Sidhe's Call Page 10

Chapter Nine

  Aidan carefully placed the shiny silver bracelet in the center of the concealed snare, checked the tautness of the rope, and then dashed back into the house before anyone noticed he was gone and what he was doing outside.

  Mom unloaded groceries into the antique fridge – orange juice, toaster waffles, and more plain yogurt.

  For Kaylee, of course. Bleh!

  Holly busied herself at the stove, humming as she watched three different steaming, boiling, churning pots of savory dishes.

  Aidan finished setting the table and took a moment to poke his head in the rest of the bags, desperately searching for the one request he had made before his mom went into town.

  Underneath the bag of hamburger buns?

  Nope.

  He rummaged deeper, pretending he was helping put things away as he searched.

  Next to the carton of eggs?

  No luck.

  His last hope? Paper bag at the end of the counter, right next to Uncle Quinn who stood leaning his butt against the counter, deep in conversation with Kaylee regarding the benefits of some natural herb Holly grew.

  Apparently Kaylee’s on to her next obsession. Homeo-whatever.

  Cautiously Aidan stepped toward the bag, not wanting anyone to notice his approach. Slowly he crept closer, but far enough from Uncle Quinn so that he wouldn’t feel Aidan’s encroachment on his personal bubble. Aidan’s fingers gently brushed the lip of the bag, sneaking a peek at Quinn and his sister to make sure they hadn’t noticed.

  Before he could retreat or change his stretch across the counter, his sister bellowed, “Aid, you trying to steal Quinn’s beer?” Her voice rang in shrieking delight, and Aidan’s stomach flopped on the floor like a dying fish as Quinn casually turned around, staring down at Aidan.

  “No.” Aidan took a step back and then saw the gotcha look on Quinn’s face. “No!” Aidan’s cheeks blushed as he shrunk further away from the bag, hands held behind his back like a reprimanded two-year-old.

  “All you have to do is ask!” laughed Uncle Quinn, pulling out the six pack of Bud, tearing one loose from the plastic ring and holding it out to Aidan.

  Before Aidan could protest, his mom swooped in, snatching the white and red can in her claw and shoving it back at Quinn’s chest. “I don’t think so!” Her voice cut through the tiny kitchen.

  “Oh, Marge,” Quinn smiled, “I was just foolin’ with the boy!”

  No one calls Mom Marge. No one. Aidan’s eyes darted from Quinn to Mom, waiting for her to escalate the exchange.

  Aidan’s mom would have preferred Margaret long before Marge. Everyone called her Maggie or Mag, but not Marge. His mom was teased relentlessly in school for that one – chants of “Large Marge” or “Marge is in Charge” plagued her childhood.

  Aidan could see her face tense up, the normally rosy cheeks devoid of all color.

  Uh oh, here comes the eruption.

  He was about to clear out of the kitchen when it happened.

  “Quinn. Look.” Her razor voice kept Aidan at a standstill. “I understand that things may be a little, well, different up here. Maybe even a little… hokey. But excuse me if I don’t find underage drinking to be something to joke about. And furthermore—”

  Her pointer finger was poised, ready for the kill, when the unthinkable happened. Quinn didn’t say a word, but casually nodded his head as he walked past her, what was left of the six-pack dangling from his shaky hand while the other hand gave her a shuddering salute.

  His mom just stood there, finger at the ready and pointing at nothing, mouth still open in mid-sentence.

  Kaylee stifled a giggle, but Aidan still remained frozen.

  Suddenly Uncle Quinn’s red mane and smiling face popped back in the doorframe. “Oh, Aid, if you were lookin’ for your zit cream, they didn’t have any at the store, so I guess you’ll just have to use some good ol’-fashion soap.”

  As Aidan’s face reddened, all he could hear were Fallon and Kaylee laughing in unison. Holly rushed into the other room and he could only hear the tone of her voice reprimanding her husband. Aidan’s mom didn’t say or do anything, but just stood there with her hand over her mouth like even she was trying to keep from laughing at him.

  Aidan slowly walked outside, managing to keep himself from saying all of the words he wished he could fire back at his uncle. With his dad in the other room, Aidan didn’t dare lose it. He didn’t dare push his luck and miss out on saving what was left of vacation.

  Uncle Quinn is such a jerk. Even if he is dying. Why are sick people always exempt from being told when they’re being complete pricks?

  Aidan stepped off the porch and threw his pocketknife at the sap-oozing knothole of a nearby pine, the knife glancing off and landing with a thud in the underbrush. He shuffled to find his knife and eventually settled in the shadows of the porch.

  From where he was sitting he could still try to make his mark. He flung the knife from his seated position.

  Thwang!

  It veered off again.

  He got up from his spot on the ground, and retrieved his knife. He picked it up, wiped the blade off on his pant leg, and returned to his hidden location on the side of the cabin, away from the laughing and taunting.

  At least from here I’ll be able to tell if I catch anything in my snare.

  The knife hurtled through the air again; the distinct whir was the only sound among the creaking boughs above.

  Holly would understand what a jerk he is, wouldn’t she?

  He retrieved his knife again, returning and readying to aim his old blade worn from years of Boy Scout campouts.

  Probably not. She married him, anyway.

  Thwing!

  Another miss.

  Why would she marry someone so old? He’s twice her age. She’s closer to my age than—

  He stopped short and threw again, not even bothering to aim, just merely flinging his arm in annoyance.

  Thunk!

  Aidan’s eyes shot up to the knothole – a perfect hit. He simply sat staring at the tree, twelve feet away, knowing in his mind that he must not be seeing things correctly.

  “Must be dumb luck,” he mumbled as he carefully stood to get his knife once again.

  Then he heard it as he twisted the red handle to remove the blade. The telltale squawk and flapping came from the back of the house.

  The snare!

  He leapt from where he was standing, swiftly folding his knife in one swoop as he dashed to the back of the yard. There it stood, one leg tethered to the ground, its massive wings beating the air in a frenzy of desperation. It cawed again, this time directing its anger in Aidan’s direction, as though it knew he was the one responsible for its predicament.

  “So, I finally got you.” Aidan sauntered up to the bird, but stayed out of pecking range.

  “Time to put you away and see if any more of your friends decide to show up.”

  He dashed to the detached garage where he had seen an old wicker birdcage from decades long gone, and quickly returned with the bird’s prison under his arm. He set the dingy white cage on the ground and slowly crept toward the black bird, his arms stretched out on either side, one holding the unfolded knife.

  “Now, how do you think I—” he inched forward a few feet.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Her voice echoed through the trees.

  Aidan spun around to see where she was standing. “Aunt Holly?” She was nowhere to be seen, but he also could not see very far into the trees lit by the cabin’s motion-detection lights.

  Must be playing a trick on me and hiding. Aidan’s serious expression unfolded into a grimace. He would show her what he could do.

  “Here, birdie.” He tiptoed toward the bird, its wings now at rest as it picked at the knotted rope around its ankle.

  “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he lilted his voice just like his mom did when she was trying to cage Dwayne. She always h
ated having to put the hairless rat back in his cage.

  “Come on.” He clicked his tongue, attempting what he thought sounded like a bird beak opening and closing.

  “It will peck your eyes out.” The voice – her voice, he was sure – echoed as a whisper through the towering trunks.

  Aidan shrugged off his aunt’s warning. If she really meant it, she would come out and face him directly. Besides, if she was okay with Uncle Quinn’s collection of taxidermy in his office, why would she care about him catching a bird? It wasn’t like he was planning on killing it or anything like that.

  While keeping the bird distracted with the floodlight bouncing off his knife he held in one hand, Aidan used his free hand to grab at the end of the rope closest to him. He stretched in both directions, trying to keep the bird from noticing what he was doing while trying to keep from falling over.

  Slowly, slowly he inched toward the aged rope until finally—he got it!

  Aidan swiftly pulled the stake from the ground and reeled in the rest of his lasso, the bird finally aware of its shortened leash and the jaw-like door of the cage coming its way. Desperately it tried to take flight, wings flapping and swiping Aidan in the face, almost making him drop the rope.

  It’s now or never! He leapt on the bird, his hands crashing down on the bird’s wings, pinning them against the heaving sides of the animal. Its head turned and twisted, thrashing back and forth with its beak, pecking furiously at nothing as he shoved it in the cage, threw the door shut, and clasped the lock.

  Unsuccessfully it flapped inside its prison, as Aidan sat back panting, proudly staring at his new possession.

  With each deep breath he took, his heart rate descended back to normal, and the bird’s flapping ebbed until it merely stood in the middle of the cage, not even making a sound.

  He looked around at the empty woods, half-expecting Aunt Holly to run out and scold him for capturing a wild creature, but the chastising never came. Holly never showed herself from the shadows as Aidan absconded with the caged bird, sneaking it into Quinn’s office and leaving it under a green wool blanket in the corner. He rushed to go eat dinner and didn’t look back at the bird.