“I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t! Ignorant, wicked, wretched…”
“Then explain. Tell me.”
Its drool glistens as it drips down the side of the shed. Breathing labored. Eyes narrow. “First let us out.”
“First tell me more about Aidan. Why do you want him?”
“He must come home! The father demands it!”
“Where is home?”
The eye blinks. “He has not told you? You do not know?”
“Maybe I do. He’s from a very cold place.”
I notice Judy is taking a video of the exchange.
“He’s from up north,” I continue slowly, buying seconds at a time. “Waaaaaay up north. Somewhere Russian icebreakers sail. With his library. And his siblings.” The creature quiets, listening. “It’s where you live, isn’t it? You live in the north. With Aidan’s cruel father.”
The creature snaps away from the window. It hops around the shed on its one good leg, throwing itself against the doors.
SLAM.
SLAM.
SLAM.
I back away.
“Bad son!” the creature yells. “A very bad son. We must…please…the father!”
“CJ!” Judy grabs the ax and large hedge shears out from under the tarp beneath the deck. I shove the cell in my pajama pocket and she throws me the ax. I hold it in an aggressive stance. The shed rumbles fiercely.
But after a few moments of frantic bashing the creature quiets down. I guessed its weight pretty closely. Not enough mass to break the shed but enough to trigger the step latch.
I hear my dad calling but I don’t see him. “CJ? CJ!”
Michael’s car zooms into the driveway. “CJ! Judy!” He leaps out and rushes to the tool shed, a large hunting knife in hand. “Where is it?”
“In the shed. He’s tired,” I whisper. I tell him about “the claws.”
“Called Bristow?”
I nod. I pull out my phone and discover the detective has already texted me back.
ON MY WAY
That was six minutes ago. I show the text to Michael. He approaches the shed. “Hey, in there. You like dogs? I got some dog meat for ya.”
The creature says nothing. Crunching noises echo inside.
He must be eating the candy canes. Which means he’ll start to heal.
Maybe soon.
Sirens bleed into the night. They’re coming. We only need a few more moments.
SLAM.
SLAM.
SLAM.
The bolt cracks on the shed where it’s attached to the door. I hold out the ax. Michael flanks, knife drawn.
SLAM!
“Charity?”
Dad’s voice is drowned out by the wail of the police sirens. Flashing lights. Detective Bristow’s Mustang and the sheriff’s car screech into the driveway. They jump out, running toward us.
“Police!”
SLAM!
I stumble as I retreat, dropping the ax.
The creature explodes out of the shed. Rushing me. Teeth bared. Claws extended.
Those eyes.
Deafening explosions. Gunpowder scars the air.
An inhuman shriek. The creature falls. It tries to rise, reaching for me.
More shots. And then stillness.
Detective Bristow’s gun is silent.
His eyes find mine. Haunted.
Chapter 24
He is the claws.
The keeper of sin.
A very bad son.
We must…please…the father.
Chapter 25
They shot and killed the creature as it attacked me. I’m both grateful and grieved. But it reminds me too much of the bullet that tore into Noah. The bullet meant for Aidan.
The back yard isn’t even a crime scene.
Local news sites such as The Mountain Republic file breathless reports covering the story. My ingenious trap. The dead creature. Doctors trying to classify the body. The claws perfectly match the cut marks on Darren’s body, the teeth marks on the dead animals. They determine it’s some kind of mutated primate and forward findings to a prominent university.
Detective Bristow brags in every article. But hey, he and the other cops did save my life. He has my gratitude and respect.
My parents are both pissed and proud. I show Dad the mods to the shed. The damp ground shimmers with recent rain. Birds squawk overhead. We told investigators that we used candy for bait.
“You must’ve known this design was unbelievably dangerous.” Dad leans against the shed, taking the strain off his back. “Anyone could have stepped in this thing and gotten hurt. Maybe killed. You see the flaws, right?”
I shrug. “Yeah. But now that thing won’t kill anything ever again.” The real story thuds in my ears.
The keeper of sin.
Dad makes me promise to tell him next time I feel compelled to play Daniel Boone. I’ll have to Google what that means.
I promise, mentally crossing my fingers behind my back.
Michael, Leo, Judy, and I cram into a booth at Denny’s.
“My fellow monster hunters,” Michael says, raising his iced tea in the air. “Here’s to us and to monster baggage!”
“Hear, hear!” We clink glasses and teacups.
“I’ve never been so simultaneously busted and praised in my life,” I say, and sip my lemonade.
“I feel that,” Michael agrees. “I predict that in a week the news will go viral. You think things suck now? Just wait.”
A worried expression darkens Judy’s face. Leo wraps his arm around her. “Any new thoughts about the creature’s relationship to Aidan?” she asks.
I shake my head. “I’ve been obsessing over everything the creature said. It came here to bring Aidan home. That’s all I can make sense of. And it kept talking about ‘the father,’ whoever that is. It sounded more like a title than a family relationship. Maybe a priest? Or minister?” Outside the window, a family of six slams the door of a van in the parking lot and heads to the restaurant entrance. Chubby kids, stout parents. Ski jackets. Faded t-shirts with football team logos and The Simpsons. So very normal.
“And the cops still don’t know it talked?” Leo asks.
“I’ve told no one except you guys.”
“Why not?” Michael asks.
“What would I tell them it said? All that crap about Aidan? No way. Now, what I don’t understand is why it didn’t kill me.”
Michael clears his throat. “Not to split hairs or anything,” he says, leaning toward me, “but it hella tried!”
“It could have but it didn’t! Just as it was about to lunge at me, it hesitated. It could’ve taken me out in one swipe, but something happened. Something caught its eye…”
“The rose,” Judy says, her eyes bugging. “Oh, my god! When it leaped, it saw the flower and hesitated. I swear! I saw it get distracted by the rose.”
“What’s distracting about that?” Leo asks.
“Aidan made it,” Michael says. He directs the questions at me. “Do you think it knew that? Maybe it was afraid of Aidan?”
“It kept calling Aidan ‘the claws,’” I remind them. “I think it’s a term of deference. Like it was acknowledging Aidan’s ferocity or strength.” No one says anything. I lose it. “I can’t even believe I’m saying this. Aidan is the gentlest person I have ever known! He’s such an awkward, sweet, adorable dork.”
“Who creamed a half-dozen dudes without touching them.” Michael puts his hand on my arm. “Are you still afraid of him?”
“I don’t know,” I say. Restaurant noises drown out my thoughts.
“But you’re still in love with him.”
The answer catches in my throat. Heat floods my face. My body. Tears come. Michael hugs me.
Tomorrow is school. I have almost no homework finished. And Aidan will be there.
Chapter 26
As soon as I shut my dad’s car door, the school banter starts.
“Hey
, monster hunter!” kids call out, waving. “Kick ass!”
I glance at the bike rack. Aidan’s bike is there, this time complete with its front tire. My heart lurches.
People gawk. The haughty cheerleaders who rule the hallways, including Beth, clear a path for me as I approach the lockers. I’m too worried about my shoddy homework to enjoy my new status. I’ve got to win scholarships and my AP Calculus homework is shipwrecked on Aidan Island.
Knowing I will see Aidan, I keep my eyes down. Try not to look around despite the high-fives and fist bumps.
Leo basks in the attention, accepting congratulations and other encouragement with his usual grace. He knows how to take a bow. Judy, however, squirms whenever anyone tries to talk to her, pulling her navy toque down tighter. Leo draws her close to him, a protective gesture. It’s sweet, but I wish she would own her success.
Then again, I wish I could own my success.
Meanwhile, Michael swaggers into calculus like an Olympian. It’s faintly hilarious how he fends off the girls’ attention, making a point of speaking only to me. His gestures to the guys are magnanimous, accepting their kudos and invitations to parties, dirt bike racing, and other things Michael doesn’t do. Everyone asks us what it was like. I let Michael answer for us. “Better than a roller coaster,” is all he says.
He pats me on the back as he leaves. I remain in my seat, waiting to be lectured by Mrs. Stewart for turning in a half-finished homework package. She asks him to close the door after him, leaving us alone.
She sits in a desk next to mine, cheek propped on fist, studying me. “I’m worried about you.” She holds up my flimsy assignment.
I say nothing.
“Under normal circumstances, you should be getting nothing less than an A+ in this class, Charity. I mean it. An A+. And here you are with just about a C+. You can’t afford this. Universities are extremely competitive. Caltech and MIT are taking people with no less than a 4.2 GPA.”
“I’m sorry,” I squeak, apologizing to myself, not her. I want to fall through the floor.
“It’s not your fault. I know you’re going through a lot with your brother and what happened over Thanksgiving. In fact, I’m surprised you’re here at all. You’ve got a lot of strength, Charity. You’re brilliant. And I believe in you.”
I say nothing.
“So, how about this: You pitch to me a project to make up your grade. If I like the pitch, you do the project and I’ll give you extra credit points depending on the work involved. Does that sound fair?”
Wicked! Torturers!
“I have an idea,” I say, cheering up.
“Go on.”
“How about I show you the calculations I used when I built the monster box?”
I don’t know what a real orgasm sounds like, but based on the noises she’s making, I think Mrs. Stewart is having one.
100 points extra credit.
My triumph in calculus helps me hold it together through Honors Chemistry, French, PE, and lunch until I get to American History. Sliding into a back row seat near the door, I shield my brow from the stares. But when Aidan strides in, the bottom falls out of my universe.
He looks stunning. His hair’s been cut in a trendy style, shorter in the back and longish on top. A bit of product tames the mop of curls just enough to take the edge off. His clothes are ironed and neatly layered. He wears Dad’s black sweater over a blue button-down shirt with a clean pair of dark jeans. Someone’s been dressing him. Or maybe he’s learning. He sits in his usual seat. Girls raise a sickening chorus of “Hey, Aidan.” He acknowledges them politely.
I’m suddenly surrounded by yammering Muggles who want to know more about the monster.
Mr. Reilly pushes up his sleeves, glaring at the students crowded around my desk. “We all appreciate what Ms. Jones and her friends did for our community, if not science itself, but it’s time to settle down and talk about Friday’s midterm. So turn to page 237, please?”
At that, Aidan’s back stiffens. His head turns, scanning the classroom until he finds me in the back. Those eyes lock with mine. Troubled. Beseeching. Loving. Sweet. Forever.
Mr. Reilly asks Aidan a question, breaking the spell. Someone mentions the War of the Roses and Game of Thrones. The class is briefly hijacked by George RR Martin.
Terror and desire surge through me. Raw emotion chokes my thoughts.
Keeper of sin.
As soon as class is over, I dash outside into the rain.
No one besides Mrs. Stewart brings up Charles today. Maybe because I’m not as behind in my other classes. I suppose if we hadn’t caught the creature, Charles would be my only albatross.
Michael texts me.
Need a ride home?
Can you?
Sure
See you at the car.
Which isn’t as easy as I thought. Once again, news vans choke the parking lot. Reporters are looking for us. The monster trappers. I pull up my hoodie the way I did Aidan’s the day I hid him from the news cameras. We circle to the far end of the lot and move toward where the Honda is parked, slipping out with relative ease.
“I thought that was illegal,” I say.
“What was illegal?”
“Interviewing kids without their parents.”
“It’s not illegal to ask kids to point us out,” he says.
“This probably means we can’t go home, either.”
“They might be slow, but they’re bulldogs,” he replies, navigating the traffic. “I can’t believe it’s taken this long.”
“They just released our names yesterday.”
“One of them was a San Francisco news van.”
“Dang.”
It’s quiet for a few moments. We’re closing in on my street. “So, you going to that dance on Saturday?” Michael asks.
“I was supposed to go with Aidan.” I no longer feel like talking. I just want to go home and curl up with headphones on. Maybe some Get Busy Committee. The Suicide Song.
“I think you should go. Have fun. Celebrate your newfound popularity. You deserve it, CJ. How often does someone get to go from villainous to victorious in less than three weeks? You’re a phenomenon, doll face.”
Still don’t feel like talking.
“Why don’t you go with me?”
I stare at him like he’s from space. Who is this guy? My life has turned upside down.
“We won’t go in this clunker, I promise. My dad has offered us the Escalade. We could double with Leo and Judy, if ya want.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m asking you to the Winter Dance. Do you want to go?”
I hate dances. But this is the closest I’ll ever get to being homecoming queen.
Does Michael like me? I thought he had a girlfriend outside of school. Perhaps he doesn’t. No, on second thought, that’s just my ego talking. My hair is a disaster, my makeup smeared. He’s just being nice. He feels sorry for me.
Then again, the last time I thought someone was “just being nice,” it was Aidan.
I smile. “Let’s tear it up.”
Michael lets out this mighty warrior holler and flips on the MP3 player, singing along with Michel Bublé on “Feeling Good.” The horn section lets rip. I laugh.
“You don’t want to know what the rejection song was!” he shouts and then continues singing.
What have I done?
Chapter 27
I live with ghosts.
Mom rarely eats dinner. She goes to bed early. Dad comes home late. I fend for myself. Leftover Chinese food. Spaghetti. Almond butter sandwiches. She has just enough energy to scold the news people who come to our door. They want to hear about the monster. They even ask questions about Charles. She threatens them with legal speak. They leave.
Using some of my savings from tutoring money, I sneak out to shop for a dress with Judy. With much fuss I eventually find a sharp black dress that lengthens my waist and emphasizes my bust with straps that sweep up and hook behind my neck. I c
an pull it off with the strapless bra that’s buried in my underwear drawer.
Every day in History, he reaches into me with his eyes and I want to die. And I dream of him at night. In that crowd. Fighting to pass the bodies. Red on his hands.
Rose petals. Blood. It hardly matters which.
Thanks to the block schedule, I get a break on Wednesday, but it’s a double-dose on Thursday when History is two hours long.
The blood of that creature is on my hands. I am ashamed of leading it to its death. Judy says I couldn’t have known it would escape; much less that Detective Bristow would shoot it. And besides, it was a killer.
It was also a person.
Detective Bristow leaves a voicemail message on my phone to say the Sheriff’s Department wants to give us a commendation for our help solving Darren’s murder.
Friday puts up a fight by throwing quizzes at me in every class. I’m ready. I’ve not been able to sleep, so I’ve been studying for All The Things.
Sitting in Mrs. Hohlwein’s class, I write about scorpions and butterflies, pigs’ tails and Colombian history. Why does everything have to mean something? Why can’t a thing simply be beautiful? I shudder as I think about Meme’s bathroom full of scorpions. That has been my life the past few weeks. Secret trysts. Excitement. Scorpions and butterflies.
The bell rings. I look up. Aidan passes the window. We lock eyes for a moment. My heartbeat quickens.
I can’t take it anymore. I race out of classroom after him.
I stand in the crowd of students, just like in my dream. Pushing against me. Keeping me from moving forward. But unlike the dream, he’s gone.
How could I have forgotten the scorpions?
Saturday is consumed with hair treatments to tame the infernal frizz. Careful hours of hair relaxant produce sleek, glossy waves. Not as smooth as Keiko’s but kind of astonishing. Thanks to online tutorial videos, I manage not to burn my scalp. Michael and I have agreed that we’ll eat dinner at home, saving our outfits and pocketbooks the possible disasters of eating at a restaurant. The extra hours are devoured by meticulous makeup prep, watching tutorial videos for tips. Frustrated, I throw the box of lip pencils and eyeliners against the bathroom wall. How do I eyeliner? How do I lip line?
Snowed (The Bloodline of Yule Trilogy Book 1) Page 14