Grim Holiday (Aisling Grimlock Book 6)

by Amanda M. Lee

  “I don’t exactly remember it that way,” I said dryly. “I remember you reading to me every night. You’d sit next to me on the bed and I’d cuddle in at your side and you’d do funny voices. Then, when I got older, you picked books I wasn’t supposed to know about. You always said you didn’t care what I read as long as I was thirsty for knowledge.”

  “What kind of books weren’t you supposed to know about?” Katherine asked.

  “Usually true crime. I remember Dad reading Helter Skelter and The Michigan Murders to me at a very young age. I was always fascinated with that stuff.”

  “Yes, you were a bloodthirsty little thing,” Dad agreed, digging in his pocket for his credit card as the clerk rang up the shirt. “I always admired your curiosity. You didn’t want to know only what happened. You wanted to know why it happened.”

  “I still want to know things like that.”

  “You do indeed. It’s frustrating and wonderful at the same time.”

  OUR LAST stop of the day was Jerry’s favorite pottery store. The artisans were local, and he was always looking for items to decorate his bakery and townhouse. I sifted through some potential treasures, hoping to find the perfect item. I latched onto a beautiful bowl at one point – the purple, teal and blue weaving together to form a magical tapestry in the fired clay – but that was much more me than Jerry, and I didn’t have time to focus on myself with Christmas bearing down.

  A pretty painted vase in the shape a forties pinup girl caught my attention and I knelt to look at it. I was fairly certain Jerry would love it. It had a tacky vibe that was also retro. I lifted the vase and perched it against my knee, lost in thought.

  “Is that for Jerry?”

  I jumped at the voice, jerking my head to the left and frowning when I caught sight of Mom staring down at me. “What are you doing here?” I blurted, forgetting that I was in public and it would probably be more polite to greet her before jumping on her case.

  Mom didn’t appear bothered by my tone. “I was about to ask you the same thing,” she said, helping me to my feet. “Should you be out of bed yet?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Mom tilted her head to the side, considering. “You look better, but you’re not one-hundred percent. You’re still a little pale. And those bangs are not at all flattering.”

  I scowled. “I figured out the bangs thing on my own.”

  “That’s good. You won’t make that mistake again, will you?”

  “Probably not,” I groused, pressing the vase to the crook of my elbow. “What are you doing here? I wouldn’t think a pottery store is one of your haunts – I mean one of your usual stops.”

  “Oh, really?” Mom cocked a challenging eyebrow. “Where do you think I do most of my shopping?”

  “Alleys, because homeless people aren’t often reported missing and you can snack in peace.”

  Mom scowled. “Must you be such a constant pain?”

  “I was born that way. Blame the people who contributed to my gene pool. Oh, wait … .” I tapped my chin, earning a smile instead of a frown.

  “I see you managed to wear down your father so he’d take you shopping.” Mom cast a glance in Dad’s direction, her face blank as she watched him chat with Katherine. “They seem … tight.”

  I knew what she was getting at without having to ask. “That’s Griffin’s mother.”

  “I know. I met her the other night.”

  “There’s nothing going on between them.” I had no idea why I felt the need to say it. I didn’t want my parents back together. A few of my brothers did – Braden in particular – but I was well aware that the woman who came back from the dead wasn’t the same mother I mourned for a decade. My father wasn’t safe around her. I was convinced of that. “Katherine is staying with Dad until after Christmas and then returning home. It’s not a big deal.”

  “It must be difficult,” Mom mused.

  “What?”

  “Having to hide what you are from your boyfriend’s mother. Don’t you think that will only become more difficult the longer you and Griffin are involved?”

  She asked the question as any concerned mother would, but I recognized the game she was playing, perhaps better than she did. Angelina played the same sort of games with me all throughout middle school … and high school … and now adulthood. “She knows the truth.” I took pleasure in delivering the news, which was petty, yet somehow it made me feel better.

  Mom briefly flinched before regaining her composure. “When did that happen? She was in the dark when I stopped by the other night.”

  “Yes, well, then the mirror creature tried to slip through the light in the game room,” I explained. “It grabbed Cillian’s hair and tried to pull him through. Katherine saw me chop off its hand. Everything sort of spilled out after that.”

  “That would do it.” Mom was rueful. “Is Cillian okay?”

  “He’s fine. He’s simply glad no one cut his hair to get him free.”

  “And you?”

  “I feel pretty good. I’m almost completely recovered.”

  “That’s not what I’m asking,” Mom pressed. “Are you okay? Being helpless like that … I remember well how damaging it can be.”

  She would, of course. She was injured in a fire and held captive for years before escaping. When she finally did escape she was a shell of her former self. “I don’t remember being helpless.” That was true. “I was too surprised to be helpless.”

  “When you woke, though, you had to feel weary and worn.”

  “I felt tired, but I was more worried about Griffin and Dad. They sat vigil. They were wrecked. I didn’t have time to feel sorry for myself.”

  Whether Mom took that as a personal attack or not, I couldn’t be sure. She merely offered me a wan smile and patted my arm. “Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better. I know you are, because it must’ve taken all of your powers of persuasion to force your father to the mall so close to Christmas.”

  “It wasn’t nearly as hard as it should’ve been,” I admitted. “He’s in protective mode. He’s pretty much willing to give me anything I want. Except a pony. I asked for a pony, but he turned me down.”

  Mom smirked. “Your father loves you. He always has.”

  “Yes, well, the feeling is mutual.” I shifted the vase from one arm to the other. “Where are you spending Christmas?”

  This time I was positive the question surprised Mom. “Probably by myself. I haven’t given it a lot of thought. Christmas is … different … for me now.”

  “I’ll bet. Do you have a special feast?” I didn’t mean the question to be as harsh as it sounded, but it was too late to haul it back in and pretend I didn’t say something offensive.

  Mom heaved out a sigh. “Not really. And on that note … .” She moved to step away, casting a final glance at the vase. “Jerry will love that.”

  I nodded in thanks and offered her a half-hearted wave. “Well, if I don’t see you before Christmas … ho, ho, ho.”

  Mom snorted, a bit of light I hadn’t seen in her eyes for more than ten years wafting through the dull orbs. “Yes, ho, ho, ho.”

  “I SAW YOU talking to your mother,” Dad said, keeping a close eye on me as we trudged through the parking lot, his arms laden with the packages I’d picked out. “What did she say to you?”

  “Not much,” I replied, opting for honesty. “She asked if I was picking out the vase for Jerry. She wanted to know how I was feeling.” A sly grin spread over my face. “She wanted to know if you were schtupping Katherine.”

  “What?” Katherine was horrified. “Did she really ask that?”

  “Not in so many words, but she was curious.” I grinned as I walked toward the rear of Dad’s Mercedes GLC, lowering my bags to the ground so I could get a better grip.

  “Is she exaggerating?” Katherine looked panicked when she glanced at Dad. “Griffin said your wife is potentially dangerous. Should I be worried?”

  “Ignore her,” Dad said, waving off
her concern. “Aisling isn’t happy with her day unless she’s made at least one person cry. Apparently today that’s you.”

  I tuned out the rest of the conversation when Katherine responded with something snide, narrowing my eyes at a pair of familiar figures two rows over. I didn’t know what to think about the duo standing next to the luxurious BMW parked in the prime spot of the valet section. My mind clouded as I tried to come to terms with the vision. I recognized both figures, and my heart dropped.

  “What are you doing?” Dad appeared at the back of the Mercedes, eyes somber. “Are you sick? Are you relapsing?”

  I shook my head, pressed a finger to my lips so he wouldn’t draw too much attention, and pointed in the direction of the pair.

  Dad followed my gaze, his eyes widening. “What the … ?”

  “That’s what I was about to ask,” I whispered. “What are they doing together?”

  “Planning the end of the world,” Dad answered, glaring at Mom with overt hostility as she chatted with Angelina. “There can be no other explanation.”

  Every twinge I felt regarding the possibility of Mom spending Christmas alone disappeared in a blink. I glowered at her profile as she emphatically gestured to Angelina. My mother was well aware of the fact that Angelina and I were mortal enemies. She had to bail me out of jail twice after physical altercations my senior year. This wasn’t a case of two people accidentally running into one another and catching up on small talk.

  “I don’t like this.” The words were barely a whisper as I straightened. “This can’t be good, right?”

  Dad shook his head as he collected the bags from my hands. “No. It can’t be good. There’s no scenario I can think of in which this bodes well for anyone.”

  “So … what do we do?”

  “We’re not doing anything right now.” Dad pressed his hand to my back, prodding me toward the rear seat of the Mercedes. “We can’t talk about it here. We need everyone together when we … figure this out.”

  “What if we only come up with bad answers?”

  It was a legitimate worry, and Dad didn’t bother to brush it off. “We’ll deal with it then. Don’t work yourself up about this. Not yet, at least. There might be a perfectly good reason for them to be chatting.”

  “Like what?”

  “Perhaps your mother is considering killing Angelina as a Christmas gift,” Dad suggested, not missing a beat. “Maybe she’s trying to lull her into a false sense of security.”

  “Huh. That’s something to hope for.”

  “Yes, Merry Christmas one and all.” Dad kissed my forehead before checking to make sure my seatbelt was attached properly. “It’s going to be okay.”

  Sadly, I couldn’t decide if he was trying to convince himself or me.

  28

  Twenty-Eight

  I tried to push the image of Mom conversing with Angelina from my mind. It didn’t work well – or at all – but it was the day before Christmas Eve. The Christmas spirit was upon us. We were all together – sans Mom, of course – and we were all safe. There was no reason to brood, so I did my level best not to.

  “Tell me what they were like Christmas morning,” Maya prodded as we had drinks in the parlor before dinner.

  “They were like wild animals,” Dad replied, grinning at Cillian as his cheeks colored. “They all tried to hide on the second floor, peek through the staircase spindles to see what was happening in the second parlor. That’s where we had the tree when they were younger, until we caught them spying and moved it to this parlor.”

  “Oh, were you a little rascal?” Maya beamed as she poked Cillian’s side, laughing as he slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Did you ever find your gifts before Christmas?”

  “Aisling did,” Cillian answered. “She used to find our gifts, unwrap them, write down what everyone was getting and then bribe us if we wanted answers.”

  “That is awful,” Katherine said, giggling. “I can’t believe you did that.”

  “Oh, my baby wouldn’t do that,” Griffin teased, resting his hand on my knee. “She’s a good girl. She’s told me over and over that she was an angel as a kid. I totally believe her. She wouldn’t dare lie to me.”

  “Oh, puh-leez,” Braden scoffed, sipping his brandy. “She was terrible. Even if we didn’t want to know what our gifts were – if we told her that and refused to pay her – then she would tell us out of spite.”

  I ran my tongue over my teeth, amused. “It was not spite,” I argued. “I simply thought you would be sad if you were the only one who didn’t know what he was getting for Christmas.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly how I remember it, too,” Braden deadpanned. “You wrestled me down, licked my face and then told me I was getting a new video game system. You were a monster.”

  I risked a glance at Griffin and found his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “It’s not funny. He’s making that up. It didn’t happen that way.”

  “It did so,” Braden challenged.

  “It did not.”

  “It did so.”

  “It did not.”

  “It did … .”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Dad snapped, smoothly silencing us with his best “shut up or I’ll make you wish you’d never been born” expression. “It’s almost Christmas. You two are supposed to love each other, not loathe each other.”

  “I don’t see where those two emotions can’t be joined together,” I argued. “Just because I sometimes love Braden doesn’t mean I don’t sometimes hate him.”

  “I’m right there with you.” Braden offered me a fist bump as Dad rolled his eyes. “Aisling wasn’t all bad on Christmas. She was really cute when she still believed in Santa Claus. One year she carried around a butterfly net because she was convinced she could catch him.”

  Griffin grinned at the visual. “That’s unbelievably cute. What were you going to do if you caught him?”

  “Lock him in my closet so he was forced to give me gifts throughout the year.”

  “That’s less cute,” Griffin muttered, moving his hand to the back of my neck so he could massage out the kinks. “How old were you when you stopped believing?”

  I shrugged. “I’m not sure. I don’t remember some ‘eureka’ moment. I think I had suspicions before I realized it was a great big hoax perpetuated by everyone. I was very bitter about that, by the way.”

  “I believed in Santa until I was twelve,” Jerry announced. He was half a carton into the eggnog and well on his way to sloshed.

  “You did not,” Maya countered, grinning. “Nobody believes until they’re twelve.”

  “Jerry did,” I confirmed, bobbing my head. “He was the only kid in middle school talking about a naughty list. That was before he came up with an actual naughty list that was filthy and we got suspended from high school before the holidays one year.”

  Dad pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. “You had to remind me of that, didn’t you?”

  “If I have to remember, so do you.”

  “My favorite part was that Angelina was on the list twice,” Aidan offered. “She was at the top and the bottom. Jerry said he wanted to make sure she wasn’t forgotten because she was the naughtiest of them all.”

  I exchanged a quick, weighted look with Dad. We’d kept Mom’s interaction with Angelina to ourselves so far. No one else knew. I wasn’t sure what to make of it anyway. It would most certainly ruin our Christmas reminiscing if I brought it up now. Griffin saved us from an uncomfortable conversation.

  “I don’t understand how Jerry believed in Santa until he was twelve but the rest of you knew long before then,” he challenged. “For that matter, I’m surprised the older kids didn’t ruin it for Aidan and Aisling. I couldn’t wait to tell Maya that Santa wasn’t real.”

  “Yes, I was four.” Maya shot Griffin a dirty look. “He broke my heart, the scoundrel.”

  “For the record, I wasn’t all that old at the time. I didn’t know what a terrible person I was being,
” Griffin argued. “If I could do it all over again I would totally take it back and let you live in denial until you were twelve.”

  “We threatened the older kids with dire consequences,” Dad supplied, smiling at the memory. “Redmond wasn’t keen on it, but he did his best. Cillian not only embraced what I said but went out of his way to encourage Aisling and Aidan to believe. Braden, however, almost had a Christmas without gifts because he was determined to torture Aisling.”

  “You two really are the most alike,” Griffin noted, poking my side. “What happened?”

  “We caught Braden before he could say anything and told him that because we were Santa Claus we would make sure the other kids had a mountain of gifts under the tree and he had nothing,” Dad replied. “We must’ve been pretty convincing, because he kept his mouth shut. That was the last year Aisling and Aidan believed, if I remember correctly. They did a good job of putting on a show for Jerry after that, though.”

  “Jerry was an only child,” I explained. “His mother kept telling him Santa was real. He didn’t have any siblings to shatter the illusion. Plus, well, he loved dressing up as an elf and dreaming about running away to the North Pole. I didn’t want to crush him.”

  “Crush me?” Jerry made an incredulous face. “You were going to run away with me. Don’t bother denying it.”

  I snickered. “I forgot about that. We even packed our bags to run away to the North Pole one year.”

  “You packed your bags to run away so many times I lost count,” Dad argued. “The only time I worried was when your brothers helped you pack and shoved you out the door. You were just stubborn enough to take off in the middle of the night to prove a point. I hate that about you.”

  “You love that about me,” I countered, groaning as I stood.

  “Where are you going?” Griffin asked.

  “Don’t worry. I have no intention of running away to the North Pole. The bathroom is another story. These peppermint drinks Aidan made are running right through me.”