Snowed
by Maria Alexander
Publication date: November 2nd 2016
Genres: Fantasy, Mystery,
Synopsis:
Charity Jones is a 16-year-old engineering genius who’s much-bullied for being biracial and a skeptic at her conservative school in Oak County, California. Everything changes when Charity’s social worker mother brings home a sweet teen runaway named Aidan to foster for the holidays. Matched in every way, Charity and Aidan quickly fall in love. But it seems he’s not the only new arrival: Charity soon finds the brutally slain corpse of her worst bully and she gets hard, haunting evidence that the killer is stalking Oak County. As she and her Skeptics Club investigate this death and others, they find at every turn the mystery only grows darker and more deadly. One thing’s for certain: there’s a bloody battle coming this holiday season that will change their lives – and human history – forever.
Will they be ready?
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AUTHOR BIO:
Maria Alexander is a produced screenwriter, published games writer, virtual world designer, award-winning copywriter, interactive theatre designer, fiction writer, snarkiologist and poet. Her short stories have appeared in numerous publications and acclaimed anthologies alongside living legends such as David Morrell and Heather Graham.
Her debut novel, Mr. Wicker, won the 2014 Bram Stoker Award for Superior Achievement in a First Novel. She's represented by Alex Slater at Trident Media Group.
When she's not wielding a katana at her Shinkendo dojo, she's being outrageously spooky or writing Doctor Who filk. She lives in Los Angeles with two ungrateful cats and a purse called Trog.
Author links:
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Chapter
3
From
Snowed
YA
Fantasy Mystery by Maria Alexander
I can hear Mom and Dad chatting
in the living room, asking questions. Another softer voice with a
strange accent gives staccato answers.
“Charity?” Mom calls out. She
sounds annoyed.
I shuffle through the foyer,
inhaling the smell of baking lasagna. When I enter the family room,
Mom and Dad are sitting on the couch with mugs, tea bag tags draped
over the edges. Some guy I don’t know sits with them in the easy
chair. I can’t help checking him out. He’s my age, average
height, with skin pale as cream and wavy ebony hair. His light blue
eyes shimmer under long, inky lashes. His wrinkled, striped dress
shirt is much too big for his narrow shoulders, and his scuffed black
boots with pointed toes peek out from the cuffs of his baggy jeans.
He gives off a weird vibe, like he’s been in prison or working for
suicide bombers.
He must be a stray.
My mom’s a social worker. She’s
always bringing home people for meals. Damaged people.
Mom wraps an arm around my
shoulders, kissing my ear. “Where have you been? Did you get my
message?”
I shake my head.
“Hey. How’d it go?” Dad
hugs me as well. I kiss his big scruffy face.
They are being very nice.
Something’s up.
“Not great. I’ll tell you
later.” I stare at our visitor.
“Charity, this is Aidan
MacNichol. Aidan, this is my daughter, Charity.”
“How do you do?” He holds out
his hand. His eyes barely meet mine. His voice is a notch higher than
I expect and kind of sing-song. What century is this guy from? Who
says stuff like that?
“Hi,” I say and give him The
Boneless Hand. I’m
touching you but I’m not happy about it.
Except I am. His skin is
incredibly soft, like my mom’s charmeuse dress. He
lets
go. At the last second, I almost don’t.
And he almost doesn’t, either.
“Where’s your brother?” Dad
asks.
“I don’t know. In jail?”
“Charity, stop it,” Mom
sighs.
“What? I never know where he
is.”
A car roars into the gravel
driveway. It must be Charles’ ride. The music escaping the car
windows sounds like someone is grinding the air into steel shavings.
As the car retreats, Charles bursts through the front door and makes
for the staircase.
“Hey! Charles, come here.”
Dad motions to him.
Charles looks as if he’d rather
snack on rat poison than join us, but he does.
“Hey.” Charles lifts his chin
at Aidan. Aidan nods back.
“We want to talk to you guys.”
Mom puts her hand on Aidan’s shoulder.
“Aidan
is going to be staying with us for a little while.”
“This is bullshit,” Charles
announces and heads for the staircase. He looks
at
Aidan. “No offense.”
“Hey, get back here!” Dad
yells.
“No family meeting? You just
drop this on us?” I ask.
Mom looks mortally offended.
“Charity!”
“It’s not fair. We never get
a say in anything that happens around here. Not
about
Aunt Bulimia—”
“Aunt Bellina.”
“Or the dog I wanted?”
“Honey, you know Charles is
allergic.”
“The only thing he’s allergic
to is school!”
“Shut up,
Cherry.” Charles glares at me, his hamster face squinching up.
“We have guests from my work
all the time,” Mom says, “and you’ve never cared before.”
“Yeah, for dinner.”
Aidan slinks back, hands in his
pants pockets. He watches the sky through the sliding glass door on
the far wall of the living room. He’s humming a familiar tune under
his breath. I can’t quite place it.
“I should go.”
Aidan’s announcement cuts
through the room. Everyone falls silent.
“I
can’t stay here,” he says. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jones. You’ve
been very kind.”
“You’re not going anywhere,
Aidan.” Mom invokes The Voice. It’s from her days as a trial
lawyer. “If you leave, I have to call the authorities. You’re
underage, your legal residency is in question, and the county has put
you in our care. You can stay with us or you can go to juvy.” Mom
darkened. “I don’t recommend juvy.”
“Neither does Charles,” I
say.
“Shut up, Cherry!”
Aidan sighs. “I don’t know
what this ‘juvy’ is but I suppose I don’t want to go.”
“Are you from like England or
something?” Charles asks.
Aidan looks confused. “I beg
your pardon?”
“Where is he sleeping?” I
ask.
“Your room,” Dad says.
My face heats with horror. I bury
it in my hands.
“Kidding!” Dad says, throwing
an arm around me for a bear squeeze.
“Sewing room. Now let’s have
some chow.”
Mom shuttles us to the dining
table. She interrogates Charles as to why he stinks like cigarette
smoke, but he claims it’s from riding with his friend Noah. I say
nothing. As we set the table, she brings out the salad and lasagna,
which smells heavenly.
Humiliation and disappointment
haven’t affected my appetite at all, apparently. I wish something
would.
I notice that Aidan holds the
fork like he’s strangling it. He scrapes the plate. Everyone
winces. Where is this guy from? And why is he so strange? Who doesn’t
know how to use a fork?
I want to flee to my room to cry
but I can’t. I want to make up with Keiko. I feel terrible about
that fight. But Mom has laid down the law: No running off before the
meal is over. Supposedly this encourages Charles to stay put and bond
with us. If I ran upstairs and flung myself onto the bed now, I’d
be doubly busted because we have a guest. I just want to be alone and
this weird stranger is keeping me from my snug room where I can just
melt down.
“Are you all right?” Aidan
looks at me, concerned. “Don’t worry. It wasn’t
you
who misbehaved at school today.”
Wait—what? How could he know?
Or does he?
Mom shoots Aidan an anxious look,
then me. “Honey, is there something going on?”
“Cherry started a riot at
school today,” Charles offers.
“A riot?” Dad eyes me with
disbelief.
“Shut up! That’s not what
happened!”
“And then she made the
Christian girls cry.”
“Charity!” Mom says. “Was
this your club?”
“Mom, I didn’t do anything to
anyone.”
“Then they sent Cherry like a
million text messages so she can’t use her phone anymore.”
Charles beams with triumph.
I want to slam his face into the
Pyrex dish. “You! Did you give them my cell number?” My face
heats with the rage. My hand balls into a fist on the table.
“That’s enough.” Dad points
at Charles. “Did you give out your sister’s cell number?”
“Of course not,” Charles
says, indignant. Dad eyes him suspiciously, but lets it drop. There
is no justice.
Mom wearily passes Dad the wine
bottle. “Charity, what happened?”
“Nothing. I put up a flyer
about the Skeptic’s Club and the BFJs picketed my meeting, calling
me a lot of unspeakable names. They harassed everyone who was there.
They were harassing me with texts calling me a Satanist even before
the club meeting. I had to turn off my phone. That’s why I didn’t
get your call.” Tears scald the corners of my eyes.
“Where were the school
officials?” Mom asks. “I can’t believe they let this happen!”
“Don’t worry. Mr. Vittorio
told me he’s reporting it. He’s the librarian.”
Aidan sits with his hands folded
in his lap, eyes trailing to the window.
Mom narrows her eyes at Dad and
polishes off her glass of wine.
And then there’s Keiko… I
can’t take it anymore. I manage to stand up and choke out, “Excuse
me,” before dashing for my room.
I hear Charles complaining behind
me. “So Cherry gets to have a tampon tizzy and get out of dishes?”
I
slam the door and the tears spill out. As I fall on the bed, I look
to Mr. Spotty and Miss Yoyodyne, who squat beside my desk. These
aren’t stuffed animals. They’re robots I built. I feel like
kicking one of my plastic component bins but I hurt so much, I just
double over on the bed.
Footsteps pound up the stairs and
Mom taps on my door. I know her knock.
“Come in.”
Mom sits on the bed and hugs me.
Between sobs, I tell her what happened with Keiko.
“Honey, these people are
serious bullies. Do you want me and Dad to talk to the principal?”
“No.
That’ll only make it worse. Besides, the school says they’ll deal
with it. Can we wait and see what happens?”
She looks unconvinced, wiping
hair out of my eyes. “If they lay a hand on
you…”
“…I have a good lawyer.”
After Mom leaves, I text Keiko.
I’m so sorry, K. Please
don’t be mad. I won’t put up any more flyers. I promise! Xoxo
As I read One
Hundred Years of Solitude
for AP English, I can hear thebumps and scrapes of Dad and Charles
setting up the cot in the sewing room. Despite his protests, Charles
enjoys showing off that he can lift more than Dad, who had back
surgery several months ago. Mom digs through the sewing room closet.
“We’ll get you more clothes this weekend,” I hear her tell
Aidan. They wish each other a good night.
After two long hours of AP
Calculus followed by Honors Chemistry and French, I eventually crawl
into bed, exhausted and wishing that I believed in
something—anything—that I could pray to and make things okay with
Keiko.
Everything falls quiet except for
Aidan. I hear him humming. The wall is thin between us.
I remember hearing Mom crying in
the sewing room after we first moved here. She and Dad weren’t
getting along. I hate thinking of my mom being weak. She has to be
strong, the badass lawyer who torches anything in her way with her
words. I love her for that. To hear her sobbing was haunting.
Aidan keeps humming. It’s that
same tune as before but this time I know what it is.
Carol of the Bells.
A
Christmas song.
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