The Candle (Haunted Series Book 23)

by Alexie Aaron

  “Perhaps this isn’t about Mia at all. It could have been orchestrated to stop Luke from being conceived,” Altair said. “What is so special about your son?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Fine. But I think Luke is part of this as much as Brian and Varden. This next generation of hybrids are very important. What if all of this started not with a wish but with a deal. A deal made with a devil…”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Mia parked the truck and helped Brian out of his car seat. They were going to the art shop, also known as the paint and paper store. Big Bear Lake couldn’t support an art shop on its own, but it could support an artist with the smarts to diversify. Acalan Cabello was such a man. He renovated the two-story building so he could have his studio at the front of the store. From his creative space, he had an unobstructed view of the park across the street. He also could turn around and monitor the goings on in his shop as he worked on his masterpieces. He employed his grandmother Zarita, or Grandma Z as she liked to be called, to run the front of the store. She was a bright eighty-year-old who understood everything but the cash register. This she smacked regularly as if that would correct any error she had made.

  “Acalan!” she would shout. “Make this devil open the drawer!”

  He didn’t mind these interruptions because they meant she had made a sale.

  Brian held on to his mother’s hand as they passed Grandma Z.

  “You brought your little darling,” Zarita said. “Tell me, have you sold a masterpiece yet?”

  Brian looked at the older lady with the giant crucifix that danced from the end of the chain as she bent over to look Brian in face and answered, “No. But my Uncle Mike has put a few up on his refrigerator. He lives in Chicago.”

  “You have a showing already! Shush, don’t tell my grandson. He will be jealous,” she whispered.

  Brian wasn’t sure what a showing was but smiled anyway and nodded.

  “We are looking to upgrade from the crayons and move on to something else. Do you have a recommendation?” Mia asked.

  “Follow me. I’m thinking, how old are you, forty-four?” she asked.

  Brian giggled, “No, Grandma Z, I’m going to be four.”

  “Impossible,” she said and waved Brian over to the art area. “Here are all the things that make color happen. Why don’t you like the crayons?” she asked.

  “My brother eats them.”

  “Mama, you should feed him more.”

  “Yes, Grandma Z,” Mia said, playing along.

  “Let me see the size of your hands.”

  Brian opened his hands.

  “I’m thinking, mama, he could use some oil pastels or markers, but both should be kept away from the crayon gobbler. Wait, how about these Slick Stix? They are oil pastels in a hard-plastic case. You just twist them to get more.”

  “What do you think?” Mia asked Brian.

  “I think they are too fat.”

  “How about colored pencils?” Grandma Z asked, handing him a pencil. “You have to sharpen the ends. But I show you what you can do.” She tapped on the wall.

  Mia lifted Brian up so he could see the picture.

  “My grandson made this when he was six.”

  It was a drawing of a rabbit peeping out from behind an old boot.

  “That’s nice,” Brian said.

  Mia set him down.

  “Tell you what, you go and sit over there at the art table and try out the pencil, and here is a Slick Stix,” Grandma Z said, sliding one out of a pack. “You try both out.”

  “Is that Crazy Cooper down there?” Acalan called down from his studio.

  Mia blushed. “I’m going by Manic Martin now,” she said.

  “Come up here and sit for me. You owe me.”

  “How do I owe you?’ Mia asked, climbing the steps to the studio.

  “Who stopped the Howell twins from making you eat dirt?”

  “Was that you?” Mia asked. “Sorry, so many people made me eat dirt, I’ve grown accustomed to the taste.”

  Acalan patted the paint-spattered stool and said, “Sit.”

  Mia looked back down into the store.

  “Don’t worry, Grandma Z hasn’t lost a child yet.”

  Mia sat down. “Nothing naughty,” she warned. “I’m a married lady.”

  Acalan frowned. “I’m more into fruit these days, hence the invitation.”

  Mia laughed.

  Acalan worked quickly and got Mia’s outline before she moved. “Cooper, I’m going to make you sit in glue if you move again.”

  “Sorry.”

  “You haven’t changed too much since we were kids,” he said. “I used to draw pictures of your face.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re so ugly,” Acalan said. He worked for a few minutes and then popped up. “Done. Get off my stool.”

  Mia got up and walked over. “Can I see it?”

  “Sure,” Acalan said, proud of himself.

  Mia’s eyes opened wide. There was a sketch of her sitting with her knees up and staring straight ahead, and behind her were wings. “How?” she asked.

  “They just came to me,” Acalan said. “Not that you’re very angelic, it’s those big eyes of yours that gave me the idea. Grandma Z likes angels.”

  “How much for the drawing?” Mia asked.

  “I didn’t draw this to take your money, Cooper.”

  “I was thinking of giving it to my husband. I really like it.”

  “Tell you what, you can have it for free after I use it for a painting,” Acalan told her.

  “Painting?” she squeaked. Images of her with wings on display for all to see flooded her head.

  “Painting, and no you can’t buy that either.”

  Mia started down the steps, stopped, turned, and warned, “Nothing naughty.”

  He laughed. “Get out of my store, and take my competition with you.”

  Mia found Brian waiting for her at the counter. He had both the pencils and the Slick Stix.

  “Better add some paper to that. Daddy doesn’t like it when you take the printer paper from his office.”

  “Yes, Mom,” Brian said and ran back.

  Zarita looked at Mia. “You good?” she asked.

  “I’m good.”

  “Acalan wasn’t good for a while. His husband died.”

  “I didn’t know,” Mia said. “I’m sorry.”

  “He tells no one. He was touring with his art. Daniel got into a fight with someone intolerant and Daniel lost. Acalan stopped painting. Don’t worry, he probably won’t paint the picture.”

  Brian came back with packs of paper and a sketchbook.

  Grandma Z punched the purchases in the cash register and called, “Acalan, make this devil open the drawer!”

  Acalan saw the Martins to the door before he headed back to his studio. He stopped and looked at the art table. Brian had left his experimental drawing there. The thin lines of the colored pencil held the oil pastel from popping off the page. “Grandma, how old is Crazy Cooper’s kid?” he called.

  “He’s says he’s going to be four,” she answered. “Why?”

  “He colors like a kid, but his composition is very interesting. Come look.”

  Zarita shuffled over. Acalan held up the picture.

  “It’s me!” she said, amazed to see the giant cross in the foreground and a tiny dancing lady attached to it. “Acalan, it’s a challenge. The little boy left it because he is challenging you to do better.”

  Acalan picked it up and walked up the stairs. He pinned up Brian’s work next to the sketch of Mia and started opening his tubes.

  Zarita held her breath until she heard the sound of a brush on the canvas. “It’s a miracle.”

  “Mom, you turned the wrong way,” Brian noticed as Mia pulled out of her parking spot.

  “We’re going to make a stop. I want to get something out of the top of the garage at the peninsula home.”

  “Uncle Burt’
s house?”

  “It’s my house until he buys it from me.”

  “How come you still have stuff there?” Brian asked.

  “I don’t know. I think, until I was in the art store, I had forgotten all about it.”

  Mia pulled up to the gate and buzzed in.

  “Hello?”

  “Burt, I’m sorry to bother you, but could I get something from the garage?” Mia asked.

  Mia heard the buzzer and took that as a yes. She walked back to the truck, drove in the drive, and parked behind Burt’s car. Brian was out of his car seat before Mia turned off the truck.

  “Pretend you don’t know how to get out of that thing so I can feel like a good parent.”

  “Okay, Mom.”

  Mia opened the door and helped Brian down. She took a moment to watch as the gate closed behind her. The overlapping past images of her circling the truck with salt, after her solo trips out, was before her. She used to be so afraid. It’s not that she didn’t fear things now, but the fear was different. It wasn’t for herself she was afraid, but for her family.

  “Mom!” Brian shouted. “It’s starting to rain.”

  Mia shook herself out of the funk she had fallen into. She ran around the side and used the key to open the garage. She turned on the lights and made a beeline to the ladder. She opened it and warned Brian, “Let Mommy go up. It’s not safe for you. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

  Brian had a hundred questions, but he sensed her mood and chose to be quiet and obeyed. He busied himself with organizing Uncle Burt’s socket set.

  Mia moved carefully in the small space. She didn’t realize how much stuff she had left in the garage. She found the chest and realized too late that it was locked, and she didn’t know where the key was. Mia inspected the big ring of keys she had on her, and it wasn’t on it. “I’ll just have to take the whole chest with me.”

  “That’s one way of getting you to move your stuff,” Burt said from the ladder. “Let me help.”

  “Thank you, I owe you one.”

  “You can repay me by you and Brian coming in and visiting for a while, and you’ll tell me the reason for the impromptu raid of my garage.”

  “My garage,” Mia reminded him.

  “Our garage,” he compromised.

  They worked the chest to the edge, and Burt took the brunt of the weight as they brought it down to the garage floor. Mia looked at the lock and walked over and selected some of Burt’s tiny screwdrivers and sat on the floor and fiddled with it.

  “What’s she doing?” Brian asked.

  “Your mother is picking the lock. It’s a handy skill to have if you’re a criminal or a paranormal investigator.”

  The lock popped open, and Mia opened the chest. Inside were books and files she had saved before she burned down the brownstone. She had hidden it in the woods so the fire marshal wouldn’t suspect the fire was arson.

  Mia found the file envelope she wanted. She pulled it out just as the first clap of thunder echoed over the water.

  “Come on, you two, we don’t want to get trapped in the garage,” Burt said, picking up Brian. “I’ll help you load that thing in your truck after the storm,” he promised.

  Mia ran after them.

  The house was warm and inviting. It smelled faintly of the last pizza Burt had brought home, but also of the inks on his drawings. Burt’s Dark World had a loyal following. The graphic novels, fictionalizing the world of the reapers, weren’t an instant hit, but the number of readers grew with every issue.

  Burt set Brian down and walked in the master suite and brought out a towel for each of them to dry off with. Mia extracted the envelope she had jammed in her jacket and laid it on the counter.

  “Can I get you something hot to drink?”

  “Do you have hot chocolate?” Brian asked.

  “Yes. But I ran out of marshmallows.”

  “That’s okay, you didn’t know I was coming,” Brian said. “Can I sit on your couch?”

  “Yes,” Burt said, enjoying having the little guy in his home.

  Mia was acting oddly, but Brian was alright.

  A flash of lightning and a boom of thunder made Mia jump. She quickly scanned the room.

  Brian ran over and took her hand. “Come on, Mom, let’s sit on Burt’s couch.” He led Mia over to it and turned back and said, “My mom doesn’t like thunderstorms.”

  “I had forgotten that,” Burt said. “Hot chocolate coming up.”

  Mia cuddled with Brian until Burt came over. Another flash of lightning caused Mia to reach out for him. He sat down and put his arm around her and Brian. “It’s just a storm. It was forecast. Give me your phone, and I’ll text Ted so he won’t worry,” he said gently.

  “I don’t mind storms. Uncle Murphy says that the forest needs rain, so I shouldn’t mind storms too much. We were in a big storm once, and the building fell apart.”

  “I remember that. You were a very brave boy, I heard,” Burt said.

  “My mother fought a demon, and I sent another one to the Pit of Despair. That’s why I can’t have green chalk anymore.”

  Burt laughed. He felt Mia relax beside him. “You were only doing what I told you to do.”

  “But I sent the good guy to Hell and not the bad lady.”

  “It happens,” Mia sniffed. “If you two will excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom.”

  Mia got up and ran to guest bathroom.

  “Why is she so scared?” Brian asked Burt.

  “Something very bad happened that involved lightning when your mom was a young woman. I think she fears it will happen again. It was traumatic.”

  “Is it like Lazar’s post traumatic silver dome?” Brian asked.

  “Post traumatic syndrome,” Burt corrected. “I find it amazing you got the traumatic right, so points for that.”

  It was Brian’s turn to laugh.

  “To answer your question, it’s similar. We must be understanding, and don’t tease them about it. Listening would be the best course of action.”

  “What if they don’t want to talk about it?” Brian asked.

  “You have to respect their privacy. Just tell your mom or Lazar that you’ll be there to listen to them if they need to talk to someone.”

  “Did you ever get traumatized?” Brian asked.

  “Yes, and it was your mom’s voice that brought me out of the horror I was in. She is very special, and it’s not because she can do all these amazing things. It’s because she is compassionate. Your mother can find good in almost anyone. I’ve seen her face the most horrible entities and, yet, give them a chance to mend their ways. She accepts us for who we are and doesn’t try to change us.”

  “She does me.”

  “Really?”

  “Lectures me on how to behave.”

  “Is she changing you or offering you better choices to make? I think she’s giving you her perspective. She’s not always right, but her heart is in the right place.”

  “Uncle Burt, what is this big secret the adults are so worried about?”

  “Something happened that we don’t understand totally yet. When we figure it out, I’ll tell you all about it, but you can’t tell your friends at Big Bear Bounce.”

  “There’s a lot of things I can’t tell them,” Brian complained.

  “When you grow up a bit more, I think you’ll see the wisdom of why some of the things that go on with PEEPs, and at your home, would bother and scare the small children and maybe their parents too.”

  “You’re so smart, Uncle Burt.”

  “Why thank you, Brian. That coming from you is very special.”

  Mia came back from the bathroom and took a moment to look out at the storm from the big windows before coming back and sitting down. She sat in the spot she had vacated, which surprised Burt. He expected her to distance herself by siting on the other end of the couch or maybe in a chair. He handed her the cup of hot chocolate. She sipped it and sighed.

  “I’m sorry guys for bei
ng such a fraidy cat.”

  “Uncle Burt explained it to me, Mom.”

  “He’s good at understanding situations. He listens better than anyone I know.”

  “Uncle Mike says you too are at odds. What does that mean?” Brian asked.

  “We’re both stubborn,” Burt said. “I think I’m right. Your mom knows she’s right, and we fight. But there never is any malice in what we do.”

  “What’s malice?”

  “Malice is being deliberately mean. Cid will also tell you it’s about the desire to do evil. In this case, your mother and I want the best for each other and the situation we are arguing about.”

  “Malice, I’m going to remember that word. Mom, I’m getting sleepy.”

  “The storm’s not letting up. Would you mind taking a nap here? You can sleep on the couch…”

  “Or in my big bed,” Burt said. “Let me show you where it is, and maybe you should use the toilet before you lay down.”

  “Okay,” Brian said. “Mom, is it alright if Uncle Burt tucks me in?”

  “Yes, of course,” she said.

  Mia watched the two leave. She remembered the folder and got up to get it. A flash of lightning and an immediate thunder clap froze her, and she looked around expecting to see a demon. There was nothing in the room but memories.

  Burt walked out of the master suite, leaving the door open a crack. “He fell asleep before I got his shoes off. He is such a beautiful boy.”

  “Thank you, he’s a challenge but a good one. I worry that being a smart child is going to make him mean. Smart boys usually have an edge to them from being bullied as children. I fight a war with myself with each parenting decision I make. Ted’s got a better grasp on it, maybe because he had parents who cared.”

  “It’s quite a responsibility,” Burt said. “What’s in the folder?”

  “Oh this? Can we sit down? I may have the wrong one. I’ll explain as I look through it.”

  “Sure.”

  Mia plopped down in the middle of the couch and patted the seat next to her.