Page 30 of Scrooged for the Holidays
No. Despite everything he’s said and what I’ve seen, this has to be a nightmare I can’t wake myself up from. And if Nightmare Kai says I won’t be able to until he shows me whatever I’m supposed to see, then what choice do I have?
“Fine, Angel Boy. Let’s get this over with.”
His brow pinches. “It’s Nephilim.”
“If you say so.”
Chapter ten
Malachi
Greerislivingupto her fiery personality and Scrooge-like ways, yet a softness peeks through every now and then that she makes sure to carefully mask.
When I heard her say “Emotions are a liability. Control is power.” under her breath, it occurred to me it’s what she said at the bar when I nearly kissed her. While I don’t like hearing her say it, I understand why it’s become her mantra.
Greer has learned that being emotional makes her weak, and if she can control her emotions, she’s in power. In her case, she’s not merely controlling them but blocking them out completely. It explains her gray, bleak aura.
The memory with her and Avery showed her how she started on her path to becoming a Scrooge, which will only become clearer as we continue. It’s not going to get any easier for her, but she needs to see these memories—every second I spend with her, I realize that more and more. Because I don’t believe Greer wants to be how she is.
You’re behind schedule. Is everything alright?Remi’s rumbling voice echoes through my mind.
Everything is fine. We are behind but not by much, I communicate back. We wouldn’t be at all had Greer not asked so many questions and tried to hit herself multiple times to wakeup. It’s happened before with others similar to her, but she was very insistent.
There was also the fact that she kissed me and tried to take me to bed. My lips still buzz from the unexpected kiss, one I’m sure my fellow guardians saw or felt through the comms I’ve kept open. I know I’ll hear about it later, but for now, I enjoy the fading taste of her on my lips—bitter yet sweet with a hint of spice. Like an expensive dark chocolate laced with cinnamon.
Let us know if you need anything,Remi adds.
I send a pulse of gratitude and warmth to Remi before I shut down my link to them. I need to focus on Greer and show her what she needs to see before my time with her is up. The pit in my stomach grows at that thought, but it’s how Elysian Pines works.
A night belongs to each of us: me first, then Remi, then Sam. I show her what she needs to see, and I may see her at the bar or in town after this, but if tradition holds, tonight is when our time will end. I put that painful thought in the future where it belongs. She’s here with me now; that’s what matters.
“What memory is this?”
Greer’s sharp gaze finds mine. The living room we’re in is modest—nothing screams wealth or extravagance. The walls are painted beige, and the carpet is a neutral-colored Berber that was popular in the late nineties. A fake, sad-looking Christmas tree is in the corner, ready to be decorated.
I cock my head at her, and she huffs, blowing a piece of hair from her face.
“Let me guess—I’ll find out?”
My upper lip twitches at her sass. “You’re catching on already.”
“I may not be able to get out of this nightmare, but I’m smart.”
She is, but nothing will take her from the past. While she’s with me, my grace allows for us to travel back in time, something I can doon my own whenever I please.
My gifts show her the moments that have made her who she is now and give her some much-needed perspective. Everything she sees tonight will set her up for Remi’s time with her in the present tomorrow evening.
The sound of footsteps, softened by the carpet, approach. Greer turns to where a mini version of herself appears. She’s younger than she was in the first memory, only seven.
When I show people the past, the memories are not always linear. For Greer, my feeling was she needed to see her time with Avery first. And given her reaction, it was the right choice. It made a dent, if not a crack in the walls she’s built around her emotions. She may be pushing back against what’s happening, but most everyone does. It’s rare people will just go along and accept what I am or what’s happening without pause. That’s why we keep going.
I study Greer’s profile as she watches the younger version of herself. Despite her sass, her gaze is curious and attentive. Her red lips are pursed, the makeup she fell asleep wearing still on her face but slightly faded. Her wavy hair is mussed from lying on the bed but still beautiful, tumbling down her back in nectarine-colored waves with blonde highlights framing her round face.
Her outside is just as beautiful as the inside once was—or should I say still is. From what I can see, it’s simply been long buried and protected.
What she’s about to see will help her understand that. At least, I hope it will.
Past Greer has her arms laden with Christmas decor and a wide smile on her face. She’s the perfect image of a child opening presents from Santa on Christmas morning, pure joy and innocence. So much different than the Greer of now.
