Grim Rising (Aisling Grimlock Book 7)

by Amanda M. Lee

  “It was cold,” Redmond hissed. “I can’t control the weather.”

  “Are you talking about this past weekend when you tried to pick up that woman at the new bar you boys visited in Rochester and you … um … failed to rise to the situation on the terrace?” Dad asked, forcing me to choke on my laughter when Redmond’s face flooded with color. “It happens to everyone, son.”

  “I hate this family.” Redmond dramatically threw his arm over his face before dropping onto the couch. “I really hate every single one of you.”

  “But we love you enough to make up for that.” I offered up my best “I’m sweet and you have to love me” expression. “You’re our big brother and you mean everything to us.”

  “Everything,” Braden, Cillian and Aidan echoed.

  Dad didn’t bother hiding his smile. “Some days I can’t help but love each and every one of you.”

  “Not Braden,” I said, sobering. “He came up with that stupid human puppet idea. That’s nowhere near as believable as my zombie theory.”

  Dad’s smile slipped. “And I’m back to wondering why I let your mother talk me into having any of you.” He shook his head as his phone rang, knitting his eyebrows when he checked the caller ID. “It’s Griffin.”

  I hopped to my feet, miming a slashing motion across my throat to warn Dad against telling Griffin I was here. Dad made a dubious expression, but otherwise remained calm.

  “Hello. Oh, hello, Griffin. How are you?”

  I glared holes into Dad as I listened to his side of the conversation.

  “Aisling? Hmm. I don’t know what to tell you. How do you know she’s not at the townhouse?”

  Uh-oh. This wouldn’t end well for me.

  “The Royal Oak Police Department had officers in the parking lot, huh?” Dad looked only slightly interested in the conversation. “They were watching the townhouse and didn’t see movement for an extended period, eh?”

  Crud. Crap. Crappity crud. My life wouldn’t be worth spit when Griffin caught up with me.

  “They knocked and no one answered, and then you called and she didn’t answer, eh? What? I’m not repeating everything so she can hear what you’re saying. Why would you even think that?” Dad shot me a quelling look. “Well, Griffin, if Aisling did manage to sneak out of the townhouse without alerting the police, I’d think that was kind of fun … and rather ingenious on her part.”

  Dad always found entertainment in the oddest things. Apparently now he was finding it at Griffin’s expense.

  “No, I’m not saying I helped her escape, I didn’t,” Dad continued. “If she asked me, I would’ve found a way to help her, though. As for where she is now … I couldn’t say. Have you considered calling Jerry?”

  I flashed Dad an enthusiastic thumbs-up. So far he hadn’t told any outright lies. Sure, he wasn’t exactly telling the truth, but he wasn’t going to suffer the ill effects of a rapidly-growing nose anytime soon.

  “Of course you’re not an idiot. Of course you thought to call Jerry first,” Dad said. “If I hear from her, I’ll certainly tell her that you’re looking for her. Yes, I will also make sure she knows that she should crawl back through the window if that’s how she escaped. Yes, I’ll keep in touch.”

  Dad dropped the phone to its cradle. “Griffin is looking for you, Aisling.”

  “Thanks. I never would’ve figured that out.” I rolled my neck until it cracked. “He’s going to be ticked. I wonder if he would believe I was next door in Jerry’s townhouse all day.”

  “I’d say not,” Dad said. “He knows you’re with us. That call was simply a warning that you’re to find a way back into the townhouse without tipping off the cops in the parking lot.”

  “Did he say that?”

  “No, but I can tell that’s what he was getting at,” Dad said. “Still, he said he would be home with your dinner at six. That means we have several hours to work on this.”

  “So how are we going to do that? You guys won’t believe the zombie theory and I’m convinced it can’t possibly be anything else.”

  “I don’t know.” Dad scratched his cheek as he thought. “Give me a minute and I’ll definitely come up with something better than the zombie theory.”

  “Don’t even try stealing my human puppet theory,” Braden warned.

  “Listen, I don’t want to give credence to Aisling’s out-of-control ramblings about zombies, but that Madame Dauphine at the Voodoo Vacation store really did react oddly to us stopping in,” Redmond supplied, changing the focus of the conversation. “She seems to recognize what we are. Now, if she had dealings with Angelina it’s possible that’s how she found out. If not, then she can sense that we’re different.”

  “Which means she might be different,” Dad noted. “I don’t know much about voodoo. All I do know are from case files.”

  “Voodoo priestesses throughout the centuries were accused of raising the dead,” I said.

  “Ugh.” Dad made a groaning sound. “I don’t want to hear you say things like that. It makes me question your sanity.”

  “You had five children. That makes me question your sanity.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  “That makes six of us,” Redmond corrected. “I was perfectly happy being an only child. As for the voodoo stuff, I think we need to talk to someone who has knowledge of how it works.”

  “Other than Madame Dauphine?” I asked.

  Redmond nodded. “Until we know more, I also think we should give Madame Maxine a wide berth, too. She acted extremely weird today.”

  “Maxine was in the shop?” Dad was surprised. “Did she say anything?”

  “She fought with Madame Dauphine, but she waited until we left the shop,” I replied. “She was kind of snarky while we were inside, but she waited until we left to unleash whatever was irritating her.”

  “It was a little odd,” Redmond conceded. “Maxine usually falls all over me when I visit. She also enjoys messing with Aisling. She barely did either, and seemed eager for us to leave the store. She didn’t look happy with Dauphine.”

  “And Dauphine mentioned that they agreed to stay away from one another,” I added. “She seemed surprised to see Maxine.”

  “Hmm. I don’t know what to make of that, but it seems too coincidental,” Dad mused. “Does anyone know where we can get a crash course on voodoo?”

  “Actually, I think I might,” Cillian said, shifting the book on his lap. “There’s a section at the back of Eternal Sunset Cemetery. It crowds a small Detroit neighborhood, and the residents there call themselves Catholic but practice a form of voodoo. They bury their dead in that small corner of the cemetery that’s cut off from everything but the neighborhood. There are generally a lot of people hanging out in that area. They chant and stuff.”

  Dad didn’t bother hiding his interest. “How do you know this?”

  “I collected a soul over there about six months ago,” Cillian replied. “The family members were busy sacrificing some animal – I think it was a bird of some sort – in the yard while I worked. I heard them. Other than the animal sacrifice, they seemed mostly normal.”

  “I don’t think anyone in this family should judge anyone else when it comes to normalcy,” I said, flicking my eyes to Dad. “What do you think?”

  Dad shrugged. “I think if we’re going to do it, we’re doing it as a family. I’m not sure what to expect, but someone is clearly targeting Aisling. I want her well protected.”

  “Oh, good, we’re back to the babysitting,” I muttered.

  “You’re loved,” Dad shot back. “Get used to it. As long as you’re a target, we’re going with you.”

  I exhaled heavily. “Fine. We should go now if we’re going. I need to beat Griffin home.”

  “That’s not going to save you,” Braden said.

  Sadly, I had no doubt he was right.

  15

  FIFTEEN

  Redmond’s Expedition was the only vehicle we had big enough for all of us, a
nd even then we had to squeeze in to the point where Aidan and I shared a seatbelt. Dad’s big on seatbelts, no matter how uncomfortable, so we didn’t really have a choice.

  “Get your leg off me,” Braden growled, shoving my knee to the side. “I don’t want your cooties.”

  “I’m surprised you’re not the one who had performance issues at the bar,” I shot back, groaning when Aidan’s hip pressed into my side. “Everyone knows you fold under pressure.”

  “Shut it.”

  “Both of you shut it,” Dad ordered from the passenger seat. He looked perfectly comfortable with Redmond chauffeuring him around.

  Despite Dad’s tone, I ignored him. “How did that even come up? Were you going to have sex on the terrace or are we talking about vigorous rubbing here?”

  “Tell her to shut up again, Dad,” Redmond ordered.

  “I’m actually curious about your answer, so I’ll let her be,” Dad countered. “What were you trying to do on the terrace?”

  Redmond was caught, but did his best to focus on the traffic heading south rather than answer the question. “It’s not even rush hour yet. Will you look at this?”

  “If you don’t answer I’ll make stuff up,” I said. “For example, were you re-enacting the final dance scene from Dirty Dancing? Were you trying to lift her above your head and accidentally pulled a muscle?”

  “Nobody puts Baby in a corner,” Aidan mimed, amused with the game.

  “Only a chick would know lines from that movie,” Braden snarked.

  “I happen to like that movie,” Dad argued.

  “How do you even know that movie?” Cillian asked.

  “I was forced to watch it an inordinate number of times when Aisling was younger,” Dad replied. “I know most of the words and half of the dances.”

  “You made Dad watch Dirty Dancing?” Braden made a face. “I think someone needs to turn in their man card.”

  “It wasn’t Aisling,” Dad supplied. “It was Jerry. He made Aisling watch it. He was infatuated with recreating the dances until he tried a lift with her and almost threw out his back. He was twelve.”

  “He hurt his back because he lifted wrong,” I argued. “He didn’t do it with his knees, like I told him. It’s not as if I was fat or anything.”

  “Of course you weren’t fat.” Dad grinned. “Your mother warned that we were never to use that word around you when you were a teenager because she didn’t want you developing poor self-esteem. You merely went through a … thick … stage.”

  “Thick!” Braden belted out a laugh. “There are too many jokes in my head. I can’t settle on just one.”

  “Ignore all of them,” Dad ordered. “We’re talking to Redmond. What were you trying to do on the terrace, son? I believe I warned you about trying to impress a woman when it was cold outside when you were fourteen.”

  “I don’t remember that.” I racked my brain a second time to be sure. “What happened?”

  “Nothing,” Redmond snapped.

  “He tried to kiss Melanie Bernsen but he misjudged the distance between them and when he leaned forward he actually kissed the pole right next to her. It was so cold his mouth got stuck,” Dad supplied.

  I stilled. “That’s a scene from A Christmas Story.”

  “Not quite, but close,” Dad countered. “I showed him that movie afterward. He didn’t find it funny. Of course, to save face, he pulled his own mouth off the pole and ripped half his lips off.”

  I wasn’t sure I believed that story, or at least how it happened. It sounded much more likely that one of my brothers dared Redmond to do it and they made up the rest of the story so Dad wouldn’t think they were idiots. “I’m still interested in what Redmond was trying to do on the terrace,” I said. “Why were your pants down? Dad always told us never to drop trou in public.”

  “Actually, that was just a rule for you,” Dad said as Redmond pulled into the cemetery parking lot.

  “That’s not fair.” I was happy to unfasten the seat belt. “Why did I have a different set of rules? The boys were far more likely to drop their pants.”

  “Yes, but you’re a girl.” Dad issued the statement as if was perfectly normal, and then hopped out of the Expedition, leaving me to scramble after him.

  “That makes it even more unfair,” I complained. “I shouldn’t have had a different set of rules.”

  “You were my baby. That’s simply the way the world works,” Dad said, falling into step with Cillian as he led the way through the gate. “I would like to pretend that I treated all of you equally, but you had a separate set of rules.”

  I turned to Aidan, aghast. “Do you believe this?”

  “What I can’t believe is that you’re complaining about it,” Aidan replied. “You got spoiled twice as much as the rest of us because you were a girl. So what? You got more rules because you were a girl, too. It balanced out.”

  “I wasn’t spoiled more than you guys,” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest as we moved into a section of cemetery I’d never visited. Oddly enough, I’d spent an exorbitant amount of time in this cemetery since joining the reaper profession. For years I’d visited because I thought my mother was laid to rest here. After that, things kept happening to draw me back to the property. Now, it seemed, even more answers might be found inside its stone walls. “Dad, tell them I wasn’t spoiled.”

  “You were spoiled rotten,” Dad said. “I couldn’t stop myself from buying you whatever you wanted, and you knew exactly how to get me to do what you wanted. Don’t bother denying it.”

  “Whatever.” I scuffed my feet along the paved walkway. “I think, once I have time to give this separate rules thing some thought, I’m going to be traumatized.”

  “You’ll live.”

  “I’m going to need a special gift to feel better about myself,” I argued.

  “I put a huge retainer down for a lawyer for you just this morning,” Dad said. “That’s a fine gift.”

  “Oh, geez.” I wrinkled my nose as we walked into an unfamiliar section of the cemetery. The tombstones were all large and ornate, many of them in the shape of crosses. “Have you ever been here before?”

  Aidan shook his head. “I’m not big on hanging out at cemeteries. Plus, well, I almost died in this one last summer. I can’t say I’ve been giving it a lot of thought.”

  “Good point.” I split from my brothers and walked to the nearest mausoleum, peering through the stained-glass window to see if I could get a good look.

  “Are you thinking of climbing through that window?” Braden asked, sidling up beside me. “I don’t think that’s the window Griffin was talking about. I wish I could be there when he gets home. I’m sure he’s going to pop a cork.”

  “I’ve never understood that expression,” I said. “Popping a cork is what happens when you have champagne. Champagne is good. Shouldn’t that be a good thing?”

  “Do you think it’s going to be a good thing when Griffin gets home?”

  That was a fair question. “No.” I knew Braden was trying to bait me, but I didn’t have the energy to acquiesce and embrace my inner immaturity angel. “We’re going to have a big fight.”

  “Oh, come on.” Braden flicked my ear. “I was just messing with you. You’re not really worried about something terrible going down with Griffin, are you?”

  “We’re in a weird place because of all of this,” I replied. “He wants to believe in the system, but I can’t because it’s never really helped me.”

  “I believe it was the system that brought you to Griffin in the first place, wasn’t it?”

  I hate it when Braden makes sense. “Yeah. It’s hard for him because he’s linked to a potential murderer. That probably reflects poorly on him at the office.”

  “I doubt he cares about that,” Braden said. “I think it’s far more likely that he’s worried about you being hurt. He’s not quite over the last time it happened.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “He’ll get the
re.”

  “Not before the zombies get us,” I muttered, moving away from the window and walking to the front of the mausoleum so I could study the door. “What does that say up there?”

  I pointed to the faded words chiseled into the stone.

  Braden followed my gaze. “I’m not sure. I think it’s a foreign language.”

  “Like Spanish?”

  “It’s Haitian Creole,” Cillian supplied, his eyes pinned on the words as he joined us. “‘Mante nan mouri.’”

  “Do you know what that means?”

  “Yeah. It means, ‘The dead rise.’”

  I stilled, a mixture of emotions flowing through me. “Really? ‘The dead rise,’ huh?” I cast a triumphant look over my shoulder as I found Dad’s gaze. “What do you think that means?”

  “What do I think ‘the dead rise’ being etched over the door of a mausoleum that looks to be a hundred years old means? Not much.”

  “Whatever.” He was really starting to irritate me. If he would just admit that it was zombies I would feel so much better. “I think it’s a very odd coincidence.”

  “Good grief. We’ll never hear the end of this, will we?”

  “Not as long as the dead are rising.”

  “You’re on my last nerve, Aisling,” Dad warned, moving to stand next to Cillian in front of the mausoleum. He lowered his voice – probably in an attempt to make sure I didn’t hear him – before he spoke. “That doesn’t mean what she thinks it means, does it?”

  Cillian chuckled, genuinely amused. “I doubt it. Voodoo practitioners believe the dead can rise, but, as you said, this is an old mausoleum.”

  “You know I can hear you, right?” I was about at my limit with overbearing men. For about the one-hundredth time in the past six weeks I sincerely wondered why I couldn’t find a female friend. The closest I have is Maya, and while I like her, I certainly can’t trust her to keep her mouth shut around Cillian and Griffin.

  “Plug your ears,” Dad suggested, squinting as he moved closer to the building. “There’s a symbol here. Do you recognize it?”

  Cillian leaned closer. “I’m not sure.”