“Check,” they chimed in.

“Helmets?”

“Check,” William II screamed over his sisters from the seat behind Em.

He was actually William IV, but I was Will, we didn’t like Willy, Bill, or Billy, so everyone just called him II.

“Hold onto your phones!” I called out, reaching for the button.

Pushing it, the hydraulics started working underneath us, propelling us forward, and in moments we were coasting through the tunnel passing thirty miles an hour and then forty.

“Faster!” Finn cried.

The car rocked under us, bobbing along the track as the cool wind breezed across our faces, and Em gripped the handles at her side, unable to keep the smile off her face.

Over the years, we’d cleared all the track between Thunder Bay and Meridian City, taking an hour commute by automobile down to fourteen minutes. Normally, we’d use a subway car, but when we were just going from house to house inside town, I added more railcars and a secondary track for two-way travel. We took the underground tunnel to my parents’ house for dinner earlier, and now have to head back across town, underneath the river, and up to St. Killian’s for tonight.

We raced through the dim passageway, up a few inclines and quickly back down again, our stomachs dropping and the kids’ laughter and screams behind us deafening. I gripped Em’s jean-clad thigh, feeling it, too. Nothing beat a freefall.

Except maybe one thing.

I looked over at her, her glasses clasped in one hand as she squeezed her eyes shut and smiled. Her other hand was behind her and wrapped around II’s sneaker as she held onto him.

He was still only five, and on the rare occasion she let him travel like this, it made her nervous. We’d been on this thing a hundred times, and I wouldn’t put my kids on something dangerous. She knew that.

I loved watching her mother our kids, though. It was hot.

We dipped down, the air turning cold, and I knew we were under the river, but it only lasted a few seconds before we coasted up again, and I brought the lever down, slowing the car.

“Aw,” the kids said behind us.

But their fun was only just beginning. Actually, all of our fun. Em and I were going to play tonight, too.

We slowed to a stop, everyone removing their helmets and seatbelts. We climbed off the car and up to the platform. I gave the girls a hand, while Emory grabbed II. Straightening my jacket and tie, I took the girls’ hands and led them into the catacombs, up the stairs, and into the great hall of the cathedral.

Finn and Indie immediately yanked free and bolted toward the front door, whipping it open and racing outside.

“When the bells chime, report to the front of the house,” I yelled after them. “Immediately!”

“Yep!” they shouted.

William II walked past me, his face buried in his tablet.

“Talk to me, Goose!” I said.

“I heard you,” he sing-songed without looking around.

I shook my head as I drifted out the door to the front yard, watching my kids join Kai’s daughter, Jett, and a few of her friends. II’s eyes hadn’t left his screen.

“Kids today…” I mumbled.

Em touched my shoulder, soothing me again that my son wasn’t going to play basketball. “Going to make some calls before this thing starts,” she told me, a laugh caught in her throat. “Save your energy for me. It’s going to be a hell of a night.”

“Promise?” I looked over my shoulder as she headed back into the house.

She winked at me and spun around.

Stepping down the stairs, I watched the kids play, Damon’s five-year-old daughter Octavia in her standard pirate knickers, black tights, and peasant blouse with a fake sword strapped to her back. No one would break it to the kid that modern-day pirates were far different than Jack Sparrow. She wanted to be what she wanted to be.

I looked around, not seeing the boys, so Damon and Winter must not have arrived yet. Octavia probably came with Kai and Banks, since she and Jett were about the same age and friends.

Something to my right caught my eye, and I looked over, seeing Madden sitting up in the tree. Black suit, cold black hair, and porcelain skin—the whole package making him look like a knife.

He held an open book in his lap, but his eyes were on the kids playing.

Or one kid.

I climbed up the wooden planks, reaching him about fifteen-feet high and hanging there as his gaze shot back down to his text.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey.”

I bit back my smile at his sternness. I didn’t think anyone could be more rigid than Kai, but his son took the prize. How many eleven-year-olds dressed in crisp, pressed trousers and suit jackets and never had a hair out of place. Parted a little left of center, it shone in the sunlight, his trim perfect and stark against his pale skin.

“Where’s your dad?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Inside somewhere.”

I watched him stare at the book, but his eyes weren’t moving. I glanced at the kids again.

He never joined in. He only played alone.

Or with his cousin, Octavia. She was the only one he smiled around.

“What are you thinking about?” I asked him.

He shrugged.

“Everything okay at school?”

He nodded but still wouldn’t look at me.

“You got plans for trick or treating with your friends tomorrow night?” I prodded.

Slowly, he shook his head. “I don’t really like candy.”

“Come to Coldfield, then,” I told him. “I can find a place for you with the actors.”

He sat there, and I saw the muscles in his jaw flex.

“Or… maybe working the animatronics in the tombs?” I taunted. “Something behind the scenes?”

He looked over at me out of the corner of his eye, but didn’t meet my stare.

But he didn’t shake his head, and I decided to let him save his pride.

“I’ll pick you up at three tomorrow,” I said.

He nodded.

Good. He might not like to be around people, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still find his place in the world. Teachers were concerned years ago he might be on the spectrum, possibly Asperger’s. Not that it affected his education. He did well in school.

Socially, he just wasn’t where other kids were.

But he was able to socialize in situations where he cared to, like training with his grandfather or spending time with Octavia. He refused to see a specialist, and Kai had no interest in forcing him to be everyone else’s version of normal. I mean, look at us, for example. If we were the measure of what was normal back in the day, Mads was better off not changing.

I started to climb down, but then I heard his voice.

“What’s L’appel du vide?” he asked.

I stopped and stared up at him, his dark eyes like black pools.

“Where did you hear that?”

“Kids at school,” he murmured.

I cleared my throat and looked around for his parents, knowing this day was coming, but never expecting I’d have to explain this to anyone’s kids but my own. Had he asked Kai?

I came back up a step and looked at him, eye to eye. “L’appel du vide is what binds our family,” I told him. “It’s an idea that connects us, because we all believe in it.”