"Ian? Is something wrong?"

Ian Kabra whipped around from where he was huddled on an old, moth-eaten couch. Amy was standing at the bottom of the basement steps, a cup of hot cocoa in her hand and an inquiring look on her face.

Ian laughed nervously, tugging the throw blanket more tightly around his shoulders. "Not at all. I'm just- erm- just cold."

"Then why don't you come upstairs?" Amy suggested. "You don't have to stay in the basement. We've got a fire on upstairs, and Nellie's making cocoa. Jonah and Hamilton and Dan are sucking them down as fast as she brings them out."

"I'd rather just stay down here," Ian managed. A crash of thunder sounded, reverberating around the mansion and shaking it down to its foundations. Ian trembled violently, wrapping both arms tightly around himself and squeezing both eyes shut until the last echo of thunder had faded away.

"Ian, what's the matter?"

Amy sat down on the couch beside him. Ian turned away.

"Tell me."

Her voice was soft. A warm hand crept into his.

Ian took a shaky breath, opened his mouth, then closed it. Another roll of thunder, louder than the last one, cracked through the silence like a bull whip. A memory so tangibly vivid raced into his mind, and before he could get a hold of himself his mouth was open and the memory was spilling out in between desperate gulps of air and his heart was hammering frenetically against his ribs as if in an attempt to escape the chill trapped inside his chest.

Six-year-old Ian came racing down the stairs and into the sumptuous Kabra living room, clutching his blanket around his shoulders. From the sofa, Isabel and Vikram Kabra looked up, annoyed.

"Ian, what are you doing out of bed?" Isabel asked.

"I'm scared," Ian sobbed. "The storm-"

"Are you telling me you're frightened of rain and loud noises and lights?" Vikram demanded. "My son? A Lucian? A Kabra afraid of a storm?"

"Father, please," Ian begged, going over to his father and trying to climb into his lap. Vikram shoved him off. "Stop sniveling onto my Prada!"

"Mummy?" Ian whispered. Isabel looked at him like she'd look at a dog that had left something on the doormat. "The storm can't hurt you, silly boy. Go back to bed."

"No," Vikram cut in. "No son of mine is afraid of a storm. Ian, fetch your coat."

Vikram had a servant bring him a raincoat and with that, he took his son by the hand and led him outside. The booming thunder and flashes of lightning were even more pronounced outside, and the driving rain pounded furiously upon the ground. Ian sobbed with fear, clutching tightly to his father's coat. Vikram led his son into the enormous fenced yard the Kabras used for exercising dogs, unlocked the door, and pushed Ian in. Ian clung to him.

"Let go, Ian," Vikram barked. "Now."

Trembling, Ian released his hold. Vikram began to walk back toward the gate door. Ian ran after him.

"You'll stay in here," Vikram told him, stepping out. " I'll come fetch you later."

"No!" Ian screamed. 'Don't leave me out here- please, Father-"

"The only way to get rid of a fear is to face it." Vikram disappeared.

Young Ian was horrified. Another roll of thunder sounded, and he screamed again, pounding on the door. It was locked tight.

He cried, falling to the ground and curling up as tightly as he could. A flash of lightning split the sky, and Ian sobbed in terror, hugging himself for protection and in a futile attempt to keep himself warm from the freezing rain pouring down.

He was left in the gated yard for over an hour. Roll after loud, booming roll of thunder banged through the rain-filled night. Streak after forked, bluey-white streak of lighting stabbed the sky apart. Below it all, a small boy whimpered and cried, huddled in a sodden ball of expensive, muddied clothing and loneliness and fright and tears.

At last, at long last, a servant came to fetch him. Ian was led, still sobbing, back into the house, where he wasn't let in until the servant had rubbed him down so he wouldn't track mud inside onto the priceless carpets. Vikram and Isabel were nowhere to be found. Ian went upstairs, shivering the whole way, into his room and dived underneath the bed covers. He then cried himself into exhaustion, and finally, to a nightmare-filled sleep.

Nothing of the incident was spoken about the next morning.

Amy put a comforting arm around Ian's trembling shoulders. "If t makes you feel any better, Ian, no one in this house is going to lock you outside. You can stay inside and sit by the fire and have hot cocoa with the rest of us."

"Thanks," Ian murmured, not entirely joking. He drew in a deep, shuddering breath. "That sounds a lot better than the exercise pen."

Amy smiled. She rose from the couch, grabbed Ian's hand, and pulled him toward the stairs. "C'mon, Ian, let's get you nice and toasty. And some hot cocoa should do you good."

She led him up the stairs and through to the parlor, where Hamilton and Jonah and Dan and Nellie were grouped around a merrily crackling fire.

"Move over, guys," Dan said loudly, grinning at Amy and Ian. "Mr. and Mrs. Kabra have arrived."

"Have some, yo," Jonah invited, handing Ian a mug of the warm, sweet drink. "Nellie's hot cocoa is to die for."

"I'll drink to that," Hamilton slurped into the depths of his sixth cupful. Nellie grinned, holding out the pitcher and refilling his mug.

"Where were you guys anyway?" she asked. Ian looked quickly at Amy, who smiled airily.

"Just chatting," she replied, sitting down beside Jonah and pulling Ian down with her.

Over Dan's obnoxious kissing noises, Ian could hear another roar of thunder outside. Lightning flashed outside the windows, throwing everyone into blue-whiteness.

But for the first time in his life, nestled in a warm blanket with family who loved him and a cup of the best hot cocoa he'd ever had, Ian Kabra was not afraid.