Chapter 38

Lucas

Sofia tightens up against me, and her breathing pattern changes, louder now. I run my palm down her back, hoping to soothe her, but I’m not sure how much good it does. I’m barely soothed myself.

“Someone’s in the house,” Sofia hisses, and I nod. I know someone is.

“I’m going downstairs,” I say, separating my body from hers and sliding off the bed.

Sofia’s hand darts out and gets a grip on my shirt. “Don’t leave me. I don’t want to be up here all alone.”

“I don’t want you to be down there with me,” I tell her, and her hand releases me. In the darkness, she’s only a silhouette lit by moonlight, but I can still feel how much terror is in her eyes. “Nothing is going to happen to you,” I promise. “It was probably James. I’ll be right back.”

I tread first across her bedroom floor and flip the latch on the door, locking her in.

“Keep that locked,” I command her, then stride over to the adjoining bathroom, depress its button lock on the doorknob, and pull it shut, sealing myself out of her room. It’s better this way, and she’ll only breach those locks if one of the kids is in trouble.

I come out through my bedroom door and look up and down the hallway first. Everything is dark and quiet, but there’s an unmistakable and strong draft coming from the stairwell.

I step quietly in my bare feet to the landing and glance down at the foyer.

The front door hangs wide open.

There’s no way that it’s James. Shit. It’s got to be either Astrid or a wild animal, and to be completely honest, I would prefer even a black bear cub to tipsy, un-medicated Astrid. There’s no time to waste with quiet steps anymore. I thunder down the stairwell and shut the door, sliding all its locks into place.

“James?” I hiss. “Are you awake?” I creep to the den, still scanning for any shadows of movement, but nothing is there. James is notorious for leaving televisions playing in rooms where no one is watching them, but this time, the television is off and the room is dark. He even turned off the Christmas tree, which is even more unlike him. Still, all its tinsel and baubles shimmer softly in the shadow, horribly out-of-key with this moment. I back out of the room, confused, and feel a rumble across the floor. Shit. Something’s downstairs. Maybe it is James. Or maybe it’s hurting James.

I hurry to the basement door in the corridor between the kitchen and the foyer, throwing it open and rushing downstairs. James is flat on his back, groaning at the foot of the stairs.

“What the hell happened?” I demand, certain that he’s been the nuisance moving through the house, scaring everyone to death. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, man, that’s why I was coming upstairs,” James grumbles, rubbing the back of his head and blinking up at me sleepily. “I was down here, and I heard somebody come running down the stairs and slam the door. It woke me up. I think I lost my footing on the damn stairs. I’m fine, Lucas. Don’t worry about me. What the hell is going on up there? Why are all the lights out?”

A chill tickles down my spine.

He didn’t turn off the television. He didn’t turn off the tree. The electricity is out.

“Do you think it’s the storm?” James asks at my back, but I’m already galloping back upstairs. I don’t think it is the storm. Storms can’t turn doorknobs.

I burst through the basement door and lunge into the kitchen, the only room I haven’t checked yet. I scan everything for signs of disturbance, but the only clue is the open kitchen door. Nothing else. This isn’t a Christmas-themed thief.

My stomach sinks. It’s got to be Astrid. She’s the only one crazy enough to do something like this.

She’s not in the living room. She’s not in the basement. She’s not in the kitchen.

Fuck. While I was downstairs, she might have headed upstairs. I step to the back door in the kitchen and quickly lock it. I glare out the window at the snow, still falling hard. I don’t see anybody out there. I don’t hear anything. Maybe it was the storm. Maybe the front door wasn’t closed tightly.

When I turn, a shadow darts into the den, and then a high-pitched shriek rings through the air. Oh my god, it’s Madison. Madison is down here now. I would recognize that scream anywhere, and I burst through the living room door just in time to see the entire horrific tableau.

Madison stands at the other living room entrance, her hands clapped over her mouth and her eyes as wide as golf balls. On the other side of the room, silhouetted against the Christmas tree, is Astrid. The silvery light from the blizzard outside our windows gives her a macabre pallor and a wild glaze to her eyes. She’s still wearing the white cat suit from earlier, still in that constrictive shapewear. Her makeup tracks down her face, leaving black pits of smeared mascara beneath her eyes. Her face is wet from the storm and possibly her own tears. Her hair is a wreck. She looks cold and wet and insane, and she’s gripping the Christmas tree, on the brink of wrecking it.

“Mommy?” Madison squeaks uncertainly. “Are you… Santa Claus? I heard a noise, and I thought—I thought it was Santa.”

“Madison!” Sofia’s voice cries from the stairwell, and God damn it, she’s coming down. This is the match that will make this whole house explode. I can’t let Astrid see Sofia right now, but it’s too late. Sofia emerges through the foyer entrance and grasps Madison’s shoulders before she even sees Astrid.

“Get your hands off my daughter!” Astrid howls, sounding more like a demon than like a woman.

The blood drains from Sofia’s face and her hands go limp, dropping off Madison’s shoulders.

“Mommy, you’re scaring me,” Madison whispers.

The basement door opens in the distance, and I hear James shuffling toward the other entrance to the den. As soon as he sees Astrid, he holds his hands out and says one long, firm, “Whoa.”

Astrid turns her wild eyes away from Sofia and onto him. “Stay the fuck out of this, James,” she screeches.

I’ve never seen her this bad before.

I should’ve been checking in with her, making sure she was still going to her therapy sessions and still refilling her prescriptions on time. I should’ve been more careful, because I realize now that Astrid hasn’t been well since before Thanksgiving, when she repeatedly skipped visitations with the kids. I just didn’t want to see it then. I brushed it aside and now it’s exploded.

“James,” I breathe to my brother. “Take everybody downstairs and keep them with you.” I don’t want them to see whatever happens next.

Christmas is supposed to be a special time. This is like the much worse version of A Nightmare before Christmas. Or no, it’s literally the Grinch.

Astrid’s claws are hooked between the string of lights and the tree itself.

James nods and ducks back out of the kitchen entrance. His footfalls thud through the connecting corridor and his hand reaches out for Sofia and Madison.

“Don’t you dare,” Astrid growls, freeing one hand from the tree to point. “Don’t you dare go anywhere, Miss Nanny.”

Madison’s hand slides into James’s and they disappear from the room. I’m not sure where Charlie is, but I assume he’s sleeping safely upstairs. I don’t think Astrid will mess with him—not anymore. All my focus is on Sofia. Her arms are still crossed protectively over her midsection.

I stretch out my arm to the right, silently indicating for Sofia to come to me. I’m afraid that running will spur Astrid’s hunter instinct and send her sprinting after Sofia. I would rather Astrid trash the tree, the house, everything in it than hurt my unborn child and the woman I love. Christ, do I love her.

Astrid sees the gesture and, as Sofia crosses the space toward me, she topples the tree to the ground with a terrific crash. Then, she launches herself at Sofia. She falls back, away from me, gripping her stomach. “Stop!” she says. “Stop it. Astrid, there’s no need for this.”

“Need for this?! This is all your fault! If you hadn’t come along, everything would’ve been perfect. He would’ve been mine. You slut, you lowly, little –”

“Enough,” I grunt. “That’s enough. Don’t talk to Sofia like that, Astrid.”

She spins on her heel, eyes stretched so wide her eyelids are fucking streaks of nothing, her lashes peeled back against her sockets. “You bastard,” she whispers. “This was supposed to be our Christmas. Ours. Not hers.”

I want to signal to Sofia to get the hell out of here, so I can diffuse the damn situation, but I can’t without alerting Astrid to the plan. And I can’t guarantee how she’ll react if she sees me taking sides again.

The last thing we need is a fight in front of the kids. The last thing we need is Astrid scaring them again.

Charlie’s just started recovering. He’s finally got life in his eyes. He’s laughing again.

“Astrid, please, you’ve got to calm down. Calm down, and we can talk about this.”

Sofia chooses this moment to slink from the living room, and an instinctive protest rises in my throat. I want her to get away from Astrid, but I don’t want her out of my sight.

Her feet drum down the corridor between the foyer and the kitchen. She must be heading for the basement door, for safety with the kids and James.

Astrid lets out a feral shriek. “No, you don’t, you weasel bitch, you’re not getting away that easily.” She dives for the kitchen entrance, and her footfalls thunder after Sofia’s.

“No,” I cry, but it’s too late. I bolt after Astrid. I didn’t want to startle her with a sudden movement, but I should have, because now Sofia and our baby might be in danger.

Just how far will Astrid take this?