“That’s kind of leap, don’t you think?”
Dad shook his head. “No. Half of everything that’s happened to us in the last year has originated in the Olivet mausoleum. Perhaps more than half.”
“So you think this circles back to the Olivets?” Mom furrowed her brow, confused. “I don’t see how.”
“Not the Olivets,” Dad clarified. “Genevieve Toth. She’s the central figure in all of this.”
“Genevieve?” Mom didn’t bother to hide her shock. “Genevieve is dead. How could she be causing this to happen?”
“She might only be related tangentially,” Dad replied. “According to the whispers, Harry Turner’s mother had ties to Genevieve. He had the disc. Perhaps it’s someone in that family pulling the strings this time.”
Mom was mollified. “I guess that makes sense. I can’t remember if you told me before, but what was this Turner’s mother’s name?”
“Annemarie,” Cillian answered. “Annemarie Turner. She was obsessed with witches and power, although we can’t be sure if she had power of her own. She seemed to want to surround herself with others who had legitimate magical ties, which suggests to me that she wasn’t in possession of her own magic.”
“And the books?” Mom gestured to the huge book Cillian flipped through. “What do they have to do with this?”
“They’re from the mausoleum, too,” Dad answered. “Aisling decided to take them because she couldn’t read them. She thought Cillian would have better luck. It was a good plan until Detective Green caught her leaving with them.”
“Detective Green? What was he doing in Detroit?”
“That’s the question we need answered.” Dad dragged a restless hand through his hair. “Green is the wildcard here. We have no idea what he knows and what he’s trying to accomplish. We have to find out … and I have no idea how to do that.”
23
Twenty-Three
Mom stayed for dinner, of course. She got her kicks by irritating Dad, and her mere presence was often enough to send him over the edge. He held it together, for the most part, and we spent the meal hashing things out.
“So this Annemarie Turner woman wanted to be a witch, but we’re not sure she was?” Jerry loved a good horror story as much as the next person. He was affected by the storms, so he was doubly invested in figuring out who was causing them. “Is she dead?”
“She is,” Cillian confirmed. He brought one of the books to dinner and read as he ate. “Her family said she was something of a nut and raised Harry off the grid much of the time.”
“What do you mean by that?” Griffin asked. “Did she go all prepper or something?”
“Prepper?” Mom was back to being confused as she sipped her wine. She doled portions of food onto her plate, but didn’t eat much, instead opting to push it around and pretend she was eating.
“Preppers plan for the end of the world,” Braden supplied. “They’re survivalists. They think there could be a nuclear attack or something that they plan to survive.”
“Like the zombie apocalypse,” I offered. “I’ve already survived that, so I’m good.”
Griffin chuckled as he speared a chicken breast from the platter. “You rocked the zombie apocalypse. You didn’t just survive it. You kicked the crap out of it and looked good doing it.”
“Oh, you really do get me.” I beamed as I rested my head against his shoulder. Watching Griffin interact this way made me realize he was well on the way to recovery. That was the thing I cared about most, after all. “I did rock that zombie apocalypse.”
Mom sighed. “There’s more wine, right?”
“There is,” Dad confirmed. “I’m not sure you need any, though.”
“Oh, I need some.”
“Go back to Annemarie Turner,” Dad instructed Cillian, doing a terrible job of ignoring the way Mom poured half a bottle of wine into her glass. “You said she was off the grid. I need more information on that.”
“I don’t know what I can tell you.” Cillian dragged his eyes away from the book. “I only know what I heard from the sister. Annemarie was weird. She was described that way by everyone who had ever met her. Apparently she wanted to stand out, but she was no great beauty so that was difficult. This is all coming from the sister, mind you, so she put her own spin on it.”
“Let me guess: The sister was the beauty in the family and Annemarie was jealous,” Mom drawled.
Cillian nodded. “That’s exactly what she said. Anyway, Annemarie met Harry’s father, who was a day laborer – which was somehow important to the story, although I never figured out how – and she got pregnant before they were married. That was apparently quite the scandal in those days.”
“It would’ve been considered improper for the time, there’s no getting around that,” Dad said. “She obviously married Harry’s father. That would’ve dampened the scandal.”
“I think it put an end to scandal as far as everyone but the sister was concerned,” Cillian clarified. “She seemed the type to lord it over Annemarie for a very long time.”
“That sounds lovely,” I muttered. “For once I’m glad I have brothers instead of a mean girl sister.”
“Oh, don’t kid yourself,” Braden said. “If you came home pregnant you would’ve been in a heck of a lot of trouble. If Dad didn’t kill you, we would have.”
“I would’ve killed Griffin if she came home pregnant before the wedding,” Dad clarified. “Aisling merely would’ve been locked in the basement.”
“Oh, now, that’s not much of a punishment,” I teased. “There are snakes in the basement, but if I came up pregnant it obviously would’ve been because of my addiction to trouser snakes. How do you think locking me in the basement would’ve fixed that?”
Dad extended a warning finger in my direction. “Don’t push me.”
I smiled into my mashed potatoes as Griffin shook his head.
“Please don’t push him,” Griffin said. “The last thing I need is your father threatening to kill me because you’re playing a game.”
“It might be fun,” I countered. “But we don’t have time for games now. We’ll have to make time for that one later.”
“Yes, we’re all looking forward to that,” Braden drawled. “We should build a bonfire out back and let Dad chase Aisling around it for old time’s sake.”
“Why would you chase her around a bonfire?” Griffin asked, legitimately confused.
“Because I didn’t wear a bra under my tube top and he was very upset about my reaction to the cooler night temperatures,” I answered without hesitation.
Dad’s cheeks flushed with color. “I can’t believe you brought that up again.”
“Hey, at least she’s wearing a bra,” Redmond offered. “We should be thankful for small favors.”
Dad poured more bourbon. “I hate it when we spend too much time together like this. The conversations always turn crude … and you know I don’t like crudity.”
“Which explains how you got stuck with all of us,” I deadpanned, causing everyone but Dad to snicker. “Oh, come on. You know you like crude talk a little. You simply like it when you’re alone with the boys. When I’m involved, you’re uncomfortable with it.”
“I definitely am,” Dad agreed. “Let’s go back to talking about Annemarie. She’s a much more entertaining subject.”
“I don’t know how entertaining the story is,” Cillian hedged. “She sounds like a nut. She married Harry’s father about four months before giving birth. The scandal was swept under the rug and the family moved to a small house in Ferndale.
“They lived there together for two years, and I don’t think they were a happy two years,” he continued. “The sister kept going on and on about how Annemarie was never happy with her lot in life and that’s why she kept looking for more.”
“That must be how the witch search came up,” Aidan mused, breaking a breadstick in half so he could share with Jerry. My best friend was a carbohydrates Nazi and claimed the ca
lories didn’t count as long as the original item came from Aidan’s plate. Aidan was trained in how things worked in Jerry’s world relatively quickly when it came to food and knew better than to contest the issue. Sometimes it was easier just to shut up and split your breadstick. “It sounds like Annemarie wanted to stand out, and if she couldn’t do it with her looks she wanted to do it with her standing in society. Getting knocked up by a day laborer with limited potential was probably a blow to her ego.”
“Probably,” Cillian agreed. “Harry’s father died in a car accident when Harry was five, but they’d already been separated for several years, although it was on the down low. Family lore says Annemarie cast a spell to make it happen because she was unhappy and wanted all of his money. I have no idea if that’s true. It could easily be something that people made up.
“After that, Annemarie sold the house and moved Harry to St. Clair County for a bit,” he continued. “She joined up with a religious movement called The Seekers. I made a note of it on my phone at the time so I could look it up. I did that this afternoon before getting the call about Aisling being arrested … again.”
“I wasn’t technically arrested,” I countered, waving my fork for emphasis. “I was transported for questioning. I was never arrested. I was never read my rights. That doesn’t count.”
“Only in Aisling’s world does that not count,” Braden snickered.
“She wasn’t taken in for something she did,” Dad pointed out. “Green followed her. You could’ve been taken in just as easily as Aisling. In fact, I’m not exactly happy that you let the cops separate the two of you and put Aisling in the car.”
Braden balked. “Hey! I wasn’t expecting any of it. I was the one who thought fast enough to call the Detroit police. How much worse do you think things would’ve been if they hadn’t showed up?”
Dad opened his mouth to respond, what I’m sure was a hot retort on the tip of his tongue. Instead he changed course. “You’re right.” He turned to Griffin. “Do you think he would’ve tried to put Aisling in his car and leave Braden behind? He could’ve hurt her under those circumstances.”
“He could have,” Griffin agreed, clenching his fork so tightly his knuckles whitened. “I’ve thought about that a few times myself. I can’t figure out his end game. He knew Braden was with her because he was watching.”
“Maybe he intended to separate them,” Aidan suggested.
“Or maybe he intended to take Braden out of the picture.” Dad’s expression was dark. “He couldn’t have taken Aisling without anyone knowing unless he did something to silence Braden. Braden acted out quickly and then Green’s plan was shot to hell because the police showed up right away.”
“See. I was the hero today.” Braden speared some asparagus and bit into the fleshy end. “I deserve a prize.”
Dad stared at him for a long moment. “What exactly do you want?”
“I think a waffle bar tomorrow morning should do it.”
“Consider it done.” Dad shook his head and poured more bourbon. “I think it’s weird that all my children can be bought off with food. I don’t know what to make of it.”
Mom’s smile was benign. “I think it’s kind of cute.”
“You would,” Dad muttered. “You started bribing them early with candy if they behaved in public. I wanted to spank them and be done with it, but you thought a risk-and-reward system would be better.”
“And I was proven right.”
“I think the jury is still out.” Dad sipped his drink. “I believe you were in the middle of a story, Cillian. I don’t know why we keep getting off track when you’re trying to tell us something. Please continue.”
Cillian rolled his eyes. “I should get a special something for you guys interrupting me all the time.”
Dad sighed. “What do you want?”
“I would like a drafting table for the upstairs library.”
The request was so offbeat Dad was understandably caught off guard. “A drafting table?”
Cillian nodded. “I do a lot of research up there and Restoration Hardware has a table that would fit with the décor.”
“I have no problem buying you a drafting table.” Dad pursed his lips. “If you wanted something like that, you should’ve asked. You do all the research, so it’s only fair you have the furniture you need to be comfortable.”
“Oh, well, thanks.” Cillian’s cheeks reddened as I stared at him. We snagged gazes and I could tell he recognized the unsaid thought passing through my brain. If he was going to ask Maya to marry him and move out, why did he need a drafting table?
Ultimately I knew it didn’t matter because Dad loved buying furniture. Still, it was a weird request.
“Annemarie,” I said, drawing everyone back to the conversation. “She’d just joined a cult when you left off in your story.”
Cillian’s eyes widened. “How did you know it was a cult?”
“They called themselves ‘The Seekers.’ What else could it be?”
“Good point.” Cillian knocked back some whiskey before continuing. “Annemarie married the guy in charge of the cult. They seemed to be survivalists planning for the end of the world. They were anti-government and wanted to be left to themselves.
“That ended about five years later when a bunch of the guys in charge – including Harry’s stepfather – were arrested for sexual misconduct,” he continued. “I found the records online. They were tossed in jail for having sex with the teenage girls. The cult disbanded and Annemarie took Harry back to Royal Oak. Once there, she focused on witches, and that seemed to be her obsession until her death about fifteen years ago.”
“How old was she when she died?” I asked.
Cillian shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t check. I would guess she was in her seventies.”
“So what do we know from that story?” Redmond asked. “I mean … what does knowing Annemarie’s background do for us?”
“I have no idea.” Dad answered honestly. “This whole thing is a mess, and I don’t know what to make of it. I think we’re on the right track, but I have no idea where to go from here.”
“I’ll help Cillian go through the books after dinner,” Mom offered. “I can read Latin. Maybe together we can work faster to find something.”
“That’s a start, but I don’t know if it’s enough.” Dad cast me a sidelong look. “We need to put an end to these storms. The longer they continue, the more danger they pose. Something really awful could happen – like a mass shooting – and then we’ll all be haunted forever.”
That hadn’t occurred to me. “So we’ll work together on research. It’s all we have right now.”
“Let’s hope that changes … and soon.”
GRIFFIN FOUND ME IN the kitchen about an hour after dinner. Everyone was upstairs conducting research – some people were chasing answers on Green while others researched Annemarie, and still others toiled with the Latin tomes. I needed a breather, so I came to the kitchen for some water.
“What are you thinking?” Griffin asked, causing me to jerk my eyes from the window. He held up his hands when he saw how edgy I was. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“I’m not frightened of you,” I stressed, grabbing his hand. “Stop thinking I’m frightened of you. I know you would never hurt me.”
“I can’t help myself.” Griffin wrapped his arms around me from behind and watched as a bolt of lightning split the sky on the other side of the glass. “Another storm.” He tensed but didn’t release me. “I guess it’s good I’m safe in here, huh?”
I nodded without hesitation. “I plan to keep you that way.”
“Good idea.” Griffin nuzzled my neck before resting his chin on my shoulder. “You seem lost in thought. Do you want to tell me what’s bothering you?”
That was a loaded question. “My mother.”
“Is this about what she said earlier? I’m not offended. She was right. I could’ve really hurt you.”
&n
bsp; “You didn’t, and we won’t let it happen again. You would never have considered hurting me in the first place if it wasn’t for the storm. She knows that. She just likes to dig at you, and I can’t figure out why.”
“Maybe she doesn’t think I’m good enough for you.”
“The woman eats people to survive,” I pointed out. “She did a good job of masking what she was doing tonight, but she only took two bites of her food and dumped the rest. Why do you think that is? I’ll tell you why; it’s because she’s eating people. She sucking their souls and discarding the human husks as if they were garbage.”
Griffin’s lips curved against my neck. “I thought I was the only one who noticed that. The food thing, I mean. I wasn’t talking about the human husks, because I never really thought about it.”
“No. I noticed. I’m sick of her poking you. I don’t like it.”
“And how would jumping her in the middle of a serious conversation have helped that situation?”
“It would’ve made me feel better. I can’t fight with Angelina right now because there’s no way for me to come out looking good, so I have to fight with Mom. There’s no other option.”
“Well, as long as you’ve given it a reasonable amount of thought.”
We rocked back and forth, enjoying the quiet moment. We’d spent time together the past few days, but it was hardly intimate time. I was just about to suggest that we separate from the group and head to my room when a hint of motion in the yard caught my eye. I leaned forward and peered through the window, waiting for another flash of lightning to help me identify what I was searching for.
“What are you looking at?” Griffin asked, alert.
“There’s something out there.”
“What? A wraith?”
“Smaller than a wraith. I … don’t get worked up.” I patted his hand. “It’s probably a raccoon or something. This neighborhood has the best garbage in the city.”
“Probably.” Griffin didn’t sound convinced. “Where did you last see it?”
Grim Tempest Page 22
