Fire Night (Devil's Night 4.5)

The lights had been extinguished, the candles glowing across the gold and red floor as holiday garlands of evergreens, mistletoe, and sugar plums draped across the mantel to the right, matching the ones wrapped around the railing of the staircase behind me.

The dance floor was still nearly empty, except for my wife dancing with her brother.

Hanging back, I folded my arms over my chest, softening at the sight of them together. Okay, okay. I didn’t hate him. I couldn’t hate anyone who loved her.

He dipped her back and twirled with her, and she smiled so wide before laughing and throwing her arms around him as he went faster and faster.

I smiled, watching them.

Nearby, Rika danced with Jett, both of them watching their feet as Rika counted, helping Jett with the steps. Her black gown stretched with the small baby bump, now about five months along.

Will’s daughters, Indie and Finn, twirled around the couples, pretending they were ballet dancers, the black feathers in Finn’s hair making my stomach sink a little at the memory. Seemed like yesterday Banks and I were in the ballroom of the Pope, watching Damon’s mother, dressed in her black feathers, move around the floor like a ghost. A chill ran up my spine.

“Kai?” someone said.

I looked behind me, seeing Winter descend the stairs, holding the railing with both hands.

I reached for her, guiding her to me. “Yep, here,” I said. “Did you smell me?”

How else would she have known it was me?

She laughed, joining me at my side. “Mm-hmm. You smell goooood.”

I smiled, turning my eyes back to the ballroom. My son had disappeared, and Ivarsen had joined his brothers, running past us toward the dining room and the sweets, no doubt.

Headlights approached outside, guests starting to arrive.

“Octavia doesn’t want to go to the lock-in tonight,” Winter told me.

“Then Mads won’t go, either.”

“Nope.”

Which was why she was telling me, so I was prepared. As the adults danced the night away or took part in the revelry of the festivities, the kids would go have their own adventure at the theater. Until midnight, anyway, when they could come home and open presents.

Winter had done a beautiful job, making this time of year special. She loved Christmas but always felt the day was bittersweet, because it meant the season was pretty much over. We started our festivities on the solstice now, happy to enjoy that we had days of joy still ahead of us.

“She’s a very lucky kid,” Winter said. “Lots of people who dote on her.”

I nodded, seeing a shadow on the second floor. Mads had retreated to his hideaway again.

“She’s an adventurer,” I replied. “Mads isn’t. He can live vicariously through her.”

“And she loves that she can drag him anywhere,” she added, “and he never gets upset with her. Her brothers are…not so flexible.”

Her brothers were trouble. At least Mads set a good example.

The speakers turned off as the orchestra finished tuning, silence filling the air throughout the house.

“I love that sound,” Winter whispered.

“What sound?”

“The draft of this old place hitting the flames,” she said. “Do you hear it?”

I trained my ears, the wind howling through the floors above us, their gusts making the flames flicker.

The hair on the back of my neck rose.

“Feels like ghosts,” she murmured. “Everything is more beautiful in the firelight, isn’t it?”

I looked down at her, her long lashes draping over eyes that could no longer see anything beautiful, but that didn’t mean anything was lost on her, either. She just saw it differently now.

Turning, I took her hand in mine and her waist in my other, and guided her onto the dance floor. “Hold on.”

Her lips spread into a big smile, and we glided, me leading her to no music as tendrils of hair fell into her face. Her black gown fanned out behind her, and the red ribbons in her hair fluttered.

“You’re pretty good,” she told me.

“Shocked?”

“Well…” She shrugged, not elaborating.

We spun and moved, faster and faster until she was giggling, but she never lost her footing, lighter than air in my arms.

I guess she thought I only excelled at combat, but my mother raised a gentleman, too.

“Never give a sword to a man who can’t dance,” I recited Confucius as we slowed down.

She pinched her eyebrows together, breathing hard. “Why?”

“Because a weapon of death shouldn’t be in the hand of someone who hasn’t lived.”

You can’t speak for a world when you only understand one point of view.

I stopped and stared at her, an idea forming. “I want you to teach Mads and Jett how to dance.”

She cocked her head.

Why hadn’t I thought of it years ago? I assumed getting a good education and learning to defend themselves would make them strong, but I still had time to encourage what made them happy. Mads would hate dancing, but someday, he might value the knowledge.