Nightfall (Devil's Night #4) - Penelope Douglas Page 0,251

the brass lamp casting a soft glow around the room.

A camera sat in front of her, the man behind the lens peering through as he recorded.

“But I urge you, if able, to remain indoors as strong winds are expected,” Banks continued. “A curfew is in effect beginning at eight p.m. this evening, and that does include Devil’s Night festivities.”

I grinned, catching her eye and seeing her falter. She wore a deep blue blouse, her dark hair picture perfect, and her lips painted red.

“Please avoid low-lying and flood-prone areas, and keep flashlights and batteries easily accessible,” she told the citizens. “We are not recommending evacuation, but please keep abreast of the storm’s development per your emergency managers. Exercise caution and stay inside.” She peered into the camera. “Thank you.”

“And…we’re off,” her assistant announced.

Banks’s poised expression fell, and she exhaled, rising from the chair.

I dropped my gaze, seeing the blue jeans she hid under the desk. I chuckled. Some things never changed.

She rounded the desk, grabbing her phone.

“We talked about you not saying Devil’s Night,” her assistant said, jogging up next to her.

She didn’t slow down as she headed out of the room. “Yes, we talked about it.”

Apparently, the word devil made some voters nervous, so Banks’s campaign manager was trying to rename it.

But no fear, right? Banks did what she wanted.

I pulled up to her side, walking with her. “You know no one’s staying in tonight in Thunder Bay, right?”

It was Devil’s Night, after all.

“Of course, I know that.”

Yeah. As our district’s representative, she had to go on air and tell everyone to stay home tonight just to say she did.

“Where’s Kai?” I asked.

“Working out with his dad.” She looked at her phone. “He’ll be here soon.”

I swung around the banister to head upstairs. “You’re so hot on camera.”

She twisted around, walking toward the kitchen backward as she winked at me. “Whatever gets me elected senator in a week.”

I chuckled, jogging up the stairs. The campaign had been grueling, but with my grandfather’s support, I had high hopes.

I headed down the hallway, toward the library to wait for Damon, because I knew that was the first place he’d run to when he got here, but I passed Rika and Michael’s bedroom, stopping and gazing inside.

Michael stood at the end of the bed, his hair wet and a towel wrapped around his waist as Aaron, only six months old, rested against his chest.

When Rika got pregnant last year, Michael damn near fainted. They had been so happy with Athos and the resort and making St. Killian’s everything it was, they’d kind of stopped trying.

They immediately went out and bought everything, but the baby’s first bath was a complete nightmare, I guess. They set up the little tub and lotions and toys, and the kid screamed the entire time. Michael wasn’t doing that again. Against the doctor’s orders, he took the baby into the shower with him and the kid hasn’t cried once since. He just wants to be in his dad’s arms.

I watched Michael sway back and forth, rocking the baby and just staring at him like he still couldn’t believe he was there.

They named him after me. I’m their favorite.

Not wanting to interrupt, I backed away and continued down the hall. Opening the door, I stepped inside, seeing Rika standing at her desk and swiping her fingers over the monitors on the wall, organizing her data, or whatever she was doing.

“Hey,” I said.

She looked up, chirping, “Hey.”

I walked to the sofa and plopped down, feeling the energy drain. I was getting too old. Plain and simple.

“How’s your mom?” I asked.

She glanced up at me as she sifted through papers on her desk. “She’s good. She and Matthew are on an antiquing road trip through New England. She loves running that shop with him,” she mused. “She’s never had to work. I’m glad she realized how much she likes it.”

I was happy to see Christiane thriving. She’d been living in Misha’s old house with her husband—his dad—for almost ten years, and Emory and I bought the Fane place. All four of us—Michael, Damon, Kai, and I—lived on the cliffs now.

“Misha and Ryen are still in London with the kids,” she told me. “I think he really loves it there.”

“Yeah, I don’t expect him back anytime soon, that’s for sure.”

They had a boy and a girl now, and since he was a musician, and she was an interior designer, they could go anywhere.

“You miss him?” Rika teased, swiping her hand across the screen