Snowed (The Bloodline of Yule Trilogy Book 1)

by Maria Alexander

  “I don’t know on either count. I mean, what would you say? Hello, Charity just told us your whole history. Are you going to kill her? Yes/no?”

  Michael sighs, his breath uneven. “Are you serious? Do you really think he’s going to hurt you? Or your family?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s just that, after seeing him push that gun into my brother’s—”

  “You mean, after your brother shot at him? And then shot his best friend? And hey—maybe he decided to shoot himself!” Michael leans over the couch. “Look, CJ, even if Aidan is some kind of X-Men mutant—”

  “Like Apocalypse!” Leo says.

  “Seriously?” Judy says. “He’s more like Franklin Richards. He’s just a boy.”

  “What-ever, Team Marvel!” Michael puts up a hand for quiet. “All things being equal, CJ, I gotta say, if it was indeed Aidan, he did not act inappropriately. Well, maybe he shouldn’t have let that dude drop. But even then.” He pauses. “And you do realize that Jill Swain is a little bitch, right? They used her to get you away from him.”

  “But then why not just let me go home on the bus? I wouldn’t have been able to interfere at all.”

  “I bet I know why,” Leo says, his face darkening. “Those sick bastards wanted you to see Aidan in pieces. They probably had it timed so that Jill would bring you back and ‘accidentally’ stumble on the scene. Your brother said he’d make you pay. He knew seeing Aidan injured or dead would hurt you more than anything.”

  Judy shakes her head. “No. That’s not it.”

  Everyone stares at her.

  She takes my hand, a tear spilling over her cheek. “They were going to hurt you next, CJ.”

  I feel like I’ve been socked in the gut. I know she didn’t mean to, but what Judy said has ripped open a black pit of ire. I hate my brother and I will never forgive him.

  “Do you think any of those asshats told anyone what really happened?” Judy asks. “Or tried?”

  Michael snorts. “I seriously doubt it.”

  A fresh wave of grief passes through me. “Talking to Aidan now would be like poking a wasp nest.” My voice cracks. “Let’s leave him alone and focus on the one thing we can do that will help solve the mystery.”

  Judy raises an eyebrow. “Which is?”

  “Catching the creature,” I reply. “I have a plan.”

  Mom very reluctantly agrees to let me stay the night with Judy. I ask her to text me when Aidan gets home, which she does. Another stab of pain. I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about Aidan, which means I’ve never broken up with anyone. It certainly hurt when Grandma Jones died, but we were ready for that, sort of. She’d been ill for a while. And it hurt when I lost Keiko. But this thing with Aidan—this is the worst that’s ever happened to me.

  This, and coming to this school.

  In the morning, Judy drives me home. Aidan is at his job already, which is a relief. I stagger down the hallway to my bedroom like a dying person. His sweet smell wafts from his room like a ghost as I pass, causing me to break out in fresh tears. I don’t know what I’m going to do when I see him. If I tell him to go away, he will, even if it means the authorities will be after him. He might already be planning to do so, but if he runs, he’d best run far and fast. And if he does, he’ll take my heart.

  Gotta stay focused. Yes, there’s schoolwork. But more importantly, there’s monsterwork.

  Closing the door, I comb through Aidan’s emails until I find the nagging detail that I need:

  Peppermint.

  Chapter 20

  Saturday morning, my computer hums with equations and Google searches for materials. Most of what we need can be bought dirt cheap at the hardware store. I text Michael and Leo about the parts. They confirm that they can get many of them from their own garages. Judy adds that she’s got “loads” of mint from the local pharmacy. I’m not sure what that means, but I assume she knows what she’s doing.

  Aidan’s gone to work. I survived the agony of hearing him just on the other side of the thin wall, my pulse loud in my ears as I curl under the covers.

  Mom and Dad call me downstairs to sit on the couch. Mom looks hellishly tired and infinitely sad, a large mug of coffee in hand. In lawyer mode, she explains that police say Charles allegedly shot Noah in a group fight. He was aiming for one of the other kids but instead hit his best friend. The police not only found cocaine in Charles’ bloodstream, they found gunpowder residue on his hands, face and jacket, as well as the gun with his fingerprints.

  “Wait. It was a group fight? Who else was there?” I ask nervously.

  She names Charles, Noah, and the other guys, including Zander, who is now in the hospital from his leg injury, but she says nothing about me or Aidan, who must have taken off right after Noah got hit. “There were no witnesses, then?”

  “None that have come forward.”

  Of course, Charles wouldn’t admit there were any witnesses. “So…what now?”

  “I can only guess how the DA will go, but I suspect the boys will all be charged with attempted murder.”

  “But you said that Charles shot Noah. How can everyone be charged with attempted murder?” I ask.

  “It’s the felony murder rule,” Mom explains. “Even if the boys only meant to beat each other up, they were all carrying deadly weapons, like bats and tire irons. If someone in their company kills someone, they become collectively responsible for that death, whether they personally pulled the trigger or not.”

  I wonder if they’re in separate cells or all together. I hope they can’t talk to each other. “How is Noah?”

  “He’s still unconscious,” Dad says, grim. Eyes bloodshot. “Hospital says he’s in grave condition.”

  The image flashes behind my eyes of Noah falling to the ground, blood blooming from his abdomen. “What does Charles say happened?” The burning question.

  “Absolutely nothing. I’ve trained him too well.” She smiles wryly at Dad.

  “But if Charles and the other boys don’t say anything, and there were no witnesses, how will the cops know what really happened?”

  “They won’t,” Mom answers. “But the DA will prosecute according to whatever evidence they gather, even if they have no testimony. Unless Noah wakes up and testifies to the contrary, they have to assume that your brother was trying to kill him or someone else.”

  “Do you think he tried to kill someone?” I ask.

  Mom’s eyes find Dad’s. “Charles is troubled, but I don’t think he’s a murderer. I think the police are wrong. I think they were all just fooling around. Boys…they roughhouse. They lose control.” Dad nods in agreement.

  “With a gun?” I ask, incredulous.

  “Happens every day in this country with tragic results,” she adds.

  I can’t argue with that, but I do think they’re both in serious denial. “What happens now?”

  “Monday, your brother will be arraigned with the other boys. A judge’ll decide if they need to be appointed attorneys and then formally charge them.”

  “But we know how he’s going to be charged.”

  Mom clenches her eyes shut. Tears streak her cheeks.

  Aidan doesn’t return from work. I thought he would return at some point to gather some clothing. Maybe he did when I was dead asleep. At dinner, I ask Mom where he went.

  “He’s staying with a friend of his.”

  I didn’t realize he had any friends besides me. “A friend? Who?”

  “I promised I wouldn’t tell.” She looks concerned. “Did you guys have a fight? Something’s up with you.”

  I dodge. “He’s probably freaked out. I don’t blame him. I’m still pretty freaked out, too. Could I have some friends spend the night?”

  “Like who?”

  “Michael, Leo and Judy.”

  Mom frowns. “A co-ed slumber party? I don’t know, Charity.”

  “Please. We’re dorks, Mom. We’re just going to play board games and fall asleep.”

  “Well…m
aybe.” She sounds weak. Defeated. So unlike my mom.

  “I need my friends now. More than ever. Please?”

  “Tonight?”

  “No. Maybe Monday night?”

  I’m trying to sound like a normal girl, but I feel anything but normal right now. My family is in tatters. I’m dying every minute because I can’t be with Aidan.

  All I have is monsterwork.

  Time to make a trap.

  Monday. The construction starts in my back yard today after Dad leaves for work. Mom has been with clients since 5:30 a.m., having been called in early when someone’s caregiver was found dead. They’ll converge later at the courthouse.

  Wearing heavy gloves, I empty out Dad’s gardening tools and place them on a tarp under the deck. I push the lawn mower under there, too, covering it with another tarp to protect it from any rain. Dad will never notice. Since his back surgery, he’s hardly been out here. The sun shines icy light on the trees. My heart breaks every time I look at the rose. It stands tall and strong. Fuller and brighter. A Christmas miracle, he called it.

  And I assure you, it won’t be the last.

  His words replay in my head as I check and recheck shed measurements. I wish it didn’t feel like someone was pulling my lungs out of my chest through my mouth. The design process calms me.

  The hinge goes here.

  The wires, there.

  I considered a snare trap but the creature seems too smart for it, as Leo reports it had managed to evade detection on a another property this weekend before committing a gruesome attack on someone’s pony five miles north of here. It had to be put down, it was injured so badly. So, I settle on a trap similar to the ones used for feral cats. The shed is the only place large enough to trap a creature of this size—at least, that we have access to. Judy’s mom has a strong shed in the backyard, but it’s crammed with heavy statues and fountains.

  The doors pose the greatest challenge. They have to behave like the sliding cage door of the sprung trap, but that’s not quite possible. So, I’m spring loading one of the outer doors. It will stand open until the trap is tripped. If I had more time and materials, I could have added an inner door that drops down, but the vinyl material isn’t that sturdy and we would need to build an inner skeleton to support it. We don’t need it, though. I hope.

  Michael’s car grinds into the driveway around 11:00 a.m. As he, Judy, and Leo unload, I hand them the plans I drew up over the weekend.

  “Whoa!” Leo gasps. “You designed this?”

  I hold up the power drill and pull the trigger. “Let’s do this thing.”

  Reinforced door hinges with acorn nut tops. Spring installed. Slide lock snap bolted to the opening. Fishing wire strung through O-rings fastened to the inside walls feeds under a step latch at a shallow angle to the floor, similar to the feral cat traps, and out a wall to trip another hook latch holding the outer door open. I set the trap. The step latch spans the width of the shed, which means the creature can’t walk around it, and it’s long enough that the creature can’t jump over it.

  “Hey, that rose is something!” Michael says.

  I sigh.

  Leo draws the short match. We watch as he creeps inside. One. Two. Three.

  WHAP! goes the fishing wire.

  SNAP! goes the door.

  “Jesus!” Leo shouts.

  THUNK! goes the lock.

  “Are you sure the creature is heavy enough to trigger the step?” Michael asks.

  I nod.

  “What about raccoons? Can they trigger it?”

  Leo hammers his fists against the inside walls. “Hey!”

  “Push it, Leo!” Judy yells back.

  “I set the step for about sixty pounds minimum to trigger. Maybe a big dog could set it off or a child. But neither are likely to be on our property at night.”

  Leo throws himself against the walls. The tool shed rocks back and forth slightly, not enough to turn over.

  “Do you think we need to anchor it?” Judy asks.

  “Are you kidding? It would take six drunken frat boys to push this thing over. Or a bulldozer. Just keep the lawnmower and other crap in there,” Michael replies. “Otherwise, if you’re feeling iffy, we could either dig out the earth underneath and pour concrete or create a wider base that we stake to the ground using concrete. Not only would that take time to set, but I suspect your folks are already going to be mighty unhappy with the current mods, so we shouldn’t do it unless we really need to.”

  Leo throws himself against the doors. They hold tight. He presses his face against one of the acrylic windows on the side, puffing his cheeks. We laugh and call him “fish boy.” Michael checks the lock. “You have the key?”

  “Don’t need it.” I show him where we could have a lock if we wanted to, but the slide lock bar is strong enough to hold. Struggling mightily against the spring, Michael opens the door. Leo exits, smiling.

  “Sweet!” he says. “You know, I knew what was coming and it still scared the hell out of me. This is brilliant, CJ. Nice work.”

  “It wasn’t just me. You guys made awesome happen.” I turn to Judy. “Hey, do you have the peppermint?”

  She and Leo are looking goofy at each other the way I’m sure I did constantly with Aidan. “Yes!” She runs off to the car and returns with a bulging plastic bag. “They’re already selling these. Can you believe it? God, I hate capitalism sometimes. Or maybe I just hate people.”

  The bag is full of candy canes. Big ones, small ones. Plastic wrapped, yet the odor of peppermint is already overpowering.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t get to the supermarket. I should have asked first. Will this work?”

  My heart sinks. Aidan was pretty clear in his e-mail that he was on a peppermint farm in Washington, which means he had access to fresh peppermint, not this sugary, processed crap. I don’t think this will work, but it’s Judy’s biggest contribution next to creating real camouflage for the interior shed and I don’t want her to feel badly. Maybe she’s right. Candy canes smell the same, don’t they? They might bring ants, but that’s not a huge problem. Perhaps this is the better choice. “We’ll try it! Worst case scenario is that we’ll have to change bait.”

  And who knows? Maybe I’m way off thinking that what I know about Aidan will also work with this creature. But it’s worth trying.

  As we sit peeling the plastic off of thirty or so candy canes, Michael says, “You know this thing is going to come at night if it comes at all. Are you going to be okay? What about your folks? How’s this going to play out, you think?”

  “Good questions,” I reply. “Maybe we could have a sleepover for the next couple of nights. Safety in numbers and all that.”

  Michael shakes his head. “Not me. We’ve got houseguests and we’re prepping for Thanksgiving. There’s no way my mom is going to let me out of that.”

  Judy and Leo, however, are up for it. “But what are we going to do once we catch the thing?” Leo asks. “Thinking optimistically, of course.”

  “If we actually catch this thing, I’ll call Detective Bristow,” I say, licking the sticky sweetness off of my fingers. “Or just call nine-one-one. Provided there isn’t anything more serious going on, the sheriff would be here in a few minutes max.”

  “Do you think it’ll hold long enough?” Michael asks. He looks to Leo. “What do you think, beast boy?”

  Leo shrugs. “He’s got those badass claws but I’m not sure how powerful he is. I didn’t have to hit him hard to take him out.” He thinks for a moment. “How strong’s the roof? We didn’t test that.” Michael helps open the door. Leo scurries into the shed and punches up against the roof. It doesn’t budge but it does create a hell of a racket.

  “Okay, okay!” I shout. “It sounds like the worst thing that could happen is that it could wake up my parents. But my mom’s been taking Ambien and my dad’s on medication for his back. So, I don’t think they’d wake up immediately. And if they did, they’d call the police first. They’re pretty cauti
ous.” Translation: they don’t have a gun, so they don’t take chances.

  “And what about Aidan?” Judy asks softly. “Is he coming back?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. I want nothing more than to feel his soft skin and hear the odd lilt of his voice. To look into those milky blue eyes and taste his lips. But that still feels dangerously wrong. Desire knots in my gut. “He’s staying with a friend for a few days. I don’t know who. My mom won’t tell me. Maybe he won’t come back at all.” I press my lips together and look away. I don’t want them to see the tears.

  We seal up the candy canes in freezer bags and I store them in my room. Leo and Judy promise to return tonight as everyone piles in the car. Michael hovers at the open car door.

  “I wouldn’t worry about Aidan. I think we’re on the right track.” He rests his hand on my shoulder. “I’ve got a special ring tone for you. Just text me if anything happens. It’ll wake me up for sure and I’ll zip over.”

  As we hug long and hard, I wonder if I haven’t made a mistake. Maybe Michael likes me more than I realize. Maybe I’m just trying to console myself.

  When they’re gone, I get the ladder and I tie a few pieces of candy cane on the higher tree branches swaying in the wind.

  Come and get it, you dog-eating piece of crap.

  We’re ready.

  Chapter 21

  “Charity? Come here, baby.”

  It’s later that night. Judy, Leo, and Michael have gone home. Dad’s eyes are still bloodshot and puffy. My heart hurts seeing him like this. He holds out his hand to me. His oversized 8-bit Batman t-shirt is wrinkled and stained with fast food. I slide off my bed. I take his hand in mine.

  My hands ache from the work we did today but I hold on. I briefly worry that he’s found the tool shed modifications, but he and Mom and have only been home a few minutes. They arrived bearing Chinese food. I can smell it from my room.

  Mom lays out dishes and silverware as we sit at the table. Dinner feels funereal, but I’m starving.

  “Your brother and his friends were arraigned today,” Mom says. “It’ll probably be in the papers, even if they don’t use his name, so we should talk about it now.”