Grimm Wolf - Julie Steimle (fantasy novels to read .txt) 📗

group of hikers perked up with immediate gratitude.

“And after, we’ll go out for a couple of beers,” Jordan said. “We know a great place…”

Yet as he said that, Art’s face sort of winced at that suggestion. And so did his friends. Suddenly it was awkward for some reason.

“Unless you don’t want to…” Jordan added, confused. After all, Art had wanted to hang out together. Unless he thought Jordan was now flirting.

“No, man, it’s not that. We, uh, don’t drink alcohol,” Art’s friend explained. He also had that Boy Scout look to him, the kind of appearance that many of their college buddies would find suspect as too-neat.

Rhett and Emory stared. Jordan looked flummoxed, as he liked German beer. But Rick crooked up a smirk, peeking to his friends as if to say, ‘Top that. Let’s go.’

“What are you, a Mormon?” Jordan asked, joking.

Art blushed, the color reaching his ears with more awkwardness. But then squared his shoulders and said, “Yep, all three of us.”

For a second Jordan felt a little knocked off his feet. He stared, as he seriously had been only joking.

Rick broke into a laugh, nodding. He patted Art on the shoulder. “It’s ok. Let them get over it.”

“What do you drink then?” Rhett asked, staring, his eyes especially examining these clean cut, sporty types who—without any other way to describe them—were perfectly normal. He had imagined Mormons to have beards and wear old fashioned clothes. These guys had headphones dangling out of their collars and cellphones in their pockets.

Art’s friend laughed and said for them all, “We drink water. Cola. Soda. Juice. Whatever. We just don’t do coffee, tea, or alcohol.”

“But that takes all the fun out of things,” Emory retorted, unable to imagine life without a good beer, let alone coffee in the morning.

Art shook his head as if it really wasn’t that big of a deal. “Not really. The difference between us and people who drink is that after all the fun, we remember what happened in the morning.”

“And our breath ends up still smelling good,” his friend added with a teasing smirk.

“And we don’t have the overwhelming desire to puke at parties,” the other friend said.

Rick kept laughing. But then he wasn’t much of a drinker either. His reason was that he never wanted to be in a state where he was not in control of his impulses. Jordan never quite understood that as the very euphoria of losing control was the main reason why he drank. It wasn’t for the flavor of the beer. It was for the buzz. He couldn’t imagine having fun without it.

“But we can go get dinner,” Art offered as a compromise. “And you can drink if you want. Somebody’s got to be the designated driver.”

Emory smirked at him. Despite all differences, he was beginning to really like Art. He shared a look with Rhett who was of the same mind. And so was Jordan. And they were all set to do that—except for Rick who drew in a breath and shook his head. “No… thank you Art, but, uh, we need to get going.”

Emory, Jordan, and Rhett moaned together in protest. “No! Come on!”

Rick really was being a curmudgeon. Could he not see a chance for a break, even a short one?

“Please!” Rick said to them, his eyes looking about the room. “We really need to go.”

“Then you go,” Jordan said with a huff. “We’ll catch up with you by train.”

Peeking around, Rick cringed. He whispered, “That’s not a good idea, Jordan. You guys have been here long enough.”

Silence snapped around them, like someone had placed a glass over them. The space around them seemed to echo in Jordan’s ears in particular.

“Excuse me?” It was appalling. Jordan pulled back, affronted that Rick had just talked down to him. “Are you setting the rules for this trip?”

Feeling the change in the atmosphere, Rick cringed with a heavy moan. He shook his head. “No… but—”

“Look, we appreciate your help, but we can make our way on foot. And we don’t want to go just yet.” Jordan gazed hard at his long time roommate, feeling sick and tired of being censured by such a stuffed shirt. It was seriously like Rick thought of himself as a babysitter. It was insulting.

Emory and Rhett nodded, agreeing. Their frowns were resting stubbornly on their mouths where they had just been smiling.

“Well, I can’t stay here,” Rick said flatly, backing up.

Art’s eyes went wide, watching the scene, feeling the same shift in temperature between them. He drew in a breath, looking from one face in Jordan’s group to another and said, “Hey, if we’re causing problems—”

“It’s not you,” Emory cut him off, shaking his head. “Rick is just being a butthead about this.”

Rick bristled, his eyes sneaking looks around them at those watching. “I’m not being a butthead,” Rick bit back. He gestured to the hotel stairs. “I told you guys when I dropped you off why I can’t stay here—why I wasn’t going to stay here.”

Rhett moaned along with Jordan, stepping towards him. “Come on. One dinner won’t hurt.”

“How would you know?” Rick bit back. His teeth clenched, looking a little sharp in his anger. He seemed to growl. But then he furiously shook his head and walked out to the car, grumbling under his breath in a huff.

They watched him. He had opened the driver’s side door, swearing if not also sweating.

“Is he sulking?” Emory said, following Rick with his eyes as Rick climbed inside and just sat behind the driver’s seat. 

“Does he sulk?” Rhett asked Jordan, thinking like Emory that Rick was behaving childishly.

It took a moment for Jordan to answer. He had lived with Rick for a while. And he knew there were certain persnickety things Rick just didn’t put up with, though he was easygoing about everything else. And they were persnickety—odd, weird, random things that didn’t always make sense. Weird phobias. Weird promises. Weird habits. Jordan murmured, “We should check out. We promised him. But, I still think we should get him to loosen up. The guy has been so tense lately.”

Art exchanged a look with his Idaho pals, still appearing distressed that they might have been a catalyst for causing this argument between friends. And yet, as Rhett spoke to the lady at the counter, Jordan and Emory went to gather their things from their hotel rooms. Rick was still in the car when they came down with all their luggage. They found that he was napping while listening to music, all the doors locked.

Jordan rapped on the driver’s side glass with his knuckles.

Opening his bleary eyes, Rick rubbed away eye muck and then peered at him. He rolled down the window.

“What? You didn’t sleep well in your hotel while on business?” Jordan asked with plentiful sarcasm. He was still mad at Rick for being such a brat when they could be having fun.

Yawning, Rick shook his head, wiping his other eye. “I hardly slept. And I’d appreciate it if you would be sober enough to drive the next length, as I am bushed.”

Jordan leaned his forehead against the window frame, tired. “Then why don’t we just stay here for another night?”

“I told you why,” Rick hiss gravely at him. “There is bad blood between my family and some people in this area. We need to go.”

Gazing darkly on Rick, Jordan snuck glances around to see if any of that was true. He didn’t see anything suspicious. “Look. We’ve already decided to stay here for dinner. Emory and Rhett took a vote. But if you want me sober, I promise I won’t drink so I can drive us on to Beilstein—”

“Senheim is better,” Rick said. “Further away.”

Jordan huffed. “Why are you so paranoid?”

Rick cringed. He peeked out the window. His voice was hardly above a whisper, “Trust me, sometimes it is best to be paranoid.”

Moaning, Jordan stepped back from the car window. “Fine. We leave right after dinner, and I will drive.”

That seemed to relax Rick. He nodded. And he got out of the car.

With all their backpacks returned to the trunk of the car, they all took a walk to the place where Rhett swore the food was the best one could find in Germany. Around a table that could hold all of them, they exchanged hiking stories and culture shock weirdness they had encountered. Rhett and Emory drank warm beer together, trying to get Rick to join them so he could mellow out a bit; but Rick ended up drinking whatever Art was, almost like a safeguard. Jordan gazed on them with envy, nevertheless he kept his promise to Rick to stay sober. 

After the last Weiner schnitzel had been finished, the final potato eaten, the last drink drunk, they prepared to pay their bill and both groups go on their way. Rick followed Art out to give him some travel tips and advice while Rhett and Emory regained a bit of sobriety, talking over how they were going to get Rick to go to Wittlich to meet a real werewolf.

“You don’t need to go to Wittlich to meet a real werewolf,” a local man said, strolling up.

The friends gazed up at him in good humor. The man was a fine looking German whose hair was full with sideburns and his smile was like toothpaste ad, except for one tooth which seemed a little yellower than the others. He apparently liked to keep a cigarette there when he wasn’t smiling. And his eyes were nearly electric blue. He was stunning actually. Almost feral.

“Excuse me?” Jordan said.

“I could not help but overhear your conversation,” the man said in English with a thin German accent. “You mention you are touring castles. Have you already been to Reichsburg?”

They nodded.

“Of course,” Jordan said.

The man grinned. “But have you heard of Wolfsburg?”

“The city?” Rhett said, glancing at the others. They had already been there. Wolfsburg was where the Volkswagen factory was situated.

Grinning wider the man replied, “My apologies. I meant Wolfsburg of Cochem? It is a fine castle, one which had been preserved for several generations.”

Rhett’s eyes lit up. They had missed a castle in the area.

But Jordan cringed. They had no time to see it.

“I am here to invite you to a private tour of Wolfsburg,” the man said.

“I’m sorry, but who are you?” Jordan asked, rising from his chair.

Grinning with shining blue eyes, the man chuckled. “My apologies. I am Peter Schwitzer. I am the owner of Wolfsburg.”

“And why invite us?” Rhett asked, amazed.

Herr Schwitzer’s eyes trailed to the doorway from where Rick was currently returning. “Because you are dear friends of Howard Richard Deacon the Third.”

They all looked to Rick who looked pale when he arrived at their table. Rick’s eyes raked over this man who was probably about ten years their senior. Herr Schwitzer’s eyes smiled wider on him.

“It’s time to go,” Rick said to Jordan, ignoring the German man.

“He’s invited us to his castle for a tour,” Emory said, rising from his seat.

“Well, we’re not going,” Rick said, hardly looking at the German.

“It is an open offer, Mr. Deacon,” the German man said. “A once in a lifetime opportunity.”

“Serious?” Rhett said, rising.

“You can’t refuse,” the German added.

Rick looked around himself at the people in the room. There were other men rising, smiling, joining Herr Schwitzer as friends.

“I am very sorry,” Rick said with a polite nod. “But it is not on our schedule.”

“Schedule, smedule,” Emory slurred. “This is a once in a life time opportunity, Rick. Relax, would you.”

“Is this the family you were talking about?” Jordan asked Rick.

Rick nodded stiffly.

“Then why not let bygones be bygones?” Jordan whispered. “He doesn’t look unfriendly.”

Rick shot Jordan a look which said, ‘Shows what you know.’ Jordan found it hurtful. Rick looked the German directly in the eye and said, “Look, I didn’t mean to tread in your territory. Let us just go on our way.”

“Go on your way?” the German man said, sounding hurt. “But I want to make an amends, like your friend said. The