Silent Night, Haunted Night

by Terri Garey

  I parked mine close by, nervous suddenly. What if he was still mad? What if he wouldn’t talk to me?

  Taking a second, I checked my makeup in the mirror on the back of the visor, and fluffed my hair a little. Then, because I was desperate and because I knew it couldn’t hurt, I wiggled my way out of the gypsy skirt and tossed it into the backseat. My sweater came to midthigh and my boots to the knee, so I was covered. Then I took a deep breath and got out of the car, going straight to the stairs that led to his apartment.

  It seemed like forever before he answered the door, though it was probably wasn’t that long. He’d been sleeping, obviously. His dark hair, always unruly, was mussed, and he was wearing nothing but a pair of scrub pants and the maroon robe I’d bought him for his birthday. He wasn’t smiling.

  He wasn’t frowning, either. His face was a blank, leaving me uncertain.

  “I—I was hoping we could talk,” I said.

  “I’m tired, Nicki. I’m not up for a scene.”

  He looked tired. A couple of days’ worth of stubble and a couple of dark circles beneath his eyes.

  “Neither am I,” I answered, hurt.

  There was a pause, then he stood back, holding the door for me to enter.

  Hardly a great show of enthusiasm, but I took it. As soon as the door closed behind him, I turned. “Joe, listen…I’m sorry for my part in all this, I really am.”

  He brushed past me on his way to the living room, where he sat wearily on the couch.

  “I know I shouldn’t have gotten in that car with Sammy. It was stupid and I was wrong, but nothing happened! I love you, and I want to work this out.”

  He sighed, rubbing his eyes.

  Not exactly the reaction I’d hoped for.

  “I swear I’ll never do it again.” And I meant it. “Like I said, it was stupid…but I found out some things you need to know, Joe, about Selene.”

  “Here we go again,” he muttered, but I refused to be discouraged. “This has nothing to do with Selene.”

  I ignored him, because it had everything to do with Selene.

  “She’s not at all what she appears—she’s a demon, a female demon called a succubus.”

  He stopped rubbing his eyes and looked at me, giving me his full attention.

  Encouraged, I went on. “She comes to men in their sleep and—”

  “I know what a succubus is,” he interrupted, voice level.

  “She’s mad at Sammy for something that happened a long time ago, in their past, and she’s taking it out on me!” I wasn’t going to go into the Garden of Eden story just now; it was too much. “She’s using you to get to me—that’s why you keep dreaming about her.”

  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. I’d known that maroon robe would look great on him, and was glad he never used the belt. My fingers itched to smooth his hair—an errant strand stood up crazily over one ear.

  “Is that what the golden boy told you?” he asked, peering at me intently.

  Uh-oh.

  I nodded, knowing I deserved the sarcasm.

  Another sigh, and then Joe leaned back, resting both arms on the back of the couch. I had a great view of his chest and abs, but the view didn’t do me a bit of good right now.

  “So the guy you claim to be the Devil has told you that the woman you hate is some sort of soul-sucking man-eater. How convenient.”

  I blinked at his choice of words. “I don’t claim he’s the Devil. He is the Devil.”

  “I used to believe that,” Joe said flatly, “until I realized that you would never trust him the way you do if that were the case.”

  “I don’t trust him!” I protested, my voice rising. “He’s a lying bas—” Double uh-oh.

  “You don’t trust him?” He leaned forward again, skepticism apparent. “And yet you stand here telling me some cock-and-bull story he told you about Selene Mathews being a succubus, and expect me to lap it up like cream.” He wasn’t angry, which was the worst part. “I think you’ve been playing me, Nicki. I think Sammy is just a guy from your past who refuses to go away, and I think you like it that he refuses to go away. All this bullshit about him being the Devil is just that…bullshit.”

  Stunned, I actually felt my heart shrivel into a tiny ball, leaving nothing but emptiness in its place.

  “Where is this coming from?” I couldn’t believe what he was accusing me of. All the fury I should’ve felt, that I’d felt earlier in the parking lot with Sammy, seemed burned out of me, leaving me cold as ice.

  “I thought about it all night,” Joe said. “It finally became clear about three in the morning.”

  Three in the morning.

  “Even more clear when I saw how cozy you were with my new neighbor—that guy’s had a string of girls coming and going since he moved in. I thought you had better taste than that.”

  My jaw dropped. “Lee is my mechanic,” I protested, feeling unfairly put upon.

  “Right,” he said flatly. “Everybody hugs their mechanics.”

  “You think I’m lying to you?”

  “I think you’ve been lying to me all along. Did you meet Sammy during our trip to Savannah, or before that? Never mind”—he shook his head—“I don’t need to know. When he showed up causing trouble earlier this year, I backed off, gave him his space because you claimed he was the Great and Mighty Satan—”

  A definite chill went down my spine at his choice of words, since I’d heard the phrase twice already today.

  “—but now I think that was just your way of keeping us apart so you could play us both.” Shaking his head, he laughed a little as he stared down at the carpet. “I’m guessing you broke it off with him back then, but now he’s back for seconds. When I think about how I stood there in Divinyls, and watched you kiss him good-bye…”

  I honestly couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “You—you’re kidding, right?”

  He raised his head, no longer laughing, and said nothing. Joe, who was usually an open book, seemed completely shut off.

  “You think I made it all up, so I could—” I couldn’t even finish the sentence.

  “Date two guys at once?” He gave me a direct stare. “You going to tell me you’ve never done that before?”

  He knew I couldn’t deny it. I’d told him everything about my past by now, and he knew I’d done it once or twice, never for very long and never with any level of seriousness. “I never loved them,” I answered, stricken. “I love you.”

  Abruptly he stood, and walked past me toward the door.

  “I don’t believe you anymore. You need to go.”

  In a state of stunned disbelief, I saw him open it. It was a stranger I saw, standing there in Joe’s robe. Same heartbreakingly green eyes, same look of wholesome goodness that had sucked me in over my head.

  “Good-bye, Nicki,” the stranger said, and the drowning began.

  CHAPTER 20

  “Cheer up, buttercup,” Evan said to Butch, in the front seat of the Volvo, two days later. “All the money raised from the bazaar goes to Toys for Tots. It’s all for a good cause.”

  “Are you sure we really need to go shopping today?” Butch asked, glancing toward me in the backseat. “Nicki doesn’t look too excited.”

  I stared out the window, not bothering to confirm or deny his comment. It would be a long time before I ever got excited over anything, ever again.

  “Nicki needs to cheer up,” Evan said firmly, eyeing me in the rearview mirror. “And shopping is the perfect way to do it. Life goes on, and the store is running low on inventory. Time to clean up on designer duds from the good people of Buckhead who wouldn’t be caught dead wearing last year’s fashions. The Buckhead Bazaar is an annual tradition,” he said to Butch. “Whatever we don’t sell in the store, we sell on eBay.” He waited a heartbeat or two for me to chime in, but I didn’t. “Right, Nicki?”

  Faced with a direct question, I nodded, but I didn’t stop staring out the window. “Right.”

  He made a
noise of frustration. “C’mon, Nick. You really don’t sound like your heart’s in it.”

  What a stupid thing to say. Of course my heart wasn’t in it. My heart was lying on the floor of Joe’s apartment, where I’d left it two days ago.

  Two long, incredibly miserable days.

  Evan had dragged me out of the house today, spoiling what otherwise promised to be a perfectly gloomy Sunday afternoon. “We’re going to stop by on the way home and get you a Christmas tree,” he said decisively. “You need some Christmas spirit.”

  I almost smiled at the unintended irony, but couldn’t. The last thing I needed this Christmas was anything to do with spirits.

  “I don’t want a tree this year,” I said, watching some beautiful Buckhead homes slide by my window without really seeing them. “I already told you that.”

  Evan made a rude noise this time. “Christmas isn’t Christmas unless we watch a black-and-white movie at your house on Christmas Eve—it’s going to be Dickens’s A Christmas Carol this year, by the way—then have mimosas and cinnamon rolls under the tree in your living room the next morning, which means you’re getting a tree.”

  “We could do it at your apartment this year.” I didn’t really care, either way, even though Evan was right—we always had Christmas at my house.

  “I do Thanksgiving, you do Christmas,” Evan said firmly, not letting me off the hook. “You’re getting a tree.”

  I gave up, not willing to argue. I never wanted to argue with anybody, ever again. Let Evan get me a tree. Let Evan decorate the tree. Let Evan have his imaginary perfect Christmas under the tree at my house with Butch, the love of his life.

  Who cared?

  I wasn’t going to cry anymore. I wasn’t. I’d had no word from Joe—no calls, no e-mails—and didn’t expect any. I’d bagged up his navy sweater and his medical magazines and his shaving stuff and put them in the back of the closet. He could have them if he wanted them, but I had a feeling he wasn’t going to ask. Not a lot to show for the past year and half of my life, but all I had.

  She’d won, and I’d lost. I knew who’d poured poison in his ears. She’d warned me—I knew the cost of helping Josh, and I’d done it anyway. Losing Joe was the price I paid.

  I glanced at my hand, nails chewed, polish chipped. I was still wearing the antique marcasite ring he’d given me for Halloween, simply because I couldn’t bring myself to take it off. I would, someday, but I wasn’t ready to yet—it seemed too final.

  Maybe someday, when I was old and gray, someone at the morgue would pry it off my cold, dead hand, and sell it on eBay, where it would end up in a vintage shop just like Handbags and Gladrags.

  I found myself strangely comforted at the thought.

  Evan roused me from my morbid wanderings the easiest way possible. “Hey, Morticia! Look alive, we’re at the bazaar!”

  The Buckhead Bazaar was held annually at the King of Peace Episcopalian Church, and hosted by the Buckhead Women’s Auxiliary. Each year, the philanthropic housewives of upscale Atlanta outdid themselves in cleaning out their closets and garages, and selling everything in one big garage sale, with the proceeds going to charity. It was well-advertised and always packed, and today was no different. The church’s indoor basketball court had been transformed into a giant retail space, organized neatly into sections: small furniture, appliances, clothing, jewelry. Buckhead ladies were nothing if not organized.

  “Let’s start with the jewelry,” Evan suggested, surveying the room with a practiced eye. “It’s crowded over there, but if we wait too long we’ll miss the best pieces.”

  “You go ahead,” I said, having thought enough about jewelry today. “I’m just going to look around.”

  He gave me a frown. “Nicki…”

  “I’ll scope out the room and come back. We’ve both got our cell phones…I’ll find you.”

  “Let her go, Ev,” Butch said, touching his arm. “Let’s go look at jewelry.”

  I shot him a grateful look, and he smiled before leading Evan away. “Tell me again what we’re looking for,” I heard him say to Evan. “How can you tell whether it’s designer or not?”

  “Look for a hallmark,” Evan answered, a familiar note of excitement in his voice, “usually on the clasp…”

  I turned, heading in the opposite direction on general principle. My best bud meant well, but there was only so much nagging and forced cheerfulness I could take at one time. I’d nearly exceeded my limit in the car, and needed some time alone.

  A chair in the corner sounded nice, but it was a big room, and there were a lot of people—I didn’t see any chairs except the ones for sale. An old rocker caught my eye, and I had to go over and give it a closer look. It would look great on my front porch, and we could use it in the spring window display. The paint was chipped and the armrests were worn—it was definitely in the “well-used” category, which was why it hadn’t sold yet. A little sandpaper and some spray paint would give it new life—it was technically a steal at twenty-five bucks. Not yet motivated to buy, I made a mental note to look at it again when I’d finished my circuit of the floor, and turned away.

  “You like the chair?” someone asked, at my elbow. It was one of the auxiliary ladies, easily recognizable by the matching Christmas aprons they wore during the bazaar. She was elderly and plump, with carefully coiffed gray hair and a double chin.

  I nodded vaguely, not wanting to commit myself. “Maybe. I’m going to look around a little.”

  “You should buy it,” she said. “I think you need it.”

  Shaking my head, I turned and walked away.

  “Seriously,” the woman said, behind me. “I want you to buy this chair. Please.”

  Something in her voice made me stop, and turn around.

  “You’re going to need this chair one day,” she said, “to rock your grandchildren.” The woman reached out a hand and touched the chair lovingly, starting it rocking. “You’ll have three of them, two boys and a girl. One of the boys will remind you of your husband, and the girl will be like you—a bit wild but with a good heart.”

  My throat became tight. Talk about a raw nerve; I couldn’t have responded if I wanted to.

  “Your daughter, the mother of these children, will have dark hair and a quick laugh.” The woman, a total stranger, spoke with the assurance of someone who knew things I didn’t. “She will love you dearly, as you will her.”

  I stared at her, forcing myself to swallow. “Who—who are you?”

  “The web of fate is woven by many,” the woman answered, with a gentle smile. “There are those who wish to warp it, and those who wish to mend it. Let not your heart be troubled, Nicki. Buy the chair.”

  For a moment I wondered if I was hallucinating. The whole exchange had an “otherworld” feel to it.

  “Was it”—I gestured toward the rocker—“was it yours?”

  She nodded, smiling, and crossed plump hands in front of her apron. “And now it’s yours. When you sit in it, remember that while there is evil in the world, there is good, too.” She leaned in a little and gave me a wink. “And we do-gooders tend to stick together. Evil wins when good does nothing. You’re not alone, dear. We’re watching.”

  And then she faded away, right before my eyes. One second I was standing there talking to an elderly woman in a Christmas apron, and the next I was talking to myself.

  “Wow.” Evil wins when good does nothing.

  I felt better suddenly, as if everything the woman had said were true. I had a future, and it sounded pretty nice, even if I did have a hard time envisioning myself as a grandmother. I’d be the coolest grandma ever, I promised myself.

  More importantly, I’d just learned that I wasn’t alone. Just as Sammy had opened my eyes to the fact that there were other creatures on his side of the veil, the woman had pointed out that there was balance on the good side, too.

  I’d never believed in angels, but from here on out I’d be picturing them as elderly, plump, and wearing Christmas a
prons, arranging garage sales to raise money for kids.

  Then, with a laugh, I realized that I also thought of them as sweet little girls who loved babies, and grizzled red-haired barflies named Maybelline, who offered advice to the lovelorn when they most needed it.

  The three phases of womanhood—maiden, mother, crone—reflected in goodness to balance Selene’s madness. Maybe that was the way the universe meant for it to be, all along.

  CHAPTER 21

  “Could you put the rocker in the backyard, Butch? I’m going to sand it down and clean it up a little.”

  “Are you going to repaint it?” He hauled it out of the back of the Volvo like it was a child’s toy. “I kind of like it like this, all battered and peeling.” The chair had been painted white, long ago.

  I smiled at him, glad he had the good taste to recognize buried treasure when he saw it. “The look is called distressed,” I told him, reinforcing Evan’s teachings. “I’m just going to scrub it down, and sand off the loose paint. It’ll be the same, only better.”

  “Good,” he said, satisfied, and hoisted the chair high over his head as he carried it toward the back of the house. A baldheaded gentle giant, who knew how to handle with care.

  “Did you see the Florenza pieces?” Evan proudly showed me his two favorite finds of the day, a woman’s bronze trinket box and matching mirror. They were all that was left of an ornate woman’s vanity set from the 1950s. “Too bad the brush is missing. Still, the velvet inside the trinket box has a great nap.”

  “Beautiful,” I agreed. “We got some great deals.”

  “You’re feeling better, aren’t you?”

  I gave him a rueful smile, knowing I was about to get an “I told you so,” but not really minding.

  “I knew it. I can tell. I told you this would make you feel better, now didn’t I?” He grinned smugly, and offered me his cheek to kiss, hands full of treasure.

  I obliged, giving him an appreciative smack. I did feel better, but not necessarily for the reasons Evan expected. No harm in letting him think so, though. “Thank you,” I said. “It was a good day.”