Grim Tidings

by Amanda M. Lee

  Dad moved toward the door, stopping at the foot of my bed to shoot a look of derision in Griffin’s direction, and then snapped his fingers. “She’d better not need me, Detective Taylor. Let’s go boys.”

  “What are we, dogs now?” Aidan grumbled as he followed Dad out into the hallway.

  Once they were gone, Griffin grabbed one of the chairs from the corner of the room and pulled it closer to my bed. “Your family is a trip.”

  “They’re just protective,” I replied, trying to keep my voice even. “I think they were worried I wouldn’t wake up.”

  “I can see that,” Griffin said, focusing on my face. I hadn’t seen my reflection yet, but I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like what I eventually saw. “Getting a call that your daughter has been thrown through a window could probably be a little jarring.”

  I nodded, unsure of what answer I should supply.

  “So,” Griffin pressed on. “Why were you here?”

  “I was supposed to meet the daughter of a client here,” I replied.

  “In the hospital?”

  “Her father was sick and they were looking for money to pay for his health care,” I said, warming up to my lie. “They had two antique pieces – a lighter and a set of candlesticks from the Revolutionary War – and they said they had them locked in their car.”

  “What is the name of your clients?”

  “You’ll have to check that with my father,” I said. “We promise anonymity. I can’t really remember now anyway.”

  “It wasn’t the family of Don White, though?”

  “I don’t know who that is,” I lied. “That name doesn’t sound familiar, though, so I think I can honestly say he wasn’t our client.”

  “Then what were you doing in Don White’s room?”

  I shrugged, the motion causing pain at the base of my neck. I leaned forward and ran my hand over my upper back cautiously, fingering a few shallow cuts as I did. Great. I guess I wasn’t going to sleeveless for the next few weeks. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know why you were in the room?”

  “No,” I shook my head. “I can’t remember.”

  “What is the last thing you do remember?”

  I ran my hand over my lips as though deep in thought, committing to my performance. “Walking down the hall,” I said finally.

  “The hall outside Don White’s room?”

  “I don’t know where this Don White’s room was, let alone why I was in it.”

  “Don White was an elderly gentleman who had been in a coma for ten years,” Griffin supplied. “He coded this evening and died in a room around the corner. The emergency personnel tried to save him but, after they called time of death, everyone left the room and notified the orderlies that he should be moved down to the morgue.”

  “That’s sad.”

  “All the hospital personnel say that the room was empty when they left,” Griffin continued. “Then, all of a sudden, you flew through the window and landed on the other side. When they rushed back into the room, they said it was empty.”

  “That’s weird.” Really? What else am I supposed to say? An invisible seven-foot-tall soul sucker tossed me through the window? I don’t think that will go over well.

  “And you don’t remember any of this?”

  “No,” I said, forcing my eyes to meet his. “I have no idea.”

  Griffin looked disappointed, which sent a jolt of guilt straight to my stomach – although I have no idea why. Lying comes with this business. It’s not like I have a choice – or Griffin could do anything about the situation even if he knew. I felt guilty all the same, though. I need some ice cream.

  Griffin blew out a sigh and then got to his feet. “Okay.”

  “Okay?” He was just going to let this go?

  “I have no reason to hold you,” he said. “You didn’t technically do anything illegal. Maybe you’ll have more answers after a good night’s sleep.”

  “Maybe,” I murmured.

  Griffin instinctively reached over and patted my hand. “Feel better.”

  “Thanks.”

  He turned and moved toward the closed hospital room door. I could see my family standing on the other side, waiting to see what would happen next. Griffin paused and glanced back at me. “I don’t know what you’re up to,” he said. “You can tell me, though. I might be able to help.”

  That wasn’t an option – no matter how much I wished otherwise. “I wish I could tell you more.”

  “Me, too,” Griffin said, shaking his head. “Me, too.”

  Twenty-Two

  “I can’t believe no one called me.”

  Despite my firm assertions that I felt fine – raging pain coursing through my back notwithstanding – my father insisted that I spend the night at Grimlock Manor. So, here I was, snuggled up in my childhood bed, with Aidan laying on one side of me while Jerry paced back and forth on the other.

  “We didn’t have a lot of time,” Aidan offered. “When we got the call, everyone panicked. Then Dad started screaming at everyone because they panicked. Then there was an argument over who would drive. Then we finally got to the hospital. We didn’t think to do anything else.”

  “Who won?”

  “Who won what?”

  “The driving argument?” I was genuinely curious.

  “Redmond won,” Aidan said.

  “Dad let Redmond drive?” I was surprised.

  “He was a little worked up,” Aidan admitted. “In fact, I haven’t seen him that flustered since … well, you know.”

  Unfortunately I did. The only time I had ever seen a crack in Cormack Grimlock’s armor was the day my mother died. This was an interesting, if somewhat frightening, development.

  “I still don’t understand why no one thought to call me,” Jerry complained. He had arrived at Grimlock Manor thirty minutes earlier – a duffel bag in hand – and he hadn’t shut up since.

  “Maybe they didn’t think you’d take it well,” I suggested, leaning carefully back on my pillows. The bed was queen-sized but it fell small with Aidan and Jerry gobbling up all the oxygen in the room. I didn’t want them to get any ideas.

  “Why wouldn’t I take it well?” Jerry shrieked. “I’m good in a crisis.”

  “Obviously.”

  Jerry glared at me and then bounced on the bed, causing me to cringe when the reverberations traveled up my back.

  “Hey, chill out, dude,” Aidan warned. “Her back is a mess.”

  Jerry looked contrite. “I’m sorry, Bug. I would know these things if I had been called to the hospital like a proper best friend should be.”

  “It’s fine,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine,” Jerry countered.

  “Thanks.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Detective Taylor didn’t seem to care how rough she looked,” Aidan teased.

  I pinched his wrist viciously. “You have a big mouth.”

  “Griffin? Griffin came and visited you in the hospital?” Jerry was intrigued. “That sounds promising.”

  “He didn’t come to visit me,” I corrected him. “He came to find out what I was doing in a dead guy’s room and how I ended up getting thrown through a window when no one else was in the room. He was a little confused, not that I blame him.”

  “Oh.” Jerry’s face lost some of its initial excitement. “Oh! How did you explain it?”

  “She lied like a pro,” Aidan said, clearly proud.

  The knot returned to my stomach at his words. My frown wasn’t lost on Jerry. He knew me too well.

  “I don’t think Aisling likes lying to Griffin.”

  “Why wouldn’t she?” Aidan can be oblivious when he wants to be. “I can’t believe she came up with such a great lie. Dad is trying to figure out a client he can offer up to Griffin if he shows up tomorrow.”

  “Because she likes him, you idiot,” Jerry said, reaching over and flicking Aidan on the ear.
Even that minimal contact was enough to make me uncomfortable.

  “I do not like him,” I argued.

  “Yeah, that’s written all over your face,” Jerry said. “Your poor, puffy face. You’re just lucky you didn’t go through the window face first. You need to catch Griffin with your looks and then reel him in with your personality when he gets to know you. He’s not going to get caught by your personality without a little help.”

  “Hey!”

  “It’s a little abrasive, Bug,” Jerry brushed off my righteous indignation. “When people get to know you, they end up liking you. It takes a while, though.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know,” Jerry said, patting me on the hand. “So, how did you leave things?”

  “I told him I didn’t know why I was in the room,” I said. “I said my mind was a blank – no jokes, Aidan, I’m not in the mood. He said maybe I would remember more after a good night’s sleep.”

  Jerry looked disappointed. “And he didn’t try to kiss you or anything?”

  “No.”

  Aidan smirked. “If he tried to touch her with the five of us standing on the other side of the door – watching his every move – he would have the biggest balls in the world.”

  “I’m betting he does,” Jerry said, his eyes twinkling. “That’s why he keeps hanging around even though Aisling is … difficult.”

  “I’m not difficult,” I grumbled. “And can we not talk about his balls?”

  Aidan chuckled. “Fine,” he acquiesced. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “I want to know why the wraith was there in the first place.”

  “Redmond, Cillian and Braden are on that,” Aidan replied.

  This was the first I was hearing about this. “How?”

  “They’re going to Panorama tonight,” Aidan replied.

  Panorama was a local paranormal bar in Ferndale. A coven of area witches had placed a spell on it that gave normal humans a “push” away from the building. So, even though they couldn’t understand why, if a human came into proximity with the establishment they felt an overwhelming urge to stay away. That’s how Panorama managed to keep the clientele so specific.

  “What do they think they’re going to pick up there – besides women?” I asked.

  “What’s Panorama?” Jerry asked, confused.

  I ignored the question and fixed Aidan with a hard stare.

  “If anyone knows anything about the wraiths, they’ll probably be at Panorama,” Aidan said. “It makes sense to go.”

  “And will Braden, Cillian and Redmond be able to ferret out this information before they’re distracted by something with big boobs and low-waisted jeans?” I asked.

  “You’ll have to ask them that,” Aidan said, although he didn’t look convinced himself.

  “Why haven’t you ever taken me to this Panorama?” Jerry asked.

  “Because you can’t go in,” I replied. “You’re normal.”

  “You’ve clearly never seen me with my shirt off,” Jerry said, flexing his bicep for emphasis.

  I caught Aidan staring at the movement out of the corner of my eye. Great. This little flirtation clearly wasn’t going away soon.

  “I mean you’re not paranormal,” I clarified. “You can’t go in unless you are.”

  “Well, that’s discrimination,” Jerry sniffed.

  “I’ll take it up with management next time I’m there,” I sighed, stifling a yawn.

  Aidan noticed my fatigue, despite my best efforts to hide it. “What movie do you want to fall to sleep to?” He climbed off the bed and rummaged through the desk for the remote control to the television.

  “I don’t care.”

  Aidan and Jerry exchanged a look.

  “No Pretty Woman,” I growled.

  “How about The Avengers?” Jerry suggested, snuggling in next to me.

  I could handle a little Thor. “Fine,” I said. “No commenting on their bodies, though. I’m hurt, and I don’t want you guys making it worse by getting all animated and reenacting the fight scenes like you usually do.”

  “Don’t think you can handle it?” Aidan teased, climbing carefully back onto the bed in an effort not to jostle me.

  “I don’t think I can tolerate you two arguing about who has the better body, Captain America or Thor,” I admitted.

  “I like Mark Ruffalo,” Jerry said. “He’s like a cute little bear.”

  Whatever. I had serious doubts I would be able to stay awake long enough for Thor to even make his entrance. Oh, look at that, I was right. I dropped off to sleep before the opening scene even blinked on the screen, letting Jerry and Aidan’s murmured movie observations lull me into dreamland.

  Twenty-Three

  “Why don’t we have pancakes?” Cillian whined at the breakfast table the next morning, rubbing his head and reaching for the bottle of aspirin in the middle of the table.

  “Because Aisling wanted an omelet,” Dad replied, never looking up from the newspaper he was reading at the head of the table.

  “But I have a hangover,” Cillian said.

  “And she was thrown through a glass window and can barely walk,” Dad countered. “You always have a hangover; Aisling almost never gets thrown through a window. You’re not the one in pain here.”

  “I’m fine,” I announced, shoveling a forkful of eggs, tomatoes and onions into my mouth. My pain meds had kicked in twenty minutes ago. I was beyond feeling anything but joy at the moment.

  “Since when did I become your least favorite child?” Cillian complained.

  “You’re not my least favorite child,” Dad replied. “That honor goes to Aidan this morning.”

  “What did I do?” Aidan asked, surprised at being singled out.

  “I’m sure you did something,” Redmond grumbled, draining a glass of water and immediately reaching over to the pitcher to refill his glass. “You always do something.”

  “Rough night?” I asked him.

  Redmond merely growled in response.

  “I still want to know why I’m the least favorite child in this family,” Aidan said. “I am nothing if not delightful.”

  “I think it’s the way you dress,” Braden said, rubbing his forehead.

  Aidan glanced down at his silk pajamas. “These are monogrammed.”

  “That doesn’t make them any less weird,” Cillian said.

  “They are weird,” Dad agreed. “That’s not why he’s my least favorite child today, though.”

  Okay, I’ll bite. “And why is he your least favorite child?”

  “Because, at two in the morning, I was awakened by the sound of something breaking,” Dad explained. “I was worried, since it was outside your bedroom. I thought maybe you had fallen or something on the way to the bathroom.”

  “You were going to help her go to the bathroom?” Redmond looked scandalized. “That’s not weird or uncomfortable at all.”

  Dad ignored him. “Instead of Aisling, though. I found Aidan and Jerry pretending they were superheroes in the hallway – complete with towels tied around their necks.”

  “How do you know we were superheroes?” Aidan asked.

  “Because my only other option was flying nuns,” Dad replied. “And I could hear the movie playing in Aisling’s room so I had a pretty good idea that you thought you were Captain America.”

  “Captain America can’t fly,” Aidan countered.

  “I’m surprised you weren’t trying to pretend you were Black Widow,” Braden said, shooting Aidan a smirk. “You would look great in that outfit.”

  Aidan flipped him off in response.

  “I didn’t hear anything,” I admitted.

  “You were out like a light,” Dad agreed. “That’s the only reason I didn’t beat the two of them with a belt.”

  “What did they break?” Redmond asked.

  “A very rare statue.”

  “That ugly lion?” Cillian asked. “Good. That thing
was creepy.”

  “It was a family heirloom,” Dad corrected. “It was priceless.”

  “Well, now it’s junk,” Aidan said. “I was trying to do a kick and I missed.”

  “How much did you guys have to drink?” Braden asked. “You don’t seem to have a hangover.”

  “We didn’t have anything to drink,” Aidan replied. “We were just high on life.”

  “I told you that would happen,” I said. “Watching The Avengers turns them into horny little devils with delusions of grandeur.”

  The sound of a throat clearing on the other side of the room caught everyone’s attention. Jerry was standing there – in his own set of silk pajamas – but he wasn’t alone. Griffin was a few feet behind him.

  “Look who I found waiting in the foyer.” Jerry looked both excited and concerned.

  “Good morning,” I greeted Griffin brightly. For some reason, my meds were making me giddy.

  “You look better,” Griffin said after a beat. “Kind of.”

  I ran a hand through my hair, my fingers snagging on a few snarls, and then shrugged. “I’m eating breakfast.”

  Griffin couldn’t hide his smile. “Pain meds?”

  “Either that or she found some pot when we weren’t looking,” Redmond said.

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to say pot to a police officer,” Braden said.

  “I told the maid to keep Detective Taylor waiting in the foyer until we were done with breakfast,” Dad said.

  “You knew he was here? That doesn’t seem very polite.”

  Dad shook his head, still refusing to put the newspaper down. “Eat your omelet.”

  “And drink your juice,” Jerry ordered, motioning to the open seat on my left. “Have a seat, Griffin. What do you like in your omelet?”

  Griffin looked uncertain. “I’m not here for breakfast.”

  “You don’t know what you’re missing,” I said, shoving another forkful into my mouth.

  “It would be rude not to offer him breakfast,” Jerry said, directing the comment at my father. “He’s a hardworking civil servant, after all.”

  Dad sighed. “Fine, he can have an omelet.”

  “Yay!” Jerry clapped his hands together. “Sit here,” he instructed and moved toward the end of the table where Aidan and Redmond were sitting. “So, what were we talking about?”