita.

“Do you really want to be influenced by both sides?”

“Me, personally, no,” he said honestly. “But humanity could seriously use the help.”

“You can’t have it both ways.” Abuelita ruffled his hair, then went back to the kitchen. “I should have your food ready in five minutes.”

“No rush,” Bartholomew told her. “I have plenty of chips to keep me busy. Besides, all I have is bad news to deliver. I’m sure it can wait.”

Bartholomew made himself comfortable in his chair and continued to stuff his face with tamales and chips. If he was going to destroy an entire pack, at least he wouldn’t be hungry while doing it.