“What a lovely visual,” Braden deadpanned.
I ignored him as I shuffled toward the door. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
I DIDN’T mean to let my bathroom sojourn take so long … or lead me outside. No, really. Without realizing what I was doing, I found myself standing in the gated parking area staring at the Gentry house on the hill.
The windows were lit on three different floors, shadows moving inside. I couldn’t make out how many people were there, or what they were doing. I had no evidence that anything nefarious was happening. Yet I couldn’t look away.
I jolted when a pair of strong arms wrapped around my waist from behind, Griffin snuggling close and resting his chin on my shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“Thinking.”
“About what?”
“The man in the mirror.”
Griffin didn’t immediately comment further, instead enfolding my body so that his covered mine. He chased away the chill and worry better than any parka ever could, but I couldn’t forget what I saw at the mall. “Something happened today, didn’t it?”
That had to be a trick question. “Dad already told you, didn’t he?”
“That he let you talk him into taking you to the mall? Yeah, he told me. He didn’t bother trying to hide it.”
“Did you yell at him?”
“I’m not going to lie and pretend I wasn’t upset about the possibility of you ending up in front of a mirror at the mall,” Griffin replied. “Your father was with you, though, and I can’t keep you from mirrors forever. You’re obviously okay … and safe … and that’s the most important thing.”
I rested the back of my head against his shoulder, relieved he wasn’t going to argue. I had every intention of keeping Angelina’s meeting with my mother to myself. When I thought about it, really dug deep, I knew I needed to discuss it. There was no one I could trust more than Griffin to understand my feelings.
“Did he tell you anything else?”
I felt Griffin stiffen. “Should he have told me something else?”
“I’m not sure. We didn’t really agree to keep it to ourselves..”
“What?”
“My mother was in the mall. She approached me in the pottery store. I got a great vase for Jerry, by the way. He needed a little something extra for helping me steal Cillian’s phone.”
“Oh, well … I’m not sure what to make of that,” Griffin admitted. “Whenever the topic of your mother comes up I know how I feel – what I want to say – but there are times I’m terrified to say it.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s your mother,” Griffin responded simply. “You’re cold to her when you need to be. I know you don’t blindly trust her, which is what I want for your safety. I also know that part of you desperately wants her to be the person you remember.”
“She’s not the person I remember. The person I remember never would’ve become friendly with Angelina. She would’ve remembered how terrible Angelina was, how much I hated her, and stayed away.”
Griffin stilled. I couldn’t see his face, yet I could practically hear the gears in his mind working. “You need to back up a bit, Aisling. You said you ran into your mother in the mall. You didn’t mention Angelina.”
“That’s because I didn’t run into Angelina in the mall. My mother approached me, asked how I was feeling, and I made a few jokes about her holiday feast.”
“I’m sure that was pleasant,” Griffin muttered. “Where does Angelina come into the story?”
“When we were leaving I saw Angelina in the valet parking area,” I replied. “You know me. I was thinking about causing a scene and asking her if her pimp knew she was freelancing at the mall. Then I saw who she was talking to.”
“Your mother?”
I nodded. “They seemed very engrossed in conversation.”
“Your mother knew Angelina,” Griffin pointed out. “Maybe they ran into each other and your mother was insulting her. I can see that happening. Anyone who spends any time with Angelina at all wants to insult her.”
“That’s true … except they weren’t fighting.”
“What were they doing?”
“Just talking.”
Griffin was silent for a long time, tightening his grip on me as he rocked back and forth. “You don’t know that it means anything.”
“I don’t,” I confirmed. “It could mean nothing. It felt wrong, though. Maybe it’s me projecting. It seemed as if they were talking about something important, though.”
“The mirror man? You’re convinced that house up on the hill has something to do with him. You haven’t come out and said it, but I can see it when you look at the house. You think the mirror man is from there, don’t you? You think that’s where he’s hiding.”
“I think the mirror man showed up after I ran into Angelina on the street,” I replied. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”
“And now your mother is hanging out with Angelina,” Griffin mused. “Listen, baby, I’m the last person who wants to take up for your mother. I think she’s dangerous and a threat to you and your happiness. I’m not going to change my mind about that without good reason. But right now we don’t know that your mother isn’t working against Angelina.
“I mean, think about it,” he continued. “She showed up at the hospital to check on you and removed the mirror from your room. She did that to make you feel safe. If she were involved, why would she remove the mirror? Perhaps she’s working against Angelina in her own way.”
“I guess that’s a possibility.” It honestly was. “But … something feels wrong. I think something bad is about to happen.”
“Don’t say that.” Griffin’s voice was a whisper against my skin as he kissed my ear. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. I promise. Nothing bad will happen to you.”
I believed he would put every effort into keeping me safe. I knew that without hesitation. On the other hand, I couldn’t shake the worry that something bad might happen to him. “You stay close to me,” I instructed. “Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. We’ll stay at the house all day. Together. There’s no need to go out. You got everything from the townhouse, right?”
“I did. We don’t have to go out tomorrow. I have the next three days off. We can stay in our pajamas the entire time, if you want. Heck, we can lock ourselves in your bedroom and be naked, if that makes you feel better.”
I chuckled at his odd way of reassuring me. “Okay. That sounds good.”
Griffin kissed my cheek again and then pulled away. “Let’s go inside. You can have another drink and relax before dinner. I think you need it.”
He wasn’t wrong. I risked one more glance at the Gentry house, feeling in my bones that the two shadows on the second floor – the one with long hair and the one that was clearly a man – belonged to my mother and the mirror man. It was a ridiculous assumption … yet the more I thought about it the more convinced I became.
“Let’s go inside.” I swallowed hard and linked my fingers with his. “It’s Christmas, after all. I have a few stories about my brothers I want to tell.”
“I’m looking forward to hearing them.” Griffin tugged me to his side as we strolled back to the house. “I’m sure you look like an angel in them.”
“And they’re the schmucks who believed that.”
Griffin laughed, the sound washing over me like a warm blanket. “That’s my girl. Those are the stories I want to hear.”
29
Twenty-Nine
I heard him before I saw him. The mirror man. He stalked my dreams, restless. He wanted to talk. I could sense it, yet he tried to hide behind the trees littering my dreamscape.
“I know you’re there,” I called out, tilting my head to the side as I regarded the large blood moon hanging in the sky. When was this supposed to be? It apparently had some significance, because it was my mind. I recognized I was locked in a dream right away, which was the only reason I didn’t panic and start screaming.
> The mirror man stepped out from behind a large tree, his face … well, he still had no face. There were no angles to the spot where his face should be. Up close he looked as if his reflection came from a distorted funhouse mirror, and I kind of wished the circus would take him back and lock him up.
“Why are you in my head?”
The mirror man had no eyes, yet I felt him burning holes into me as he faced my direction.
“Can you talk?”
No answer.
“You don’t have a mouth,” I noted. “I guess that means you can’t talk. Is that why you appropriated my reflection in the last dream? Did you want me to do the talking? I’m not going to lie, I enjoy talking with the best of them, but you have to be here for a reason.”
“Perhaps you’re simply dreaming.” Mom appeared out of the dimness behind me, giving me a wide berth as I cast her a sidelong look. She didn’t look like the Mom of the present. No, the woman before me looked like the mother I remembered from my childhood.
“This is definitely a dream,” I replied, staring at her. “Part of it is real. It’s real the same way the dream I had right after all of this started was real. That means you’re not really my mother.”
“Just because you say it doesn’t mean it isn’t so,” Mom argued. “I’ve always been your mother. Stubbornness doesn’t change that.”
I stared at her a moment, my temper flaring. Then I shifted my gaze to the mirror man and scowled. “Is this how you operate? You adopt the reflection of others so you can speak? It must suck to not have a voice. I would totally cry if I couldn’t complain. Everyone else might want to throw a party, but I would cry … and make others cry so they could feel my pain.”
The mirror man merely shook his head and gestured toward my mother. I sighed and held up my hand, making a disgusted face as I muttered. “Yeah, yeah. I got it. Talk to her. Wait … is that like talk to the hand? I bet it is. You’re a real putz.”
Mom circled me warily, keeping a safe distance so I couldn’t reach out and touch her. It was a dream, so I was fairly certain she couldn’t hurt me. Of course, I’d been proven wrong on more than one occasion of late. I didn’t want to risk it if I didn’t have to.
“You need to come to the house,” Mom insisted.
I pursed my lips. “You sound like you’re auditioning for a bad horror movie. I can’t wait to tell the real deal that you’re imitating her. She’ll hate it.”
“I am the real deal,” Mom corrected.
“No, you’re not,” I countered. “I’m guessing you’re limited by what you can see in the mirror when you want to steal a form, but … that doesn’t explain why you look like the Mom from my memory.” I cast a look over my shoulder toward the mirror man for confirmation. He steadfastly ignored me. “You can’t get everything right from only a photograph. The nuances are something you only see in the real world.”
“I am your mother.”
“Oh, you need to say that in a freaky deep voice, like Darth Vader.” The visual made me snort. “Anyway … what do you want?”
“You have to come to the house,” Mom repeated.
“The Gentry house? Why? What’s so important that you’re hiding there? What will happen if I go there?”
“You will get all of your answers.”
I stared at Mom a moment, torn. “The fact that you want me to go to the Gentry house means I don’t want to go simply on principle. Of course, I want this over. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve.”
“And you’ve always loved Christmas,” Mom murmured.
“I always loved it because it was a family holiday,” I clarified. “It’s still a family holiday. You’re not part of the family.”
“You must come to the house,” Mom persisted.
“Yeah, I’ve got it.” This wasn’t my mother. I knew that, yet I engaged all the same. I felt silly for the effort. I decided to take a chance. “How are you involved in this?”
“You must come to the house.”
“Are you voluntarily working with the mirror man?”
“You must come to the house.”
I growled, the sound low and feral. “You really need to work on your conversational skills.”
I turned to stalk off, determined to find a dream spa in which to spend the rest of the night. I pulled up short when the mirror man materialized in front of me, grabbing my arms and bobbing his empty face so it ended up only inches from my nose.
“You must come to the house!”
Mom didn’t scream the words this time. Something inside the mirror man, something dark, managed to find the strength to form words and shove them into my mind. I pulled away, the ragged voice causing me to cringe as if a hundred sets of fingernails raked across chalkboards.
“You must come to the house!”
I jerked awake, my heart pounding as I reared up in the bed. I was covered in sweat, my breath uneven. Griffin was instantly awake, his hand at my back as he stared at my profile in the limited light offered by the window.
“What’s wrong?”
“It was just a dream,” I rasped, pressing my hand to my chest. “I … it was just a dream.”
“Okay.” Griffin rubbed the back of my neck. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
“Not right now.”
Griffin didn’t push further. “Can you go back to sleep? It’s late. You need your rest and tomorrow will be a long day.”
Tomorrow was definitely going to be a long day, and not just for the reasons Griffin believed. “I can try.”
“Good.” Griffin reclined his body, keeping his arm around me as he tugged me so my head was on his chest. He gently rubbed my back and pressed his lips to my forehead. “It’s okay.”
“I know. You’re here. Everything is okay when you’re here.”
Griffin tightened his arms around me. “I’ll always be here.”
I hoped that was true. “I’m tired. I … it was only a dream.”
“Then sleep.” Griffin moved his hand in a hypnotic fashion, lulling me. “Are you sure you don’t want to tell me about the dream first?”
“I’ll tell you in the morning.”
“Okay. I can live with that.” Griffin kept his arms wrapped around me. “Nothing can get you here.”
I wasn’t so sure. “Goodnight. I love you.”
“I love you, too. Now … rest. I’ll be here all night. I promise.”
I closed my eyes. I knew he would keep the promise.
GRIFFIN AND I were the last to arrive in the dining room for breakfast. Griffin didn’t press me on the dream, but I could feel him watching me, his mind working as we showered and dressed. I knew questions were inevitable.
“Ooh. Omelet bar. Score!” I pumped my arm in triumph when I saw the omelet chef and headed straight for the station set up in the corner of the room.
Griffin went to the table first, pouring himself some coffee and sitting. Dad wasn’t an idiot; he recognized something was off before Griffin spoke.
“What’s wrong?”
“She had a nightmare last night. She’s not keen to talk about it,” Griffin replied, grabbing a croissant and breaking it in half. “I think it has something to do with the mirror man.”
“It was a dream,” Dad said. “How can a dream be important?”
“She had one before she was injured,” Griffin answered. “I think they’re somehow more than dreams.”
“Like the mirror man is communicating with her?”
Griffin shrugged. “That’s my guess.”
“You guys know I can hear you, right?” I tugged on my limited patience as I pointed toward the tomatoes and mushrooms. “My ears work fine.”
“I never thought otherwise,” Dad said, leaning back in his chair. “Tell us about the dream.”
I glanced at the omelet chef, unsure. “It can wait until after breakfast.”
“Don’t worry about him,” Dad said. “Tell me about the dream.”
I blew out a frustrated sigh. “It wasn’t anything bi
g. I woke up in a dark place. There was a blood moon overhead. The mirror man was there, but he just stared at me. Mom showed up to act as his voice.”
“Was it really your mother?”
“No. She looked like she did before … well, before.”
Dad nodded. “Then what happened.”
“It’s not a big deal,” I snapped. “I said I knew that wasn’t Mom. She disagreed. She kept ordering me to come to the house. She didn’t say which house, but I knew she was talking about the Gentry house. I said I didn’t want to do it because she wanted me to, and then … then … .”
“Then what?” Dad’s voice was unbelievably gentle.
“Then the mirror man screamed at me,” I replied, hoping I sounded more put together than I felt as I gripped my hands together, my knuckles turning white. “He didn’t use a mouth because he doesn’t have one, but he screamed in my head and told me to go to the house.”
“I see.” Dad steepled his fingers and shifted his gaze to Cillian. “You’ve been researching the house. Have you found anything?”
That was news to me. I swiveled and fixed Cillian with a hard look. “You’ve been researching the house?”
“Of course,” Cillian replied easily, resting his hand on Maya’s as he leaned back in his chair. “You were adamant the house had something to do with what’s going on.”
“But … I came up with that out of nowhere,” I argued. “You guys didn’t believe me when I said the house was important.”
“It’s not that we didn’t believe you, kid,” Redmond countered. “It’s that we thought it sounded fantastical.”
“Of course, we’re dealing with a murderous mirror man, so everything about this one sounds fantastical,” Braden added.
I accepted the fresh omelet from the chef and carried the plate to the table, dishing out a heaping mound of hash browns next to my omelet before pouring myself a glass of juice and sitting between Aidan and Griffin. “What did you find?”
“I would like to tell you that it’s a normal house and you’ve been working yourself up for no reason, but I don’t believe that’s true,” Cillian replied. “The house is … odd.”
Grim Holiday (Aisling Grimlock Book 6) Page 27
