“It’s bad, isn’t it?”
Mom looks like she’s about to fall apart. “The DA is going for a series of felony charges, including attempted murder. All the boys might be tried as adults.”
“Has Noah woken up yet?”
Mom shakes her head so she can get a mouthful of food.“Until he does, the judge has ordered that they continue Charles’s detention. They’ll have a pretrial hearing in a couple of weeks—on Monday, the eighth, I think—and then the adjudication hearing a few days later.”
Tension drains from my muscles. Charles behind bars. I thought I would feel worse about this if it ever happened, but it’s just the opposite. I feel secure. Like I have a normal family for once. No tantrums. No drama. Okay, maybe some drama, but no fighting or yelling. No door slamming. No simmering violence. Just quiet.
Just us.
“What’s a pretrial?”
“That’s where all the evidence will be shared between the attorneys,” Mom explains. “If everyone is ready, they’ll then hold the adjudication hearing, probably within the week. In fact, I think they’ve already scheduled it for the following Wednesday.
“Adjudication hearing?” I wrinkle my nose. “Isn’t there a trial?”
Mom shakes her head again. She puts food on her plate but doesn’t eat anything.
“That is the trial, baby. It’s different for juveniles,” Dad says. He eats standing up. His back must be hurting. “They don’t get juries. Just a judge. Remember last time? It went so fast because he didn’t have to go through that process of putting together a jury. If they wait, these kids could turn eighteen, and then everything changes.”
“But just like at a regular trial,” Mom continues, “the judge will look at the evidence and the charges, and decide if he’s guilty.” She wipes her chapped nose with a napkin.
“The legal fees are going to be hard on us,” Dad says. “We’ll have to make some sacrifices.”
The air goes dead. I realize what they’re saying.
“What you mean is Charles has destroyed my college fund.” I want to shove the table the way Charles did the other night. Instead, I sit there, seething.
“You’re going to be fine,” Dad says. “You’re extremely talented. Do you hear me? You’ll get into any college you want on scholarship. You don’t need us.”
“Like hell!” I shout. “You act like just because I’m smart that I can do everything on my own. And you know what? I’ve been on my own now for almost four years. Ever since Charles started stealing and smoking and doing whatever else. And do I have a car or a license? You keep promising but you never have time. Do you care that the kids at school call me a beaner and send me death threats?”
The color drains from my mom’s face. My dad starts to say something, but my mom shushes him. “Listen,” she orders.
“You’re always threatening to sue people for me. How about helping me actually grow up? You don’t care about that. You only care about winning. Like it’s a video game. Fix Charles and you win. Awesome! But you know what? I hate him. This whole family revolves around him and his stupid problems. Dad, you didn’t take this job because we needed the money but because you thought it would be better here for Charles than Los Angeles. And you didn’t care what happened to me. Oh, Charity will be fine. She’s super smart. She’ll be okay. Well, you know what? I’m not. And I hope Charles rots in jail. He’s a miserable, worthless ass who ruins everything. I hope he’s convicted and stays locked up forever!”
Mom and Dad look stunned. Dad starts to say something when the doorbell rings. Irritation clouds his face.
“I told Charity she could have friends over,” Mom tells him, resigned.
Dad sighs. “We’ll continue this conversation later.”
My parents retreat to their bedroom while Leo, Judy, and I camp out in the living room. When we’re sure they’ve settled down, we go outside and arm the trap. Judy does an outstanding job of camouflaging the step latch after we place the candy canes just beyond. We then put back the lawnmower and other stuff to make it look like the tool shed was left open.
Leo points to the car. “We smeared peppermint oil from my mom’s pantry on the bumpers and tires, and we drove it up near where the last attack happened. We’re hoping that it caught the scent and followed us.”
“I’m not hoping,” Judy says. “I hope it goes away. It attacked a horse. How horrible is that?”
“A pony, not a horse,” Leo corrects her.
“And, hello, a human being?” I remind them. “I want it to go away as much as you do, but we need it alive. Maybe we can get some answers.” I point up to the trees. “I tied candy canes to the branches. A little early Christmas decorating.”
“I don’t get it about peppermint. Does it have any real healing properties?” Judy says.
“It does, sort of,” Leo says. “Peppermint has a lot of medicinal properties. It’s an antiseptic. A decongestant. And it’s really good for indigestion. It’s been used for centuries to treat that.
“Let’s just hope the creature eats up our candy,” I say with dread.
The night passes quietly. Well, as quietly as it can with Leo snoring. I find cushy bright orange earplugs in the downstairs bathroom cabinet for Judy and I around 2:00 a.m. But I can’t sleep because I’m thinking of Aidan. Feeling ripped open and ragged. Calculations move through my mind in waves as I double-check everything, a form of meditation.
What about the placement of the peppermint? Will the creature know it’s a trap? How intelligent is it, anyway? Aidan is beyond brilliant. If it’s connected to him in some way, there must be more to it than meets the eye.
Aidan, if you are as brilliant as I know you are, please find a way to bring us back together.
Because I don’t believe in magic.
Chapter 22
A shadow moves against the wall, vague and wavering. I’m at a school—not my school but another school. I scan the crowd to see who’s making the shadow. It’s Aidan. He walks toward me through the crowd. They push against him, jostling and shoving. But he only has eyes for me as he closes in. I’m transfixed by the sight of him. Dying inside. Wanting him more than my next breath. But I can’t move a muscle. He carries something red, shining, wet in his cupped hands.
Is it blood?
After breakfast, I start texting Judy. I wonder, if her parents are gone, what’s happening this week? So, I ask her.
What are you doing for T-day?
Nothing
Just dinner at home, huh?
No dinner
??
Didn’t want to say this because it sounds pathetic but my folks are in France
They left you here?!?
Yes
No way!
Yes way
So that’s why they’re not home.
Yup
How long will they be gone?
3 weeks
I invite her over for Thanksgiving dinner and to spend the night without even asking Mom and Dad. Of all people, Judy deserves to have a family during the holidays. She agrees but cautions that she has to come home to feed the cats at some point.
Nice parents. Disposable daughter is a built-in cat sitter.
The monster box remains empty.
It’s Thanksgiving. Thursday.
Mom sleeps in late. Dad and I brave the local supermarket for Cornish hens, potatoes and veggies. Two hours later on the way home, I ask Dad how Mom’s doing.
He hesitates. “She doesn’t feel good.”
“She’s depressed, isn’t she?”
“A little.”
The last time Mom was depressed, she transformed from Scary Lawyer Mom to Sleeping on the Couch Mom. It was just before she decided to change careers. She eventually had to go on medication. I don’t think she stayed on it.
“The judge is going to try all the boys separately,” Dad continues, “starting with your brother.”
“And I care because why?”
He glowers. “For once, b
aby, the law is working as it should. I hate to say it, but normally they would just target your brother. His white friends had deadly weapons, every one of them. And did they get charged with felonies? Hell yes.”
For sure, we’ve suffered plenty of race-related problems being a mixed family. Everything from hateful taunts to housing discrimination. The fact that Charles isn’t being singled out isn’t a silver lining, but it is promising that justice is working as it should.
I recall that hellacious scene. Of Charles shooting Aidan. I close my eyes, fighting tears. You can’t tell. You can never tell.
When we arrive home, I help carry in grocery bags. Something catches my eye at the side of the house.
A rose.
I deposit the groceries inside and run back out. There’s a new red rose to the right of the house on the pathway around the back to the tool shed. And another. And another…
Boldly blossoming where no flowers have ever stood before, eleven new, full-grown red roses wave in the wind for a total of twelve. These blossoms look as if they could withstand a hurricane. I crouch down and inhale their scent. Intoxicating.
There’s no way these could have grown overnight. They weren’t here last night when I last checked on the monster box.
And then I remember the dream.
It wasn’t blood that filled Aidan’s palms. It was rose petals.
A squirrel flits away from the shed with a candy cane in its mouth.
Crap!
Squirrels have stolen the candy canes I tied to the trees. I disarm the trap and check inside the shed. The candy canes have been munched and crumbled to pieces. Only a couple of canes remain.
When Judy pulls up, I jump straight into her car. “We’ve got to go back to the store!”
“Happy Thanksgiving to you, too,” she says, amused. “Your Mom forget something?”
“Yeah. Candy canes.”
Dinner is surprisingly fun. Judy entertains Mom and Dad with stories about the Himalayas and skiing in the Alps with her parents. Her freshly died magenta hair brightens the dining table. She seems comfortable, happy, bouncy. Judy must be very lonely, her parents dumping her whenever they have something more fun to do than being a family. I’ve seen her astonishing artwork online. Alien dragons. Superheroes. Dinosaurs that are half-human. She obviously gets a lot of mileage out of being alone, but it’s clear she misses her parents.
After we devour apple pie and help clean up, Judy and I return to the monster box with our new candy canes and two bottles of fresh peppermint oil we bought at the drugstore.
“The roses!” she exclaims, agape.
“I know this sounds nutso, but I think they’re from Aidan. I dreamed that he brought me rose petals last night. And here they are, like him. Defying the laws of nature.”
We fasten a light mesh over the container with the candy canes and replace it in the trap. We then douse rags with peppermint oil and tie them to the branches.
Judy holds the ladder as I work. “Leo says he knows where Aidan is staying, but he won’t tell me.”
“He knows I’d try to get it out of you.”
“And you’d probably succeed.” Her voice changes. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
“I guess. I might even answer.”
“Are you a virgin?”
“Duh.” I laugh.
“Oh, come on. It’s not always obvious. Can I ask you another question?”
“Sure,” I reply.
“Were you ever worried you might go farther than you intended to with Aidan when you were alone with him?”
“No. Well, yeah. Kinda.”
She looks uncomfortable. “So you were tempted?”
“Heck yeah, but I’m not ready and Aidan wasn’t very aggressive. He likes to touch, he’s affectionate, and I could tell when he was really turned on, but I think he still thinks he’s in a Jane Austen novel. It’s probably for the best.”
Judy rubs a dirty spot on the ladder with her finger.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
I climb down and sniff. Not enough peppermint. “There was that one day, though. The temptation was overwhelming. I don’t know how far we would have gone if Charles hadn’t caught us. But Aidan was definitely letting me decide how fast we moved.” An almost crippling pang hits me at that last statement.
Judy looks relieved. “Thanks. I don’t feel so slutty anymore.”
I laugh. “Slutty? There’s no such thing! Well, not according to my mom, anyway. I think she might have invented the term ‘slut shaming.’ She says whatever you like, want or do is fine. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” I grab the bottle of peppermint oil and open it. “I want to die of embarrassment every time she mentions me getting the HPV shot.”
“It’s supposed to help,” Judy offers, fidgeting with her hoop earring.
“At least she doesn’t talk about this stuff in front of my dad. I would die and he would totally have a heart attack.” I douse the inside of the monster box with the peppermint oil. “That should do it.”
“I love this smell.” Judy inhales deeply.
We go back inside for more pie and board games. Mom goes to bed early but Dad stays up to slay us at Settlers of Catan. He makes us a fire before we snuggle up in our sleeping bags amidst a sea of pillows and blankets.
“Do you need earplugs?” I ask.
Judy giggles. “You’re not hiding Leo under one of these blankets, are you?”
I laugh.
“He’s pretty loud, isn’t he?” She sighs and snuggles further into her pillows.
“Something to keep in mind if you ever live together.”
A big smile.
“At the rate he’s going, that’ll be when he’s eighty. Right?”
Judy looks thoughtful. “Something must have happened that night when we were on patrol. When he called me the next day to make sure I was okay, I thought I would die of shock. And happiness. I just thought he was so adorable that day at the meeting, with his trumpet case and bushy eyebrows. And I’m a sucker for big noses.” We giggle harder. Her face glows.
“So, he’s changing?”
“Yeah. For the better! Definitely.”
The fire crackles. We’re silent for several minutes. “What do you want for Christmas?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer immediately. “Well, two weeks ago, I wanted the latest version of Maya so I can do better animation, but now…” She picks at threads of her blanket. “I want to catch that monster and make it go away.”
I think about my butterflies. My chest grows heavy.
Eventually our eye lids grow heavy and we slip into sleep.
A shadow moves against the wall, vague and wavering. I’m at a school again. I scan the crowd to see who is making the shadow. It’s Aidan. He walks toward me through the crowd. They push against him, jostling and shoving. He only has eyes for me as he closes in. I push forward into the crowd, struggling. Wanting him more than my next breath. Something cracks in the distance. A howl cuts through the air.
Aidan’s eyes glow blue.
I awaken, sit bolt upright.
The trap’s been set off.
I fumble with my cell to text one word to Michael.
SCORE
Chapter 23
Judy scrambles for her shoes and coat, using her cell phone as a flashlight. I do the same.
Aaarrroooooooo!
A hollow battering follows.
“Shit!” Judy gasps.
Grabbing her hand, I lead her out of the house. If Mom and Dad aren’t awake by now, they’ll never wake up.
I tiptoe toward the shed, Judy close behind. The shed rattles from a blow inside to one of the walls. Judy stifles a scream. I pull her close.
“Remember, it’s not getting out,” I whisper.
The darkness is stifling as we approach. I hold the cell at minimal brightness to light our pathway. Past the roses.
Crack.
The acrylic shatters.
&nb
sp; We stop. I aim the cell phone light at the long gray arm groping out of the tiny window opening. Claws swipe the air.
I hit the number in my address book. “Detective Bristow, this is Charity Jones. Come quickly to our house! We’ve got the thing that killed Darren! It’s trapped in our tool shed.” I give him our address and hang up. I then text the same number.
And I call 911.
A rumbling from the shed.
“Charity!”
I turn back to the spectacle. The creature hisses from the window. “Wicked! Wicked children!” it cries. “What have you done to us?”
In shock to hear it speak, I step forward, grasping at courage as it continues.
“Wicked! Torturers!”
I take another step, keeping the light to the side. I don’t want to shine it directly at the creature and drive it into the shed. Not yet.
“Murderers!” it cries.
The creature’s face appears in the opening as I draw closer. Eyes glowing. Round. Reflective like a cat’s with a black slit for a pupil. Goatish snout and ears. Filthy jagged teeth jut from its gums.
Adrenaline hums between my ears as I speak. “You’re the murderer. Remember me?”
The creature grows still. “I should have killed you after the boy. Cracked open your head. Licked the delicious blood from your skull.” It makes a sucking noise.
Every hair on my body stands up. The cold night air pinches my face, but the true chill drives deep inside. I have no weapon. Only my engineering.
And then its clawed hands erupt from the window.
I reel back as it swipes at me.
“You know Aidan, don’t you?” I ask.
The eyes shine. “The claws? You know the claws? I thought I smelled his stinking flesh here.” It sniffs the air and rests its misshapen nose on the window’s edge. “We smell him on you.” The creature scans the yard beyond me. “Where is he? Give him to us!” Its arm shoots out again. Grasping.
Stall. Give the police time to get here. “Who is Aidan?”
“He is the claws. The keeper of sin.”
Snowed (The Bloodline of Yule Trilogy Book 1) Page 13