Fire Night

by Douglas, Penelope

  Mads walked out of the house, straightening his black tie over his black shirt and suit, and Jett came running past him and up to me.

  I scooped her into my arms, her pink dress and white tights picked out by her mom who never wore pink in her life. Ever.

  She smiled at me, her white teeth peeking out at me through red lips. “Fire Night is my favorite,” Jett said, looking up at the flickering lanterns lining the driveway.

  “You ready to go light some more candles?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Can we walk?”

  I opened my mouth to tell her no, knowing this wasn’t a quick jaunt, especially with Banks in a long gown and high heels, but…

  Her mom tightened her cloak around her and chirped, “Absolutely.”

  I set Jett down and took her hand, she and Mads walking between Banks and me as we set off.

  My parents’ house was on the opposite side of town from St. Killian’s, and even though the trek would be cold, I wouldn’t complain about getting to enjoy the evening a while longer. I just hoped Banks didn’t sprain an ankle on the way.

  The moon glowed overhead as we crossed the street and strolled through the park, more lanterns carving our path with their firelight.

  That was the rule tonight. No electric lights.

  Not that it was a law or anything we enforced, but everything looked different in the firelight, and I wasn’t sure which one of us set the standard, but everyone seemed to agree it was beautiful.

  In no time at all, it was tradition. Once the sun set on the winter solstice, Thunder Bay was lit almost entirely by fire—candles, lanterns, bonfires…

  Voices carried on the breeze, the choir at the cathedral singing in the distance and warming the frost in the air and the slumbering roots under our feet.

  Gazing left, I saw the fires in the village, much of the town enjoying the festivities and the parade, and slowly, I turned my head, seeing all the flickering flames dotting the town.

  Nothing, not even Devil’s Night, was more magical, because tonight was the longest night of the year. It was special.

  Snow started falling around us more heavily, and Mads and Jett led the way across the bridge, flakes dotting their black hair.

  “Look!” Jett pointed over the edge, out to the river flowing below.

  A small tugboat puttered toward us, white lights decorating its exterior, and we all stood there as the kids watched it disappear under the bridge, and then they raced to the other side to see it coming out.

  Banks and I stayed, gazing toward the village, beyond which were Cold Point, Deadlow Island, and our resort, Coldfire Inn. The music, the lights, the town dressed in snow… I inhaled long and deep, tightening my arms around her and content to stay in this spot all night.

  “I love our life,” she whispered, staring out at the river.

  Pressing my lips to her temple, I closed my eyes, feeling it too.

  Absolute contentment during these rare moments of calm.

  But I sighed, knowing it would take her brother point three seconds to fuck that up tonight.

  Michael and Will might take a little longer.

  We headed off, crossing the bridge and hiking across the quiet lane over to St. Killian’s, bowls of fire dancing down the long driveway, and torches posted on the house around the perimeter.

  Jett’s eyes lit up with excitement.

  Rika did it for the kids, but the whole idea behind Fire Night had been Winter’s.

  “There’s the boys!” Jett yelled, the snow falling a little heavier.

  I nodded, seeing Damon’s kids running around under the canopy of trees off to the side, playing hide-and-seek in the dark.

  “Go play,” I told her.

  She ran off, hiding behind a trunk, her shiny, black Mary Janes kicking up snow as steam billowed out of her mouth, giving away her position.

  Mads climbed the steps and immediately veered up the stairs, his favorite hiding place off to the left.

  Banks pressed herself into me, touching her lips to mine and holding it for several seconds. “I need to talk to Em and Rika, okay?”

  I nodded, letting her go.

  She climbed the spiral staircase, the railing dressed with evergreens and ribbons, and I looked up after her, watching her disappear into the dark gallery above. Then, I reached over and snapped the bud of a rose from the bouquet on the small table and fitted it into my lapel.

  No guests had arrived yet, the candelabras still dark and the tree unlit. The kids laughed and screamed outside as the snow fluttered down from the sky, and I walked toward the window to watch them play before all the events of the night began.

  But then I heard something above me and looked up, going wide-eyed as I spotted Octavia dangling off the railing overlooking the second floor above.

  “Tavi!” I burst out.

  Sword in one hand, she hung with the other, her little face etched with anger.

  But then she slipped and dropped, and I gasped, shooting out and catching her in my arms. “Oh, shit. What the hell?”

  I cradled her, my heart in my fucking throat as I tightened my hold around her small body, my nails digging into her black embroidered pirate coat and leather boots.

  I looked down, meeting her scowl. “You okay?”

  “I’ll slit your throat, you dog!” And she pressed the plastic blade of her toy sword into my neck.

  Oh, Jesus. I rolled my eyes.

  I swung her up and tossed her over my shoulder, walking toward the kitchen.

  “And you’re definitely your father’s daughter,” I teased.

  Zero sense of what could’ve just happened to her. And zero care.

  “Let me go!”

  “Not a chance,” I retorted. “What were you thinking, huh?”

  “I was sneaking up on the vermin!” she explained, trying to squirm and kick out of my hold. “He’s trying to poach me crew!”

  I entered the kitchen, sidestepping the caterers, and plopped Octavia down on a side counter, out of the way.

  “You need to be careful.” I looked down into her black eyes. “Do you understand?”

  She dug in her eyebrows, accentuating the little scar she had over the right eye from a tumble she took when she was two.

  “Your parents wouldn’t be happy if you cracked your little skull open.” I walked over to the fridge and plucked out a juice box, slipping the straw in for her. “You dad wouldn’t be able to take it. You know how much everyone loves you?”

  “I’m not afraid of anything.”

  I stopped and stared at her. That kind of talk could lead down a dark path I knew well.

  I walked over, and instead of giving her the juice, I set it down on the counter and planted my palms on either side of her. “Look at me,” I told her. “I know you’re not afraid. But fear and caution are two different things. If anything ever happened to you, your dad wouldn’t survive it. Do you understand that?”

  Barely five years old, she stared at me with a blank look on her face.

  “A true captain leads by example.” I tapped her head with my finger. “A true captain uses her head, okay? Someday you’re going to learn that your life can change in a moment. Caution is smart, and smart people find a better way.”

  “But how do you learn the difference between fear and caution?” a voice asked.

  I stood upright again and turned, seeing Damon lingering in the doorway. He was partially dressed for tonight—black pants and shined shoes, his hair in place. But he was still missing his jacket and tie, and his white shirt had the sleeves rolled up.

  “By experience,” he answered when I didn’t.

  He walked over, and my spine steeled, because our parenting styles had become just another area in which we strongly disagreed. With anyone outside our family I wouldn’t care, but when my kids were used to more discipline, it was getting harder and harder to explain why his were allowed to swing from the rafters.

  “And by guidance from people who know more,” I counte
red as he scooped up his daughter into his arms.

  He looked at Octavia, cocking an eyebrow. “People who’ve surrendered to the rules and lost their imagination, he means.”

  I hooded my eyes. “Does Daddy let you cross streets by yourself?” I asked her.

  She sucked on her juice, knowing even at this young age not to involve herself in our dumb spats.

  “Because, like I said…” I smiled bitterly at Damon. “‘Guidance from people who know more.’”

  “And how do you determine those who are worth listening to?” he asked Octavia, but he was really just trying to piss me off. “You don’t. You listen to yourself.”

  “And while you’re doing that,” I told her, “don’t forget to remind yourself that choices have consequences you’ll have to live with for the rest of your life. You’ll make better choices with guidance.”

  “Did you?” Damon finally looked at me, our stint in prison not needing a reminder for me to understand what he meant.

  Prick.

  He came from a bad home. I came from a good one. We both still went to prison.

  God, I hated him.

  I mean, I’d definitely jump off a bridge for him, but…

  He took his daughter and his self-satisfied smirk and walked out, and I fought the urge to throw something at the back of his head.

  I just saved his kid’s life. Or, at least a few broken bones.

  But hey…it would’ve been experience for her. Put some hair on her chest. Rawr.

  I stalked out of the kitchen, the sugary vanilla scent of cookies, macarons, and other sweets filling the house as servers carried trays to the dining room.

  Madden had joined Ivar in lighting the candelabras, each making their rounds around the house, and I headed into the ballroom but stopped, seeing Damon again.

  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.

  After a moment, she nodded. “Okay.”

  Just then, Damon cut in, taking his wife’s hand and waist in his own. “Excuse me.”

  I backed off, letting him in, and was about to go grab my own wife when I saw her heading toward me already.

  “Guests are arriving,” she said. “Let’s go light the chandelier.”

  Oh, that’s right.

  “Jett,” I called, waving my daughter toward me. “Indie? Finn?”

  Guests began drifting in, Rika and Michael standing near the door to greet people as coat checkers took the ladies’ wraps and gloves. Emory, dressed in green and her hair pulled into a low ponytail and curls falling down her back, circled the chandelier, handing out markers and basil leaves to all the kids.

  Spreading out on the foyer floor, guests moved around them to watch as the kids wrote their wishes for the new year ahead on the leaves in silver marker and then stood up, lighting them on fire with a candle from the chandelier.

  “Why do we burn it?” Gunnar asked as Dag dropped
his ashen leaf into the copper bowl Emmy held.

  “It releases the wish into the universe,” Indie explained.

  “Well, I wished for fame last year,” her sister retorted, “and it didn’t come true. I think we’re doing this wrong.”

  I smiled, watching all the kids, one by one, rise up and toss their burning leaves into the dish.

  “It hasn’t come true yet,” Winter chimed in.

  Will started the ritual about eight years ago. A new tradition. A way to keep ceremony in our lives and something fun for the kids to remember and maybe pass on to their own children someday.

  My gaze stopped at Mads, seeing him hold his leaf to the flame, but instead of lighting it, he pulled it back. Tucking it inside his suit jacket, he turned to help Octavia, steadying her hand as she touched the leaf to the flame.

  A figure appeared on the stairs, and I looked up, seeing Athos descend in an extremely form-fitting silver gown with a low-cut V neckline that I’d have a hard time seeing my daughter wear when she was seventeen.

  Her face glittered with gray and white makeup around her eyes, and her hair hung down her back with a pair of small antlers secured on her head, making her look like something from A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

  Alex had taught her how to do her makeup when she was ten, but unfortunately, Alex wasn’t here to suffer Michael’s wrath tonight. She and Aydin were spending the holidays with his family in New York, and we were also missing Micah and Rory, who were in Fiji.

  Misha and Ryen were invited, but I doubted they’d show.

  Michael walked over, turning to keep his eyes on her as she passed. “You’re wearing that to the lock-in?”

  “To the ball.”

  “We’ve had this conversation,” he argued as she kept walking. “Twenty-one and over, Athos.”

  “Luckily, my daddy owns the place,” she threw back.

  I snorted, watching her disappear into the ballroom.

  Michael rubbed his face with his hand. “I don’t even know why I try.” He sighed and turned around. “I need to pick less fights, because the more I lose, the more emboldened she gets.”

  “You can say no, you know?”

  But he just shot me a look like I was crazy. “I didn’t raise that kid to take no for an answer.”