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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The following evening, after Nalla had taken over the preparation of First Meal for the Luchas House residents, she put her nicely cleaned parka on and stepped out one of the kitchen’s rear French doors. The night was even colder than it had been, no doubt because the sky was crystal clear, the heavens above alive with stars winking in their alignments, the Milky Way just beginning to appear in a glowing swath.
The moon was still on the rise, its perfect crescent making her think of the way Uncle Rhage had taught the young how to hold it in their palms when it was full: Back when everybody had lived together in the mansion on the mountain, once a month he’d insisted on the kids coming out with him, all those hands of different sizes extended toward the lunar face, giggles and gasps of awe rising up like offerings unto the Fade.
She’d only been four or five at the time, but she remembered so much so clearly.
And those had been such good times, she thought as she madesure the door was closed properly behind her. Made all the more special because no one lived up there anymore.
She started off across the terrace, and then went out over the lawn and into the snowy meadow that extended back to a far-off tree line. The going was slow, her boots punching through the icy top layer to find the cushion beneath the crackle.
She’d ended up staying the whole day and she was glad she had. She hadn’t been able to sleep, but the insomnia had been easier to bear in an anonymous place where her father wasn’t down the hall. She’d borrowed a phone and texted her parents to let them know where she was, and there was no way they’d believed her explanation that she was needed at work. But they’d given her the space, maybe because they needed it, too.
What was Nate doing, she wondered. Probably out in the field.
Part of her day had been spent wondering if everything in that alley had actually happened as she remembered it. The other part had been wasted on one-sided conversations with her father.
Now she was out here, and what do you know. The fresh air wasn’t doing anything to clear her mind, and for some reason, she kept thinking about the way it had been back when the Brotherhood and its families had all been living together at the mansion.
It had been a while since she’d thought about that palace surrounded bymhis, with its entire staff ofdoggen, all the art and antiques, and the red-carpeted, gold-leafed staircase that had descended to that mosaic depiction of an apple tree in full bloom. Even though she’d been pretty young, she could still remember how the place had smelled, the lemon floor polish and the fresh bouquets, the distant whiff of silver polish, and on the second floor, the laundry soap that she’d been told was handmade just as it had been in the Old Country.
She was sad that the younger kids, like Lyric and Rhamp and L.W., had no memories of being there.
As she pictured the mansion in her mind, she couldn’t help but consider the way the adults had changed. Nothing had ever been said or explained, but overnight, all of the Brothers, as well as the other malesand the females in the household, had become grim—and they’d stayed that way. Over the years, the gravity had been less up-front, but the shift in emotions had remained. There had been times when she’d wanted to ask her parents about it—and why they had all moved to town—but she’d always faltered over the wording of the question.
And she’d always wondered if part of whatever had happened wasn’t why things had gone sour between her and her father. Then again, maybe that was just her getting older and all the separations that happened when daughters became mature females and—
A flicker off to the left caught her eye and she stopped. When nothing seemed out of place, she almost kept going, but there it was again: A flare of yellow and orange, like a small fire had been started somewhere inside the forest.
Even though it maybe wasn’t the best idea, she headed in the direction of the glow. The good news, from a security point of view, was that there were trail cameras everywhere in the woods. If there was a problem or a security risk, the place would already be swarming with fighters.
As she walked into the trees, she followed the scent of smoke. With all the trunks and branches, she couldn’t see that far ahead, but then as she closed in on a clearing, she slowed down… and halted.
In the center of the open area, there was a depression in the ground, and the earth was not just barren, as if nothing could grow there, but there was no snow in a good twenty-foot radius from the center. And yes, a small fire had been set in the middle of the sizable divot, the flames working on what looked like a stump that had been dragged over and rolled into the pit. There was also a pile of gathered branches off to the side, and a container of what she assumed was lighter fluid.
But none of that was important. The male who was standing on the far side was the thing.
Nate was dressed in black leather, his clothes fitted to his body, his jacket open in spite of the temperature so that some of his holstered weapons showed. In the restless light of the fire, his face was serious, hiseyes locked on the flames, and she took a moment to look him up and down.
He was okay. Physically, that was—and going by all the gunmetal and steel under that jacket, she knew that whatever was happening here was a stopover on his way into the field.
Was that a sweatshirt in his hands?
When he didn’t appear to notice her, she glanced over her shoulder, and thought that maybe she should go back to the house—
Nate’s head shot up and one hand jammed under his jacket for his gun. But he stopped in the process of pulling the weapon out.
“Jesus!” he said. “You should be careful when you sneak up on someone.”
She lifted a hand in greeting, like an ass. “Actually, I’ve been standing here for a little while. I saw the flames and was worried something was wrong.”
“What are you doing out in these woods?” he asked as he reholstered the gun and hid the sweatshirt behind his back.
“I work at Luchas House.” She glanced at the fire. “What’s going on here?”
“Just felt like roasting some marshmallows.”
“What’s with the sweatshirt?”
