The Witch Hunter Chronicles: Hunted

I woke up to a gentle rapping at my door. The second I opened my eyes, I regretted it. I had a pounding headache and a queasy stomach, and my abdominal wound was both itchy and sore. Then I remembered what happened last night, and I felt mortified as well as crappy. I rolled over and pulled my pillow over my head, hoping the visitor would go away and leave me in peace. Fat chance of that. Through my pillow, I heard my door open and footsteps as someone entered the room.

“Kenz?” Jordan asked. When I didn’t answer, he said, “Come on kid, I know you don’t sleep with a pillow over your head.”

Busted. “Go away,” I said from beneath my pillow cocoon.

“Fran sent me up to tell you that breakfast is almost ready,” Jordan explained.

My stomach gurgled in response. “I’m not hungry.”

“She’s making waffles,” he said in a sing-songy voice.

I rolled onto my back, wincing at my various aches and pains. The shades were pulled, and the lights were out, so only a little light was sneaking in past the blinds.

“Waffles?” I asked suspiciously. “Are we talking the crappy toaster ones or, like, real waffles?”

He smiled. “I saw the waffle press with my own eyes, bro. So, you coming down or what?” Jordan asked.

I shook my head no. “Can you bring it up to me?”

“Does this look like a butler’s outfit to you?” he asked. He wore jeans that rode low on the hips and a plain white t-shirt that barely went past his bellybutton. I could see the rim of his designer boxers.

“Not if I was running this establishment,” I answered. “I’d stick you in a French maid’s outfit.”

“And I’d make it look fabulous,” he replied. “I think what you need is some sunshine.”

Before he could even shift his weight, I said, “If I even see a speck of sun, I’ll bury myself in the covers and never come out.”

“Fair enough,” he said. He approached the bed and gave me a nudge with his hand. “Scooch.” I scooted over a little and he laid down in the bed beside me, lying on his back to match me. “You want to talk about it?”

“About what?” I asked.

He sighed, “Anything you want, kid. The local weather patterns, this crazy situation we’re in, your dad …”

I felt the wall I’d been holding break and the tears came. I curled into Jordan, buried my head in his shoulder and sobbed. I let it all out – the grief from the death of my father, the fear from almost getting killed, the pain of my injury and the loss of my normal, boring American life. It took fifteen minutes for the waterworks to ease to a trickle and then finally stop, and another couple to convince Jordan that I actually would come downstairs for breakfast after I freshened up. Once Jordan left, I shuffled into the bathroom and flipped on the light.

Oh no...

I wasn’t mentally or physically prepared for the ridiculous bedhead that greeted in the mirror. It was as-if the individual hairs had braided themselves around each other and then clumped into a ball. I found a brush in a drawer and began to bravely do battle with the tangles.

Why does my hair always act like a pair of headphones cords in a drawer? This is going to take more than five minutes and a brush.

I tossed the brush on the counter, took one last look at my lumpy fair, sighed. Looked at my puffy eyes, sighed with more gusto and flipped off the light.

Everyone will know that I had been crying.

I sighed and threw on a robe on the way out. It was as soft and fluffy as a bed spread. The stairs were a struggle, but I the smell of bacon and strong coffee can be quite motivating.

When I entered the kitchen, Fran was busy mixing batter in a bowl at the kitchen island, while Lucía and Jordan worked on plates of eggs and bacon at the round kitchen table. Marc was nowhere to be seen, which was both a relief and a disappointment.

Head up, smile and say good morning.

“’Morning,” I mumbled while staring somewhere at the level of the average shin. I sat down at the empty place setting in between Lucía and Jordan. In the center of the table was a silver coffee carafe, a cream pitcher and sugar bowl, and a serving plate with a sheet of aluminum foil balancing loosely on top.

Nothing out of the ordinary happened last night. We’re all just here to eat waffles and get on with our day. Eye contact and small talk isn’t necessary.

Fran looked up from her mixing bowl and said, “Oh, good morning my dear. I hope you slept well.” I nodded and did my best to smile. “How does a waffle sound?”

“It’s the reason I got out of bed,” I said, no longer needing to fake my smile. I’ve never turned down a free waffle in my life, and I can’t see any future situation where I would either.

Jordan made a wardrobe change before coming down, because he was now in a blue V-neck t-shirt. I guess he didn’t want to walk around with snot and dried tears on his shirt all day. Couldn’t say I blamed him.

“How are you feeling?” Lucía asked. Concern made her gold-flecked eyes look big enough to make any manga artist proud. She looked immaculate BTW. Not only was her hair combed out to lustrous perfection, but she’d taken the time to do her makeup as well.

I don’t think she buys random sale items from the makeup aisle at her local Target. The colors look like they belong on her skin. At least I washed my face. With liquid hand soap, but still...

I shrugged. “Fine, I guess.”

Telling her I’m depressed about my dad being dead, my gunshot wound itches, and I’m embarrassed for the scene I made is probably TMI for breakfast conversation. I concentrated on getting my coffee to the right level of brown and sweet until she took the hint and went back to her own breakfast. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Jordan smiling.

Don’t do it bro. I’m not in the mood.

I peeked under the aluminum foil and saw scrambled eggs with bits of ham mixed in and about a dozen strips of crispy bacon. While Fran poured some batter into the sizzling-hot waffle iron, I snacked on bacon and sipped my coffee.

“You should have some eggs Kenz,” Jordan said.

“I don’t like eggs,” I replied. I knew where this was going, but I wasn’t gonna make it easy.

“You need the protein kid,” he replied. He looked to Lucía. “Isn’t that right amazon?

She gave Jordan a puzzled look before answering. She probably didn’t get the Wonder Woman reference. “You definitely need the protein to heal.”

I scowled. “Bacon has protein.”

“No, it really doesn’t,” Jordan answered in-between forkfuls of scrambled eggs. “It’s mostly salt and fat. You should remember that from the nutrition class we took together.”

“There’s protein in my waffle,” I replied. Jordan just pursed his lips and shook his head. “Fine, I’ll smother it in butter.” That wasn’t any sort of concession. I was planning on doing that anyway.

“Fat,” Jordan replied evenly. “Seriously, how did you ever pass the final exam?”

The frank answer to that question was that Mr. Brown was very trusting and Sarah Jenkins didn’t cover her work. However, this didn’t seem the time or place for total honesty. Fran came to the rescue, at least temporarily, when she placed a Belgium waffle in front of me that covered every inch of the plate below it.

“Ooh, my precious,” I said as I rubbed my hands together in delight.

“Did I hear correctly that you don’t like eggs dear?” Fran asked.

I didn’t look up. I was busy making sure each waffle divot got the right amount of butter. “Uh, they’re not my favorite.” My list of not favorites was much longer than my list of favorites. Tops on the former list is that vile weed that masquerades as a flower: broccoli.

“How about if you have a nice glass of milk to wash that down?” Fran asked.

It sounded more like a comment than a question, so I just nodded.

My first bite was too big for my mouth, and I got a dab of syrup on my chin. Of course, this is right when Marc came strolling into the kitchen. He gave me a passing glance – and I’m certain that in that heartbeat of time he took in my bedhead, puffy eyes, syrup-covered chin, and overfilled mouth. My cheeks instantly ignited, and I began to sweat in my stupid fluffy robe.

He turned to Fran and said, “I’m going for a run. Save me some eggs please Mamá,” He was out of the room and down the hall before Fran could even acknowledge him.

“Ok hijo,” she called out just before the front door slammed shut.

Would “good morning” have been so hard? Maybe I would have liked to go for a run with him? Obviously, I wouldn’t have liked to do anything of the sort, but he could have asked.

“You good bro?” Jordan asked. “You’re all flushed.”

“I’m a little under the weather,” I lied. “From the anesthesia.”

“Hm,” Jordan replied.

Can’t he just let me lie to him? Why does he have to give me that obnoxious knowing smile.

“Do you want something lighter instead?” Fran asked from the island counter, looking up from her magazine. “Maybe some yogurt with fruit?”

“No, I’m good,” I said, as I threw an arm protectively around my plate. No one was going to interfere with my waffle’s tragic destiny. I cut a smaller piece this time and forked it into my mouth.

“Mackenzie,” Lucia started conversationally, “why don’t we take a walk to the other side of town and back? I’d love to show you the sites.”

“Sure, but can’t we just drive to the sites?” I asked.

“Well, we could,” Lucía answered carefully, “but the walk itself is for exercise.”

It pained me to stop putting waffle in my mouth, but I felt like this conversation had the potential to ruin my plans of sleeping the day away.

“Exercise? Shouldn’t I be resting?” And continuing to eat waffles went without saying…

Fran chimed in from her perch on the counter. “Exercise is actually a great idea, dear. Your body will heal faster with mild exertion… and a little more of that milk.”

I wasn’t ready for the mother-daughter tag team, and my resolve began to crumble.

“Well, I guess a little walk wouldn’t kill me,” I said after taking a swig of the non-chocolate cow juice.

“Coming from Kenzie, that’s a ringing endorsement,” Jordan said. “Her idea of exercise is chewing faster.”

“We’ve got a trip coming up,” Lucia said. “We need to get you back to your baseline.”

“Sadly, this is pretty close to that,” Jordan added unnecessarily.

“A trip?” Fran asked. “Where?”

“Papa wants to take her to the office in Madrid to meet the heads of the family,” Lucia answered.

Going where to do what exactly?

“Well, in that case, after your little tour, we’ll have some lunch and then we’ll all head down to the basement,” Fran said, in the calmest, most mtherly of tones, “because Mackenzie isn’t leaving this house without a gun.”