Snowed (The Bloodline of Yule Trilogy Book 1)

by Maria Alexander

  “Yeah,” Michael says. “And I expect these cats will spread the love to those nearest and dearest.” He smooches the air at me.

  “Aidan, you’re not leaving, are you?” Judy asks.

  “I can’t. If I leave and my father shows up at Charity’s house on Christmas, he’ll kill everyone there.”

  The table falls silent.

  “I’m sorry,” Aidan continues. “But I wouldn’t put it past him to hunt down Charity that night and hurt her. That’s just who he is. And he can do it easily.”

  “But we can’t just sit and wait for your dad to show up.” I gulp down some water. My stomach has finally settled and I’m super thirsty.

  “I’d rather be taken by him than endanger your life,” Aidan says. “I know you don’t like that answer, but it’s the truth.”

  He’s right. I don’t. I push the glass to the edge of the table for a refill. Aidan is really frustrating me.

  Everyone looks as shell-shocked as I feel.

  My phone rings. I check the number. “Crap. I never called him back.” I answer the phone. “Hi, Detective. I’m sorry I couldn’t get back to you. It’s been kind of crazy.” Understatement of the century.

  “No worries,” he says. “We—meaning, the Sheriff’s Office, the Superintendent and a few others—we were just wondering if you and your friends and your families would like to come to the Sheriff’s Office to receive the award on Friday evening. It’ll just be a small ceremony. Really informal. We didn’t want to cut into your school nights, so.”

  “Let me ask my mom tonight. My dad’s in D.C. It would just be me, my mom and Aidan.”

  “Let me know by tomorrow?”

  We hang up. No one seems excited about this latest development except Leo. “Hey, at least it’s not all bad news today.”

  “I’m not saying we’re not doomed,” Michael says, setting his spoon in the empty dessert dish. “But this feels pretty doomed. Or at least doomed-ish.”

  Leo checks his phone calendar. “Nine more days of school including three days of semester finals,” he notes. “Two weeks total until Christmas Eve.”

  We have some time. But is it enough?

  Chapter 37

  The war starts Friday as we leave Honors Chemistry.

  Michael’s phone blows up with the hate as soon as he takes it out of his pocket. Die fat faggot. Fudge packer. Shit stabber. Sweat trickles down his temple. “I can’t block these asshats fast enough.”

  “The cray-cray has started, huh? You need a whitelist app, stat.” I suggest the one I used. “You only care about us and a few other people, right?” I catch myself before I say “and your boyfriend.” I can’t believe how hard this is to keep secret. It’s like containing an airborne virus. Who was it that said two people could keep a secret if one of them is dead? I can only imagine the toll such secrecy has taken on him. How painful it must have been to take me to the dance and not the guy he loves.

  Bam.

  Michael lurches forward and spins to the side of the hallway.

  Two senior guys ram into him as they pass by. “Sorry. Heard you like it from behind,” one says. I forget his name. They laugh. I recognize them. Customers of my brother and his friends, no doubt.

  Cheeks red, Michael buries his gaze in the ground. “I gotta hit the loo. Catch you after school at the car.”

  He disappears down the hallway en route to the guys’ restroom. I wander, unsteady. I’ve been feeling sick, worried I might lose Aidan to his father. I remember my Aunt Bellina pinching my cheeks the summer before I started high school and chirping, “These will be the best years of your life!”

  Aunt Bellina, if these are the best years, I should make out with Smith & Wesson at graduation.

  The day continues without event. Until the end, that is.

  As I approach the parking lot, scornful laughter blisters my ears. People yell, “Come here! You’ve got to see this!” My legs wobble.

  People gawk at Michael’s car, joking and talking. Pointing. Spitting. A single word is sprayed in white on the decrepit Honda’s windshield.

  FAG.

  Oh, Michael! I turn back to catch him before he sees, but he’s already at my shoulder. Shaking. I’ve never seen Michael addled. Not even when the creature was slamming around in the shed, sirens wailing and guns blazing. His eyes mist.

  “Be cool, Em. Don’t let the bastards get you down.”

  We wait until more cars leave and the crowd disperses before we wander into the lot. The tires are slashed. Michael kicks the floppy tread. “I wonder if AAA gives discounts for hate crimes.” His voice wavers. He’s probably imagining that this could have been him damaged rather than his car. I know I would.

  “We can give you a ride.”

  Keiko. She gestures to her Mom’s car that idles at the curb.

  Michael doesn’t answer. His eyes check mine.

  “What do you think?” I say to Michael.

  “I appreciate it, Keiko. But I gotta stay and call the cops. And my folks.”

  She smiles sadly. “Okay. Let me know if you need anything.”

  Maybe there’s a chance for us to be friends again. We’ll see.

  Unlike the hit party my brother threw for Aidan, these tormentors don’t hang around. The police arrive shortly, but AAA is delayed and Michael’s parents don’t show until almost 5:00 p.m. By the time I get home, I’ve barely got enough time to do my hair and slip into a dress.

  Mom moves like she’s sleepwalking. She puts our dinner dishes in the sink and lets the water run for what sounds like hours.

  As I’m dressing, I hear Aidan’s door open. He knocks on mine. “Charity, I want to know if I look acceptable.”

  He has no game, and it’s completely adorable. “Just a sec.” I zip up and open the door.

  There he stands in a black sweater and gray slacks, dress shoes polished to a gleam. The sweater’s half-zip collar is open, the tender flesh of his Adam’s apple exposed. Curls spill over his forehead.

  “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

  He tilts his head, confused. “What do you mean?”

  I kiss him. He sinks into me, pulls away to glance down the stairs for Mom, and kisses me again.

  We gather Mom, who sleepwalks through a change of clothes, and head to the Sheriff’s Office in Placerville. Judy texts me.

  It’s crazy!

  What do you mean?

  Everybody is here, news people and the mayor

  THE MAYOR?!? Don’t think we have one.

  I don’t know, Leo says it’s the mayor

  I text Detective Bristow.

  Hey, I thought this was a small event?

  Sorry. :( City council got carried away.

  The film crews we’ve been dodging swarm our car like zombies. Jabbering, stomping, pressing faces to the windows. Part of me wants to boast, to show off for once, but the desire dies in my throat. I can’t put Aidan through that. It’s bad enough he’s now on camera.

  Then again, it’s not like his dad doesn’t know where he is.

  Sheriff’s deputies help us out of the car and lead us to the Oak County government building, a wide, white building with arched windows that reminds me of a Spanish mission. I want to take Aidan’s hand but I can’t. He sticks close to Mom and me as we’re ushered up the steps and through the glass doors. We move through the metal detectors before proceeding down the scuffed hallways. Brass lettering on the redwood doors that swing open indicates we’re entering the Oak County Sheriff’s Office.

  A chattering crowd greets us.

  “This way, please,” says the young deputy with freckles, leading us into a big room with a podium at the front, flanked by flags for the U.S. and California. A giant green and yellow emblem of the Sheriff’s Department is mounted on the wall behind the podium. Rows of packed seats. Standing room only. It looks like cop church. Journalists pepper the congregation with black microphones and heavy cameras. I think I even see Darren’s parents in the audience.

>   Detective Bristow sits in the front row next to Michael, Leo and Judy, with an empty seat between them. Parents, families, and officials fill the next rows. I recognize Michael’s mom and dad. A slouchy man with Leo’s profile sits wide-eyed with his highly attentive, bleached blonde wife. A very handsome, lean, well-dressed couple with sharp dark haircuts sits behind Judy. They’ve saved two seats by draping coats over them.

  When we approach, they and Leo’s parents eagerly shake hands with us in introduction. I miss the names because the crowd din rises, people craning their necks to get a better look at us. Judy’s dad holds up a sophisticated video camera. He tells my mom, “I’m getting it all. I’ll put up a copy for your husband.” Judy’s mother then takes away the coats and says to my mom, “These are for you and Adrian.”

  Ugh. At least they’re trying. And maybe now they believe Judy.

  Detective Bristow moves over one seat and motions for me to sit between him and Michael, who still looks ill. Judy and Leo are both dressed in dark suits. Judy would never wear something like that. Her mother must’ve forced her. The couple is somber as if they’d been arrested rather than getting an award. The detective’s aftershave warms my nose, his moustache crisp. He looks slightly less haunted than he did that night. “I’m so sorry,” he says in my ear.

  “No worries,” I reply and lean against Michael.

  Michael buries his shoulder in mine, whispering. “Get ready for the big sleep. Zzzzzzzzz.”

  I swat him.

  A parade of officials mounts the podium. One after another, city council members and other officials bore us to tears about Darren’s death and the impact it had on the lives of citizens and law enforcement alike. The terror. The grief. The mystery.

  And then the breakthrough.

  At last Detective Bristow stands to speak. He describes the investigation and directs his gaze at me. “Little did we know we had a team of high school geniuses creating a unique animal trap in their back yard. I had interviewed Charity Jones along with many other students when Jacobs was killed. She’d impressed me then as a conscientious, intelligent young lady with a bright future ahead of her. I had no idea what she was capable of, although I later learned that her father is a lead engineer for a high-level national security firm.”

  He pauses. His face darkens for a second. Why is he looking at me that way?

  “Like a great leader, she enlisted the help of her friends to realize her vision. In an age when we doubt the moral integrity and industry of the young, we have shining examples of extraordinary intelligence, application, and cunning in the service of humanity.”

  Cunning? I feel like I’m being accused rather than congratulated.

  An official who might be the Chief Sheriff himself moves to the front of the room and stands beside the detective. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is with great pleasure I’d like to introduce to you Charity Jones, Michael Allured, Judy LaHart, and Leo Donatti.” He motions to us. “Please stand.”

  We rise and turn to the room. The applause swells. A standing ovation. The rapid clicks and blinding flashes of cameras.

  Another official approaches the podium. Detective Bristow introduces him as George Richards, the Representative of District Four, and then steps back. Rep. Richards presents a certificate to each one of us “for outstanding service to our community.”

  Detective Bristow’s eyes scald my face as he claps. Is he angry?

  Rep. Richards shakes our hands and thanks us for what we did. He then says, “So, Ms. Jones, what sort of thing does a young lady like yourself ask Santa to bring you for Christmas?”

  Is this guy for real? To hell with anonymity. The Klaas knows where Aidan is. And who I am. “That’s between Santa and me, sir,” I say confidently, looking directly to the lens.

  Aidan’s eyes are damp with what looks like pride. And hope.

  Outside, deputies escort us back to our car, but Detective Bristow and another detective catch up to us. “Mrs. Jones, may I have a moment with Charity?”

  “Sure,” Mom says.

  Aidan looks wary.

  Detective Bristow and the other man—whom I now recognize from the Thanksgiving raid—lead me back down the sidewalk toward the building. “This is Sergeant Mathers, Charity. We just have a couple of questions.”

  I say nothing.

  “Charity, why did you use candy canes to attract the creature when you knew it was a carnivore?”

  I shrug. “Everything likes sugar.”

  “But why candy canes? Why not chocolate? Or cookies?” Sergeant Mathers asks.

  “They’re cheap?” I say. “I don’t know. Judy bought whatever she could afford in bulk.”

  “You also used mint oil,” Bristow says brusquely. “The smell saturated the area. I thought at the time that it was unrelated, but not anymore. Not given how smart you are and the fact that your father works for a secretive government defense agency. I think you’re holding back important information about the creature. You might even know what it is.”

  “I’m an aspiring engineer,” I reply. “Do you honestly think I’d hold back anything from science?”

  “If you had reasons? Yeah.”

  They aren’t going to let up. “Okay, here’s what I suspect. I think it’s from the North Pole. It might be part human.”

  “The North Pole?” Mathers laughs. “This kid is bullshitting us.”

  “That’s what it told me before you killed it.”

  Detective Bristow’s face drains of color—what little it had, anyway.

  I change my tone. “I’m grateful to you for saving my life. I wouldn’t want to see this turn into an officer-involved shooting instead of a monster hunt.”

  They say nothing.

  “Are we done?”

  Detective Bristow nods.

  I return to the car. Faking holiday cheer, I wave before I slide into the front passenger seat. “Thanks, Detective! Merry Christmas!”

  Chapter 38

  By the time we get home, I no longer feel like I’m #winning. After Mom goes to bed, Aidan and I kick off our shoes and curl up together on the couch, staring at the cheerfully decorated fireplace.

  “You’re sure he would kill us. My mom. My dad. Even me.”

  “Without a doubt,” Aidan says. “I can’t bear the thought of being without you. And I can’t return to all that pain and suffering.” He falls quiet and kisses my head.

  “Do we need guns? Please tell me we don’t need guns,” I say.

  “They would only work on my siblings, anyway. Besides, do you even know how to shoot?”

  He’s right. None of us knows anything about guns. My gaze falls miserably on the fireplace mantle. “You need a sock.”

  “You mean a stocking?” he asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t be grotesque.” He kisses my head again.

  A distraction presents itself. “Oh! Judy gave me something the other day I’ve been meaning to show you. It’s the one thing missing from this room.” I taste his lips—luscious, sweet, incredible—and leap off the couch. “B-R-B!”

  I run up to my room. After a moment of digging in my sock drawer, I find the carefully wrapped sprigs of French mistletoe. The bright green leaves droop. Their shape reminds me of kelp. White berries bud like pearls from the stalks. Before I reach the bottom of the stairwell, I pause, mistletoe behind my back. “Close your eyes.”

  “Very well.” He squeezes his eyes shut.

  Bubbling with excitement, I tiptoe towards him. His smile fades. Leaning over the couch back, I hold the mistletoe over his head. “Open your eyes.”

  Aidan wails. He flies off the couch, scrambling away from me. “Are you trying to kill me?” he gasps, flat against the wall by the fireplace. “Put it down!”

  “But it’s just—”

  “Mistletoe!” His face is twisted in terror, sweat bathing his brow. “European mistletoe. Very deadly.”

  “Yeah. If you eat it.” I hold it up over my head. “I thought you knew ever
y Christmas tradition, Aidan the Klaas.”

  “Mistilteinn. It doesn’t ring a bell? Haven’t you ever read The Poetic Edda?” he asks, knuckles white.

  He’s not joking. I lower the mistletoe. “I don’t even know what that is.”

  “It’s a collection of Norse poems about their myths. Except they aren’t entirely myths.”

  Rewrapping the mistletoe in the tissue, I set it on the far end of the mantle. “I can’t throw it away. Judy’s parents smuggled it from France.” He relaxes a bit, wiping tears from his eyes. I start to throw my arms around him, but he backs away.

  “Please wash your hands. I mean it.”

  Riddled with guilt, I march to the downstairs bathroom and wash before returning. He looks infinitely relieved as we hug. “I love you so much. I’m sorry I upset you. I didn’t know. I thought you were kidding.”

  He leads me to the couch and wraps himself around me as if protecting me from the thing on the mantle. “You must understand. The god Odin and goddess Frigg—well, what humanity might call gods and goddesses, anyway—had a son whom Frigg loved more than anything. His name was Balder. Now, Frigg had the power of prophecy. My father is descended from her, or so he says. But Balder she wished to keep from harm. So, according to the legend, she made everything in the world swear to never harm him. The mistletoe was too young to take an oath and thought to be harmless, so it never promised. Balder seemed invincible. The other gods enjoyed trying to kill him for sport, but he merely laughed as every weapon failed. Loki noticed this. You know who Loki is, right?”

  “I’ve seen the movie.”

  He arches an eyebrow. “Okay. Well, for reasons that are unclear, the mischievous Loki decided he wanted Balder dead. He therefore crafted an arrow made out of mistletoe and gave it to Balder’s angry blind brother, Hod, who shot it at Balder, slaying him.”

  Slaying him. “So, if mistletoe can kill you, can it kill your siblings?”

  Aidan nods. “My father perhaps, too. He hated it.” He swallows.

  “Are you sure? Have you ever been hurt by it? Has anyone in your family been?”