Nightfall (Devil's Night 4)

He was still only five, and on the rare occasion she let him travel like this, it made her nervous. We’d been on this thing a hundred times, and I wouldn’t put my kids on something dangerous. She knew that.

I loved watching her mother our kids, though. It was hot.

We dipped down, the air turning cold, and I knew we were under the river, but it only lasted a few seconds before we coasted up again, and I brought the lever down, slowing the car.

“Aw,” the kids said behind us.

But their fun was only just beginning. Actually, all of our fun. Em and I were going to play tonight, too.

We slowed to a stop, everyone removing their helmets and seatbelts. We climbed off the car and up to the platform. I gave the girls a hand, while Emory grabbed II. Straightening my jacket and tie, I took the girls’ hands and led them into the catacombs, up the stairs, and into the great hall of the cathedral.

Finn and Indie immediately yanked free and bolted toward the front door, whipping it open and racing outside.

“When the bells chime, report to the front of the house,” I yelled after them. “Immediately!”

“Yep!” they shouted.

William II walked past me, his face buried in his tablet.

“Talk to me, Goose!” I said.

“I heard you,” he sing-songed without looking around.

I shook my head as I drifted out the door to the front yard, watching my kids join Kai’s daughter, Jett, and a few of her friends. II’s eyes hadn’t left his screen.

“Kids today…” I mumbled.

Em touched my shoulder, soothing me again that my son wasn’t going to play basketball. “Going to make some calls before this thing starts,” she told me, a laugh caught in her throat. “Save your energy for me. It’s going to be a hell of a night.”

“Promise?” I looked over my shoulder as she headed back into the house.

She winked at me and spun around.

Stepping down the stairs, I watched the kids play, Damon’s five-year-old daughter Octavia in her standard pirate knickers, black tights, and peasant blouse with a fake sword strapped to her back. No one would break it to the kid that modern-day pirates were far different than Jack Sparrow. She wanted to be what she wanted to be.

I looked around, not seeing the boys, so Damon and Winter must not have arrived yet. Octavia probably came with Kai and Banks, since she and Jett were about the same age and friends.

Something to my right caught my eye, and I looked over, seeing Madden sitting up in the tree. Black suit, cold black hair, and porcelain skin—the whole package making him look like a knife.

He held an open book in his lap, but his eyes were on the kids playing.

Or one kid.

I climbed up the wooden planks, reaching him about fifteen-feet high and hanging there as his gaze shot back down to his text.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey.”

I bit back my smile at his sternness. I didn’t think anyone could be more rigid than Kai, but his son took the prize. How many eleven-year-olds dressed in crisp, pressed trousers and suit jackets and never had a hair out of place. Parted a little left of center, it shone in the sunlight, his trim perfect and stark against his pale skin.

“Where’s your dad?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Inside somewhere.”

I watched him stare at the book, but his eyes weren’t moving. I glanced at the kids again.

He never joined in. He only played alone.