Luke's eyes widened like saucers. "You don't know about Captain Underpants?"
"Can't say I do. " He turned the book over in his hands, but he was looking at the boy. He'd never read to kids before. It might be entertaining. "Maybe I should read it, then I can find out. If that suits the Empress. "
"Oh, well, I - "
"Please, Mom! Please!"
At the chorus on either side of her, Stella eased back with the oddest feeling in her gut. "Sure. I'll just go straighten up the bath. "
She left them to it, mopping up the wet, gathering bath toys, while Logan's voice, deep and touched with ironic amusement, carried to her.
She hung damp towels, dumped bath toys into a plastic net to dry, fussed. And she felt the chill roll in around her. A hard, needling cold that speared straight to her bones.
Her creams and lotions tumbled over the counter as if an angry hand swept them. The thuds and rattles sent her springing forward to grab at them before they fell to the floor.
And each one was like a cube of ice in her hand.
She'd seen them move. Good God, she'd seen them move.
Shoving them back, she swung instinctively to the connecting doorway to shield her sons from the chill, from the fury she felt slapping the air.
There was Logan, with the chair pulled between the beds, as she did herself, reading about the silly adventures of Captain Underpants in that slow, easy voice, while her boys lay tucked in and drifting off.
She stood there, blocking that cold, letting it beat against her back until he finished, until he looked up at her.
"Thanks. " She was amazed at how calm her voice sounded. "Boys, say good night to Mr. Kitridge. "
She moved into the room as they mumbled it. When the cold didn't follow her, she took the book, managed a smile. "I'll be down in just a minute. "
"Okay. See you later, men. "
The interlude left him feeling mellow and relaxed. Reading bedtime stories was a kick. Who knew? Captain Underpants. Didn't that beat all.
He wouldn't mind doing it again sometime, especially if he could talk Mama into letting them read a graphic novel.
He'd liked seeing her wrestling on the floor with her boy. Empress Magnificent, he thought with a half laugh.
Then the breath was knocked out of him. The force of the cold came like a tidal wave at his back, swamping him even as it shoved him forward.
He pitched at the top of the stairs, felt his head go light at the thought of the fall. Flailing out, he managed to grab the rail and, spinning his body, hook his other hand over it while tiny black dots swam in front of his eyes. For another instant he feared he would simply tumble over the railing, pushed by the momentum.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shape, vague but female. And from it he felt a raw and bitter rage.
Then it was gone.
He could hear his own breath heaving in and out, and feel the clamminess of panic sweat down his back. Though his legs wanted to fold on him, he stayed where he was, working to steady himself until Stella came out.
Her half smile faded the minute she saw him. "What is it?" She moved to him quickly. "What happened?"
"She - this ghost of yours - has she ever scared the boys?"
"No. Exactly the opposite. She's . . . comforting, even protective of them. "
"All right. Let's go downstairs. " He took her hand firmly in his, prepared to drag her to safety if necessary.
"Your hand's cold. "
"Yeah, tell me about it. "