Snowed (The Bloodline of Yule Trilogy Book 1)

by Maria Alexander

  He mastered the bike this weekend with Dad’s help. He’ll start working the weekend after next, on Thanksgiving weekend. It turns out Mr. Daniels really is paying him under the table in cash. He’ll make a small fortune.

  Somebody shoves me in the hallway, hurting my barely healed arm. Another shove. People I don’t recognize push past. A bigger shove, and I stumble forward into someone else. I apologize but they yell at me anyway. Couple of people run away through the crowds, laughing, before I can confront them. I decide to avoid the walkway entirely and suffer the rain on my way to class.

  No one shoves me in the rain.

  The numbers in calculus soothe me. Dispassionate, nonjudgmental, unyielding. Math is the soul of machinery. It’s the only soul I believe in.

  I ignore Keiko, but my heart still stings with loss.

  When class lets out, a girl I never talk to named Jill Swain stands by me as I gather up my belongings. She’s Matt Swain’s younger sister. Catholics are pariah out here in Evangelical Land. Many conservative Christians think Catholicism is a cult. I think she’s in choir. Or is that drama club? Either way, she has a great voice—that is, when she speaks, which is rarely. Pale and retiring, she clears her throat. “Charity, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.” I grit my teeth. She’s probably going to proselytize to me. Maybe I should cut her off and leave, but I don’t want to be mean if I don’t have to.

  She waits for people to pass before she speaks. “I know this sounds a little odd, but I was wondering.” Her voice drops. “Are you still having those club meetings? Because I would sort of like to come. But I haven’t heard anything on campus since the big scene. I thought maybe you had moved them to somewhere else. Is that true?”

  I shake my head. One of the Swains? No way. “Sorry. I just don’t have time right now. I’ll let you know if they start up again.”

  “I can’t wait,” she says. “I mean, I really need the support. I’m having doubts, and I was hoping you could help. It’s really hard, you know. Here, at this school. Could we have a short meeting? Just the two of us?”

  Jill follows me out of the room and into the rain. Maybe she’s serious. She peers at me through her long blonde lashes. What if she’s really suffering? What if her family truly is persecuting her for not wanting to say the rosary or take communion? Or go to confession? I can’t push her away. Not after how I’ve been pushed away. “What’s your phone number? I’ll text you when I’m free.”

  She scribbles it on her notebook and tears off the piece of paper for me. “Thank you. This is awesome. Can we meet soon?”

  Her words are enthusiastic but her voice is tired. She seems down and anxious. It’s a miracle that she and her siblings are in public school at all. But then, there might not be any parochial schools here.

  “I’ll try.”

  I text her from the bus.

  This is Charity. Been thinking about your request. I can’t get home if I miss the bus after school. Want to talk at lunch?

  No way. Too many people watching. If you stay after school, my brother can give us a ride.

  Matt?

  Yes. I asked him already.

  Maybe Matt has forgiven me. Or forgotten. Or just doesn’t care.

  I cast a longing glance at Aidan. We can be together this afternoon, but Thursday will be our last afternoon for over a week. The thought is agonizing. We won’t be able to touch the entire weekend or the week after that, as it’s Thanksgiving break. Mom says we’re having Thanksgiving at home this year. No visitors. Aidan and I will have to plan time together somehow. After our experience in my bedroom, I fantasize constantly about going further. Aidan is so polite and old-fashioned. He might want to go further but won’t.

  I text Jill.

  I’ll think about it. I have a lot of homework this week.

  It’s true. Aidan and I are overwhelmed with assignments before the break. Not much happens over the next two days except reports that two more dogs are slaughtered. Kennel dogs. People are moving their dogs indoors. Judy sends us the link to the night photos of the creature. She and I text almost constantly now, mostly about encounters with the BFJs. It’s not the same relationship I had with Keiko—no one could replace her—but it’s cool. Judy is funny, sweet, and sarcastic.

  Jill keeps texting me, too. Nice, sad texts about how much she needs to talk. I send her links to videos and sites that she might find helpful but she says talking is better. She really wants to meet.

  On Thursday, after one of her texts, I finally give in. I can’t see Aidan Friday afternoon, anyway.

  Hey Jill. Okay, I’ll meet you after school tomorrow. Where do you want to talk?

  Yay! Let’s meet in the farmhouse. No one should be there. We can talk in private.

  The farmhouse, as we call it, is located past the football field, a derelict building that is half gardener’s shed, half 4-H club meeting room. She must be really scared.

  But why not just go on the internet? Hundreds of forums host doubters and freethinkers, people trying to break away from religion but who might be living in strict religious households. Kids who are so oppressed that they can’t speak up at home without fear of retribution or abuse. Matt and his siblings don’t seem abused. In fact, they seem quite happy. But I guess not everyone wears abuse on their sleeve.

  Still, the building is far away from the rest of the school. What if that creature is roaming again? I don’t think it would actually come back on campus, but it might be lurking in the forest beyond, waiting for an opportunity like this.

  Then again, it’ll be daylight. I think it got caught outside of its safety zone the first time, when it killed Darren. I can’t imagine that it would do that again.

  I respond.

  Cool. I’ll meet you there after sixth period.

  After the bus drops us off at our usual stop, Aidan tears off his jacket, shoulders my backpack with his and holds my hand as we walk. “Did you get any more of those dreadful messages today?”

  I shake my head. “Nothing since I installed an app to block everyone except a few friends.”

  He squeezes my hand. “I still say you should report them to the authorities. They threatened your life. I checked last night on the internet. That’s illegal behavior.”

  Oh, god, he is so cute. “What your dad did to you was illegal, too,” I reply. “But I don’t see you going to the authorities.”

  “My father is too powerful for that. I told you. Besides, there aren’t any authorities where I live. Even if there were, it would be meaningless to tell them anything. They wouldn’t believe me. My father’s reputation precedes him. If they only knew.”

  “Well, believe me,” I explain, “in my world, kids do things like this all the time and they almost never get in trouble. There’s always a lengthy investigation of some sort that goes nowhere. I’ve seen it on the news. I do think some people are intrinsically evil, but these guys who sent the texts, I honestly think they’re cowards. They would never actually hurt someone ‘because Jesus.’ Or whatever. But threatening and fantasizing is okay somehow.”

  “What a humane world you live in. My father would not hesitate to destroy anyone who threatened his secrets.”

  I change the subject. As we reach the house, we talk about tomorrow and the week after. How it will be difficult to spend time together, especially given all the homework we have over Thanksgiving break and Aidan’s new job.

  “So, today will be our last time together, since I’ll be working and you’ll be doing homework?” he asks.

  “Actually,” I say, closing and locking the front door. “Remember the club I started but everything went insane?”

  He climbs up the staircase. “You’re starting it again? How wonderful! You’re so brave. You really are a sort of Isabella Lucy Bird. Adventurous, I’d say.”

  “I’m going to pretend that I understood what you just said.” I climb up the stairs after him. “But the answer to your question is no. I’m not restarting the club.
There’s somebody who wants to talk to me, so I’m going to spend some time with her. Her brother is going to give me a lift home. I’m not sure when that will be.”

  Aidan enters the sewing room and drops his book bag on the floor. “So, what do you want to do on our last afternoon together until after this thanking holiday I keep hearing about?”

  My heart beats so hard as he approaches that it feels like the only organ in my body. He takes my chin in his hand. “You are always concerned for others, Charity Jones. That is one of many things that I love about you.” He kisses my fingers. “I want to show you something. It’s almost as beautiful as you are.”

  He leads me downstairs and outside. Cool breezes rifle the branches. I hesitate. “I don’t want to spend time outside if we don’t have to.”

  “We’ll only be a few minutes,” he says.

  We walk around the back of the house. Aidan leads me to a patch just beyond Dad’s new tool shed. It looks ridiculously artificial on the wilds of our property.

  A dash of red catches my eye. A single, gorgeous rose growing miraculously in the mud, ruffled by the wind. Rain drops bead on the surface. The ground around it has not been disturbed. This wasn’t planted. It grew.

  “Where did this come from? We’ve never had roses back here. Or anywhere. They have to be cultivated by people with super green thumbs. We just…Mom doesn’t. Dad…doesn’t…”

  Aidan draws me close to him. “It’s a winter miracle. And I assure you, it won’t be the last.”

  As he kisses me, our bodies warm together in the cold, I hear fluttering. A tiny wind. Motion surrounds me. My eyes open.

  Several dozen radiant blue and gold butterflies flutter around us.

  Aidan smiles. “It’s what you want for Christmas, right?”

  Laughter bubbles up from my throat. I can’t stop laughing. Or crying. But I don’t want to stop kissing him. “This isn’t real. It just isn’t.”

  He kisses me again. “It’s a little early for Christmas presents, but there’s no sense in waiting until Christmas when you can have roses and butterflies now.”

  In moments, we’re back in the house, in his room, entangled on the floor. A couple of stray butterflies land on his computer monitor and book bag as we explore each other’s bodies. Timidly, tentatively. Clothes on. My skin sweats with fear and desire. Touch me. Don’t touch me. Here. Not there. Okay, there. I guide his hand, his eyes wild. His excitement and hunger obvious.

  “Aidan, we need to talk about what we’re doing. Or not doing.”

  His fingers brush stray hairs from my face. “I will do whatever you ask,” he whispers. “And no more.”

  His lips find mine. Nothing could be holier in this world than his touch. I drink him in, my mind aflame with images not of movie love scenes but ivory drifts carved by blue shadows beneath a white sun. Bloody droplets falling into a sparkling stream with coppery fish. Smoke billowing from a house on a hillside blanketed with pines. My heart thunders in my ears. Two heartbeats. His mouth works down my neck. My breathing slows. Cold sunlight. Blinding.

  Intoxicating.

  The perfect azure sky is streaked with pink clouds. I tear away.

  Falling.

  I sit on the floor, blinking.

  Charles yells at Aidan in the doorway. Aidan clutches my backpack and coat.

  “She needs her goddamn cherry popped,” Charles sneers. “But not by a faggot like you.”

  “You’re disgusting,” Aidan asserts. “There’s nothing improper going on. Your sister is sick. Now get her a glass of water instead of standing there like a useless ass.”

  What did Charles see? Why didn’t we hear him come home? Or did we? I can’t remember what’s happened the last—I check the wall clock—half an hour. My head feels like it’s on fire.

  “Fuck you, car smasher,” Charles yells. “First you take my family, then my job, and now—” Charles’ finger jabs Aidan’s shirt, but stops inches away. He tries to push forward but can’t. His hand trembles. He yanks it back like he touched a nest of hot wires. A shadow passes over his expression. “There is something deeply fucked up about you.” He licks his lips, looks at me. “It’s like fucking Haven around here or something. And you of all people are encouraging it! I’m telling Mom. You slut.”

  Scrambling to my feet, I get in Charles’ face. “If you say one word to Mom and Dad about anything, I swear, I’ll tell them about you being with Noah the other day and the accident. Who do you think they’ll believe?”

  Charles sears me with a dark, threatening look. I’ve never seen him so angry before. “So that’s how you wanna play it? You’re both gonna pay. Big.”

  A switch has been tripped in my brother. I can tell. I have no doubt I’ll pay.

  I just don’t know how.

  Chapter 17

  Dear Charity,

  As I travelled through Washington State, I hurt myself hiking and couldn’t go on. An older gentleman living in a cabin on a mint farm helped me get on my feet. In return for his care and healing supply of mint—he had several varieties, but peppermint was what I needed—I worked for him a few months, helping on the farm, cutting wood and hunting. I stayed long after I was healed. I didn’t mind the hard work but I hated the rifle. I mastered it but ultimately had to reject it, as every time I pulled the trigger, I felt my father’s blood coursing through me.

  If only he would embrace the image of himself that the rest of the world treasures, he could bring unprecedented joy to humanity. Perhaps his nature is so wicked that he simply can’t. His blood sour, his visage horrifying, his temper volcanic. He wishes only to punish and destroy, not to love and nurture. He loves my siblings because they’re as monstrous as he is. He despises me because I resemble my mother. It’s not that I look like her, but because I’m “weak” like her, uninterested in hurting others.

  I’m not sure that’s true. I felt my father’s blood coursing in me when your brother threatened us yesterday. Hatred clouded my reasoning. It took all of my will to restrain my father’s power within me, to keep from releasing his fearful gifts. Thankfully Charles chose silence last night when your parents came home. He’ll probably blackmail us, but I’m sure we can counter him.

  I have to leave as soon as school is over today to get to work. So please know that every moment I’m awake, I dream of feeling your touch. Everywhere.

  Yours forever,

  A-

  If Aidan and I stay together, he’s got to get into therapy because he’s got some serious daddy issues. No wonder he thinks my dad walks on water! And he kinda does. He was the one who fought for me to get into Mason Strong, the awesome science and technology magnet school in the Valley. The night after we were notified that I’d made it, he battled L.A. traffic to take us to Sweet Rose Creamery, where I devoured salted caramel ice cream to die for. Mom was supportive, for sure, but she didn’t think a magnet school was as good as being in a well-rounded private school. She was wrong in my case.

  Believe it or don’t, I used to be pretty shy. That school inspired me to find my voice. I came out of my shell and started speaking up about things, although no one wanted to hear about things like how much it sucks being torn between which race box to check. You can never check both. And I hate choosing.

  I guess I’ve always felt like a fish out of water. Or rather a whale on the beach.

  I’m more worried about Charles than Aidan can imagine. He left the house this morning with Dad, glaring and slamming doors. I caught a glimpse of his leather jacket at school as he darted for the road to smoke a cigarette. He could get suspended for smoking on campus, but between the ongoing investigation of Darren’s death, frantic parent calls, the withdrawal of students, and her own holiday plans, Mrs. Cartwright isn’t paying attention. She’s probably too worried that someone will finally open a charter school in the county.

  Aidan rode his bike to school this morning so that he can leave right after for his new job. I saw it chained to the bike racks earlier today. I ached to see i
t because it heralded our hiatus. But when I realized this meant he would have the money he needs to take me to the winter dance, one of those butterflies fluttered in my stomach. Maybe I don’t hate dances anymore.

  I should be thinking about what I’m going to wear to that stupid dance, but Charles has once again peed on my peace of mind. Even though he hasn’t said anything yet to Mom and Dad, it’s a Damocles sword hanging over our heads.

  At the end of the day, it’s ridiculously cold, the clouds clearing to expose the bright blue sky. Aside from the occasional snarky text from Michael or Judy, and a check-in from Leo to let me know that he hasn’t heard about any new killings, no one has spoken to me today. Trying to be inconspicuous, as if that were possible, I stand with my back against the wall of the English building, scanning the crowd for Jill.

  Instead, Judy trots toward me, looking amazing in a mustard wool jacket and blue knit hat, her purple bangs escaping the brim in squiggles. “Hey, what’s up? I don’t usually see you after school.”

  I shrug. “I don’t do much after school unless it’s the robotics team, and we’re on break until after the New Year.” My eyes once again scan the thinning crowds. “Jill Swain wants me to meet her at the barn to talk about some stuff. What’s going on with you? Are you okay? Any news?”

  “Jill Swain?” She frowns. “Seriously?”

  “Why not?”

  “She’s uber Catholic. What if she’s seen with you?”

  “I think she wants to be one of our tribe, though. That’s what we’re going to talk about.”

  Judy looks skeptical. “I guess we’ve seen stranger things lately.”

  “Unfortunately. How are you doing?”

  “I’m still kinda shaken, you know?” Her eyes dart around. “But I’m sleeping better. Leo and I are just doing some last-minute stuff for French club before we go on break.”

  I detect a faint blush in her cheeks. “Are you guys together? You are totally together.”