Of Tails & Mistletoe Read online

  Taz screeched. “Give me a minute to fix my makeup.” Like the monks would care what she looked like.

  I watched her walk to the bathroom and then turned to Naël. “You owe me big. Now I have to go to the convent with Taz, the teenage-like witch. God, give me patience.”

  Naël planted another kiss on my head, ruffled my hair with a big hand, and laughed. “I will make sure you are well rewarded for your sacrifice, sweetheart. Tonight, after rehearsal.” Whoosh, my pants shrank a few sizes at the promise in his voice. I followed him with hungry eyes as he left the coffee shop to go meet with his sister. I sighed.

  “Did I hear that correctly?” It was Cristina, tray in one hand and towel on the other. “You’re going to Capuchos with Taz?”

  I nodded, resigned to my fate. “If you were a good friend, you’d come too.” I knew she couldn’t. As my one and only employee, she couldn’t possibly abandon her post. We both needed the money and the coffee shop was open until nine in the winter. “Say a little prayer for me, will you?”

  There had been a time when Taz and I were like oil and water except much more belligerent. We were like two betta fish in the same tank. As much as I hated to admit it though, she had become a good friend, the only one I had that was on board with my love for pop culture and often the only one who got my cheesy jokes. That didn’t mean I would let her know.

  The Convento dos Capuchos was located in Sintra too, higher in the mountain and away from the eyes of the public. During the day it was a tourist attraction, open to everyone and normally crowded, but at night it was a different story. As soon as the place closed its gates to the public, a wall of trees and vegetation grew around it, blocking it from view and protecting the magic druids who lived within. I had spent many days and nights in the convent, first alone and then with my merman. Even Vee had stayed with us once.

  Brother John was waiting for us in the parking lot. He had exchanged his usual brown habit for mundane clothes so he could blend in with the few tourists that had dared to face the cold of winter to visit the place and were slowly returning to their cars as the convent closed for the evening. His white hair was now short, but his eyes were still much the same blue as mine.

  “Well, hello, Father,” I said, unable to hide the slight touch of bitterness in my voice. “Since when did you join the welcome committee?”

  Taz slapped my arm with a loud sheesh. My father chuckled. “I will always be here to welcome you, son,” he said. “We spent way too many years apart, and I’m not getting any younger.”

  I bit my tongue so I wouldn’t utter the words trying to come out—and whose fault was that? “You got my message then?” I had called the convent and left the usual coded message that warned the monks of my impending visit. After my run-in with their horrifying latrines, the Oracle had thought it would be funny if I was to leave a message in the ticket office complaining about the toilets. I failed to find the humor in it, but who was I to deny a very old kook his fun?

  My father nodded, and we all began the long walk to the main courtyard with a short stop in the tourist bathrooms. I didn’t want to run the risk of having to use the previously mentioned latrines.

  As usual, the whole brotherhood was waiting in the small refectory, sat around the rustic slab of stone that served as a table. The delicious smell of food hit my nostrils as soon as we walked up the couple steps and made my mouth water. If there was one thing these monks were good at, it was cooking. Their cooking was simple but delicious and generous in quantity.

  A cacophony of voices assailed us when the monks rose from their seats to greet us. “Man, didn’t realize you were so popular around here,” Taz muttered, her eyes as big as full moons. “I feel I should light you a candle or something.”

  “I take cash,” I whispered back as I went around shaking everyone’s hands. I would never admit it, but it was heartwarming to be welcomed like that, for a loner and outcast like I had been my whole life. “Let’s eat, people.” I couldn’t take much of this adoring crowd. Tears were already burning in my eyes. One more pat on the back and I would burst out crying like a widow at a funeral.

  We all sat around the table and ate until our stomachs were fighting the table for space. “Damn, this food is good.” Taz covered her mouth in obvious distress. “Shit, I’m sorry… dang, cursed again. Sorry, sorry….”

  Brother John, aka my dad, shrugged. “Don’t worry, Ms. Maloid; we monks are not prudish.” The witch had a last name? And how did my father know that? “After all, we are druids.”

  Taz’s red lips stretched into a mischievous smile. “Does that mean you have beer in your fridge?”

  My father laughed while I still struggled with the fact Taz had a last name I had never known. “Well, not in the fridge, because we don’t have one, but yes, we have ale if that will do.”

  I had never seen Taz so excited about booze. Apparently, witches love ale. Go figure!

  I left her drinking what she had left of her wits with the monks and walked across the courtyard to check out the place. I didn’t remember a full moon when we first arrived, but there it was, round and white like a big wheel of cheese—if cheese could actually hang in space. I walked around to the back to the smaller, quieter courtyard where Vee had taken a bath in the fountain and traumatized the poor goldfish living in it. It was still as beautiful as I remembered, and the nature around it made me feel stronger and revitalized.

  But something felt wrong. Not wrong as in the actual place, but wrong as the setting for our wedding.

  “Fuck, can you be any pickier, Aiden?” I yelled out into the night.

  “They say speaking to yourself in the second person is the first sign of madness.” My father had sneaked up behind me and stood with his arms crossed and legs apart. Being a tall man in jeans and a plaid shirt, he could easily pass for a lumberjack. I held back a chuckle. “What are you doing here alone?”

  “Trying to decide whether this is the right place for my wedding.” It was no secret why I was in the convent. “Something feels weird.”

  We stood side by side in silence, staring at the moon. “Come,” my father eventually said. “Let’s go see the Oracle.”

  “What? Is he sane at the moment?” With him you never knew. Of course, it could also be that weird drink he always slurped on.

  Brother John laughed. “He is a lot saner than you think. Maybe he can help you decide whether to hold the ceremony here.”

  I had to admit, I kind of missed the crazy old man. As quirky—code word for totally nuts—as he was, I had grown to like him. He had helped me find my parents after all and given me and Fouchard shelter when we needed to lie low for a while. Not sure how much he could help with the current issue, but I was not against seeing him again. So, I followed my father in the direction of the library where the old kook lived.

  Before walking in, my father stopped me. “Word of warning, don’t drink anything he offers you.”

  “Why?” I had indeed accepted a drink from him before.

  “Just trust your father for once,” he said, walking into the building. “That is if you want to keep your wits about you and your stomach inside you.”

  Well, alrighty then!

  It had been a couple months since I’d seen the old cuckoo Einstein look-alike. He hadn’t changed a bit. I found him exactly on the same spot I had seen him the last time I visited, eyes closed and white hair standing on end as if he had never learned how to use a brush.

  “It’s about time you came for a visit, Aiden.” The old man never opened his eyes as we walked in. “Take a seat,” he said, pointing at a cushion on the floor in front of the mattress he apparently lived on.

  At closer inspection, I knew it was the same cushion he had offered months ago—a definite improvement from sitting on the cold stone floor but still old, ratty, and far from comfortable.

  “Remind me to bring my own cushion next time,” I whispered to my old man as I slumped down to the floor and crossed my legs. “How have yo
u been, Brother Serafim? Long time no see.”

  “Cut the crap, young man,” he said, still with his eyes closed. “You’re not here to inquire about my health.”

  I wasn’t, but I could be polite when I wanted to. “Yes, I came to Capuchos to figure out whether I wanted to hold my wedding here.”

  A younger brother walked in, a tray in his hands. He put it down on the only table in the room, poured something from the bottle into an old ceramic mug, and handed it to the Oracle. I watched the seer with interest as he took tiny sips from the cup, sighing after each one.

  “You don’t want to hold it here, trust me.” The old man finally opened his eyes, too bright for a man of his age. Not that I had any idea of how old he was, but I would guess a couple hundred years old. Okay, maybe I was exaggerating, but he was indeed very old.

  “Why not?” The fact that my instincts were telling me the same exact thing didn’t stop me from questioning his word. “It’s beautiful; Naël and I had some great times here.”

  A low chuckle escaped the Oracle’s thin lips. “Yes, I should say you had.” Monks and their freakish modern monitoring system. I had forgotten he had seen us together a few times. “Yet, I am certain you know this wouldn’t be the right place for it.”

  I let out a loud exhale. I couldn’t deny my feelings. “You’re right, I do.” God, I hated to admit he was right. “It’s too restrictive,” I explained, finally pinpointing the reason. The convent didn’t allow everyone in. In fact, only those related to the druid monks had access to it after hours. In theory I could invite as many people as I wanted, but did I really wish to ruin the convent’s layer of mystery just to hold my wedding? Wouldn’t that in essence ruin the beautiful memories we had made there? “We wouldn’t be able to invite all our friends and I think I want to keep Capuchos our little secret anyway.”

  “Wherever you decide, maybe we can hold a feast here afterward,” the Oracle said, after another sip of the mystery drink. “The brothers would be excited to have you.”

  Having the monks cook for us on our wedding day? Fuck yeah! I was so on board with that. “That’s very generous of you, Brother Serafim. I’m sure Fouchard would love that.”

  Yet another young monk walked in, his head bowed. “Sorry to interrupt, but your friend, the witch, is turning the courtyard bushes into bunnies.”

  I rolled my eyes. If she couldn’t hold her liquor, why drink so much? “I knew it was a mistake to bring her with me,” I mumbled, scrambling to my feet. “Sorry, I have to make sure she doesn’t start stripping in front of the brothers.” Even though, gods knew, these guys needed a little entertainment.

  My father and I hurried to where Taz, drunk as a skunk, was—like the monk had said—turning every bush into giant, fluffy rabbits. I shook my head and sighed. “Holy Mother of God, Taz,” I exclaimed loud enough to be heard in England. “Can I not leave for a second without you turning into Buffy’s Anya?”

  Taz whipped her red mane—her bun had vanished and her hair now fell in loose curls in front of her face—around and pointed a finger at me. “Ah, shows how much you know, Aiden. Anya was scared of bunnies. I, on the other hand, love them.” She actually cackled.

  I held her by both shoulders and made her look at me. “Witch, turn those bunnies back to their real form. Now.”

  She humphed, stumbled a bit, and waved her hand in the air. “You’re such a humbug. What’s so great about bushes?”

  I stole a glance at the hopping creatures, which were quickly turning back into vegetation. “The monks need those bushes for a variety of things. Nothing grows in the convent that is not used for something.” I turned my head to my father, who was having way too much fun watching the whole scene. “I think it’s time to take Ms. Maloid home, don’t you agree?”

  Brother John nodded, an amused smile still dancing on his lips. “I will help you to the car, son.”

  Between the two of us, we were able to drag a now-barefooted Taz to where the car was parked just outside the wall of magic and secure her to the passenger seat with the seatbelt.

  “This is my car.” She slurred her speech and could hardly keep her eyes open. “Shit! What do the monks put in that ale?”

  I chuckled, sliding beside her in the driver’s seat. “Probably the same thing Brother Serafim drinks.” Before I closed the door, I glanced at my father. “Thank you,” I said, leaving it open to interpretation. Was I thanking him for today or for being back in my life? Hopefully he knew because I sure didn’t.

  I shut the door, waved, and drove the car out of the parking spot and onto the main road. I wondered if my mother would agree to holding the wedding in Obidos? A honeymoon night in that same room we had slept—well, there hadn’t been much sleep involved—in the spring would be amazing.

  I was starting to enjoy having parents in high places. A druid father and a goddess mother were nothing to be sneezed at after all.

  Note to self: avoid drunk witches. Unlike other drunkards, witches tend to turn random objects into even more random things in their drunken stupor. Turns out it is very hard to drive on winding, narrow roads with jumping dwarf goats bleating like banshees in the back seat.

  I left Taz in her own bed, after I used a tiny portion of my healing powers to put her to sleep so she wouldn’t turn her apartment into a petting zoo, threw her car keys on the kitchen counter, and wished myself home. I was getting more and more attached to this gift of mine; teleporting was very convenient indeed and saved me a ton of money on Uber rides.

  It was way past midnight and everyone in the house must have been asleep because nothing was stirring. Not even a mouse. I chuckled to myself; Christmas season was obviously having some strange effect on me. I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, gulped it down in one go, and then went upstairs to our room.

  Naël was not in bed.

  Shivers of alarm ran through my body. Where was my merman? He wasn’t downstairs either—I’d checked. Quietly and trying to keep my rising panic from taking control, I cracked Vee’s room door just enough to confirm she was fast asleep in her bed. So where was my merrow?

  Slipping my phone off my pocket, I quickly speed-dialed Fouchard’s number. He picked up right away. “Where the hell are you?” I asked, much louder than I intended.

  “Shh, you’ll wake up Vee,” he said, infuriatingly calm while my heart was going a thousand miles a minute. “Why are you so upset?”

  “Shit, Naël. I thought you—” I couldn’t say it out loud for fear it would actually happen. After all the events of the past year, anything could send me into panic mode. I took a deep breath before responding, “I was worried when I didn’t see you in the room.”

  Fouchard chuckled softly. “Idiot.” Yeah, that was my man all right. “I have a surprise for you. You would know if you checked your messages once in a while.”

  I pulled away from the phone to check the text messages, and sure enough, there it was. “It must have come in while I was driving the crazy witch home,” I said. “Hard to hear anything with a couple of goats in the back.”

  “Goats? Why did you have goats in the car?” I sighed, not quite ready to tell him the whole sordid story of Taz, the Lush. “Never mind, you can tell me later. Come to the beach.”

  Without bothering to end the call, I pocketed the phone and rushed down to the underground beach. The soft moonlight-imitating lamps along the top of the high rock walls were all lit and I could see Fouchard sitting on the sand not too far from the water. He waved as soon as he saw me.

  “Finally,” he said as I dropped down to the sand in front of him. “I thought I’d have to eat all of this by myself.”

  Spread on top of a red-checkered cloth, Fouchard had a small but delicious-looking array of foods. All my favorites were there: pasteis de nata, rissóis de camarão, bolas de Berlim and even a plate of caracois. He knew me well.

  “What’s the occasion?” I asked, salivating like a puppy over a bone.

  “I felt guilty not being able to
help you much with the venue search, so I hoped to make it up to you by filling your belly.” He had a wicked smile on his lips. “Just don’t eat too much, because dessert will require some bending.” He winked and I just about lost it.

  I stuffed a pastel in my mouth and pushed him down to the sand, melting my body to his. I tried to kiss him but belatedly realized my miscalculation; my mouth was busy with the pastry. He laughed and waited while I half chewed, half swallowed it, his hands on either side of my waist, fingers sneaking underneath my shirt.

  “Well, Mr. Mercer, are you trying to eat your dessert before the main course?” Both his hands were now firmly on my butt and pressing me against his hardness.

  “You know how Pinocchio gets,” I quipped, trailing kisses along his jaw. “I have to attend to his needs first. Then I’ll eat.”

  It wasn’t going to take long to strip him of his clothes; he wasn’t wearing much besides a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. I pulled the shirt off first, then peppered kisses along his chest and down to his rock-hard stomach. He lifted his head from the sand to watch me, as I wasted no time unzipping his pants and pulling them down his hips.

  No underwear. Perfect.

  I went down on him even before I had finished pulling down his pants. I could never get enough of my merman’s taste, a mixture of ocean and sunshine. He grunted, arching against my mouth while my tongue performed its magic. I slipped my hands beneath him and kneaded his perfectly firm ass. We had come a long way since we first met; the barbs still surfaced but now they held a much more intimate, loving meaning. I knew my merman, he knew me, and we both knew the true meaning behind our sarcastic bickering. Let others think what they will.