“No, he don’t get to walk in here and become the center of her first safe night.”
My voice’s calm.
Too calm maybe.
“If he comes, he deals with you, outside, away from her son.”
Legend studies me.
Then he nods once.
“Agreed.”
A sound comes from upstairs.
A floorboard.
Fast footsteps.
Derby appears at the railing, one hand lifted to keep us quiet. “She’s awake.”
My stomach tightens. “Amelia?”
He nods. His face is grim. “Kid too.”
Of course.
Fear has its own hearing.
I start for the stairs, but a shout cuts through the yard before I reach the first step.
Not from inside the gate.
From beyond it.
“Amelia!”
The name tears across the wet night.
Male.
Smooth.
Furious under the polish.
Amelia’s husband has a preacher’s volume and a coward’s timing.
Every King in the room turns toward the door.
Legend’s face empties.
That’s the expression men should fear most.
I climb two steps and look up.
Amelia stands at the top of the stairs, barefoot in my too-short pajama pants, August clutched against her side. Her faceis white. Her eyes are fixed on the front door like the devil has learned her name.
The shout comes again.