The Witches Of Denmark by Aiden James Page A

Julien was to be around, if one could wrest this author’s focus away from his obsession. I already had heard from Mom and Grandma that Meredith Mays was a blast to hang out with, and they had been pushing hard for this get-together since the previous weekend.
    “Well, hello,” said Mr. Mays from our doorstep. I was the first one to respond to the light rap on our front door window, just after six o’clock that evening. “You must be Sebastian.”
    Although I could’ve let Mom, Dad, or my grandparents handle this in the traditional manner for accepting guests into our home, I wanted the honor. However, I didn’t let this man know I was impressed with what little I knew about him, or even acknowledge I had ever heard of him and his wife—a lovely blonde with flowing curly locks and eyes that seemed to change color as she stepped into our house. I thought they were blue when I saw her on the porch, but they became turquoise soon after I led the couple through the foyer and into the front right parlor, that served as the living room for us and the previous owners.
    As for Julien, he sort of looked like an author, or like I pictured Stephen King or Clive Barker to be like. But his mannerisms belonged to a sophisticated southern gentleman, like John Grisham. Dinner parties in Denmark could be quite formal from what I understand… unless held in the heat of late spring or summer. It would be anything goes at that point, since formalities meant little when you’re pouring sweat.
    While the other men, including Dad and Grandpa, were dressed in shorts and polo shirts, the only thing they shared in common with him were sandals. Julien preferred jeans and a ‘Metallica’ T-shirt. With lightly salt and pepper hair pulled back in a ponytail and a full moustache, he kind of reminded me of the actor Kevin Spacey, but with hazel eyes.
    “It’s Tupelo, Mississippi via Savannah, Georgia,” he said, his drawl smooth and much more genteel than what was common in this region. His smile was impish, revealing expensive veneers. “You were wondering where my accent originated from. Correct?”
    “Yeah, I guess I was,” I said, impressed he had discerned what fascinated me most, and wondered if he had similar intuitive gifts as my mother and sister. “Are you some sort of psychic?”
    He laughed.
    “No, but I wish I was,” he said. “Meredith is, though, and she hates me bringing it up. She used to do readings for the music industry people in Nashville. I could tell from your expression and your focus on my lips that you were trying to figure out where I came from. There’s only one other person I know of, out this way, who hails from either place.”
    I nodded, and then Dad and Grandpa deftly took over. I barely had a chance to introduce myself to Meredith, as the ‘adults’ disappeared into the dining room.
    “He seems pretty observant, huh?” said Alisia, emerging from the living room to join me in the foyer.
    “You heard what he said?”
    “Yes.”
    “Yeah… and he is definitely different than most of the people living here,” I said. “Are we sitting in the kitchen, or is there enough room for us at table in the dining room?”
    Another older couple was coming, too, and they were long-time pals of Sadee, and were also heavily involved with the school. Though I disliked much about this quaint little town, listening to the candid local talk during the previous dinners when Sadee and her husband had joined us was damned near priceless. The slang, the gossip, anecdotes, new curse words—hell, most everything spoken was night and day different than anything I had ever been exposed to.
    Northerners are boring as hell around a dinner table, compared to this bunch.
    “I think we’ll be in the kitchen… just like most kids.” She smirked. “So, no wine for us until everyone’s gone. But, we should be able to hear everything. Remember the see-through fireplace?”
    “Ah, that’s right,” I agreed. Forgot about