by W. J. May
Rae sucked in a silent scream, but her man held steady. His brown eyes pierced the night as they locked onto Simon. His chest rose and fell with rapid, shallow breaths, but he surrendered not an inch of ground, staring back at the man who, in a perfect world, would be his father-in-law.
Simon’s face softened a fraction of an inch, and he smiled. Then, with what looked like the utmost care, he curved his fingers in a delicate circle. The air around Devon’s face began to shimmer and his dark hair danced across his forehead, blowing back in a gentle breeze. A second later, it was over. No harm. No foul.
Both Rae and Devon relaxed their shoulders with twin sighs of relief.
“Was that satisfactory?” Simon asked, peering around the corner of the car so he could see Rae as well. “Shall we proceed to this… boathouse?”
* * *
It took twenty-seven steps to get from the car to the boathouse. Just half a minute if you were walking quickly, but without a doubt it was the longest thirty seconds of Rae’s life.
Even though he was clearly shaken to the core, Devon’s protective instincts when it came to Rae knew no bounds. Their former pact—the one where she stayed safely out of reach and allowed him to do all the heavy lifting—was brutally enforced.
After Simon managed to stiffly pull himself from the car, she stood blindly by while Devon ripped off his belt and wound it around Simon’s wrists, securing it with a speed and skill that would have made his teachers back at the Oratory proud. If Simon recognized the technique, he didn’t say so. He simply watched his progress with a little smile, standing perfectly still and taking deliberate care not to accidently brush up against Devon’s skin.
The second it was finished, they were on the move. While Devon might have been reluctant to touch at any cost, he was even more reluctant to allow Simon to walk freely in such proximity to both his fiancée and his friends. Instead, Devon grabbed him roughly by the arm, steering him as quickly as possible over the rough gravel and safely inside.
The second they passed over the threshold, a tiny shiver rippled down Rae’s skin. She looked up in dismay at the wooden rafters, realizing the obvious for the first time. While Simon’s powers may not work inside the room, both hers and Devon’s wouldn’t work either.
Devon seemed to acknowledge their predicament at the same time. His fingers clenched into momentary fists, twitching in that restless way they did when stripped of their heightened sensitivity.
Then, sensing Simon’s eyes upon him, he took a deep breath and willed them smooth. “Stay there,” he said under his breath, pacing to the far wall.
Since none of the friends knew exactly how long they would be staying at the house, and their plans for the boathouse stretched no further than a necessary garage, the place had become a sort of catch-all for all the accumulated rubbish they didn’t want cluttering the house.
There were old tennis rackets, an ancient-looking record player, the entire contents of the kitchen—since none of them had the faintest idea how to cook—and piles upon piles of Molly’s old fashion magazines. Although they were useless to her now that the clothes had ‘gone out of season,’ she was still unwilling to throw them away.
Most of the space, of course, was taken up by the five or six luxury sports cars parked neatly inside. Even in stillness they looked fast, like at the faintest touch they might go flying through the door, never to be seen again.
Taking care of said cars, performing useless, routine maintenance, had become a sort of therapy to each of the boys during their stay. But Devon didn’t spare them a glance as he weaved his way through and returned a moment later, with a heavy metal chair and a rope.
What are you going to do? she asked telepathically, eying the chair with skepticism. The man almost took down an entire agency, you don’t think he can best a single chair?
She waited, but Devon never looked up in reply. It was only then that she remembered he couldn’t hear her as long as they were inside these walls.
“So…” Simon began tentatively. He had been waiting patiently next to Julian’s car, his hands folded politely in front of him despite their ties. “Have the two of you been staying here long?”
Devon and Rae shared a quick look, but neither one of them answered. Instead, Devon simply sank to his knees and began tying the legs of the chair to each of the surrounding cars.
Simon didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seemed thrilled just to be out in the open air and talking to people again. Especially since one of those people happened to be his only daughter.
“A lot of horsepower for just two people. And that was a big house.” He cocked his head curiously. “You visiting here with friends?”
Again, the two of them came up short. While Rae cowered silently against the wall, trying her best not to act as shell-shocked as she felt, Devon finished his work and came to stand directly in front of him.
“Sit down,” he said quietly, gesturing to the chair.
The command was firm, but he seemed incredibly reluctant to meet Simon’s eyes. Again, Simon smiled to himself as he took a seat, placing his legs against the metal so Devon would have an easier time of binding him there. Once or twice, during the awkward process, Simon opened his mouth to speak. Once or twice, Devon’s shoulders stiffened defensively, and he held his tongue.
When he finally did speak, it wasn’t to his captor. It was to his daughter.
“Rae…” he ignored the extra hard tug Devon gave to the rope, and fixed his eyes on the far wall where she was hovering near the door, “…I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited for this day.”
There was a hitch in her breathing, and Devon’s fingers paused over the rope.
“I have to admit,” Simon’s eyes grew soft as he looked at her, “a part of me didn’t think it was ever going to happen. I had given up hope, surrendered myself to the fact that I would never escape the darkness of that cell. That I would remain there until the day I died.”
There was a haunted sort of emptiness to his voice that, despite having already been through an exorbitant amount of pain, neither of the younger generation could begin to understand. A sort of hollow resignation that could only come from endless years of looking at the same four walls.
“I…went to prison once.” Rae was as surprised by any of the rest of them to hear herself speaking. But after such a painful admission, she felt the need to contribute.
Devon glanced swiftly over his shoulder, and Simon’s face lit up in surprise.
“Really?”
Great, Rae. That’s the FIRST thing you want to tell your long-lost father? ‘Don’t worry, Dad, we actually have a lot in common. I’m an ex-con, too.’
The two men stared at her expectantly, and her face flushed with embarrassment.
“It was only for, like, two days…”
Devon’s face tightened in a painful grimace, and he finished quickly with the knots. As he took a step back, Simon offered him up a calm smile.
“My apologies, young man. I seem to have relieved you of both your jacket and your belt in a single evening. I’ll have to find a way to replace them.”
Devon took a careful step back, highly unaccustomed to carrying on any semblance of ‘friendly conversation’ with men he’d just strapped to a chair. “Don’t…uh…” he cleared his throat quickly, “don’t worry about it.”
Simon smiled again before returning his eyes to Rae. She hadn’t moved more than an inch since they’d set foot in the boathouse. And besides her unexpected prison admission, she stayed perfectly quiet. It was as if she was simply waiting for something. For something to happen that would turn back the hands of time to a moment when the world made sense. To a moment before she’d opened that door, and life as she knew it had crumbled into a million pieces.
But whether that future would ever have been possible…neither of them would ever know.
“Sweetheart,” he said gently. Rae looked up in alarm, and Devon leveled the prisoner with a chilling glare. “You don’t r
eally have a plan here, do you?”
A wave of incapacitation swept through Rae from her head to her toes. Here she was, one of the most capable agents in the history of the Privy Council. One of the two most powerful people who had ever set foot on the planet…but staring into the eyes of her resurrected father, she was nothing but a six-year-old girl again. Wide-eyed and trembling. Unable to answer a simple question.
Fortunately, she had a fiancé who was more than up to the task.
It seemed that Devon had taken the term ‘sweetheart’ very personally, because when he swept back towards Simon there wasn’t an ounce of that childhood-ingrained fear left on his face.
“The plan is to keep you alive, providing you don’t make us regret doing it,” he said savagely, spitting the words out through his teeth. “A line you’re already flirting with.”
“Devon,” Rae said in soft reproach.
Simon, however, couldn’t have been more riveted. He leaned forward, looking nothing short of delighted, peering eagerly at Devon in the dark.
“Devon?” he repeated in surprise. “That’s who…of course, I should have known.” His eyes twinkled as he leaned back against the chair. “Devon, you got all your teeth.”
All the fierce threats and anger melted clean away as Devon froze in place, looking suddenly pale. He made a compulsive movement with his mouth, like he was checking with his tongue just to make sure, before taking a step back, looking incredibly disturbed. “Uh…yeah. Thanks?”
Simon chuckled, a surprisingly friendly sound no matter what kind of shadow his name cast. “When I first met you—you only had four. You were very proud of them,” he remembered fondly. “Wouldn’t stop showing me.”
Devon’s eyebrows lifted ever so slightly as his emotional limit for talking to living, breathing nightmares visibly overflowed. His body angled towards his fiancée, though he kept his eyes trained warily on her father. “…Rae?”
Like flipping a switch, Rae snapped back into action.
“Uh, yeah. Simon, you’re going to stay here for the night. We’ll be back in the morning with some food for you, and…” She paused, suddenly uncertain. “What do you like for breakfast?”
There was a slight pause during which Simon smiled at her affectionately, and Devon closed his eyes like he was ready to strangle her right there on the spot.
“He’ll eat whatever we give him, Rae.”
Her fiancé’s voice was a note or two higher than usual, and his entire body was tilting towards the door—like he couldn’t stand to be inside a moment longer.
“Right, of course.” She nervously tucked her hair behind her ears, flushing with embarrassment. They had almost made it all the way out, when Simon called out softly once more.
“Rae?”
They paused in unison, and turned around. He gazed intently into her eyes.
“…do you think you’re ever going to call me Dad?”
The door slammed shut.
Out in the open air, it was easier to think. For that matter, it was easier to worry. As the power of their ink coursed back into their bodies, Rae nervously glanced over her shoulder.
“Do you think we should have gagged him?”
It shouldn’t technically be necessary. The boathouse was too far away from the manor for anyone besides Devon and her to hear what was going on. And the manor itself was too far away from any other house to pose the slightest bit of problem.
But still…you never knew.
Devon gave her another exasperated look before winding his arm around her waist and pulling her into his chest with a sigh. “I think we should have gagged you.”
Chapter 4
Sure enough, the entire house was fast asleep by the time Rae and Devon finally made it in from the boathouse. Every light was still shining, but lately it was hardly an indication of anything, one way or another. Ever since waking up the morning after the fight—huddled together in the same tiny hospital room—the group’s priorities had suddenly shifted.
A sense of security, normalcy, was prized above all else. To go back to a moment in time when the nightmares were held at bay, when they were able to close their eyes and breathe. It had become the unspoken obsession. A collective treatment to the darkness that had descended upon them like a fog. The whole reason for the house. The reason for the isolation. The single goal all of them were striving desperately to achieve.
The television had also been left on for good measure. Quiet, like the darkness, had become an unspoken taboo. One to be avoided at all costs.
Staged audience laughter followed Rae and Devon as they made their way through the living room and up the stairs. A black and white sitcom probably none of them had ever seen. Devon made a slight detour and turned it off before joining Rae at the base of the stairs.
“Do you think I should sleep on the couch?” he asked quietly.
She gazed at him questioningly, eyes flickering between him and the sofa. “Down here? Why would you—”
“In case anything happens.” He glanced automatically at the front door, as if he could see through it to the boathouse just beyond. “I could get over there faster, if—”
“Nothing’s going to happen,” she assured him quickly. “You used more than sixty feet of rope, Dev; I couldn’t get out of that chair. And even if we did hear something, we could jump out of the second-floor window just as quickly as the door.”
“But if he—”
“Hey,” she placed a steadying hand on his arm, pulling him gently towards the stairwell, “it’s going to be fine. We’ll go out there first thing in the morning, I promise. Until then, come to bed.”
He hesitated, unable to choose between her confidence and her safety.
“You know I can’t heat the bed up by myself.” Her voice fell to a low whisper as she stretched up on her toes and kissed his ear. “It’s way too big for just one person.”
The corners of his lips twitched up in a little smile, and he inclined his head so they were angled towards each other. She could feel his warm breath on her forehead; his fingers came down to trace the hollowed curve beneath her eyes.
“I love you, Rae Kerrigan,” he murmured. “You know that, right? No matter who your father happens to be. No matter what kinds of crazy things you want to store in our boathouse.”
They kissed swiftly, but sweetly. Her eyes closed in a contented smile. He had said the name right that time. ‘Kerrigan.’ He’d said it the way it was supposed to be.
“I love you, too.” She kissed him once more before pulling back to tenderly stroke his face. Then, with no warning whatsoever, her eyes lit with mischief and she went simultaneously limp.
No one else in the world could have reacted in time, but Devon caught her without a moment’s pause, scooping her up in his arms with a low chuckle.
“You want me to carry you over the threshold again?”
She wrapped her arms around his neck, and peered up at him with a little smile.
“Yes, please.”
And so he did. Just like the night before. And the night before that.
* * *
Rae was sort of hoping to get a restful night’s sleep, then wake up recharged with some brilliant new plan in the morning. Except she was sadly mistaken. She doubted she had gotten more than thirty minutes at a time. Each time she’d finally dozed off, she’d hear some imaginary creak, or rattle, or the sound of a coil of rope falling to the ground, and she’d bolt upright again. And again.
Apparently, she wasn’t the only one.
Devon laid beside her only until she managed to close her eyes the first time. After that, he’d gotten soundlessly to his feet and perched upon the windowsill, gazing unblinkingly down at the makeshift jail. Rae was able to gauge what time it was by the shift in moonlight across his long, silvery hair. By the time it started to lighten to its usual brown, she threw off the covers and gave up on sleeping once and for all.
He glanced over his shoulder with a sympathetic smile. “Good mornin
g.”
“That’s one way of putting it.” She sat upright with a sigh, shoving her messy curls back out of her face. The streams of early sunlight mercilessly stung her eyes, and the silken straps of the lingerie nightgown Molly had bought her as an engagement present had twisted themselves into an elegant chokehold. She struggled with them petulantly for a moment, before giving up on that as well.
Devon chuckled and tore himself away from the window to join her on the bed. Whether it was his extra year being out in the field, or simply the fact that he had always been impossibly resilient, the night of sleepless worry seemed to have little effect on him. Besides a faint shadow beneath his eyes, Rae would never have known he spent the entire evening on lookout. And in this house, that shadow was hardly going to stand out amongst any of their friends.
“Here, let me help you with that.” He eased her around and began unravelling the straps. One hand held her hair as the other worked with an easy grace. A second later, the knots that held her captive came undone.
A second after that…the entire slip fell off.
“Devon!” she gasped, clasping it securely against her chest.
There was a creak on the bed as he scooted surreptitiously closer.
“Oh…I’m sorry.” His eyes widened with false innocence, gazing back at her without apology or shame. “I must have unlooped it somehow.”
Despite the tension coursing through her body, Rae felt herself start to grin. These sorts of diversionary tactics had become par for the course, not only with them but with the entire house.
There was only so long you could live your life under a constant state of siege, before nerves began fraying, tempers started cracking, and the whole thing threatened to unravel. Instead, they sought levity and laughter wherever they could. Joking about Charlie and his crush on the way into the Privy Council. Ripping your fiancée’s nightgown to initiate sex when there was a prisoner strapped to a chair just a stone’s throw from the window. You know, just the usual stuff.
It was never the right time. But that was basically the point. When was the right time? When you lived under the threat of darkness for so long, you started forcing moments of light.