Snowed: Book 1 in the Bloodline of Yule Trilogy

Chapter 3

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."