Fire Night (Devil's Night 4.5)

“I’m okay,” I said again.

Her eyes crinkled with worry, and I knew no matter what I did or said, she’d worry anyway.

I gritted my teeth and forced my feet to move over to her, diving in for a quick hug—patting her back twice—because I knew it would make her feel better. “I’m okay,” I repeated.

Turning around, I headed down the hall, exhaling when I rounded the corner and she hadn’t called me back or followed me.

Veering to the right, toward the boys’ room, I saw my uncle swing around the corner of the hallway ahead and stop, meeting my eyes.

I stopped too.

Something weird crossed his black eyes, like a mixture of amusement and interest, and I braced myself as he walked for me.

I liked my uncle Damon. He didn’t try to talk to me all the time.

Usually.

I watched, my spine stiffening as he leaned down to get in my face, the stench of cigarettes filling my nostrils.

“I know what you did,” he whispered, keeping the words between us.

I stared at him.

“If my child is ever in danger, don’t hesitate to do it again,” he told me. “Understand?”

I remained silent.

But I knew what he was talking about.

I didn’t understand most people. They acted like most decisions in life were a choice. Was I not supposed to do anything when those men came tonight?

That was why I’d kept my mouth shut. My parents would’ve freaked out if they’d lost us, and they still would’ve freaked out if they’d known how I’d stopped it. They would’ve just confused me. I didn’t know what they wanted.

But Uncle Damon wouldn’t make me respond to a question he’d already faced the answer to.

And he didn’t seem upset.

“You got any bad feelings about what happened tonight?” he asked me.

I dropped my eyes.

The lie would make my parents worry. The truth would make them worry more.

“Yeah, didn’t think so.” He smirked. “If you ever do, you come see me. Got it?”

It took a moment, but I nodded.

He dove in and left a peck on my cheek before rising again and continuing on his way.

I waited until he was around the corner before I dug out the handkerchief in my pocket and wiped his tobacco spit off my skin.

Stuffing the cloth back into my pants, I walked into the dark bedroom. Ivarsen and II were on the other side of the room in single beds, and Gunnar was in the bed next to mine, his covers down around his feet.

Dag and Fane were up in their nook in the attic, while the girls were next door.

But as I walked to my bed, I spotted a lump under the covers. I moved closer, seeing long, black hair fanned out across my pillow.

Octavia.

I stopped, smelling her from here. Her mom bought her her own shampoo that seemed to seep into everything she owned—and everything I owned when she was close.

I wasn’t old enough to remember Jett being born, but when Octavia came, it was the first time I remembered a baby being around. Perfect and fragile and already loved by everyone, no matter who it would be when it grew up.

I was like that once too. Before people knew me.

I tightened my fists, seeing the bruise on her arm.

Everyone else forced me to come here or go there and to be a part of things. Octavia always left what she was doing or who she was with and came to me instead. It was nice.

She stirred, drawing in a breath and turning onto her back.

I pulled the pillow out from under her, her head plopping onto the bed as I set the pillow to the side. “You’re in my bed.”

I crashed down next to her and propped my head up on the pillow against the headboard.

Reaching into my breast pocket, I pulled out a couple of squares of sketch paper and started folding.

She nestled close, tucking her head on my arm.

“Are you scared?” I asked her, not looking away from my origami.

“I was a little before.” Her small voice, so tiny, made something hurt in my chest.

My hand slowed for a moment, and I swallowed. She was pulled away from me, taken out of the house, and out to the ocean in a snowstorm tonight.

But maybe it wasn’t them who scared her.

She saw everything.

Everything.

“Why were you scared?” I asked, but I didn’t breathe as I waited for the answer.

She shifted, looking up at me. “Weren’t you?”

I said nothing, simply continued folding the dove as her warmth filtered through the arm of my jacket.

A little.

I cleared my throat. “Don’t be afraid. It’ll never happen again.”

“How do you know?”

I finished the bird, holding it up against the shadow of the snowfall on the ceiling.

“Because next time, I’ll be bigger,” I said.

Turning to her, I set the bird under her chin, seeing her smile peek out, and pulled the covers up, tucking her in.