Public Enemies (3 page)

There's nothing here.

“Ready?” Kian asked, startling me. I juggled my phone, and he caught it in a neat midair snatch. “Wow, you're jumpy.”

“Yeah.” I managed a smile. “Let's get out of here.”

He lifted a small bag that looked like it might contain jewelry. “I'm done anyway.”

“Oooh. You want to tease me, huh? Well, this one's yours.” I showed him the box I'd had wrapped earlier.

“It's been a while,” he said quietly.

“For what?”

“Since anyone thought of me at Christmas.”

“What about your aunt and uncle?” I asked, before thinking better of it.

“She handled everything, and I always got regifted. Stuff they got the year before and nobody really wanted.” His level tone belied how much it must've stung.

I thought of him at thirteen, his father and sister gone, his mother broken. His aunt should've made him feel welcome and loved, but instead, she saw him as a burden and treated him accordingly. Remembering his polyester nightmare of a dress shirt—presumably his best since he'd worn it on picture day—made me want to hug him, right here, right now.

So I did.

Though he seemed surprised, his arms went around me too, and he settled his chin on top of my head. “Hey. It's not a big deal.”

“Maybe not to you.”

He shifted so that his arm was around my shoulders, and with his other one, he took my bag. “You think there's anywhere we can buy a tree this late?”

“I'm sure we can get a fake one.”

“Is that okay with you?”

I nodded. “My mom and dad always went together on December first to pick out a real one. So artificial is probably better.”

Kian drove around for almost an hour until we found a six-foot assembly-required tree at a discount store. The box was damaged but all the parts were there. He crammed it into the back of the Mustang, and a surge of warmth quivered through me.
I have to save you,
I thought.
No matter what the Harbinger says. No matter what it takes.

“I'll help you carry the tree,” he offered, oblivious to my silent plans.

“Okay, thanks.”

Unsurprisingly, the apartment was quiet and empty when I let us in. The night before last, my dad didn't even come home to sleep. I'd always known they were great partners, but until she was gone, I didn't realize how much my parents completed each other. Without my mom, my father was like a partial equation, a chemical reaction devoid of the catalyst that activated it.

“I need your key, Edie.”

“Right.” Swallowing a quiet ache, I dug it out for him.

“Be back in a bit.”

As soon as the door shut behind him, I sliced open the Christmas tree carton and fell backward in a prickle of fake pine, augmented by aluminum and plastic.
There's no way this isn't a hot mess when I'm done.
Once I got started, however, the tree snapped together easily. It was butt ugly—with immense gaps between the branches. I fanned out the greenery as best I could, and by the time Kian came back, I had it looking … adequate. Not a high accolade, but maybe lights and tinsel would help. We were quiet as we decorated, decking out the tree while I remembered how it was when my mom was around. There should be carols blasting while the scent of my dad's Christmas cookies wafted through the apartment.

“Do you think your father will mind the influx of holiday spirit?”

“I doubt he'll even notice,” I said, sadness washing over me.

“He'll snap out of it.”

The retort popped out before I could stop it. “Did your mom?”

When Kian stilled, the glittery tinsel draped over his palms like treacherous pieces of silver, I felt like ten kinds of crap. He didn't look at me as he answered, “Not so far. The cycle's unbroken. She started a new rehab program not long ago.”

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that.”

“You're hurting. I get it.”

“No, it's not okay. Don't make excuses for me.”

“All right. But I'm not sorry you mentioned her … because I was wondering if you'd go see her with me this week.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, on Christmas Eve. It seems like I should try to patch things up.” He left unspoken the reason behind that decision, but I knew.

Yet I couldn't refuse. “Sure. What time?”

“I'll pick you up at four thirty. Visiting hours are pretty limited, five to six on Wednesday, and then a few hours on Sunday.”

“So you can't even spend Christmas with her.”

He shook his head as he went back to twining the garland around the tree. I had been right; the charm increased as we added ornaments. Since we usually got a taller tree, we had way too much stuff for a fake one this size, but Kian and I layered it until all the boxes were empty. The result was gaudy, for sure, but definitely cheerful.
This place could use more of that,
I thought, plugging in the lights. They were a mishmash of twinkle lights and standard glowing ones, but the colorful shadows moving on the wall behind comforted me a little.

“This was nice,” he said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Just like it's been a while since I got a present bought just for me, I haven't put up a tree in forever.”

“Your aunt kept you out of that too?”

He shook his head. “It's not that she locked me in my room. I just didn't feel welcome, so I opted out. And once I started working for the company and got my own place, it seemed pointless to go to so much trouble for one person.”

“That's why the suicide rates skyrocket during the holidays.” Given the circumstances that linked us inextricably, I didn't know if that was a clever joke or a horrible one.

“Been there, done that.”

“At Christmastime?” Startled, I blurted the question.

“Nah.”

I cleared my throat, deciding not to discuss this further. “You want something to drink?”

Things felt weird between us because I was so conscious of what he'd paid for my safety. At first, I reveled in the fact that he loved me, then the reality sank in. While it was a touching sacrifice, his devotion was also a weight around my neck. How could I be worth what he'd given up? A lifetime wouldn't be enough to repay him and I only had four and a half months.

“It's okay. I should probably be getting home.”

I let out an unsteady breath. “Don't go.”

“Why not? I can tell you're uncomfortable lately.”

“It's not that I don't l-love you.” I stuttered a little over the L-word, not quite used to dropping it into casual conversation. “I just feel—”

“Indebted?” he offered.

“Yeah.”

Before he could respond, a knock sounded on the front door. My life had gotten twisted enough that I tensed up each time the unexpected occurred. Kian glanced me, then headed to answer it. He peered through the peephole and stepped back.

“Who is it?”

“I don't see anyone.”

“That doesn't bode well,” I muttered.

The knock came again, louder and more demanding, but it wasn't like the thing that tried to beat down my front door before. With his eyes, Kian asked silently what I wanted to do about it. Nodding, I took a step back, just in case we needed to run. He opened up just wide enough to take stock of who was lurking on the other side. I glimpsed a slim figure in a red uniform, very tailored, with gold braid on the sides. The person seemed to be dressed to deliver a singing telegram, but no burst of song was forthcoming as I stepped forward to get a better look.

At first glance, this was a normal person, but then I registered the unnatural pallor and the too-sharp nails, more like talons than human nails filed to a point. The creature smiled, accenting its angular features, and the longer I looked, the more the features shifted, becoming a triangular blob with nostrils cut into pasty flesh at a bizarre angle. Its lidless eyes flickered once, twice, not blinking, but vanishing and reappearing, almost like an afterthought. A shiver rolled through me.

“What is it?” I asked, unmoving.

Your invitation, madam.

I heard it but not in words because the thin slash of its vestigial mouth never moved. Cold crept toward my feet like an invisible fog as the thing produced an ivory vellum card. Kian snatched it away before the messenger got any closer. A snakelike tongue flickered out through its lip-slit; the thing no longer looked even remotely human, more evidence of the illusions the immortals could summon at will.

Or maybe this is the lie,
I thought,
so it can feed on your fear.

It bowed at the waist, giving the impression of jointed, entomic movement and then it rushed away, moving as if it had more than two legs. I slammed the door closed, more revolted than I could articulate, as Kian skimmed the summons. His eyes widened, then he read:

“The Harbinger demands your presence at the Feast of Fools, fancy dress required. RSVP unnecessary, as you are not permitted to decline.”

“When is it?” I stared at the expensive stationery, embossed with what must be real gold.

“January first.”

“What does that mean, ‘fancy dress'? Like evening gowns and tuxedos?”

“Given what I know of the Harbinger, it's probably costumes.” He flipped the invite over and nodded. “Masquerade procession begins promptly at midnight.”

“Wait, so the party starts that late?”

“No matter what this card says, we don't have to go.”

Chewing my lip, I admitted, “I feel like that would be a bad idea.”

“What?”

“Pissing off our benefactor. He doesn't strike me as … steady.”

“You want to go, then?” He seemed surprised.

“That's the wrong word. More that I'm willing to put in an appearance. The whole mandatory attendance thing is unnerving.”

“Then I guess our New Year's plans are set, huh?” Kian produced a wry smile.

Cocking my head, I teased, “Did you want to do something more romantic?”

“Avoiding death while being surrounded by monsters should be memorable anyway.”

“There's that,” I admitted. “I'm glad you'll be there with me.”

“Not sure how much help I'll be, if the shit hits the fan.” He didn't seem pleased about his current situation, being cut off from Wedderburn's power. “Okay, I'm really going.”

“Are we good?” I put my hand out and he took it, pressing it against his heart.

“Better than. I know it'll take some time to understand.”

“I do. It's just … I hate that you put me above yourself. I know you feel guilty about the time you spent watching instead of helping. But your hands were tied. If
I
get it, you should too.”

He let out a sigh. “Edie…”

“What?”

“It's not that easy. I can't just get over the fact that I stalked you.”

Frustration made me want to shake him. I stepped closer, gazing up into his eyes. “It seems like you feel so guilty that you didn't die back then, you're determined to do it now, no matter how
I
feel.”

“Let's not think about that right now. Okay?” He leaned down and I met him halfway for the sweetness of a kiss that made my heart ache.

“Fine,” I breathed.

His lips always made me not care so much about things I knew were important and worth arguing about.
Stupid hormones.
Kian dropped another kiss, this one on my nose. Then he said, “Lock the door behind me.”

“Got it.”

There was just no telling what might be lurking in the dark.

 

GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PAST

I spent the next four days trying to fill the hole my mom left. And failing.

Nothing I did made my dad rouse from his perpetual, absent fog. He gave me a tired smile over the Christmas decorations and thanked me prematurely for the present I'd wrapped and tucked under the branches.
It could be a rotten egg.
But somehow I doubted he'd react, even if he opened the box to find one. He'd just look through me and mumble something, before going to his room to hide, to count the minutes before he could return to the lab.

The one time I'd mentioned how much he was gone lately, he'd snapped, “I'm trying to carry on our work, Edith. Can't you understand that?”

What
I
understood was that he'd checked out. I was raised, right? No need for further parental supervision. They'd gone on red alert after I started dating, but at this point, I suspected my dad wouldn't even notice if I moved in with Kian. But I couldn't get really mad over how Dad was handling his grief when guilt played a constant drum solo against the inside of my skull. If I'd been a little smarter, more prepared, more cautious, I'd have saved her.

Or … if I'd turned down the deal, which I'd known was too good to be true, I'd be words on a headstone by now, poetry about the beauty of my soul, probably. And my mom would still be around. Yet I didn't let myself think that way for long. Suicide wasn't an option for me anymore. If I quit, it would mean that everyone else died for nothing.

Four p.m., Christmas Eve. And my dad still wasn't home.

Normally, we'd be baking cookies right now. My mom had stopped setting them out for Santa years ago, but the tradition remained. My dad wouldn't be buying the ingredients this year, though, and I knew better than to bother him about it.

As promised, Kian arrived at four thirty, dressed in well-cut trousers and a button-up shirt. His leather jacket might not be the warmest choice but he was even more gorgeous than usual. He'd clearly made an effort since he didn't see his mom that often. I followed him out to his car, pretending I wasn't nervous. I'd rarely been to hospitals—only to visit my great aunt and Brittany—and I'd never known anybody in rehab.