by Jaime Reed
“Is this your attempt to relate to me?” she asked.
“Maybe. How’s it working?”
“Not in your favor. Nice hat, by the way. Real politically correct,” she commented. “If you must know, it’s not for me. I’m buying the book for Mishka. She loves the series and she won’t stop talking about it.”
“What about you?” I asked.
“Lame. They portray ghosts wrong,” she replied. “Ghosts are demons that impersonate the dead, not the lingering souls of the dead. Demons are imposters of the living.”
“Interesting theory.” Especially since she owned a demon and everyone around here thought she was Nadine’s ghost. I examined the other books in her pile and stopped at a thick volume at the bottom. “The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. Wow.” I took the book and thumbed through the pages. “I take it you’re into Shakespeare?”
She shrugged. “Who isn’t?”
“You’d be surprised. Some people only go as far as the high school requirement: Romeo and Juliet, Macbeth, Hamlet. They never get to the good stuff. Sometimes, I start talking Elizabethan for no reason.” I chuckled to myself and scanned the bar code of the book.
“This sounds like a symptom of schizophrenia. If I’m not mistaken, there are psychology and mental illness books on the third aisle if you need a diagnosis.”
Ignoring the dig, I asked, “What’s your favorite play?”
“Titus Andromedus. Read it?”
I nodded in approval of her choice. I knew the play and it was by far one of the most eff’d up stories this side of Sweeney Todd—human meat pies and all. Evidently, Nadine’s love for all things tragic and macabre ran in the family. Case in point: the book in Olivia’s hand. I tilted my head sideways to read the title.
“ ‘I (Heart) You, Stab Stab’. What’s with you kids these days?”
“It’s an interesting read. It’s about this boy who’s an outcast because his father is a serial killer who will soon be executed. The boy is teased at school, so he decides to take up the family trade. He’s really good at it, very clever how he dispatches the popular kids that bullied him and not get caught. He meets a depressed girl who tries to kill herself and he saves her, which was strange since he followed her to kill her anyway.”
“So, it’s like, ‘You’re so pathetic, I don’t have the heart to kill you now, so let’s go out,’ ” I summarized, then scanned the book.
Olivia nodded. “When she discovers his ‘hobby,’ she refuses to leave him. It’s disgusting how she fawns over the killer just because he’s cute and watches her. Even if she didn’t know his crimes, his father’s past should be enough to keep her away, don’t you think, Samara?”
I had a feeling we weren’t talking about the book anymore. The story line ran too close to Caleb and his family’s past. I knew Olivia was bitter, and had every right to be, but she didn’t know the whole truth. Her sister wasn’t a saint and had some nasty skeletons in her closet, one by the name of Tobias.
Once the transaction was over, she collected her items then said, “I’ll let you know how it ends; though I’m sure it won’t be a happy ending.” With a parting smirk, she drifted to a quiet corner of the café, completely oblivious of the father of three who tripped over his youngest child to check her out.
It was hard not to be paranoid with people watching you at every turn. If it wasn’t Gunner patrolling around the cafe, it was Detective Ruiz prowling the aisles making sure Caleb was minding his p’s and q’s. Did anyone have a life in this town?
I couldn’t wait for my break to come around, and when it did, the break room became my place of refuge. Caleb sat at the folding table with one earphone stuffed in his ear. His mandatory elf hat and a bag of Hershey’s Kisses lay on the table next to him. He scrolled down the eight gigs of music on his phone with one hand while he jotted notes with the other. I assumed Robbie Ford had contacted him about the party and he was organizing a new playlist.
I hadn’t expected him to be in the break room. In fact, I’d been avoiding him all day, trying not to imagine him naked, soaking wet, or covered in some dessert topping. I shook my head and concentrated on more constructive thoughts. I needed to focus and find a way to get Caleb to open up, just enough to get the ball rolling, because frankly, I had better communication with my toothbrush.
Caleb still refused to talk about any Cambion-related business, not the bonding, the inquisition, or the possibility of war being waged because of him.
“When the time comes, I’ll do what I gotta do, even if that means siccing Capone on everyone in the room. I won’t lose anyone else close to me, and no one will die because of me,” was all he had to say on the matter. And that was three days ago.
It could be just me, but that sounded an awful lot like a suicide note, which did little for my sleep pattern for the past few nights. Though Caleb tried to be slick about it, I’d also noticed he was feeding more—three, sometimes four women a day—storing up reserves for the Battle Royale that I wanted to prevent. As much as I sympathized with his hurt, we needed to work this out together. Using brute force with him wasn’t gonna cut it—I’d tried that already—so I needed a new tactic. Seduction.
The next fifteen minutes consisted of short answers and little to no eye contact from his end. I tried the “oops! I dropped something, so watch my butt while I pick it up” method. I tried the “I’m leaning over the table, so look down my shirt” approach. And my all-time favorite, the “watch me shake loose my hair and put on lip gloss really slowly” routine.
Alas, I’d picked the wrong time to flirt. Music was Caleb’s grand passion and it was nearly impossible to pull him out of the creative zone. It was hard trying to act sexy with coffee and dried milk on my shirt anyway. Before I could think of my next move, he shot from his seat and gathered his stuff, including the candy.
“My break’s over. Catch you later, Sam.”
“I dreamt about you last night,” I blurted out. I had no idea why I said that—I just panicked.
He held the door open and looked at me. With a smile that could melt butter, he said, “I dream about you every night.”
There it was: that flutter in my stomach, the giddiness, and the reminder of where we stood. I wasn’t clingy, I wasn’t a bugaboo, and I believed in boundaries. I didn’t want to be with Caleb every waking moment, but I needed to know that we were still okay. No matter how screwed up our situation was, our feelings for each other hadn’t changed. Stability. Right now, in this moment, that was enough.
His smile deflated when he turned to leave and saw Ruiz leaning against the wall in the hallway. The man clearly had too much time on his hands. He wasn’t trying to hide it anymore—he was on Caleb’s ass like a pair of drawers. Something had to be done, and done fast. I just wasn’t sure what. Besides, I was too busy swooning over the lonely quarter that Caleb had set right in front of me when I wasn’t looking.
Just when I thought my shift couldn’t get any worse, I returned to the café and found Dougie sitting backward in a chair next to Olivia.
When he spotted me, he hiked his chin. “Sup, SNM. Just talking to Olivia here. I didn’t know Nadine had a sister.”
“Yeah, small world,” I mumbled, holding on to my freak out until I was behind the counter.
I couldn’t believe this. Of all the boys she could have in town, she found the one with the warning label appealing. Technically, since Mia and Dougie were on permanent hiatus, I had no right to say anything. And if I told Olivia to back off she would pursue him harder, because hateful harpies do that. I didn’t like how they were staring at each other, like they were the only two people in the room. Dougie was instantly under her spell and I couldn’t let him get sucked into my world.
Under the pretense of cleaning off the café tables, I passed the two every few minutes. Olivia sat with her legs crossed, her slender fingers picking at her half-eaten scone as she read her novel.
Dougie didn’t seem at all deterred by her reading, or find
her pet gorilla sitting behind them intimidating. Dude was just that thirsty. “Listen, how long are you gonna be in town?” he asked.
She tapped her lips with her finger, in coy contemplation. “Until the new year. Why?”
“Oh. Cool. You going to the New Year’s party?” he asked.
“How’d you hear about the New Year’s party?” I cut in, all attempt of pretending to work gone.
Not taking his eyes off his prey, Dougie reached in his pocket and pulled out his phone. In seconds, Jason Lao’s blog appeared on the screen with the words in jumbo print: WIN A FREE INVITE TO NEW YEAR’S BASH. Retweet hashtag #RobbieFordVA
So much for being exclusive.
“So if you’re still around, it’ll be cool if you stop by. His parties are off the chain,” he said to Olivia.
“Sounds fun.” She smiled and bit her lip.
“Well now, don’t let us keep you from your busy social life. Aren’t you working on girlfriend number six?” I asked, totally messing up his game.
“I’m not dating anyone. I’m not trying to be tied down, though the pickings are easy these days.”
“Really?” I asked.
He ripped his hungry stare from Olivia long enough to look at me. “Yeah, the girls around here are pretty hung up over Malik being gone. All a guy has to do is be a shoulder to cry on, tell a sob story about him, and bam, you’re in there. Not that I need to stoop so low. That’s just for those who can’t get a girl, namsayin’?” He stroked the fuzz on his chin and winked at Olivia, who giggled at his antics.
“Smooth, Douglas, real smooth.” I rolled my eyes then grabbed a stack of magazines that needed to be reshelved. Why was Dougie even in the bookstore? I was still suspicious of whether the kid knew how to read, and the only reason he would ever drop by was when he was looking for . . .
“Mia! Hey! What are you doing here?” I said; really loud and overly chipper as I blocked her path to Olivia’s table. It did little good. I was too small and the café was too spacious.
“Same reason everybody else is here. I was looking for an outfit for the party before everything’s gone and doing a little Christmas shopping,” Mia explained, then leaned her head to look around me. “I texted you that I’d stop by for . . . some . . . coff . . . am I interrupting something?” Mia’s stare bounced between Olivia and Dougie with suspicion.
“Yes,” Dougie said and turned his chair so his back faced her. Of all the years I’d known Dougie he’d never been this rude to Mia, and I was sure that if Olivia weren’t in the vicinity, he would have a different attitude.
But I never got to find out, because Mia rushed to the front of the store, taking any hope of reconciliation right along with her. I didn’t ignore the look she gave me, like the whole scenario was my fault, because it was my fault.
These demon-Cambion whatevers were ruining my life and everything that made up that life was collapsing under the weight of secrecy. Whether by falsehood or omission, dishonesty was still in play. Dishonesty was the symptom of cowardice, and I was no punk. I was past sick and tired, I was beyond fed up, and I refused to go into the new year hauling all this baggage. I was going to sort my life out even if it killed me. Just not right now, not with so many of my own questions unanswered. Right now, I would stick to the lesson of the Origin Tale: when dealing with malevolent spirits, keep your mouth shut.
10
The Christmas holiday was pretty tame considering it was spent with my family.
Mom and I started early with the rounds, first Christmas mass with Grandpa Marshall, then breakfast at his house and the most boring conversation in the history of human language.
Grandpa was not the old fat guy with the white beard that I had in mind, and his evil lair was as far from the North Pole as you could get. In fact, since he had the heat cranked up pretty high, it felt more like hell than anywhere else. Though huge and surrounded by acres of land, Casa de Marshall was as personable as a mausoleum, and there was no television in sight. But Grandpa had insisted on seeing both of us regularly before he died. That was his tagline now, the fact that he was going to die . . . eventually.
He also wanted to get to know me, and perhaps persuade me to seek electroshock treatment for my “condition.” Being a mulatto half breed wasn’t bad enough in his estimation, but waking up one day suddenly having green eyes was simply unacceptable.
I couldn’t see how a few random meals could make up for seventeen years of his bigotry and neglect, but Mom decided to give it a go for her own peace of mind. I wasn’t so keen on the idea, so I kept to myself for most of the visit, only speaking when spoken to.
After that, we doubled back to our house where we opened gifts with Dad’s family, the Watkins clan, all forty of them. The house was packed, there was more food than I could eat in a lifetime, and I had a blast. Mom was born for the role of hostess and took pictures of everything.
Dad rolled up late as usual with his wife and my two half siblings. Though a scrooge 364 days out of the year, Dad turned into the biggest child Christmas day; bouncing around and waiting for us to open our presents. Once the preliminaries were over, the twins dove into the pile and shredded the wrappings with their teeth. Kyle and Kenya were bad as hell, but Dad miraculously overlooked their streaks of mayhem and spoiled them rotten. Not that I was jealous or anything, of course.
My stepmother, Rhonda was going for the Michelle Obama look these days, with a knee-length dress and a tan cardigan, and she might’ve pulled it off if she weren’t so tactless. I’ve ditched days from school and had seen more class. She approached me in the kitchen and handed me an envelope. “Your father and I are tired of guessing your measurements of the week, so we figured gift cards would be the safest bet instead of clothes. Enjoy.”
“Thanks,” I said through clenched teeth and took the card. She sauntered away, leaving me reeling from her attack.
“I can’t stand that bougie heifer. For the life of me, I don’t know why my boy married her. You wanna borrow my switchblade, baby?” Nana leaned in and whispered in my ear.
I smiled down at the plump, tiny woman digging into her enormous bra for a concealed weapon. I swear, that woman had everything tucked in there: money, car keys, candy, jumper cables, you name it.
“No thanks, Nana.” I hugged her for her offer.
I never believed in soul mates, not even now with Caleb as my Siamese twin, but Nana was definitely mine. We even had the same white streak in our hair. It was the wisdom streak, as she would say, but I preferred to cover that wisdom with red hair dye.
Hallucinations and mental breakdowns weren’t good around family gatherings, so the living room was a no-fly zone for me. I watched the festivities from the safety of the dining room and held my sister in my lap, at Lilith’s request.
She had a bit of a soft spot for children and she seemed to have taken a particular shine to Kenya. For once, I felt perfectly fine with playing dolls and braiding hair, no doubt a product of Lilith’s ticking biological clock. I could feel a low rumbling in my back, similar to when a cat purrs in contentment. I sensed the longing burning inside her, not just to mate, but to nurture. Not one day goes by where my roommate doesn’t fascinate or infuriate me, and we seemed to have reached a temporary truce.
Keeping with my new resolution for a stress-free year, I considered Dad’s offer to seek therapy long and hard. I pulled him aside, out of earshot of his meddlesome wife, and asked, “You mentioned a while back a doctor who deals with grief counseling and trauma?”
“Yes,” he said hopefully, as if he’d been waiting for this conversation all day.
The words were hard to get out. Saying them meant defeat, that I really had a problem that couldn’t be fixed on my own. I didn’t like feeling weak and sickly, but in order to handle Lilith I had to get my head right. My methods weren’t working and this kind of thing was better left to a professional before I broke something. “I don’t know what good it’ll do, but I’d like to see what he has to say. I’m not promi
sing anything.”
Dad let out a sigh of relief and pulled me into his arms for a bear hug. “Thank you, baby girl. I’ll set up an appointment the first of the year.”
Our last stop for the evening was the Charlotte Hotel where we had tea with Angie and her family. The Ross brothers were there, each wearing a ridiculous holiday sweater. Haden wore a black turtle neck with a yellow zigzag across the stomach—Charlie Brown style. Caleb wore a maroon eyesore with white snowflake patterns. Underneath his gray trench coat, Michael sported a striking green number with a giant reindeer and a blinking red nose.
“That’s a lot of holiday cheer.” Mom stood beside me in the foyer with gifts and a chocolate cake in hand. Before she could get into the room good, the wolves descended and in seconds the Ross boys had Mom surrounded. Ruiz, who at the time appeared to be in a heavy conversation with Angie, stepped forward and reached for my mom’s hand. Captivated, Mom abandoned her baked goods to the hounds and joined his side.
Laying on the Latin charm, Ruiz kissed her hand. “Feliz Navidad,” he said, the words rolling off his tongue in a low purr.
I wanted to gag from all the syrup saturating the room, and Mom, of course, ate up the attention. She deserved it, but damn, I wasn’t trying to see all that, plus there were children present. She was falling hard for this guy— I could feel the energy inflating around her in a bubble—and to my utter disgust, Ruiz’s mood-cloud was even bigger.
Caleb came forward and pulled me into his arms. Thankful for the distraction, I observed the fashion victim from head to toe.
“Wow! Is it hot in here or is it just you?” I teased and fanned myself with my hand.
“No fighting today, Sam. I’ve got on my best Cosby sweater and I just wanna open some gifts, eat until I pass out, and kiss my girl under that mistletoe over there.” He tilted his head to the greenery hanging over the entryway. “Is that cool with you?”
“The coolest.” I took his hand and led him to the living room.