All Fixed Up (20 page)

“Thomas told us everything this morning,” Dad said. “He said you were absolutely fine, and since you got in so late you decided to stay with Brian, because you knew he'd still be up. He suggested we not wake you up too early, as he was sure you could use the sleep.”

Mark must have let Thomas know my whereabouts. Trust Thomas to know the right thing to say to soothe the parents.

“You know you can always come here no matter how late, sweetie. We
want
you to disturb us,” Mom said, picking up and petting the calico cat who'd returned and was rubbing itself against her legs. “We like to be disturbed, don't we, darling?” I wasn't sure whether she was talking to the cat or Dad.

“Haven't found new homes for Jenny's cats, I take it?” I said.

“Not yet, but I have feelers out. Nobody seems to want to adopt this close to Christmas.” There was a crash in the living room. Mom looked heavenward and sighed. “There goes the tree again.”

Dad perked up. “I'll take care of it. I just need to get a ceiling hook and some clear fishing line.”

Mom took my hand and dragged me behind her. “Never mind that now, Patrick. I have lunch waiting in the kitchen. Ciel, honey, you still look peaky, and no wonder. Thank God you weren't at your condo when the fire started. I don't know what we would have done if…” She stopped and gathered me into another hug. “Never mind. You're fine and you're here. Let's eat.”

“Give me a sec,” I said, and ducked into the powder room. I dug out my phone and texted Thomas:
Thanks for breaking it to Mom and Dad for me. Know what? You're my favorite brother.

He texted back within a minute:
Naturally. James always has his head in a test tube and Brian is forever plugged into an amp. (You're welcome.)

My luck must have been turning, because the casserole Mom took out of the oven was her divine macaroni and cheese, my favorite. I dug into my heaping bowl of steamy, cheesy goodness (browned bread crumbs on top—yum!) with the gusto it deserved. The flavor carried pure love to my soul via my taste buds.

“Thanks, Mom. You're the best,” I said, unabashedly talking with my mouth full, knowing she was too happy at seeing me in one piece to call me on it.

“Oh, pish. I had it in the freezer,” she said, removing the obese Siamese from the table. I'd been petting it with one hand while shoveling in my lunch with the other. “All I did was warm it up.”

“Whenever you made it, it's still delicious—the best thing I've eaten in days,” I said. “May I have some more, please?”

“Of course, sweetie. As much as you want.” She beamed as she dished out more for Dad, too, who appreciated it every bit as much as I did.

I finished the second serving even faster than the first. Miraculously, I felt stuffed, but in a good way, not at all queasy, which I attributed to the legendary antinausea properties of pot. I wouldn't be adding it to my medicine cabinet, but hey, I might as well enjoy the effects while they lasted.

“Come on, sweetie,” Mom said when I had scraped the last bit of melted cheese off the bottom of my bowl. “I have your room all ready for you. You can rest. Read, relax—whatever you like. We'll have hot cocoa by the fire later.”

I groaned. “That sounds so good, Mom, but I can't. I have to go buy some clothes. Most of mine are unsalvageable.”

Mom's eyes lit up. She was probably thrilled to have an excuse to take me shopping. “Come with me. Patrick, could you give the herd some tuna? I don't want them in the bedrooms.”

Dad grabbed a can from the pantry and headed for the electric can opener, all four cats shadowing his every step, yowling at him to hurry it up already.

Mom led me upstairs, which was kind of weird. It wasn't like I didn't know where my room was. When she opened the door and let me in ahead of her, I realized why she'd come along. Laid out over my queen-size bed (which had replaced my twin canopy bed when Mom and Dad upgraded theirs to a king) were stacks of new clothes, their tags still attached. There were jeans and tees, sweaters (including a spectacularly tacky one emblazoned with what looked like the dogs-playing-poker picture, only with reindeer), blouses, skirts, dresses, underwear, bras … everything I could possibly need. Shoes, even. And some really kick-ass boots.

“But how … when…?” I didn't know what to say.

“I did a little shopping this morning after Thomas called. It should all fit—I tried on everything except the underwear using your aura from the neck down.”

Aurora Halligan, Power Shopper Extraordinaire. I threw my arms around her. “I don't have to go shopping! This is the best Christmas present ever!”

She patted my back. “Now, if you don't like something, leave the tag on it and I can return it tomorrow.”

“Don't be silly—I love it all,” I said. And I did. Right now I loved anything that meant I didn't have to try on clothes at stores crowded with impatient holiday shoppers. Even the tacky sweater.

“Ro! Ciel!” Dad's voice called from downstairs. “Mo and Liam are here.”

Ack. I didn't know if I was ready to face Billy's parents. They'd probably ask about him, and what could I tell them? Sorry, but your son hightailed it when he found out I was pregnant, possibly by another man? A conversation I definitely did not want to have.

“You go ahead, Mom. I'll be right down after I change. Thanks again, for everything.” I gave her another hug, and gently pushed her out the door.

I stripped quickly and pulled the tags off underwear, a bra, a white long-sleeved shirt, and jeans. The bra and jeans were a tiny bit snug. I made an adjustment down to my normal size, trying not to think about it, and topped it off with the tacky sweater (the card-playing reindeer stood out nicely against the bright green background), because I knew it would make Mom happy, and added the kick-ass boots. Those, I genuinely loved.

I didn't bother to concoct any fibs about Billy, because anything I said would depend on whether or not his parents had heard from him. I didn't want to trip myself up with contradictory lies.

They were all in the living room when I came down. Auntie Mo grabbed me into a hug, pressing my face against a sweater that rivaled mine for sheer kitsch. Hers had a Santa in overalls, standing in a garden, with “Hoe! Hoe! Hoe!” in a word bubble over his head. (Yes, he was holding the garden implement in question.) With her dark red hair and green eyes, she was looking more than ever like the young Maureen O'Hara she'd been named for.

“Ciel, honey, how are you? When I heard, I was so upset. Jesus God, it's bad enough having a crazy killer on the loose, but for someone to go after you, in your home … never mind that now. You're safe.”

She handed me off to Uncle Liam, who enveloped me in strong arms that felt so much like his son's I almost couldn't let go. He didn't rush me. “There, pumpkin. It's all fine now. You're home.” When I could tear myself away, he smiled at me with eyes as blue as Billy's and said, “If you get tired of the craziness over here, you know you always have a place with us. We're no less crazy, of course, but maybe for a change of pace.”

“Here now, I've brought you something,” Auntie Mo said. She handed me a large wrapped box. “It's your Christmas present from us, but we thought you could maybe use it now.”

Grateful they hadn't said anything about Billy yet, I tore into my gift. I was thrilled to see a gorgeous, dark brown leather jacket that matched my new boots exactly, which I was quick to point out when I tried it on. It fit perfectly, even over my sweater.

“I was with Mo when she found it,” Mom explained. “When I saw those boots this morning, I knew I had to get them.”

“You look wonderful, sweetie pie,” Dad said.

Uncle Liam nodded in agreement. “You'll knock my son flat when he sees you in that.”

I tried hard to keep the smile from melting off my face, but I wasn't sure how successful I was. Not very, judging by the piercing look Auntie Mo was giving me.

“Speaking of Billy, we thought we might find him here with you,” Auntie Mo said.

I cleared my throat. “Um, no. He”—I stuck my hands in the pockets of my snazzy new jacket and crossed my fingers—“got caught up on a lead. But don't worry, he's fine”—
I hope
—“and will be calling you soon, I'm sure.”

Mom stepped up to defend Billy. “I know he'd be right here with you if he could. But helping Mark find whoever's responsible for all this is so important. That lunatic has to be caught before he can harm anyone else.”

“Of course,” Mo said, and smiled at me. “Sinead and Siobhan are making their armed keepers take them shopping tomorrow. I know they'd love for you to come along.”

I stifled my impulse to say “No way in hell,” which might be construed as rude. Instead, I said, “Do you think we should? With the murderer still out there, I mean?”

“Don't worry, you'll have lots of security, and you can always adapt,” Mo said.

They didn't know Loughlin had somehow seen through my astronaut aura in Houston. Could he recognize adaptors, whether or not they were wearing another aura? Was that how he'd targeted Aunt Helen, Mason, and Jenny? I hesitated to mention the possibility without clearance from Mark, especially since we weren't absolutely certain Loughlin was responsible for the New York murders. Though, frankly, I thought it would be a damn big coincidence to swallow if it turned out he wasn't connected to them. But for now, I'd have to come up with another excuse.

“Uh…” I said (I know—so articulate), and cast a panicked look at my parents.

“It'll do you good to get out, sweetie,” Mom said, benignly throwing me under the shopping bus. And to think, she'd come
that
close to making it to the top of my Saints on Earth list.

*   *   *

Tomorrow might be ruined … wait, was that harsh? Maybe “marred” would be a better word. Or “blemished.” Tomorrow might be
blemished
by a dive into the retail maelstrom, but I still had the rest of today to take stock of my current state of affairs—ugh. Wrong word again. Not that my mix-up with Mark qualified as an “affair,” but still. The current state of my
life
—and figure out what to do next.

As much as I loved my mom and dad, hanging around the house with them was not conducive to clear thinking. If I stayed, it wouldn't be long before I was afloat on a sea of hot chocolate and Christmas carols, jabbing my fingers with needles while stringing yards of popcorn for Mom's newest tree. (She'd finally found one skinny enough to fit in the main-floor powder room, and was sure “old fashioned and homey” was the proper theme for it. Me, I thought empty cobs would be more appropriate to the setting.)

I needed to be outside, where my head was open to the sky and my thoughts weren't ricocheting off walls. A long walk was definitely on the agenda. Outside, with no shoppers, so Central Park.

Mom wasn't thrilled with my plan, but she, having raised me, was perfectly aware of my claustrophobic tendencies. “Make sure your bodyguard sticks close,” she said, and handed me a bag of Christmas cookies to give to him. “And here, use this aura—I already ran it by Mark and he approved it.” She called up a young Japanese woman about my size, so my clothes would fit, and pronounced me “absolutely adorable” when I reproduced the energy.

After what happened in Houston, I wasn't certain a different aura would make a difference if Loughlin came after me, but I sure as heck wasn't going to worry Mom by mentioning it. And if Mark had approved it, I supposed it couldn't hurt.

Mom filled the few minutes necessary to transfer a secondhand aura with happy chatter about the impending addition to the family. Every time she said “grandbaby” I winced inside, but kept any external reaction from showing on my new Asian façade.

“Okay, Mom, got it. Better get going—my keeper is waiting.”

Mr. Homely But Hunky wasn't surprised to see me in a new aura. He, along with the others on the various security details, had been read in to our special situation by Mark, who considered all our watchers to be part of the need-to-know gang. I directed him to James's place first, so I could pick up my gun. It was all well and good having a bodyguard, but I'd still feel better with my own weapon.

Devon answered the door. (I could have let myself in using a partial aura of James's palm, but I didn't want to be rude.) There was no one in the corridor, so I switched back to my own aura as he opened the door.

“Ciel! Come in, come in. James, your sister's here!” Avid curiosity lit Devon's eyes, making them appear a darker violet than usual. I knew I wouldn't be getting away without answering questions.

“Hey, homeless person,” James said, pulling me into a brief hug.

I quirked my mouth. “Hey yourself. Fortunately, thanks to Mom, I'm a homeless person with a snazzy wardrobe.” I pirouetted, opening my jacket to show the sweater.

“Oh, my God, I
love
it!” Devon said, laying his gay on heavily. He mainly did that to get a rise out of James, who was doing his manful best to ignore him.

“You do? Are you blind?” I said.

Devon lifted his lips in a droll smile. “The jacket. Not the sweater. Though it's kitschy-cute, I suppose, in its own special way.”

James looked at him with an evil glint I rarely saw in my staid brother's eyes. “I can't wait to see what Mom got you for Christmas.”

A look of horror flitted over Devon's pretty face, but he recovered quickly. “I'm absolutely sure I'll adore whatever Ro picks out for me.”

“Uh-huh. But will you wear it?” I said.

“Only when your parents invite us for dinner … and then only if we're eating in,” he said. “Now come, Ciel. Sit, sit. We have so much to talk about.”

“I can't stay. I only came for the gun.”