All I Want For Christmas Is a Reaper

by Liana Brooks

  “No.” I drew the word out, swinging the rocks in my sock from side to side as I reviewed the facts. “Did you kill Yerke?”

  “No.” Seth shook his head quickly. “No. No. I wouldn’t. I didn’t want to hurt him. It was instinct. I swear on my life, Merri, I’d never hurt you.”

  “I know that. What did you do to him?”

  Yerke was pale and still on the floor. Not corpse-like, but like he’d caught the worst bout of flu in his life and ran a marathon before collapsing.

  “Just... borrowed,” Seth said.

  “So, I did see you drain the life out of him?” I asked for clarification. “You sucked out his life to stop him and then—” I looked down at where the wall had been. “You killed the set?”

  Seth’s hand moved from his neck to his chest, rubbing over his heart. “I need death to survive. A human life is easy to take. But I can take something else. The set... The set can be replaced. Yerke can’t.”

  The world would move along perfectly well without Yerke, but Seth looked guilty enough as it was that I didn’t want to complicate things. “What will happen to him?”

  “He’ll die a few years sooner than he would have if he hadn’t met me,” Seth said in a small voice.

  I sniffed. “It’s still decades longer than he would have lived if I’d gotten to him first,” I said as I put my sock and rocks away, testing the limits of my clutch’s capacity. “Is there duct tape anywhere?”

  Seth’s eyebrows collided in confusion. “What?”

  “Duct. Tape.” I enunciated it better the second time. “The police are coming and Yerke could cause a lot of trouble if he ran off.”

  “Merri, I—”

  I patted Seth’s arm and walked past him to the lighting setup. Camera people had duct tape, didn’t they? Or string?

  Even the cords would do in a pinch.

  But there was duct tape. Good, old reliable fix for all things Midwestern. Duct tape could repair roofs, be turned into prom dresses, and hold would-be murderers until the cops showed up.

  Yerke’s eyes opened in an unfocused stare as I taped his wrists together. The police were not going to believe he’d simply stopped.

  Frowning, I dug into my purse again and found my rose-petal perfume, a barely-there floral fragrance that doubled as an assault weapon.[35]

  “What are you doing?” Seth asked as I shook the bottle.

  “Establishing an alibi.” I sprayed the perfume directly into Yerke’s face a couple of times.

  The scent of roses and the bond jeweler’s shrieks of pain filled the air.

  I nodded as I heard police sirens in the distance. “There. Yerke tried to choke you. I ran in and sprayed my perfume in his eyes. The pain made him step back, which is when he tripped and hit his head. Aside from a mild concussion, and the irritants in his eyes, he’s fine. Self-defense. Case closed.” I put my perfume away.

  Seth was shivering.

  I stepped toward him.

  He stepped away.

  “Seth—”

  “I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I’m sorry. I thought you were—” He shook his head, looking at the ground. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t hurt you, or anyone. It was instinct.”

  “You said that already.”

  He took a shuddering breath, face thinning, his high cheekbones becoming more and more pronounced. For a moment his face was almost skeletal again.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Cute trick.” I winked at Seth. He could think he was scary all he wanted, but I’d already made up my mind: Seth Morana was mine. And I never, ever, lost what I wanted.

  There was the sound of running feet. “Merri?”

  “Dan!” I shouted and waved into the darkness. Ugh. Useless. I took out my phone and turned the light on. “I’m right here!”

  Seth stepped away from me as the police ran up, his cheeks plumping up as some of the fake snow fizzled into ash at his feet with an acrid scent.

  Dan slowed as he approached, looked at me, then Seth, then down at Yerke. “What happened?”

  “I left you a message,” I said, not even trying to keep the exasperation out of my voice. “Yerke was targeting Mister Morana. I came here to warn him because his phone was off.”

  “It’s in my office,” Seth said quietly. “But probably on.”

  I waved away that detail. “I came to warn him and found Yerke choking Mister Morana.”

  One of the police officers who had run in after Dan shone a flashlight on Seth.

  There was an ugly red line around his neck that was going to be a hideous bruise in a few days.

  Another officer stooped over Yerke and hauled him to his feet.

  “Then what happened?” Dan asked. “Why’d Yerke stop?”

  “Perfume,” I said. “I had some in my purse.” I dug in my purse and pulled it out again. “It’s non-toxic and supposedly hypoallergenic, but it stings if it hits your eyes. I’m really very sorry if Mister Yerke has permanent damage.” No I wasn’t. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

  Dan took the perfume bottle, sniffing at it as if it could be anything else. The smell of roses filled the air again.

  Yerke yelped and tried to shake the police officer off. “That’s not what happened!”

  One of the police pulled out a notepad. “What happened?”

  “He tried to kill me!” Yerke screamed as he shook his taped together hands at Seth. “His face turned into a skeleton and he tried to kill me. I was dying!”

  “Riiiggghhht.” Dan made the universal facial expression that meant Someone Is Not Addressing Reality Today.

  “I saw it!” Yerke yelled. “She saw it! He took down the whole wall. Made it crumble! He’s Death! He’s Death!”

  “And his eyes glowed red?” I said in a tone of chilly scorn. “I’ve seen that movie too, Yerke. But this is a movie set, not an actual movie.”

  Dan made a note of that too. “Red eyes?”

  “Unforgiven?” I asked. “Have you seen the movie?”

  “Oh, yeah, I loved that movie in college!” Dan looked over at Seth. “That was you?”

  Seth nodded reluctantly.

  “She’s lying! Ask about the wall!” Yerke shouted. “Ask about the wall! Where’s the wall?”

  To his credit, Dan looked skeptical. There was obviously a piece of the set missing. “You saw everything?” he asked again.

  I nodded as I smiled. “Yes. Everything.”

  “And he”—the detective pointed at Seth —“didn’t turn into a soul-sucking skeleton.”

  “Oh, he did,” I said as my smile grew warmer. “Seth turned into a skeleton and sucked several years off Yerke’s life to keep himself alive. And I’m a tooth fairy. I have a castle in the clouds. Huge, huge castle. Ginormous. Made of teeth. And I have these little tiny wings that are invisible and I have a wand.” I rolled my eyes. “While we’re at it, is this a good time to confessing to being the Loch Ness Monster too?”

  The police all chuckled.

  “Right,” Dan said. “Silly question.”

  “Exceptionally so,” I said.

  Yerke jerked away from the officer holding his arm. “He made a wall dissolve! It’s gone! Look at the floor!”

  The police all looked at the floor.

  I sighed. “What Mister Yerke saw was a special effect that—” I stopped talking and covered my mouth with my hand. “Oh! That, that isn’t public information is it?” I turned to Seth.

  Seth stared at me in silent bewilderment.

  “You said the technique for aging the sets was unique to Slasher,” I said, hand feeding him the story. “Detective Kim, what Yerke saw was a special effect. And I think he probably needs to sign an NDA.”

  That got Seth back to the real world. “A non-disclosure agreement?” he asked. “Do you think that’s necessary?”

  “Yerke saw it,” I said, “and the police will hear about it during the course of the investigation. I’m not your lawyer, but I do advise you to have everyone sign an NDA before they leave. O
bviously this may come out in court, but you should at least try to protect your special effects. Alisson was telling me just the other day about how this one was poised to win you awards.”

  Seth blinked, but to his credit he didn’t argue. He looked at the detective and then at Yerke. “I guess?”

  “Great!” I clapped my hands together with a cheerful smile. “I’ll go to the office to help Mister Morana print the NDAs and then you can take our statements. Will that work?”

  Detective Kim nodded. “Sure. Can we have the security footage too?”

  Over Yerke’s dead and cooling corpse.

  “I’m sure no one objects.” I nodded at Seth. “The power wouldn’t have turned them off, would they?”

  “The security cameras might have been running,” Seth allowed, each word moving with the slow force of an ancient grudge. “But I don’t know. We can check.”

  “We’ll need that and statements from both of you,” Detective Kim said. “EMS would like to check you out Mr. Morana. And, Merri” —he hit me with what he probably considered a killer smile—“my personal number is on the back. Call me if you need anything.”

  I took his card with a warm smile. “Of course, Dan. You know I will.” Over my dead and cooling body.

  I kept my smile in place until the police filed out and then tossed Dan’s card in a small bin in the corner between sets. Yerke was out of the picture. The only problem that remained was the horrified look on Seth’s face, and the shame in his eyes when he looked at me.

  Good thing I’d never yet met a problem I couldn’t solve.

  Thanks to the theatrics of my spontaneous three-day weekend, the Oretega accounts were done in a trice. I’m not sure I would have spotted all the irregularities—or connections to Windy City Security—if Yerke hadn’t panicked and tried to kill anyone.

  There’s a lesson there. If you’re going to do crime, don’t panic. Fear is a poor substitute for logic.

  So is lust.

  Logic couldn’t explain why the coffee table in my living room was spread with background checks on everyone from Slasher–Cozy Studios, or why there was an unopened box of condoms by my bed and a still-sealed pack of mint tea in my cupboard.

  Seth hadn’t called. No one from Slasher–Cozy Studios had called.

  I was in a wasteland of radio silence and growing more impatient by the minute.

  So. Better to try and fail than never try at all. Right?

  The plan was simple. I was going to steal one more thing from Seth Morana’s office: Him.

  Step one, remove the guard dog.

  Simple enough. Lucky had a three-day weekend coming up, a motorcycle, and a look that could get her practically anyone she wanted. Alisson wouldn’t stand a chance.

  Step two, remove the clutter.

  The Cozy side wasn’t a problem, Ellen only had Patrick Miles for another twenty-four hours and I’d arranged a tour of Chicago. With those two gone, there was no reason for Seth to do anything.

  But clearing the neon goths out of the Slasher building was going to take some cheating.

  An extra ace up my sleeve as it were.

  On my laptop, I pulled up the website for Extra Aces, the one-time theater group–turned–bar warmers who made a living by making sure any party in town was warm, inviting, and flirtatious. All of them were extroverts, several were asexual, two were named Ace legally, and if I told them I need a flock of goths kept busy at a bar near Slasher, they’d do it at a discount because they liked me.

  Weird, I know. Someone liked me.

  I cut that thought off. Lots of people liked me. Willow thought I was a great boss. Lucky said I was a great big sister. Ellen said I was a good friend.

  Plenty of people liked me.

  I need to focus on the heist.

  What was the appropriate outfit for breaking into a person’s workplace, killing their bachelorhood, and stealing their heart? Maybe something floral?

  The poster of Unforgiven stared at me from my computer screen, Seth’s dark eyes piercing into my soul. The last time I’d seen him, he’d been going into shock as he was bundled away by the police, who had all sorts of questions.

  There were plenty of reasons for him not to call me. Shooting schedules. Script rewrites. Casting decisions.

  Yesterday, I’d gone as far as to make an account on Everi1 so I could follow Seth’s all-in-one social feed. The last picture he posted was of me standing in front of his window looking out at the storm and the caption, ‘Perfect.’

  So perfect he’d dropped off the face of the Earth and hadn’t returned a single phone call. Okay, granted, his number had been auto-redirected to my office while I was deep in Oretega’s numbers, and my phone had been off while I was at the courthouse earlier testifying on a different case, but still. Willow would have left me a message if Seth called.

  And now his number was set to come directly to my phone. Which was sitting on the glass tabletop. Silent. Zero messages.

  All my calls went directly to his voice mail.

  Drumming my fingers next to a picture of Lucky in black leather riding gear, I wondered if this was worth it. Maybe this was Seth’s not-so-subtle sign that he wasn’t interested in anything more. I mean, sure, he’d kissed me and made my world spin, and he’d looked at me like I was the only person who mattered, but actors were a temperamental lot. I was his sun, moon, and stars—for a minute. And now the minute was over, and he’d fallen out of love.

  It would be embarrassing if I went over and he didn’t want me.

  It’d be humiliating.

  ...It’d be better than sitting here wondering.

  There was a knock at the door.

  I glared at the newly installed, freshly painted portal of glossy black and tried to imagine who would knock at my door at eight o’clock on a Wednesday night. Lucky had a JV volleyball game. My parents were lecturing about the seventeenth century and weren’t using cars or phones this week again. That left... Who?

  A neighbor maybe?

  The knock came again.

  Frowning, I stood and crossed the small living room, walking past the tiny galley kitchen and equally tiny dining space to the teeniest foyer in Chicago, and hit the camera.

  Seth was standing outside, holding a set of bags. He knocked again, glancing over his shoulder to see if he was disturbing anyone.

  With a polite smile in place, I opened the door. The smell of his sandalwood soap hit me first, tugging at something primal that made me want to wrap my arms around him.

  The look in his eyes was wary, like a beaten puppy at the adoption center hoping against hope that this time would be better.

  “I think I’ve seen this movie. Death Comes Knocking.”

  Seth didn’t laugh.

  “Are you coming in?” I asked, forcing myself to step back so he had room.

  “Do you mind?” His voice was quiet, apologetic. “Are you in the middle of something?”

  “Just planning a heist.”

  Seth’s eyes narrowed as he stepped inside and slid off his shoes. “A heist?”

  I nodded. “There’s something I wanted to steal.”

  Turning, I sashayed away in front of him, fully aware of the effect I had at home. White walls. Polished black wood floors. Black countertops and chairs. A sofa so white it almost split into distinct colors and an equally white, soft rug under the coffee table of black wood and glass. The pictures on the walls were monochrome prints of famous pictures known for their colors.

  In my entire apartment, the only pop of color was my Mediterranean-blue dress—splashed with bright pink hibiscus—and the pink silk hibiscus tucked into my red curls.

  Seth couldn’t take his eyes off me.

  Which was fair, because after not seeing anything but his movie posters for three days, all I wanted to do was stare back. His platinum hair was slightly messy, like he’d been running his hands through it while waiting for me to answer. His usual black hoodie had been replaced by a sexy black button down, black sla
cks instead of jeans.

  “Were you going somewhere dressy tonight?” I asked.

  Seth looked down at his clothes, licking his lips and frowning. “Um. No. No, just to see you.”

  “That isn’t your usual work attire.” I circled the coffee table, keeping some distance and trying to figure out why he was here. “Is everything all right?”

  “I don’t know.” He pressed his lips together. “I... I brought dinner.” He held up pale cloth bags with the logo of a nearby locavore market. “Bread and cheese. Salad. Fruit. Picnic stuff.”

  That didn’t clarify anything. “How’d you get my address?”

  “Alisson called Lucky.”

  My shoulders relaxed. “Really?”

  Seth nodded. “They’re meeting for dinner tomorrow.”

  Ha! I knew it. “You realize you’re going to lose Alisson until Monday, right? Lucky has a three-day weekend.” Was it too early to pick an outfit for the wedding? Probably. I could see Lucky wanting a spring wedding. Something mid-March-ish.

  “What are you plotting?” Seth asked.

  “Wedding clothes.” I blinked and then realized he was kneeling by the coffee table, salads forgotten as he looked through my notes.

  A small grin tugged at the corner of his lips. “What were you planning to steal, Miss Merri?”

  I smiled back at him. “You.”

  He picked up the picture of Lucky next to her bike. I was there too, in black jeans and a black leather jacket with three grinning skulls that had gems in their eyes. People rarely got close enough to see, but the gems all had the number twenty embroidered on them. Over the skulls were the words TRIPLE KILL, our riding club, stitched in metallic pink thread.

  A slightly smaller line of text underneath read PERFECT SCORE, my nickname when I bothered to use it.

  “You look good in black.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  Seth put the picture back on the table and sat on the floor.

  After a moment’s hesitation, I sat down too. “So.”

  “So.” He folded his hands in his lap and didn’t look at me.

  “Did you come here to talk?”

  “I don’t know.” Seth sighed, unfolded a little, ran a hand through his hair, and hit me with a hungry look that made me want to crawl over and kiss him until he smiled again. “I don’t know where to start. What to explain. I thought you were like me.”