Free Nikolas and Company: The Merman and The Moon Forgotten by Kevin McGill Page A

came groundside, so
he never saw where the brothers lived or went to school. He always
insisted they meet at a Cappumulus, which was the only coffee shop
franchise with restaurants two miles in the air. More times than
not, Grand would carry a large axe into Cappumulus, plop it on the
counter, and order a large triple espresso, no syrup, no sugar, and
no whip. Then he’d fire up his pipe and set off the very sensitive
smoke alarms. Most of their coffee sessions were Grand grilling
Nick and Tim, asking if they had enrolled in any sword dueling
classes or at least metallurgy. How many stanzas of poetry had they
memorized in the last week, or had they learned to fell a wild
animal with their bare hands yet? Tim explained that there were no
wild animals within twenty miles of the city limits. Nick reminded
himself to download all the books he could on W. B. Yeats and sword
fighting.
    Yes. Grand’s eccentricities unnerved
Nick, but it was the very reason Nick trusted Grand. He was as real
as they came.
    Grand wasn’t a drone.
    h
    Finally, after another two days of
hopping between electrostations and elevated restaurants, Grand
nodded to the ground and said, “That’s about long
enough.”
    He punched in a new
location: Grace Church of Colorado
City.
    “Church?” Nick said.
    “You typed it wrong, Grand. We want to
go to St. Mary’s,” Tim said.
    “It’s our last chance before they
cremate the bodies.”
    Tim sat up. “Cremate? Mom and Dad are
dead?
    h
    Before the truck could even come to a
complete stop, Grand jumped out, reached behind the seats of the
cab, and pulled out two antique blowers—the kind their mom and dad
kept by the fireside next to the poker and ash scooper. Of course,
they never used them, since the fire was only a
hologram.
    Grand took several long strides to the
top of the stairs and pulled open the doors. The cobalt blue foyer
smelled like a hundred years of perfume, dutifully marching in and
out every Sunday.
    “They really are dead,” Tim whispered,
choking back tears.
    Grand reached for the sanctuary
door.
    “Wait,” Tim protested. “You can’t just
march into a funeral service. We’re not even dressed for
it.”
    “Erik and Sonya are in there. I am
responsible for them.”
    “Responsible for them?”
    Grand opened the door a crack. An
air-conditioned breeze and speaker’s eulogy slipped
through.
    “. . .will be missed. Sonya
was also a good person, a beautiful person. She was a woman in the
prime of her days, with so much left to give to society. She liked
shopping, the reality show, Laguna Beach
Girls and—”
    Grand flung the sanctuary doors
open.
    “Grand . . .” Tim covered his
face.
    The speaker, a thin man whose scalp
majored more on skin than hair, tracked the great, old man marching
down the aisle.
    “Testimonies will be after the rap
duet, Mister?” The speaker waited for a response he would never
get. Grand walked straight to the closed caskets and flipped the
lids back like playing cards.
    The audience inhaled.
    “Grand is insane,” Nick
laughed.
    Grand grabbed their mom by the collar
and slung her over his left shoulder. He turned a full revolution,
her blond hair sweeping around.
    Adult voices shouted. “Sonya! . . . Oh
no, he’s grabbing for Erik, too!”
    Teenage voices joined the commentators.
“Awesome—No way! That old dude ripped the lid right
off!”
    Grand heaved their dad onto his other
shoulder. He turned to the audience, paused for a moment to steady
himself, and then offered his own parting words, “Carry
on.”
    The bodies swayed in beat with Grand’s
march up the aisle.
    “Linus! Say something,” a woman hissed
from the front row.
    Linus’ expression could be described as
cadaverous.
    “Linus!”
    “Um—I’m, well, er. Yes, yes. Er—Erik
and Sonya have gone to a better place—”
    “ Linus!” she
hissed.
    “Well—well, what I mean to say is . .
.”
    Grand rolled the bodies to the
ground.
    “What’s going on?” Nick closed