A Villain for Christmas by Alice Winters
“Landon, I want you to help me rob a bank.”
I try to ignore my brother, since I clearly didn’t hear him right.
“Won’t you do me a favor?” he asks after letting himself into my house without bothering to knock. Not that knocking would have done him any good since I wasn’t planning on letting him into my house at all anyway.
“No,” I say without bothering to look up from the book I’m reading.
“Just hear me out!” he exclaims.
I lower the book and look up at my older brother Brandon. Thankfully, I don’t take much after him. Not that he’s ugly or anything like that, he’s not, but just because he’s an idiot. And the one thing I don’t want to be is an idiot. “What, Brandon?”
“I want you to help me rob a bank.”
“No! You asked me last week, and I already told you I have better things to do. Like…” I look around as I try to think of something. It’s hard when my life consists of trying to avoid my family and reading every book I can get my hands on. Oh, and did I mention avoiding my family? Honestly, that’s a full-time career when they all have powers that allow them to better annoy the shit out of me. “Work.”
“Mom told me you got fired,” Brandon says as he sits down on the couch next to me.
“I got fired because Mom came in and told the boss that she needed me. When he said I was working and couldn’t just leave, she told him he looks like an overripe nut sac.”
Brandon starts laughing. “That’s so cool.”
“I hate all of you,” I decide as I lift my book back up.
“About the bank. Come on, you borrowed money from me last week.”
I stare at my brother in disbelief. “Five dollars. You honestly think the equivalent of you lending me five dollars is me helping you rob a bank? I’m not going to help you rob a bank again!”
The Rest of Our Lives by Helena Stone
Chapter One
“This is going to be weird.” Mitch looked out of the bus window. It was after five in the afternoon, and night had fallen. The bus’s headlights lit up a road sign, and Mitch knew they were less than half an hour from Castleforest.
“Not being together for a week, you mean?” Cian sounded about as enthusiastic about the idea as Mitch felt.
“Yeah,” Mitch concurred. “Do you think our families will ever get so comfortable with us being a couple that they’ll allow us to share a room while visiting?”
The reflection of Cian’s gaze caught Mitch’s in the dark glass, and for a moment, they kept each other captive there.
“I don’t think it’s us being a couple they’re having an issue with,” Cian eventually said. “The idea of us actually sleeping together, never mind having sex, is probably easier to deal with on a ‘what I can’t see doesn’t exist’ sorta level.”
“Do you reckon it would be the same if one of us was a girl?”
“Probably not.” Cian frowned. “Having said that, we’re together less than a year, and they probably still see us as children rather than adults, so who knows?”
It wasn’t the end of the world of course. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d spend time apart since they’d moved in together, four months earlier. On more than one occasion, Mitch had gone back to Castleforest on his own for a weekend when Cian had had a match, just as Cian sometimes went home without Mitch to make up for the times he couldn’t make it. This felt different, though. Being alone because they were in different parts of the country was unavoidable. A separation due to parental overprotectiveness or prejudice—Mitch wasn’t sure what to call it—stung.
“Oh, well,” Mitch said, deciding to keep things in perspective and not ruin their week home before it even started. “It’s only for a week, and it’s not as if we won’t see each other during the day. It could be worse. Imagine if your family lived in Cork. We’d be half the country away from each other.”
Cian’s fingers brushed across Mitch’s hand, which rested on his thigh. Mitch relished the intimacy of the gesture, no matter how fleeting. At the same time, he resented that they couldn’t just hold hands for the duration of the journey. Surely one day they would be able to be as affectionate in public as heterosexual couples without the fear of offending people? He had to believe that; anything else would be too frustrating.
“Have you any idea what plans your mother has made?” Cian asked. “Because my parents have been rather vague, apart from telling me that we’ll be celebrating Christmas day as we’ve always done in the past.”
Mitch thought back to his last conversation with his mother. He hadn’t given it much thought at the time, but now that Cian mentioned it, he remembered she’d been rather circumspect when it came to details.
“She asked me what I wanted to eat for Christmas and made some vague references to surprises.” He chuckled. “Maybe I should remind her I’m legally an adult. She hasn’t teased me with secrecy since I stopped believing in Santa.” He turned to Cian, fully expecting him to laugh along or at least smile. Instead, he encountered a thoughtful expression.
“I wonder what they’re up to?” Cian mused.
“Up to?”
“It’s too much of a coincidence otherwise.” Cian focused on Mitch, his eyes gleaming. “My mother used almost the exact same words with me, last time we spoke.”
For a moment Mitch turned into the boy he’d been when he was seven and still firmly believed in the magic of Christmas, reindeer, and Santa Claus. Excitement rushed through him as he tried to figure out what their parents might be planning.
Something bright illuminated the darkness as they drove into town.
“Are those new?” Cian nodded in the direction of the lights that stretched in rows running across the main street at regular intervals, creating an illusion of ice and snow.
“I think so.” Mitch hadn’t paid much attention to Castleforest’s Christmas decorations in the past. They were there for a few weeks before disappearing again for a year, in the same way leaves came and went on trees.
Two minutes later, as the bus drove on without them, Mitch stared down the street and reconsidered. “It does look better. More festive, I guess.” He focused on Cian, reluctant to take the next step on his journey home.
“What are we like?” Cian grinned ruefully. “Our families aren’t so bad that we have to worry about going to different homes.”
Mitch smiled, unable to deny that they were being silly. “Where do you want to meet tomorrow?”
“At the library?” Cian suggested. “For old times’ sake?”
“Works for me,” Mitch said calmly while pushing down a burst of excitement because Cian had picked the place where they’d first met, almost exactly a year earlier.
He looked up and down the street, finding it mostly deserted. Given that it was dinner time on a Sunday in December, that was hardly surprising, but it served his purpose perfectly. He leaned forward, angled his head, and pressed his lips against Cian’s. If anybody did see the kiss, tough. In a town as small as Castleforest, their relationship had to be common knowledge. He wasn’t inclined to force public displays of intimacy on unsuspecting passers-by, but he refused to hide who he was or, more importantly, who he was with any longer.
Cian returned the far too short kiss, smirking when he pulled back. “What a difference a year makes.” He fixed the strap of his backpack on his shoulder and took a step. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Ten-ish?"
“See you then.”
Watching Cian walk away toward the estate where he lived, Mitch wondered if he’d ever get tired of looking at his boyfriend. He’d been attracted to Cian long before they’d exchanged their first words, and far from lessening, the feeling had only strengthened over time. Cian’s training regime since he’d taken up rugby again helped to make an always tantalizing physique even more irresistible too.
Only after Cian turned a corner and disappeared from sight did Mitch set off in the opposite direction. He resisted the temptation to walk by the old community center on his way home. He’d meet Cian there tomorrow, and it would be the long way around. He had no doubt his mother was eagerly awaiting his arrival, and if he were honest, he looked forward to seeing her too.
The front door to the house he’d grown up in opened before Mitch had a chance to put his key in the lock. His mother’s beaming face welcomed him home, and his answering smile was almost certainly just as delighted. Yes, Mitch would miss Cian, especially at night, when he’d have to settle for sleeping on his own, without a warm body to wrap himself around. However, he couldn’t deny that his mother’s joy whenever he visited made him feel warm and loved.
“There you are.” His mother pulled him into a tight hug before scrutinizing his face. “You look well.” She released him and walked into the house. “Do you want to eat now or later?”
“I have a choice?” Mitch snickered. This was new. His whole life his mother had told him what time dinner would be ready, and it had been up to him to make sure he was present at the appointed hour.
“Sure.” She grinned at him as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. She probably does.
“I’m having takeaway delivered. I was thinking fish and chips?”
Mitch’s mouth watered, but he was surprised. “Delivered? I’m impressed. Castleforest is moving up in the world.”
“Oh, stop it. We’re not that much of a backwater.” But his mother smiled at him, taking the sting out of her words.
“I’ll just put my stuff away,” Mitch said. “Then I’m good with whatever you want to do.”
An hour later Mitch settled on the couch in the living room with a full belly. “That was great.”
“Good. Does it make up for having to share a living space with your old ma for a few days?”
Mitch didn’t need mind-reading powers to recognize the question wasn’t only meant as a joke. He sighed.
“Living with you has never been hard,” he said honestly. “It isn’t difficult now either. It’s just…” Mitch didn’t want to upset his mother so soon after arriving, but he didn’t want to lie to her either.
“What?”
He shrugged. “It’s a bit frustrating that nobody minds that Cian and I live together in Dublin, but at the same time won’t allow us to sleep in the same house when we’re here.”
His mother gave him a look he knew all too well. This stare indicated that, in her opinion, he hadn’t thought hard enough before opening his mouth. Unfortunately, recognizing her expression didn’t mean he knew the reason behind it.
“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe Cian’s parents would like to have him to themselves for a few days to catch up? Or that I might like spending some time with my son without having to share his attention?” Mitch gaped at his mother, disinclined to tell her that the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind.
She sighed. “We’re not stupid. We know you two are all grown up and living your own life together. But it feels like only yesterday you came running to me because you’d fallen off your bike and hurt yourself. Give an old woman a chance to adjust to the fact that you’re no longer a child.”
Mitch got up and crossed the room. When he reached his ma in her comfortable chair, he leaned forward and hugged her. “You’re not an old woman,” he whispered while relaxing into her embrace. He allowed himself to revisit the younger version of himself she’d described, surprised to find he welcomed the security her arms offered as much now as he always had.
“I’m sorry.” Mitch murmured the words against her shoulder. He hadn’t meant to upset his mother. “It’s just that I’m so used to being together with Cian it feels a bit weird when we’re not. Especially since for once we’re home at the same time.” He straightened and sat on the armrest of his mother’s chair.
“It’s okay.” She patted his leg. “I do understand, you know. I used to be young once, a long, long time ago.” She looked up at him with a cheeky glint in her eye. “Did I mention I have a surprise for you?”
“You did.” The sudden change in subject caught Mitch off guard. “I thought you’d keep me in suspense until Christmas.”
“That would defeat the purpose.”
The plot thickened, and Mitch was still none the wiser. “Well then, don’t keep me hanging.”
“We had a raffle in work,” his mother said, at first glance apropos of nothing. “I won the first prize.”
“Congratulations?” Mitch had no idea why his mother made such a big deal about having won a box of chocolates or something similar, but he was willing to wait her out.
“I’ve now got two tickets to see the Symphony Orchestra perform the music from Star Wars. Tomorrow night, actually.”
“Nice one.” Mitch was delighted for her. His mother was a huge Star Wars fan. In fact, she’d watched the movies so often over the years Mitch knew large chunks of them off by heart. “But what has that got to do with me?” Surely, she hadn’t made him come all the way home today, only to travel back to Dublin tomorrow?
“I was wondering if you’d let us use your apartment for the night.” Her gaze bored into him as if she was expecting a certain reaction. “Marian is coming with me, and neither of us fancies driving all the way home at midnight. Since your place will be empty...”
Mitch chuckled. “We have two bedrooms, remember? There’s no reason you can’t stay with us, even when we’re there.” He sobered as he tried to remember what state they’d left the place in before leaving, suppressing a sigh of relief when he recalled they’d done a rather thorough cleanup because they didn’t want to return to chaos. “Of course, you can stay there.” But how is that a surprise for me? He kept that thought to himself.
“And now you’re wondering how me winning concert tickets constitutes a surprise for you.”
Mitch blinked at his mother, shocked to discover that four months after he’d moved out, she could still read his mind with ease.
“I’m disappointed.” The sparkle in his mother’s eyes belied her words. “I thought you would have recognized your opportunity by now.”
The beginnings of an idea formed in Mitch’s mind. Surely, she doesn’t mean...?
“How did I manage to raise such an eejit?” The sigh she expelled was obviously exaggerated. “Why don’t you get on your phone and see if Cian wants to spend tomorrow evening and night here?”
“Really?”
His mother gave him a blank stare. “Really.” She reached for the remote. “Now, either settle or go and do your own thing. I’m watching The Empire Strikes Back tonight.
Mitch reached for his mother, hugging her again and placing a kiss on her cheek. “Thanks. That’s the best surprise ever.” He got up. “Enjoy your movie. I’m going up to my room.”
He was texting Cian before he was halfway up the stairs.
Needing a Little Christmas by Silvia Violet
“What do mean you’re not going to be with Dave’s family for Christmas? Why?”
I pulled the phone away from my ear. I’d known my mother would be upset, but her reaction was even more vehement than I expected.
“Apparently one of the junior partners at his firm isn’t nearly as boring as I am. They’ve been having an affair for months.”
My mother made a sound of disgust. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry, and you are not boring.”
“I know, but Dave thinks I am.” And honestly, I thought he was probably right. I preferred to stay at home rather than go out. I spent most days in sweats and T-shirts. When Dave did drag me to a party with his socialite friends, I inevitably embarrassed him with my lack of knowledge of current affairs. I’d taken to hiding out in the bathroom writing notes for my next book on my phone. He’d even attempted to coach me in the art of party conversation. I’d used his lessons in a book but ignored them as they applied to me. The book had done well; readers found his suggestions hilarious.
When Dave told me I was not only an uninteresting social companion but boring in bed as well, I’d taken that seriously. I might prefer a quiet lifestyle, but I knew how to please a partner sexually. After pondering what I could do to shock him, I’d gotten my nipples pierced, something I’d secretly wanted to do for years.
He laughed.
I should have broken up with him that night. We’d only had sex a few times after that, and each time, Dave raced to completion, showered off the scent of me, and promptly fell asleep.
I heard my mother’s heels click against the floor, the sound reminding me to concentrate on the conversation. She must be pacing, something she always did when strategizing. “I’m so sorry, honey. Do you want us to cancel our cruise?”
That was the last thing I wanted. “Of course not. You’ve been looking forward to it for months. I’m fine. Really.”
“Are you sure?”
I held the phone between my shoulder and ear as I poured myself a generous measure of whiskey. “Yeah, things hadn’t been great between me and Dave for a long time.”
She huffed. “That doesn’t give him any excuse to—”
I held up my hand even though she couldn’t see me. “No it doesn’t. He acted like an ass, and I think he knows it. He moved out of his beloved apartment and told me I could keep it.” Not that I could afford it for long unless my next book was a runaway hit.
Mom sighed. “I don’t want you spending Christmas alone.”
After draining my drink, I’d wandered into my bedroom and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My eyes were red from lack of sleep, and they looked more hazel than their usual bright green. My curly dark hair stood out at odd angles. The stress of trying to meet the deadline for my book and trying to hold on to a relationship that had died long before I caught Dave fucking his colleague in his office hadn’t been good for my appetite. I’d lost weight, and the bones in my face showed prominently. I was definitely not looking my best, but
I wanted a few more days to wallow in self-pity.
“I really don’t want to be around anyone right now.”
My mom sighed. “But it’s Christmas.”
I ran my hand through my hair, making it stick out even more. “I’m not in the mood for holiday cheer.”
“Your dad and I can go on a cruise another year.”
“No, arranging this once was difficult enough. Rick and Cindy will want to spend next year with you since they’re with Cindy’s family this year. And Ally’s trip to California is a special one-time deal. This is our gift to you, and I won’t be responsible for screwing it up.”
“You wouldn’t be responsible, Dave would be.”
“I wasn’t exactly looking forward to listening to his family brag about how wonderful they all are. I’ll have a better time alone.” My mom’s pacing stopped, and I realized I’d said the wrong thing.
“Eli, why didn’t you tell us you didn’t want to go home with Dave? We would never have agreed to the cruise if we thought you’d be miserable at Christmas.”
I tried to backpedal. “It would have been fine. I enjoy visiting Boston, even if the company leaves something to be desired.”
“Hmm.” My mom didn’t sound convinced. “Maybe we could get you a ticket for the cruise. It might not be full.”
The cruise was supposed to give my parents some uninterrupted time together. And the last thing I wanted was be trapped on a ship with lots of happy, smiling people encouraging me to socialize while my mom fussed over me. “No, thanks. I really, truly would rather be on my own.”
“But what will you do?”
“Stay home and drown my sorrows in Christmas cookies and eggnog.”
A Distant Drum by Amy Rae Durreson
1. Thursday Night
The houseboat door was stiff, the wood a little swollen with the damp and the lock hard to see in the grey winter twilight. I eventually managed to shove it open and step inside, navigating the steps down from the deck more from memory than anything else. It was cold inside, and dark, and I dropped my backpack hastily and fumbled across the well—three steps forward and a shuffle left before my knees bumped the wall, and I realised that I’d been shorter last time I came here.
It still smelt the same—petrol, wood polish, and under it all the cool, faintly salty bite of the water below. Did it smell like this in summer, when the tourists came to rent it out, or was it only in winter that the old scent of the place came rising out of the woodwork? I half-expected to catch a hint of over-brewed tea, or Gabe’s roll ups.
My eyes were adjusting to the light now, and I hadn’t been far off—the mains switch was right in front of me. I reached up and flicked it on. The fridge began to hum in the galley, something groaned and stuttered in the hull, and a red light came on somewhere high on the wall of the saloon which opened from the well. I leaned back and hit the light switch by the door on the second attempt.
The saloon didn’t look the same. It was a hell of a lot cleaner than it had been when Gabe lived here, for a start. It was probably weird to feel nostalgic for overflowing ashtrays, dog-eared paperbacks, and tea-stained mugs, but I did.
Ah, fuck it, I might as well come out and admit it was Gabe I missed, the old git, and now I could spend the whole of Christmas weeping into the lining of my coat.
Partly because I wasn’t going to take said coat off until I’d got the heating going. Back when Gabe had lived here, there had been a single crappy plug-in heater which ate electricity like Gabe went through a bag of Tetley’s, but I’d signed off on the installation of a proper furnace last year, on the advice of the rental company. It would extend the season at either end, they had told me, and I’d been both too busy with work and aching from the loss of the last family member who liked me. I hadn’t wanted to deal with anything about the boat myself.
She’s got a name, numpty, Gabe grumbled in my memory. She’s a lady, and even a lad with no taste for the lasses can show her some respect.
The rental company had given her some twee name in line with their company policy—Halsham Dancer, I thought, or maybe, Halsham Dreamer. I’d never been able to keep it fixed in my head. To me she was, and would always be, Lovely Lily.
I said now, slipping back into childhood habits, “Hey, Lily, milady, help me out. Where’s your heating switch?”
The wind sighed through the reeds along the side of the creek. An owl called, long and eerie. Somewhere out in the darkness, on another boat or, more likely, in a passing car, someone had their music on loud enough that I could just hear the beat, even out here in the darkness.
I sighed and went back to get my bag. If I could get a phone signal, I could check the emails about the installation and find out where—
There was a leather folder sitting on the low bench beside my bag. Embossed letters on the front read Guest Information.
It had probably been there before. It had been dark when I’d come in, and I hadn’t been looking for it. All the same, I remembered all the stories Gabe had told me when I was a kid, and ducked my head, muttering, “Thanks, Lil.”
The switch was in the kitchen. While the boat slowly heated, I stashed the groceries I’d brought with me in the fridge—nothing but beer and service station sandwiches, in proper Gabe style—and wandered through the rest of the not-quite-familiar rooms. It was all very clean and charming, but it felt a little too sanitised to be the Lily. There was even a plaque on the wall outlining her history in an antique font—from her wherrying days on the Thames in the 1930s to her presence at Dunkirk to a mastless retirement here on the edges of Halsham Broad. Most of it was new to me, and I patted her wall fondly, feeling an odd swell of pride in the old girl. “Gabe always said you were an old trouper. Guess he was right.”
As the air warmed, I began to feel more at home. I’d never been here in the winter—even Gabe had been reluctantly dragged away to endure a family Christmas, but I’d been released to Gabe’s care every Easter and for a week every summer. I could still remember the relief of that train ride, each rattle of the tracks drawing me farther away from the boy my parents wanted me to be, until I exploded off the train at Norwich to hurl myself at Gabe and his dog—first Frodo, then Galadriel, and last of all Elrond, all of them smelly, shaggy, and of thoroughly mixed lineage, none of them allowed to visit the London-dwelling parts of the family.
It was only now that I wondered what favours Gabe had traded to get those weeks.
The darkness was different at this time of year. There was none of that lingering light that clung to a summer’s night even when the sun was down, or even the fresh vastness of a starry April night. In December, the darkness felt heavy, clustering close around her windows. I filled the kettle, put it on to boil, and then went back outside, drawn by that absolute darkness.
The air tasted so crisp and cold it stung my mouth. Looking out where I knew there was water, I could see nothing but the black depth of night. To the north, where the village of Halsham clustered around the marina, a couple of lights showed, but it was hard to tell how far away they were. Farther to the south-east, I could just see faint glimmers from the coastal village of Gorsey. The moon was the barest thin crescent, offering no light. Under my feet, the deck was already slick with frost and I couldn’t hear or feel the usual sway of the water beneath the Lily. Had the broad frozen?
The owl cried out again and I could hear that faint beat of music stripped of all its grace by distance.
I wasn’t expecting the sudden shrill of my phone, and jumped enough that I almost went skidding across the deck. I’d left it inside and rushed to get it despite the sudden clench of guilt in my gut. I should have known a hasty text message wouldn’t have been enough, and I’d been relying on the fact that I’d never known a signal at Halsham Broad before to put off what was going to be a monumental reckoning.
“Hey,” I said, closing my eyes.
“So you are alive then?” Nik snapped. “I’ve been trying to contact you for the last two hours.”
“Didn’t you get my text?”
Nik took a long breath and then let it out in one furious huff. “Yes, I got your fucking text. But for your information, needed some time—back in the New Year does not actually tell me anything useful. Like, for example, where the hell you are!”
“I’m fine.”
“Fine is not a place in England.”
“I’m sure it’s a place somewhere, though. I mean, there’s Finland and Finchley, which are both close.” I could usually get a laugh out of Nik if I babbled enough, and I didn’t want to fight. Nik wasn’t stupid. He knew why I wasn’t there.
He didn’t laugh. “Are you in Finland or Finchley?”
“No.”
He grated out, “So, where the fuck are you?”
“I’m—”
“Because you should be here, packing your bags to go to my parents for Christmas.”
“Your parents hate me.”
“Oh, for fuck’s—” He stopped himself and said, “My parents do not hate you.”
“They absolutely hate me. They think I seduced you away from being their good little heterosexual Catholic son.”
“Hate to break it to you, darling, but you were hardly my first.”
“Yeah, but I was the first one they met, right? And it was a disaster.”
“Not that much of a—”
“Disaster,” I emphasised.
“Your generosity knows no bounds, my liege. Fine. I’ll go first, but if I meet my demise, my blood is on your hands.”
“Your generosity knows no bounds, my liege. Fine. I’ll go first, but if I meet my demise, my blood is on your hands.”
