When I got back to the dining room, I found it empty. I followed the sound of voices until it led me to Dad’s office. Everyone, including Jerry, was congregated inside. Since my mind was still mulling the near-kiss, Jerry’s presence didn’t strike me as particularly odd.
“What are we talking about?”
“Is your friend gone?” Dad asked.
“Yes.”
“Did he kiss you?” Jerry asked, barely containing his excitement.
“He better not have,” Dad said.
Jerry shot a disappointed look at my father. “Why not?”
“Dad doesn’t like him,” Redmond said.
“Why not? He’s hot.” Jerry wasn’t going to let this go.
“I’ll let you be the judge of that,” Dad replied. “He’s still a police officer. A police officer investigating
Aisling and Aidan in conjunction with a murder, I might add.”
“So?” Jerry really can be clueless sometimes.
“So, it’s not like she can be honest with a cop,” Dad said.
“Why not?”
“That’s what I said,” Aidan interjected. “He’ll probably be a little put off at first, but I think he can handle it.”
“Why would he?” Now Dad was the one being oblivious.
“Because he’s warm for Aisling’s form,” Jerry replied.
“Stop saying that,” I snapped.
“I agree,” Dad said. “In fact, if I hear that come out of your mouth again, I’m banning you from this house. We have bigger problems right now.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, wedging myself between Braden and
Cillian on the couch. “What did you guys find out last night? Besides the fact that alcohol and information gathering don’t mix?”
“I’ll have you know that we had a very successful information hunt last night,” Redmond countered. “We found out a ton of stuff.”
“Were any of them real blondes?”
Redmond narrowed his eyes. “If you don’t want us to start talking about Griffin again, I’d be very careful.”
“I’m injured,” I reminded him. “You can’t be mean to me.”
“That’s right,” Dad said “Let’s get back to what you guys learned last night.”
“Well, what we learned wasn’t good,” Redmond admitted.
“
Not good how?”
“There have been at least seven wraiths sighted in the area,” he said.
“How can they be sure? It’s not like they look different from each other.”
“No,” Redmond agreed. “Two different people have seen them in a group, though.”
Uh-oh. “I thought wraiths didn’t like each other.”
“They don’t, under normal circumstances,” Dad said. “These are clearly not normal circumstances.”
“Why don’t wraiths like each other?” Jerry asked. “I would think that if you’re a soul-sucking Dementor, like these guys, you would want someone to hang out with. Someone who understands the issues associated with being a soul sucker. Someone who knows makeup tricks to hide pale skin.”
“What’s a
Dementor?” Dad looked confused.
“They’re from Harry Potter,” I explained. “They’re … well, they kind of are like wraiths.”
“And Harry Potter is a book?”
“And movies,” Aidan said.
“Pretty great movies, actually. You should watch them. I think you’ll find you have a lot in common with Voldemort.”
“Aren’t they for kids?” Dad asked, the Voldemort reference flying over his head.
“And kids at heart,” Aidan replied, tapping the left side of his chest for emphasis.
“Maybe, when this little disaster has passed, I will.”
“Can we come back from movie hour?” I griped. My meds were clearly wearing off.
“Right,” Redmond said. “Anyway, at least two people have seen seven of them in a group. That means there could be seven of them, or there could be more.”
“What do they want?” Aidan asked.
“I don’t know,” Redmond said. “I do think it has something to do with Brian Harper’s missing
grimoire, though.”
“What makes you say that?” I asked. I
didn’t doubt him, but it seemed like a big leap.
“Well, that’s where I come in,”
Cillian said. “I managed to find out exactly what grimoire Brian Harper had in his possession.”
“How did you do that?” Dad asked.
“I found him on a buyer’s list from an auction house in England last night, right before we got the call about Aisling,” Cillian explained. “The name of the grimoire was in the auction catalog.”
“Why do I think this is going to be bad?” I asked.
“Because your meds are wearing off,” Braden said, rubbing my knee.
“It’s the
Torth Grimoire,” Cillian announced.
That name meant absolutely nothing to me. A glance around the room told me it didn’t mean anything to anyone else either. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
“The Torth Grimoire belonged to a seventeenth century witch named Genevieve Torth,” Cillian continued. “She lived in Salem, Massachusetts.”
“Was she burned at the stake?” Jerry looked excited at the prospect.
“No,” Cillian said. “She was never suspected of being a witch until after her death. In fact, she was the one naming names to the witch hunters in Salem. Also, not to be a pain, but the witches in Salem were hanged, not burned at the stake.”
“That’s not nearly as exciting,” Jerry grumbled.
“So she was hiding her identity by pointing a finger at others,” Redmond mused, turning the conversation back to the point. “Nice lady.”
“Exactly.”
“That sounds evil,” Jerry said.
I had to agree.
“Anyway, Genevieve Torth left Salem just as the witch trials were dying down,” Cillian said. “That in itself is not particularly interesting. What is interesting is that once she was gone, Salem residents claimed they had made the accusations against these supposed witches because they were under a spell. They also said that Genevieve had three demons in her employ – seven-foot-tall demons that bear a striking resemblance to what we now know are wraiths.”
“Wait a second,” I interrupted. “When we initially were talking about the
grimoire, you said it was an eighteenth century book.”
“I’ll get to that,”
Cillian said. “Anyway, nothing much is known about Genevieve Torth in the decade following her departure from Salem. She seems to have just fallen off the face of the Earth.”
“I’m guessing recordkeeping wasn’t that great back in the day,” Aidan said.
“No,” Cillian agreed. “However, in 1708, a Jennifer Torth appeared in London, England. She was believed to be the daughter of Genevieve Torth, even though Genevieve Torth never had any children, according to anyone who knew her in Salem.”
“So Jennifer
Torth was Genevieve Torth? How does that work?”
“It wasn’t exactly hard to change your identity back then,”
Cillian said. “Jennifer Torth lived in London for ten years and the historical anecdotes about her time there seem to signify that she didn’t age. When people started to question her about it, Jennifer Torth moved from London and disappeared like her supposed mother.”
“Where did she go?” Jerry asked, clearly enthralled by story hour.
“She disappeared,” Cillian said, his voice lowering as he played to his audience.
“Is that the end of the story?” Braden looked disappointed.
“Not even close,” Cillian said. “In 1822, a Sarah Torth surfaced in the New Orleans area.”
“Another descendant?”
I asked.
“That was the assumption, even though Jennifer
Torth was also childless. Sarah Torth became entrenched with some locals, creating a religion that has some striking similarities with modern voodoo.”
“But it wasn’t voodoo?”
“No,” Cillian shook his head. “It was a religion that Sarah Torth invented – but she managed to amass more than a hundred followers, many of whom disappeared under mysterious circumstances during her years in the city.”
I could see where this was going. “She was feeding them to the wraiths.”
Cillian frowned. “You’re ruining my story.”
“Sorry. Continue.” He’s so touchy sometimes.
“After more than twenty of these religious followers disappeared, a bunch of people banded together and went to Sarah Torth’s house,” Cillian said. “They were going to burn it to the ground. Five tall figures in robes, though, stopped them. A lot of people were left dead and those who survived swore that they were attacked by demons.”
“More wraiths,” Redmond breathed.
“Yes.”
“So, what happened after that?” I asked.
“No one knows,” Cillian said. “Sarah Torth, Genevieve Torth and Jennifer Torth were never heard from again – at least that I can find mention of, that is.”
“Then how did the
grimoire get out there?”
“That’s a really good question,”
Cillian ceded. “All we know is that the Torth Grimoire first went public in 1920, when a housewife in Detroit, of all places, discovered it in the basement of her home. A local historian dated the book to the eighteenth century, which I think we all can agree was an error, not that it matters now.”
“So we have no idea what happened to Genevieve
Torth?” I asked.
“No,”
Cillian said, but I could tell he was holding back.
“What do you suspect happened to her?”
Cillian rubbed his hands together. “I think, and I have no proof of this mind you, but I’ve been thinking about it all morning and I think I have an answer.”
“We’re hanging on your every word,” Redmond prodded him.
“I think that Genevieve Torth discovered how to control wraiths,” he said. “Not only that, but she fed them people to keep them in her servitude.”
“I think we all figured that out.”
Cillian shot me a dark look. “I also think, as part of the endeavor, that Genevieve Torth managed to utilize the immortality of the wraiths, thus keeping herself young for decades.”
Well, that was more impressive. “But we have no idea how she finally died? Or how her
grimoire ended up in Detroit?”
“No.”
“So, what does all this mean?” Jerry asked, his gaze wandering from drawn face to drawn face.
“It means we’re in trouble,” Dad said. “It means that someone here has gotten their hands on the
Torth Grimoire and they’re trying to continue what she was doing. They’re amassing wraiths in an attempt to gain immortal life, although I’m not sure how that works. That seems like the best supposition with the facts in front of us, though.”
“Up until now,”
Cillian said, bobbing his head up and down. “The wraiths have slid under the radar because they’ve been sucking souls that weren’t on our lists, so we weren’t aware of what was going on.”
“They’re getting bolder,” Aidan said.
“Yeah,” Cillian agreed. “Either they don’t care that we’ve found out, or that was part of their plan all along. We really have no way of knowing.”
“The question is why,” Dad said, running his hand through his hair. “If they do want us to know – and I find it hard to believe that they don’t – what is their ultimate goal?”
“Is there any way we can find that out?” I asked.
“I have no idea,” Dad said. “I honestly have no idea.”
I turned to Cillian, but he merely shrugged in response. “I don’t know either.”
Well, this isn’t good.
“I’m sorry, what are we doing?”
Redmond had informed me about Dad’s way of distracting us from our current dilemma, but I thought he was playing a joke on me.
“Dad wants to go golfing,” Redmond said, matching me shrug for shrug.
“Golfing? I don’t golf. It’s a stupid sport. It’s really just whacking a ball and walking after it.”
“You can drive the cart,” Redmond offered.
“Is that legal on the meds I’m on?”
“At least it will be entertaining.”
“Don’t any of us have to work today? I know I’m off the schedule for a few days because of my little incident, but the rest of you should have to work,” I said.
“Thanks.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I guess there were only six names to deal with today,” Redmond explained. “Dad contacted the
Grimaldis and they’ve agreed to cover for us.”
“So Dad is actually organizing an event that encourages us to shirk our duties? Has he been possessed?”
“Funny,” Redmond poked me in the ribs, making my cringe because of my back. “And I’m a little worried, too.”
“I don’t think it’s a good sign,” I said. “It means he thinks we’re all going to die or something.”
“God, you’re so dramatic.”
“Am I wrong?”
Redmond swished his lips as he considered the question. “Let’s just humor him.”
“So, you think we’re going to die, too?”
“We’re not going to die,” Redmond laughed. “Is it so wrong that he wants us to go out as a family?”
“He’s taking us to the country club,” I reminded him. “That means we have to dress properly.”
“So?
“So? So I don’t have any short pants here.”
Or anywhere, for that matter.
“Yes, you do,” Jerry said, breezing into the room. “I went to the store and picked
some up for you.”
“You did?
When?”
“When you were in the shower.”
“I don’t like those little short pants. I don’t have any shoes that will go with them.”
“Your golf shoes are in the foyer,” Aidan said, only a few feet behind Jerry, two shopping bags in his hand.
“I threw those shoes away when I was a teenager,” I said. “They made me look all bow-legged.”
“The maid saved them,” Aidan replied.
“Which maid?”
“Marcella,” Aidan answered. “And don’t even think about retribution. Dad ordered her to get them out of the trash. It’s not her fault.”
When we were students, Dad had insisted we all join the high school golf team. The boys had been fine with it – even when it interfered with their football schedules. Since my hand-eye coordination was lacking, I had taken to insulting the golf coach until she kicked me off the team. It had taken less than two weeks.
Jerry took the shopping bags from Aidan and handed them to me. “Get dressed, Bug. It’s going to be fun.”
Jerry always did have a weird sense of fun.
Forty-five minutes later, the seven of us were standing outside the pro shop and debating cart assignments.
“I’m deciding who is riding together,” Dad announced.
“That doesn’t sound like any fun,” Aidan complained.
“It sounds like the most reasonable way for me to keep the lot of you from embarrassing me.”
If he thought that was a genuine option, he had been drinking all morning when I wasn’t looking. Maybe that’s why he is always hiding behind his newspaper.
Hmm, food for thought. Speaking of food … .
“Okay,” Dad said after a second. “Redmond and Aidan are together.
Cillian and Jerry are together. That leaves Braden and Aisling. That sounds like a good combination.”
“I want to ride with Jerry,” Aidan complained.
I openly glared at him.
“After the superheroes extravaganza last night, that’s not even a remote possibility,” Dad replied. “You two are grounded from each other for the day.”
“I notice you get to have a cart all to yourself,” Redmond grumbled.
“I’m the patriarch. I need time to myself,” Dad replied.
“How do you figure?” Cillian asked.
“I have to live with you idiots,” Dad shot back. “I’ve earned it. Plus, I’m paying.”
“Can we at least grab a hot dog or something before we go? I’m starved,” I said.
“You ate a dozen eggs for breakfast this morning,”
Cillian pointed out.
“They don’t serve hot dogs here,” Dad scoffed. “We’ll eat after we’re done with our round.
In the dining room, like proper golfers.”
“I thought golf was all about getting drunk and staying out of the rough,” I said.
“Ruff. Ruff.” Aidan started to bark, snapping his mouth shut when Dad’s glare landed on him.
“This is why you’re riding with Braden,” Dad said. “He can teach you a few things.”
“I guess you’re not his favorite anymore,” Braden laughed.
“My back hurts,” I announced. It was a little late to get out of golfing, but I figured it was worth a try.
“Then just sit in the cart,” Dad ordered.
I glanced over at Braden. “I’m driving.”
“I’m driving,” Braden corrected me.
“If I have to be here, I’m driving,” I shot back.
“Let your sister drive,” Dad said. “Make sure she’s behind me, though.”
“Is that another comment on my driving?”
“You drive fine,” Dad said. “You’re a woman. You can’t help yourself.”
Jerry snickered.
“You’re not allowed to drive,” Dad turned on Jerry. “Cillian will drive your cart.”
“Why?”
“I’ve seen you drive.”
“I THOUGHT
you were supposed to stay out of the sand.”
Braden shot me a dirty look. “If you’re not going to play, then shut your mouth.”
“I’m injured,” I reminded him.
“How long do you plan on playing that card?”
“Until my back doesn’t feel like I got caught in a tent with thirty angry cats.”
Braden looked properly chastised. “I’m sorry,” he said after a minute. “You were really hurt and I’m glad you’re all right.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you needling me?”
“I’m bored.”
“Well, at least you have a reason.”
“Sonofabitch!”
I glanced to our left, where Aidan was caught in a different sand trap.
“Use your sand wedge,” Dad ordered.
“Thanks, I never would have figured that out myself,” Aidan deadpanned.
“Maybe you should have tried staying out of the sand trap,” I suggested.
“Shut your trap,” Aidan grumbled.
“Don’t be mean to your sister,” Dad said. “She’s injured.”
I shot a triumphant look in Braden’s direction. He was too busy swinging to notice. When the ball popped up and landed on the green, rolling to a stop two feet
from the hole, Braden raised his fist. “Yes!”
“You’re still going to bogey,” Redmond said. Since he was winning, he looked rather pleased with himself.
“My whole day has been a bogey,” Jerry complained.
“You look great, though,” I offered, sending him
a thumbs up from my spot in the cart.
“I do,” Jerry agreed.
“Can we play faster?” Dad asked. “We’re starting to hold people up.”
I glanced back to the tee, where a foursome was standing and waiting for us to move on. “We could just quit here.”
“It’s only the eighth hole,” Dad countered.
“It feels like the hundredth,” I grumbled.
“We can get something to drink after this,” Redmond said. “There’s a refreshment stand just over there.”
“I thought golf courses were supposed to have cute women in short shorts delivering beer,”
Cillian mused.
“There are no beverage carts here,” Dad replied. “They’re tacky. This is a classy place.”
“And boring,” Cillian muttered.
“I heard that,” Dad said.
“I meant for you to.”
Dad was angry now. “Why can’t we do anything nice as a family?”
“We can,” I replied. “It should just be something we all want to do.”
“Therapy?”
Redmond suggested.
Dad ignored him. “And what is that?”
“We could have gone to the zoo,” I replied.
“Oh, I love the zoo,” Jerry said. “That polar bear exhibit is awesome.”
“I love the zoo, too,” Aidan said, sending Jerry a saucy wink. “We’ll have to go some time.”
“That sounds like a good idea.”
“The zoo is for children,” Dad argued.
“What do you think we are?” I pointed out.
“Hit your shot,” Dad ordered to Aidan.
“Fine.”
Aidan whacked at the ball and missed. “Do over,” he shouted.
“It’s called a mulligan,” Redmond corrected him.
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” Redmond shrugged.
“Will you just hit the ball?” Dad looked about ready to explode.
Aidan tried again, this time making contact with his little white nemesis and knocking it up onto the green. Jerry applauded while I rolled my eyes.
“I’m bored,” I said.
“Take a nap,” Dad instructed.
“I can’t sleep outside, you know that. That’s why I can’t camp.”
“I still think that’s an excuse,” Braden said. “You just don’t like the great outdoors. You’re scared of bugs.”
This was true. “If we were meant to sleep outdoors, God wouldn’t have created houses.”
“Which God?”
Redmond teased.
“Any of them.”
“Will you all shut up and play?” Dad was close to his limit.
“Can’t we just declare Redmond the winner and go eat?” I asked. “I’m hungry.”
“No!”
“I need to take my pain meds,” I tried again.
“So take them.”
“I can’t take them on an empty stomach. They’ll make me sick. Are you saying you want me to get sick?”
“We’ll get you a snack in a few minutes,” Dad said.
Braden knocked a putt in, with Aidan following suit a few minutes later. Dad wasn’t the only one at his limit, though.
“I’m bored,” I announced again.
Dad sighed. “Why couldn’t I have fathered grateful children?”
“We learn from your example,” Redmond said.
If red were a natural color for a man's face, I would say Dad looked marginally relaxed.
I’m not that stupid, though. On the other hand, I was definitely hungry.
“We’re eating soon, right?” I prodded again.
Dad sighed, the sound akin to an irritated lion.
“You’re definitely not the favorite anymore,” Braden laughed.