Yule Log Eulogy

by Addison Moore

  Cressida latches onto Everett, and I growl without meaning to.

  “Come now, Esmerelda,” Larson barks at the purple-haired beauty. “Tell us our fortunes and they had better be good.”

  The girls who make up the rest of the crowd titter away as each one cradles a jewel tone cocktail in her hand, and they all look as if they came from some alien planet where only supermodels exist. Their dresses are as glossy as their hair and lips, and I can’t help feeling like a frumpy elven creature in their presence.

  Esmerelda lands her blood red fingertips on that oversized crystal ball planted in front of her. The giant illuminated globe is resting on a pair of pewter talons, and it all adds to the creepy appeal. Her eyes are a mix of green and yellow, and I can’t help but note how stunning they are.

  “Head of a goat, body of a rat! Tail of a serpent, show us where the future is at!” she howls each word out dramatically, and the lights in the facility dim to nothing before brightening the place once again. The entire room lets out a collective gasp as her crystal ball ignites as lavender sprays of lighting go off on the inside.

  I elbow Noah. “Cool trick,” I whisper just as Cormack yanks him away from me and to the front of the con artist action.

  “I bet she’ll have great things to say about us, Big Boss.” Cormack pets Noah’s arm as she coos right at him.

  I scowl over at her. I don’t suppose Cormack had a reindeer as a pet. My guess is no, since I’m not that lucky.

  Esmeralda lets out a raucous scream, and everybody in the vicinity straightens like a pin.

  “I see death and heartache! I see evil and wickedness among you! There will be bitter tears aplenty, and there will be no remorse, no regrets, not one ounce of shame for the one who commits the heinous vile act.”

  The lights blink on and off once again and Larson, Cressida, and the rest of their socialite friends break out into giggles and a spontaneous applause as if they were given the best news of all.

  I boot scoot my way to Everett. “My God, she just hit the nail on the head and these people have no idea what’s about to befall them.”

  He ticks his head to the side. “In all fairness, she did put out a warning.”

  Cressida waves spastically at the girl. “What about me, Esmerelda? What brilliant future do you see for Essex and me?” She plants a kiss over his cheek while essentially trying to climb him.

  Me, me, me.

  I’m betting that’s a running theme in her life.

  Esmeralda gazes deeply into that crystal ball as purple and green smoke swirls throughout it. Cool special effects if anything else.

  A horrid groan comes from her as she sways dramatically from side to side. “I see no future for you.” Her eyes grow wide as she looks to Cressida. “For either of you!” She looks to Everett, equally horrified, and I can’t help but sigh.

  “She means with her,” I whisper.

  Everett leans in. “That’s because my future is with you.”

  I shoot the snotty socialite a cheesy grin, but she’s too busy hauling Everett off to the next station to care about my gloating.

  Cressida waves for the crowd to follow along. “Let’s hear what Kitty has to say.”

  It turns out, Kitty is the charlatan at the very next table, a brunette with wild curls, pink glowing skin, and eyes that shimmer yellow and green. She looks about my age, mid to late twenties, as does just about everyone in this room, but that’s only because some people are better cryogenically preserved than others—and that includes the senior sect.

  Larson gives Hook a hard squeeze. “Our turn!”

  Hook is tall with generally comely features, dark serious eyes, and a genuine smile when needed. He’s as brilliant as he is good looking. He used to rule Wall Street before he came back to our little corner of Vermont—Honey Hollow to be exact.

  I give a quick look around for my sister, but she’s nowhere to be found. My God, I hope Meg isn’t the body I’ll stumble upon later. But honestly, I can’t fathom why she isn’t here plucking her man free from that witch’s clutches, and the only thing that makes sense at the moment would be if she were dead. Not that I’m wishing death on my poor sister.

  Kitty slaps down a bunch of oversized playing cards much to the crowd’s delight.

  Her hand lands over the one in the center. “Spirits and spooks, specters of knowledge from the other side, show us what waits for these fine people this night!”

  She turns the card over slowly, and the crowd gasps and laughs.

  “Death.” Kitty lands a bright blue fingernail over the picture of a skeleton with a sword.

  “I’m sensing a theme,” I say as Noah heads back my way.

  “Lottie, you don’t think this is real, do you?”

  “Nope. It’s all fun and games until Meg hacks Larson to pieces for playing with her boy toy. My sister was never good at sharing her toys—or her boys.”

  Cressida and Larson share a wicked cackle as our circle steps away from the card table.

  “Essex”—Cressida runs her finger down his jawline—“take me upstairs so I can die naked in your arms.”

  The crowd titters, but I can’t help but scowl.

  “Same.” Larson tries to openly smooch with Hook just as a tall man with a fresh tan and bright blue eyes pops up. He looks handsome in his deconstructed suit, his jacket off, his sleeves rolled up. He has a square jaw and the beginnings of jowls, and you can tell his time in the sun is starting to leather his skin. “Well, look who the tide washed in.” Larson gives him a little wink. But he does a double take at Everett before pulling him into a partial hug.

  “Everett, my man! I guess it’s Judge Baxter now.” He slaps him on the back. “How’s it going? I hear you're engaged, and it’s not to this whippet.” He nods to Cressida, and the crowd around us chortles.

  “I am.” He pulls me forward. “This is Lemon, my fiancée.” He nods to Noah. “His wife.” The crowd offers up a bit more of a spirited laugh, this time at poor Noah’s expense. And sadly, Everett isn’t really lying. “I’m sorry, Cressie, but I’m off the market.”

  A loud pop of a laugh bucks through her. “Don’t you worry, Essex. I much prefer the role of the inamorata. You can keep a house frau on the side. I don’t mind one bit.”

  Oh goody. I shoot her a death stare, wishing the curse of the reindeer upon her.

  Everett takes up my hand and kisses it. “Lemon, these are my friends. We grew up together. In fact, why don’t you all introduce yourselves to her?”

  Noah leans in and whispers, “I knew some of them myself.”

  “Strangely, this does not impress me.”

  “Me first!” Cressida jumps up and down while her hand does its best to touch the ceiling. “I’m Cressie, Essex’s first and favorite love. We’re destined to be married one day, and I’m going to have all of his beautiful babies.” She makes moony eyes at him while slapping her lips over his.

  “I say book her for assault.” My voice carries a little too much, and the crowd bursts into laughter.

  The man with the tan nods my way. “And I’m Kip. I own a fleet of sailing vessels and sail competitively. This guy right here used to take us to the W every single time. You should both come on board a ship sometime. Let’s make plans for next summer.”

  Everett slaps him on the shoulder. “Sounds good.”

  Larson sighs. “Of course, the offer is extended to Hook and me. Hookie and I were once inseparable.”

  I can’t help but scowl at her. I knew nothing of the sort, but then I wasn’t that aware of the Redwoods way back when.

  Hook gives a nervous glance around—I’m presuming for Meg, as he should.

  “I’m pretty busy at the office. I’ll have to politely decline.”

  Larson pouts. “Fine, but let the record show, I’m stealing you away for an impromptu vacay in the very near future. You couldn’t escape my clutches if you tried.”

  Meg pops up from seemingly nowhere like a terrifying apparition.

/>   “He could if you were dead.” Meg has never been one to mix words. “Touch my man again and that’s exactly where you’ll end up—one permanent vacay in an underground tavern. And they don’t serve cold cocktails where you’re going, sweetie.”

  Hook flies to her like a moth to a nuclear explosion—and wisely so.

  Larson’s mouth falls open. “Did you hear that? She threatened me! She threatened to kill me. Essex, I want a restraining order asap and throw her in a prison cell overnight—a dark, terrible dungeon where there is no cell phone service. That ought to teach her a lesson.” Her lids narrow, and a seductive look sweeps over her face. “On second thought, throw me in a prison cell and you can join me for old times’ sake.”

  Old times’ sake?

  Cressida giggles. “You, too, Larson? Oh, Essex, you can be such a Johnny-one-note.”

  Cormack belts out a husky laugh. “Yes, girls—but he can play the hell out of that one note.”

  The estrogen card carriers in our circle all break out into howls of laughter.

  Great. I’m betting each and every one of them experienced a naughty night in a prison cell with Essex.

  Where is my coital incarceration? What about me?

  Cormack gasps as she spots someone by the door. “Oh, Noah, look, it’s Tig!” She looks my way. “Excuse us, Liberty. We used to play doubles with Tig and Pippa back in the day. We must say hello.”

  Noah is already happily waving at his old tennis buddy.

  “Go ahead, Noah. I’ll fillet the fish in front of me before I get to Cormack.” I’m feeling a bit murderous myself this evening.

  Noah takes off just as Everett pulls me close. He bends over and tucks his lips to my ear, and a shiver rides up my side.

  “Don’t worry, Lemon. I predict there’s a consensual imprisonment in your future, and I’m not talking about the fake marriage you have going on with Noah. I may have shared one note with those girls, but I’ve got an entire playlist saved up for you.”

  I can’t help but waggle my brows at the raunchy offer. Not that I plan on taking him up on it—I am married to Noah—sort of. But it sure felt nice to be invited to the prison party. I’m betting Everett plays the part of the lascivious and lewd lawyer who takes advantage of my legal and bodily rights.

  I won’t lie. It sounds like a tempting offer. I’d much rather be in a prison cell with Everett and all his naughty intentions than at this jingle bell hell with all of his ditzy friends.

  “Who are the rest of these girls?” I whisper to him as the crowd around us begins to mingle amongst themselves.

  “The girl to the left of Cressie is Matilda—Tilly Farmington.” He nods to a brunette with long glossy hair and gorgeous bronzed skin. Her lips are full and pouty, and she’s donned a sheer nude gown that leaves little to the imagination, but I suppose that was the point.

  “Will she call you Essex, too?” Okay, so I’m jealous, and I’m this close to flying in a rage over the fact Everett has “Essexed” just about every woman in the room.

  “Don’t worry, Lemon. That was a long time ago. I was like a young buck just out of the corral. I was a kid, a total amateur at what I was doing.”

  “So, you’re saying I get the seasoned pro?” Or I did.

  “Lemon, you’re getting an expert ninja.”

  “I say you border on the supernatural.”

  A rumbling laugh bounces through him. “I appreciate the sentiment.”

  “Go on. What’s the story with Matilda?”

  “Tilly is an acquisition editor for a publishing house that specializes in romance. I think it’s called Spice. And the redhead talking to Larson is Charlie Sinclair. She’s sweet as can be. And she happens to call me Everett.”

  “I like her already. What about the other redhead, the one that looks as if she’s about to kill everyone in the room?” It’s true. The shorter girl with her long hair running down her back in kinky auburn curls looks as if she’s one stray comment from committing a mass assault.

  “That’s Beverly—Buffy. She’s not happy at the moment because Kippy is here. They were engaged up until last summer when Larson decided she wanted him for herself, and what Larson wants she gets.”

  “With the exception of Hook Redwood. Unless she wants death.” I spot two girls huddling with Larson, a blonde and a petite brunette. The blonde looks almost identical to Larson, same tiny nose, large doe eyes, overblown lips, but then there are about a half a dozen girls here tonight that could pass as twins. “What about those girls with Larson?” Their conversation grows animated by the second, and I can’t tell if they’re having a good time or if they’re actually arguing.

  Everett sighs. “The blonde is Shelly—Larson’s twin. There’s a rumor going around that she was cut from the trust fund and now she’s giving thirty-five dollar massages from a van.”

  “Wow, no wonder she’s piping mad. And what about the brunette? She looks fit to be tied herself.” The frail looking girl has a snarl on her face as she aggressively tries to get her point across. There’s something in her eyes that looks cold and steely, as if she’s seen a lot of life already—too much of it maybe.

  “That’s Ella. Let’s just say she has a very dark history, and I don’t dare speak of it here. Hers is a bit of a haunting tale best left to be whispered in dark halls and far away from mixed company.”

  “Ooh, promise me you’ll tell me later.”

  “You bet.”

  Without warning, Larson storms our way and lands a finger against my chest. “I want my Yule logs distributed right now. I am so done with this party.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say as Everett and I watch her head to the middle of the room.

  “Everyone, it’s time to party!” She whoops it up as if suddenly she’s another person entirely. And all of her friends circle around her and hoot and holler as if it were some tribal war cry of the rich and famous. And it probably is. Soon Kippy has Cressida on his shoulders, and the girls who were arguing with Larson a moment ago seem as happy as can be as they each hold up a Christmas-inspired cocktail in each hand.

  “Wow, she went from hot to cold,” I say. “I’d better get back to elf central and make the culinary magic happen.”

  I round up Keelie, my perky blonde best friend, Lily, my oft grumpy co-worker, and Lainey, and together we dole out slices of my delicious chocolate Yule log sprinkled with powdered sugar to any and everyone who’ll have one and, shockingly, almost everyone partakes in the delicious dessert.

  No sooner do I finish up than I try to find Noah or Everett, but they seem to have done a disappearing act.

  The music turns up in volume as the holiday instrumentals are exchanged for far more familiar Christmas carols that even I can sing along to. The entire room is gyrating and pulsing with life. And, to be honest, it really does seem to be one of the best parties I’ve ever been to. I do another quick sweep of the room and spot a spray of supernatural light emitting from the rear of the room.

  “No, no,” I whisper as I head that way. I thread my way through the thick crowd, all sipping on the spiked eggnog, my Yule cake still in the other hand as they laugh up a storm while swaying to the cheery holiday music.

  There’s an exit in the rear of the room that leads to a darkened hall to the left, and that spray of ethereal light only seems to grow.

  “Rudolph?” I call out, feeling silly saying his name, but on a night like tonight, with so many people schnockered off the eggnog, I’m sure no one will mind if I’m shouting for Santa’s favorite caribou in this maze of a haunted house.

  I spot a shimmer of light off to the right, and I peer in to find a double entry that leads to an expansive library.

  “Oh, wow,” I say, breathless, as I step in farther. I’ll have to show this to Lainey. I’m positive my book loving big sis will get a kick out of this monstrosity. It’s honest to God bigger than the stacks down at the Honey Hollow Library.

  There’s another enormous oil painting hanging on the wall, and I squint
as I stride over to get a better look at it. The lighting is dim in the room, with just a few flickering sconces illuminating the hall, along with the supernatural glow to my left. I spot the entire Rosenberg family in the oil painting up above, larger than life, two blonde little girls, the same dark-haired woman looking rather angry, and a handsome man I’m assuming is Larson’s father.

  A howl comes from somewhere in front of me, and I spot Rudolph standing not too far off so I head his way. His fur looks perfectly magical, and he’s lit up with tiny glittering stars all the way up to his illuminated antlers as he bucks and cries.

  “Rudolph, what is it?” I ask as I make my way toward him. But no sooner do the words evict from me than I trip and fall, landing over the body of a beautiful girl with gold foil garland wrapped tight around her neck like a scarf and a slice of my Yule log cake smeared over her chest.

  Larson Rosenberg isn’t just over this party. She’s over this life.

  Larson Rosenberg is dead.

  Chapter 3

  “Lottie?” a familiar female voice booms from behind. “Lottie? There you are!”

  I turn to find Keelie speeding into the library with her white feathered fringe bouncing around her thighs.

  “Keelie, stay back,” I say as I check poor Larson for a pulse but can’t find one.

  “Lottie? What’s going on? Is that?” Keelie stops midflight to let out an ear-piercing scream that has the power to break crystal.

  Larson Rosenberg lies on the ground with garland wrapped around her neck so tight that it’s causing her eyes and tongue to bulge.

  The sound of footsteps stampeding in this direction rumble down the hall as I look up at the supernatural creature before me.

  “Rudolph, who did this to her? Who killed Larson?”

  A hard moan comes from him as he taps his back hoof against the floor three times hard.

  “I don’t know.” His eyes ignite a fiery shade of red, and his nostrils flare as if he were fighting mad. “But I’m about to find out. I’m bringing her killer to justice with or without you, Lottie.” He whinnies and trots off at top speed, straight through the wall that separates us from the grand ballroom.