Fire in Rain and Thunder

Part Two: Lightning Strikes

"Oh no!"

Charlie sat crouched in the living room, a collection of broken pieces of wood and ceramic in her hands. Tears pricked at her eyes as she stared down at the clutter of screws and gears scattered across the hardwood floor.

Her father was still renovating the shop in the city, so he often did projects at home. Sometimes he worked at the dining room table, sometimes he worked on the coffee table in the living room. Regardless of where he left his work, Charlie was not permitted to touch, no matter what.

Normally Charlie would follow that rule, though she found it hard to resist temptation when a toy looked too fun to ignore. But she had been careful this time! She only wanted to see the ballerina spin—she didn't know the gears weren't fully set in place. She never would have guessed the ballerina would spring up, sending her and her musical base tumbling to the ground.

Her eyes burned with tears as she desperately scrambled to gather all the pieces. Then she heard the rapid footfalls of someone quickly approaching. The fear of being caught breaking a rule had her sobbing as she tried to force the broken pieces back together.

"Charlie, what—oh!" Alastor's voice, which had initially been loud and high with alarm, dipped low as he slowed his pace. He bent a knee and crouched down beside her. "Oh dear." With a calm demeanor, he reached down and grasped one of the discarded gears, now bent from the fall. "Lucifer was struggling with this one."

"I didn't mean to break it!" Charlie cried out. "It was an accident!"

Alastor smiled at her and rested a hand atop her head. "I know, petit faon. Come now, why the tears?"

Charlie hiccupped as she let out another sob. "Daddy's gonna be so mad!" She hugged the broken pieces to her chest. "He's gonna kill me!"

"No, no, no," Alastor assured with a gentle tone. "He would never harm you—"

"He's gonna kill me!" she repeated. She had heard him threaten to kill people who came to audit his shop whenever they broke one of his shelves or knocked over one of his keepsakes. He even threatened Alastor a few times whenever they got into a heated argument. The thought of her father screaming at her had her sobbing again, thick tears falling down her cheeks. "He's gonna hate me!"

Alastor's hand moved from her head to her side and pulled her close to his hip in a side hug. "I can assure you, my dear, he could never hate you, even if he tried." His other hand came around and began to collect the broken pieces from her hands.

Charlie held the items closer. "No!"

"'No' what?"

"I w-want to fix it," she said between hiccups. "I didn't mean to-to-to break it."

Alastor sighed, so small it was near imperceptible. "How about this? I tell your dad that I broke the music box?"

Charlie peered up at him through blonde bangs. "Lie?"

"Not at all! See?" He spun the bent gear between his fingers and pressed his thumb against it, bending it further. He then let it platter on the ground as he instead reached for a small wooden piece that had been used to decorate the ballerina's stage. Just like with the gear, he held it between his fingers and used his thumb to snap the wood in two. "Whoops! I broke it. What a shame."

Charlie cried out in alarm. "Stop! You're breaking it!"

"Exactly."

"But then I can't fix it!"

"And why would you need to fix something I broke?" Alastor asked, trying again and succeeding in grabbing the broken pieces from Charlie's hands.

"B-but—!"

"No need to fret," he assured, petting her head. "I'll take care of this. Lucifer doesn't need to know."

Charlie watched as Alastor meticulously picked up every piece, all while never leaving her side. Already she could feel a weight being lifted from her shoulders and the tears began to dwindle. "But then he'll kill you!"

Alastor threw his head back in a guffaw. "Ha! I'd like to see him try. Tell me, how many times have you seen him threaten to kill me before?" Charlie lifted up her pudgy hands to try and count but Alastor didn't wait for her to finish. "And I've survived every time, haven't I?" He winked at her. "So don't you worry about a thing. I'll take care of it." He tightened his hold on her in a brief squeeze before straightening up to his full height. "In exchange, can you smile for me?"

Vigorously wiping at her face, Charlie did her best to smile. She was still upset and it didn't feel right, but Alastor beamed down at her.

"That's better," he praised. Then he started towards the dining room, ruffling her hair as he passed.

As Charlie looked up at him from her place on the floor, Alastor looked so tall and strong. She felt safe in his shadow, which stretched across the floor as he walked towards the setting sun in the window. As she gazed at him, the rays of the sun made him glow, radiating like an angel. And as he set the collection of broken pieces on the dining table, she saw him softly smiling in the warm light.

Charlie couldn't help but smile.

…

The sharp pinging of the piano as it started the high notes of the song filled the parlor, accompanied with a musical hum from Charlie as she tried one last desperate endeavor to relax her vocal cords. The warm afternoon sun flittered through the open curtains and filled the room with a warm glow, complimenting the deep red velvet furnishings and golden accents.

Alastor sat at the upright piano, long fingers expertly gliding across the keys as he bobbed his head to the tune of the song. Though the sheet music was open on the music desk, Alastor gave it no mind. His eyes were closed and there was a contented smile on his face as he lost himself in the music.

Normally Charlie looked forward to her musical lessons with Alastor. It was a time for them to bond, just the two of them, and talk about their love for music. Alastor had typically picked the music, starting off simple as he taught her to read music and play the piano. But as she aged and developed a skill in vocals, Alastor shifted his lessons to help her achieve the best sound. And sometimes, as a treat, Alastor would take her out and let Charlie choose the next song and they'd practice it over and over again until Charlie either mastered it or grew sick of it. And while sometimes Alastor could get annoying during the lessons, most of the time it was a laugh for the both of them.

But Charlie was finding it difficult to find excitement in the lesson this Sunday. And she knew it wasn't going well. Already during their vocal exercises, she had failed to reach most of her typical high notes and had received a curious glance from Alastor each time. She kept waiting for him to criticize her for her performance, maybe even ridicule her, but he merely lowered the key and had them continue at an easier register. Still, Charlie kept waiting for the shoe to drop and her stomach churned in anticipation.

"Charlie, dear," Alastor suddenly said, pulling Charlie from her thoughts, "I've replayed the introduction three times now. Do you plan on jumping in at any point or shall I just finish the song solo?"

Charlie jolted at the realization. She had been so focused in her thoughts that she had stopped paying attention to the music. "Ah, sorry! Can you do the intro one more time?"

Alastor was gazing at her from the corner of his eye, one brow slowly lifting as he silently regarded her. "Of course," he eventually said, his voice warm and soothing.

Anxiety peaked in Charlie's chest. She didn't understand why he was being so nice. He usually heckled her whenever she made a mistake; teased her until her face was as red as the carpet. But he merely smiled and restarted the introduction of the song.

With an extra effort to keep track of the music, Charlie rocked on her heels in beat to the song. She followed along using her own copy of the sheet music, bobbing her head alongside Alastor.

"In the dark of the midnight have I oft hid my face." The lower key was easier to sing to and it was effortless to perform in her range. "While the storms howl above me—" she sang, ascending into a higher octave but failing to hit the mark. Her voice cracked and her throat grew sore from the strain. With a cringe and another curious look from Alastor, she pushed on. "And there's no hiding place, 'Mid the crash of the thunder, precious Lord, hear my cry—" Another croak, another glance. "Keep me safe 'til the storm passes by."

Charlie tried to subtly clear her throat as Alastor led the song into the chorus. His gaze lingered on her now, curiosity having given way to uncertainty. His grin was still present but there was a tightness to it now. When Charlie met his gaze, however, he gave her an encouraging nod.

"'Til the storm passes over, 'til the thunder sounds no more," she picked up again warily. "'Til the clouds roll forever from the sky—" The verse broke off with a high, cracking shrill that shredded her throat.

"I believe that's enough," said Alastor as he abruptly ceased the music and closed the lid. He spun on his bench and rested a leg over his knee.

Charlie stared down at her feet, shuffling uncomfortably. "I'm sorry."

"If you're apologizing for anything other than abusing your own voice, I don't want to hear it," he said with a wave of his hand.

With a frown, she dug her toe into the carpet. "I don't know what to say."

"I didn't realize there was something to say," he responded breezily. Idly, he began massaging his right hand, all the while with his eyes on Charlie. He had his usual placid smile but there was a critical look in his eye. "But if there's something on your mind, my dear, I'm happy to offer a penny for your thoughts."

Charlie blinked and suddenly there was a penny between the index and middle finger of his right hand. She gawked and his lips pulled back into a big, toothy grin. "How did you do that?"

"Showman's secret," he said with a long finger up against his lip. He extended his hand out and waited for Charlie to present her palm before dropping it into her hand. "Now, if you'd be so kind, I'd love to hear what's troubling you."

She inwardly scowled. How did he always know? She stared at the penny resting in the center of her palm so she didn't have to meet his gaze. Her chest tightened in anticipation for the disappointment sure to show itself.

Fumbling slightly, she eventually admitted, "I got in a fight at church today."

"Oh?" Alastor perked in his seat. "That's unexpected. I thought you were friends with everyone there. Did you get in a fight with Emily?"

She shook her head, her loose blonde hair falling over her shoulders. "No. There was a new girl. And she kept pulling on Emily's hair. So I yelled at her to stop. But then she pulled my hair. Then I pulled hers." The fight had ended with them rolling across the floor until her teacher pulled them apart. Charlie's throat was still raw from crying on the way home.

Alastor's smile turned sharp and his eyes narrowed contemptuously. "Anyone I should know?"

Charlie had lived with Alastor long enough to know what that look meant. While Alastor typically acted aloof and apathetic towards others with a constant cheery demeanor, he could get protective. And when he got protective, he got mean.

"No. It's okay. I won't fight again," she promised.

"Why not?"

The answer had Charlie reeling. "What?"

"Oh, my petit faon," he said lovingly with a pat on her head, "there's nothing wrong with standing up for someone fairer than yourself; especially a friend."

"But Dad says to never fight."

"And that's often true, if you can help it. But not everything can be handled with words alone, dear. Fights are inevitable. Really, it's a miracle it took nine years before your first real bout. I was scrapping at half your age."

Charlie found that hard to believe. Alastor was a cunning man with patience, who relied on words when he did lose his temper. She couldn't imagine him getting into a fistfight with anyone. "You got into scraps?"

"All the time," he said with a casual shrug. "In fact, the first time I met your father, we nearly broke into a fight right then and there."

"You wanted to fight Dad?!" she exclaimed, eyes wide.

Alastor nodded with a devious grin. "Oh, constantly back then. The only thing that stopped us the first time was your uncle Michael getting involved." He then mumbled something in French under his breath that Charlie had learned to recognize as him trying to curse in private. "But that was a long time ago."

"Did Dad want to fight you?" she pressed, eager to hear more.

"He'd accuse me of being the sole instigator, but he started as many of those as I did."

Charlie was flabbergasted. Her dad never got into fights. Sure, he could be hot-tempered sometimes, but he usually cooled off just as quickly. The most he ever did was get a few loud bursts in before calming down. "Wow."

Alastor drummed his fingers against his propped knee. "I think Lucifer will be quite proud to hear you stood up for Emily."

The panic, which had become dormant in light of her surprise, had returned at the prospect of her father finding out. The only reason Lucifer didn't know about the fight already was because he was stuck at the shop doing repairs, so he wasn't able to come to church with her like usual. Emily's older sister, Sera, had come to pick her up and drop her off.

Charlie bit her lip, sudden tears welling in her eyes. "He's going to be so disappointed."

Alastor let out a low, considering hum and raised a brow. "If you truly believe that, then I see no need in telling him."

Charlie blinked at him. "You won't tell him?"

He shrugged. "If it will make you uncomfortable, then no. Lucifer would just fret over it, anyway," he said with a wave of his hand.

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Alastor would choose her side over her father's? "But… won't that be bad?"

"What your father won't know won't hurt him," he assured. He leaned forward conspiratorially and brought a hand up to the side of his mouth. "We'll keep it our little secret." Then he winked, slapped his hands to his thighs, and pushed himself up to a stand.

"I don't see us making any improvements in music today," he said, taking Charlie's copy of the music book and placing it with his own on the piano. "So, how about we make something sweet instead? I can teach you how to make bread pudding! How does that sound?" He ruffled her hair as he walked past her towards the kitchen.

Charlie's heart swelled as she walked beside him, matching Alastor's contented smile with one of her own.

…

Charlie felt miserable, inside and out. Her insides squeezed as though they were caught in a vice. Her stomach rolled but despite how hard she wanted to throw up, nothing happened. When the school nurse had asked what was wrong, she didn't have an answer. All she knew was that she couldn't stop shaking and the mere thought of food had her wanting to gag.

The morning had started off so well, too. On the car ride to school, she had felt perfectly fine, even through her first period. It happened suddenly during second period. She distinctly remembered because it was around the time Vaggie asked her for some help studying for the test they had coming up in their last period. Charlie had forgotten all about it and the two of them dove into a crash study session. Since then, she had only felt worse and worse with each passing hour. When she chose to opt out of her PE period, her teacher had sent her to the nurse.

Then they did the worse thing imaginable: they called her father. Lucifer was a gentle yet fickle man with both a great deal of patience and none at all. And when it came to his daughter, he could be a fretting mess of nerves that sometimes made things worse or could approach things with a maturity and tenderness that had Charlie feeling like the most precious thing in all the world. He was a gamble and the uncertainty of what persona he'd adopt upon picking her up only had Charlie's stomach twisting all the more.

So, when it was not her father but Alastor who strolled into the office, it was a pleasant surprise. He had been as charming as ever, smiling at the staff, making the ladies giggle, and whisking her away without any issue. There was no scene, no embarrassing interaction, just a subtle removal. Charlie was grateful beyond words.

In a rare circumstance, Alastor was the one with the family car. And when he escorted Charlie to the passenger door, he opened it for her and allowed her to slip inside before shutting the door behind her. He was humming a tune, as he often did; this one sweet and soothing.

Once he was finished checking the mirrors and passing traffic, he pulled away from the school and towards home. He reached his right hand across the space and rested it flush against her forehead. With a lifted brow, he gently asked, "What has you down, my dear?"

Charlie still didn't have words for the way her heart and stomach continued to squirm. Instead, she decided to ask a question of her own. "Why do you have the car?"

Alastor retracted his hand and clenched it a few times. "Had the annual check-up your father insists I attend," he grumbled with a roll of his eyes.

"Oh." Her eyes lingered on Alastor's right hand as it resumed its place on the steering wheel. Alastor had been having issues with his right hand nearly as long as Charlie could remember. She had a vague memory of finding him in bandages one morning and hearing a story about him getting in an accident with a car. She couldn't remember the details, but she suspected that was why he hated cars so much.

"And surprise, surprise, Dr. Somna says I'm still fit as a fiddle," he said with a cocky grin.

"You gonna rub that in Dad's face?" Charlie asked with a grin of her own.

"Oh, absolutely! And now I have the added privilege of being your chauffeur today! Poor Lucifer was in such a tizzy when he called me at the station. He wanted to pick you up himself, you know. I'm actually surprised he didn't insist I drop the car back off at the shop just so he could." He shook his head with a heavy sigh but there was no animosity behind it. "But! I assured him I could take care of our little princess."

The loving smile Alastor sent her way had Charlie ducking her head. She wrung her hands, painfully pinching at her fingers to try and distract herself from the weight she felt on her chest. While normally she loved it whenever her dad and Alastor called her their princess, she didn't feel like one now.

Alastor's tone turned solemn when he asked, "What's wrong, dear?"

Charlie shook her head. She still didn't know how to describe it. "I don't feel good."

He let out a long hum, which Charlie had long learned meant he was considering something. "Did you eat anything at lunch?"

She shook her head again. "No. I wasn't hungry."

Another hum. "Does your stomach hurt?"

Another shake of the head. "Not really." It felt twisted in knots, but it didn't hurt like when she was sick.

"Does your head hurt? Sore throat? Sniffles?"

With each question, Charlie responded promptly with a shake of her head. There was a pause then as Alastor fell into silent consideration. Charlie diverted her attention out the window, watching the passing cars and pedestrians with an odd sense of envy with how carefree they seemed.

"Does it feel like someone is reaching inside you and clenching your insides?"

Alastor, for lack of a better word, was an odd man. He liked to use grotesque jokes and disturbing imagery that could make the average person uncomfortable. Charlie had grown used to it and barely noticed it or ignored it most of the time. This particular imagery, however, hit the nail right on the head.

She whipped her head around. "Yeah, exactly!"

"Is there a weight on your chest?" he asked, bringing his hand up to rest on his chest as example. "Maybe making it difficult to breathe?"

"Yes!" She brought her own hands up to her chest. "It feels like someone's hugging me really tight."

"What's something you've been thinking about lately?"

"Huh?" The question came out of nowhere. She wasn't sure if she understood what he was asking. "I was… thinking about what Dad would act like."

"What do you mean?"

"He can be so… I don't know. Unpredictable?" Charlie rolled her hands, trying to find the right words.

"Did you think he was going to be mad that you were sick?" Alastor asked.

"No, it's just…" She dropped her hands and let out a heavy sigh. "He can fret a lot and make small things into a big deal. And he wants things a certain way and if they're not what he expects then he gets upset."

"Like if something isn't performing perfectly?"

"Exactly!" Charlie turned to Alastor, who kept glancing between her and the road. If anyone could understand how her father could be, it'd be Alastor. He always handled her father's special case of crazy with grace.

"Things have to be exactly as he planned them out to be." She lifted her hands and imitated her father at work over one of his projects. "And when they're not perfect, then they're not good enough. And then he gets frustrated – even cries sometimes."

"Ah, that's true," Alastor said sympathetically. "He'll stay up all night, pace the house, pester me all day complaining about every flawed piece…" He sighed. "And just as you said, he can get upset about the smallest things. If the gears aren't running smoothly, if a single spot of color is a shade off, if there's so much as a wrinkle in a doll's dress… perhaps even if there's a low grade on a test or a piece of homework missing?"

Charlie, who had been nodding along to each example, stopped to stare at Alastor. The grip on her chest tightened. "What?"

Alastor smiled kindly at her, his gaze warm and caring. "I recognize an anxiety attack when I see one. My ma used to get them all the time."

"A anxiety attack?"

"That's right. It typically means you're worried about something. And since it happened at school, I suspect it's related. So, what happened? You didn't get yourself in another scuffle, did you?"

Charlie groaned. Ever since her spat at church two years ago, Alastor has slipped in the occasional joke whenever they were alone. "No, Al, I didn't get in a fight."

"Shame," he said with a casual shrug.

"Not fighting is a good thing, Al," she chastised.

"If you say so."

Charlie sighed and threw her head back in her seat. They were quiet for a moment as Alastor waited for her to answer his initial question. And now that Charlie thought about it and understood a little about why she felt the way she did, she could pinpoint why. Still, she was reluctant to say it out loud. "I forgot about a test."

"Oh? So, you didn't study, I presume?"

"…Yeah…"

"Did you take the test today?"

She shook her head. "No. It's in my last class."

"Then there's nothing to worry about, then!" He rested his hand atop her head. "I'll call the school when we get home and ask for an extension for the test. Then we can study for the test together and get you in ship-shape!"

Charlie stared at Alastor. His gaze was on the road but he had a calm smile on his face. "But… isn't that cheating?"

"How's it cheating?" Alastor responded breezily. "You're sick and you need the remainder of the day off to rest for tomorrow."

That sounded too easy. "But… I'm not really sick."

"You couldn't eat, right?"

"Yeah, but—"

"Found it difficult to focus?"

"But that's—"

"Couldn't breathe?"

"Alastor—"

"That sounds like the symptoms of sickness to me," he interrupted, patting her lovingly on the head before retracting his hand.

"But it's my fault!" Charlie cried. Tears pricked at her eyes. "I forgot about the test and now I'm skipping class. None of this would happen if I was better!"

"Charlie, now, now, come here." Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he pulled her in to his side. "My dear petit faon. You are perfect the way you are. You're kind and intelligent, dutiful and loyal… why, I couldn't imagine a better young lady."

The vice on Charlie's chest lightened its hold and she felt she could breathe again. Alastor was quick to shower her with compliments on any given day, calling her lovely and talented with music, but this felt different. Here alone, wrapped in the warmth of his embrace, with his voice so soft and gentle, she felt safe and secure. His words sounded so genuine that she couldn't help but believe them.

But doubt was nestled deep in her chest and her eyes burned. "I'm not perfect," she choked out.

"You are in my eyes," he promised, chest rumbling against her ear. He shifted to rest his lips against the crown of her head. It wasn't quite a kiss – he never kissed her like her father did – but it was his subtle, private show of affection reserved specifically for her.

"And you're more than a project to your father. You're the world to him. Half the time he's pestering me, it's about how much he loves you. And how proud he is of you." His hold on her tightened in a loving squeeze.

As much as Charlie wanted to believe him, as much as it filled her with joy to hear it, the doubt only crept deeper into her heart, piercing and painful. "If you say so."

There was a small, nearly imperceptible hum of a noise before Alastor offered, "We don't have to tell Lucifer about the test."

Charlie shifted to look up at him. His smile had lost some of its warmth but was just as comforting. Charlie felt the familiar swell of hope encapsulating the thorns of doubt. "Really?"

Alastor nodded. "If you're worried, he doesn't need to know. All he has to know is that you weren't feeling well. I'll even make us a nice stew for dinner to set it in stone." He rubbed his thumb along her arm affectionately.

The relief that washed over Charlie had her sagging into Alastor's side. "Can we do that?"

"Of course. What Lucifer doesn't know won't hurt him. I'll take care of everything, so you just relax. We'll study for the test together as soon as you're up to it."

"Thank you, Alastor," she said in a sigh as she rested her head against his side. The sound of his heartbeat mixed with the rumble of the car lulled her into a comfortable doze, smiling as she lost herself in Alastor's embrace.

…

Charlie stood at the register of Candied Apple Keepsakes, leaning against the counter and hovering over her homework. Since her dad and Alastor worked in the city, Lucifer organized it to where Charlie attended school in the city and then she could come by and help at the shop afterward. That typically entailed running the register while he worked on some projects in his workshop in the back.

With Halloween only a day away, Lucifer was laboring furiously away in his shop, which meant Charlie had been given ample time alone, both at the front of the shop and at home once her shift was done. Even Alastor had been busy at work late these last few days, which was perfect for what she and Vaggie had planned this evening.

She kept anxiously glancing towards the front door whenever someone passed by. And each time the bell rang when someone entered the shop had turned out to be a disappointment. With each second ticking away on the several cuckoo clocks aligned on the wall, her heart seemed to race a fraction quicker. She began to frequently check the door behind her to her dad's workshop, worrying that her father would pop his head in and catch her in the act. Not that anything had happened yet.

"Hey, how do you spell 'cervical'?"

"Huh?" Charlie, momentarily drawn from her anxious fretting, looked over to Vaggie.

Vaggie was one of the few given the privilege to stand on the opposite side of the counter with Charlie. They often hung out together after school at the toy shop so they could finish homework together or mingle at Queen Bee, the new soda shoppe that moved in on their block. And while Vaggie didn't work at the shop, she sometimes offered her help whenever Charlie got too overwhelmed.

"Cervical," Vaggie repeated, tapping her notebook. "Is it C-I-R or C-E-R?

"Oh, uh…" Charlie looked down at her own notebook, drumming her pencil anxiously across the pages. "I think it's C-E-R-V-I-C-A-L."

"Thanks." She quickly jotted it down. "Bones are cool. Did you know we have more than one type? And that most of them are in our hand and foot?" To illustrate her point, she flexed one hand.

"Uh-huh," Charlie said absently as she looked down at her own homework assignment.

For Composition, she had to write a book report of a novel of her choice. She was excited to have an excuse to write about her newest favorite novel, The Young Vampire. The story was about a girl possessed by the spirit of a vampire, turning her into one. She loved the story from the moment she found it at the library. While Lucifer had shown displeasure in her recent obsession for vampires, he still bought her her own copy and Charlie had been over the moon since. She had read it several times and was thrilled to do a book report about it.

However, as she stared at her notebook, with only the title of her report and her name in the top margin, she found it difficult to find the words. A warmth settled on her hand, ceasing the drumming of her pencil. She looked up to see Vaggie smiling at her. "There's no need to worry. They'll never find out as long as you stay calm."

Easy for you to say, Charlie thought miserably. Vaggie had sisters to hide behind if she wanted to stay under her parents' radar. Sisters who had frequently broken the rules and placed Vaggie in a positive light. Charlie was an only child and she had never really broken the rules before. The mere thought made her anxious and had her questioning if what they were doing was right.

One glance to her favorite book quelled her concerns and had her growing irritated. They weren't doing anything wrong! Everyone was doing it – it was unfair that she wasn't allowed.

What Alastor doesn't know won't hurt him.

That had been the mantra running through Charlie's head throughout the course of the week. They had been planning for tonight all month but the plans didn't officially go into effect until a few days ago. She placed one hand on her book and wrapped her other hand around to give Vaggie's a firm squeeze. "You're right. I just need to stay calm." She took a big, deep breath to calm her nerves. Already, with Vaggie's support and her book at her side, she felt better.

Then the bell above the door rang and the anxiety spiked back up again. Her head whipped around towards the door only to sigh in disappointment again, despite the new, fascinating company.

Standing in the doorway was the owner of the Queen Bee. She was a tall blonde woman decorated in a colorful pantsuit with the new trending pastel dyes decorating parts of her hair. Charlie had thought it was an accident that she only had sections of her hair colored, but she had insisted it was intentional.

"Hey, girls," she greeted as she approached the counter.

"Hey, Bee," they greeted back in unison.

Bee was a foreigner from Gaza with a name Charlie found difficult to pronounce. Beele Zebul or something like that. Thankfully, Bee insisted on people addressing her by her nickname and hated prefixes. Bee believed in an informal relationship with her young clients to promote a friendly environment in her shoppe. She was especially friendly with them since the Candied Apple Keepsakes became her recent business partner once they started selling the honey she harvested herself.

"Wow, Charlie, diggin' the hair, kid. Why the new look?"

"Oh, yeah," Charlie said, reaching a hand up to her black bangs. Unlike with Bee's multi-colored hair, Charlie's dye job had been unplanned and interrupted. "I don't know."

That was partially the truth. The act of coloring her bangs had been spontaneous and irrational. It was a matter of Charlie being bored and black paint being nearby. Her father had been using it for a project but had left it unattended. Next Charlie knew, she was painting her hair with a paintbrush. Her father had been beside himself when he found her later and put an immediate stop to it.

Her fingers thrummed against the cover of her book, her pale fingers contrasting with the black hair of the girl illustrated on the cover. "It just kind of happened," she said with a nonchalant shrug.

"'Just kind of happened,' huh?" said Bee with an entertained grin as she placed a hand decorated with colorfully painted nails and glamorous jewelry on her hip. "Yeah, that's fetch."

Bee spoke strangely sometimes when she tried to use American slang.

"What brings you in, Bee?" asked Vaggie.

She lifted up a bag. "Brought you the latest batch of honey," she said as she began emptying the bag of its jars of honey. "And wanted to remind my girls about the party we're planning for Halloween! The Queen Bee will be hosting a special party where anyone in costume will get your drinks and treats for half price. There will be music and games! It will be magical. Bring your friends."

"Don't worry, we plan on going," Charlie assured. "Our parents already said it's okay. My—Dad and his friend will also be attending a party in the city so they plan on dropping us off before going out."

"Glad to hear it," Bee said cheerfully. She looked at the display case and gave out a type of barking laugh. "Oh, those look delicious. Can you get me one of those caramel apples?"

"Yeah, sure."

"What you girls got going on?" Bee asked Vaggie as Charlie opened the case and retrieved one of Alastor's caramel apples. The three chatted amiably for a while, passing the time pleasantly. Charlie had gotten so wrapped up in the conversation that she had completely forgotten about her anxiety.

Customers were coming in and out, asking for costumes and decorations for Halloween. Things had fallen into such a normal rhythm that Charlie stopped paying close attention to the ringing of the bell. So she had been completely caught off guard when, while demonstrating a wind-up display to a little girl, she heard her name harshly whispered from the doorway.

All at once, her anxiety returned with a vengeance. Whipping her head around, she first checked to make sure her dad was still in the back. Vaggie was at the counter chatting with Bee and there was the small gathering of kids straggling around the store, but her father was still absent. Depositing the knickknack in the girl's hands, Charlie hastened to the front door.

"Seviathan!" she greeted in an excited whisper. She glanced towards the back door again before returning her attention to her classmate. "Where have you been? You said you'd have this delivered an hour ago."

"The delivery ran late," he said in response as he removed his backpack. "Do you have any idea how popular these are? You're lucky I was able to get you one at all. There was a crowd of people lined at the counter waiting on these."

As he crouched down to open his bag, Charlie anxiously hurried back to the counter to get her money from her own school pack. She and Vaggie had been pigeonholing their allowances and selling discarded aluminum cans and glass bottles for weeks for this moment. "I can't thank you enough for this," she said to him as she returned with her money pouch.

"Just remember: you do my homework for a week," he reminded cheekily as he offered her his empty palm.

"Yeah, yeah, I remember," she said dismissively as she poured a pile mostly consisting of coins into his awaiting hand. She was grateful that she had counted it all out earlier during her anxious wait. With the last penny in place, she clapped her hands together. "So, let me have it."

Seviathan rolled his eyes but he had a grin on his face as he removed a slim, rectangular box out of his bag. It was barely longer than her largest schoolbook and half as heavy, but it bore the weight of the world as she took it into her hands.

She let out a deep breath as she admired the black box, the white letters contrasting starkly against the dark background. Charlie felt her heart stutter as she read the large, ominous word stretched across the front of the box: Ouija. She let out a shuddering breath as she slowly ran her hand along the surface.

"Who's this cutie?"

Her heart leapt into her throat and she momentarily forgot how to breathe as she looked up to see Bee towering over her and Seviathan. Panic flared her every nerve and Charlie spun in place, quickly hiding the board behind her.

"Bee!" she yelled in her panic, cringing at the volume of her own voice. She gestured to Seviathan beside her. "This is Seviathan von Eldritch. He goes to my school."

"It's nice to meet you, Sev! I'm Bee," she greeted cheerily. "It's a pleasure to meet one of Char's new friends. Oh, you two are so cute! You two going to the party together?"

Charlie felt her face burn. "T-together? No, no, no! It's not like that! No, he just came over to… I mean, yeah, it's like that!"

"What? Ew!" Seviathan took several steps back from her, disgust evident on his face. "It is not like that. I just came to drop off the—"

"Don't say it," Charlie snapped at him.

Bee let out a chittering laugh. "Did I catch you in a secret?"

"What? No! I mean, of course not! Why would you think—"

Perhaps to spare Charlie from the stuttering mess spewing from her mouth, Vaggie came rushing over to them and stepped between her and Bee. "Please don't tell anyone," she pleaded. "Especially Charlie's dad! Von Eldritch, he, uh, his dad owns Love's Craft—a competitor toy store! If Mr. Morningstar found out Charlie was friends with him—"

Bee's eyes lit up. "How fetch! A real Juliet and Romeo. That's adorable."

Charlie, jumping on the excuse Vaggie provided for her, stepped forward. "Please, Bee, please don't let Dad find out! I'd get in so much trouble!"

"No need to go spacey," Bee assured with a toothy grin. "I can keep a secret. Give me all the secrets you got—I can take it."

Charlie let out a heavy breath. "Thanks." She turned to her classmate. "And thanks, Seviathan! Yeah, yeah," she said as he opened his mouth, "starting next week, I do your homework. I remember."

"Good," Seviathan said with a grin. "See you at school." He nodded to Vaggie and went to nod to Bee but instead made a face and quickly left.

Charlie moved just as quickly to hide the Ouija board in her pack before her dad had a chance to see her with it. Her heart pounded in her chest as she closed the clasp on her pack. The hardest part was over. Now it was just a matter of getting it home unnoticed. Once home, she had the entire house to herself.

"I'm hungry to know more about this little exchange," said Bee as she hovered over Charlie's shoulder, "but I can wait until the party. You better give me all the details then."

Charlie hadn't intended on telling anyone this little secret between her, Vaggie, and Seviathan. But she had been caught in the act so there was no going around it. Besides, knowing Bee, she'd probably be on Charlie's side.

It wasn't as if she was doing anything wrong, after all.

"That seems fair," she responded with false cheer.

"Good." Bee nodded resolutely, concreting Charlie's promise to share. "Make sure you girls come with that positive energy of yours! I'll see you soon." With a joyful wave, Bee left the store.

As Charlie glanced at the back door one last time, she felt her heart steady into a confident rhythm. She had every right to try a Ouija board, just like every other kid in Manhattan. It was unfair that she had to hide it because of some convoluted rules. It wasn't as if they went to church anymore so it's not as if it's a sin.

With a frustrated groan, she shoved her pack under the counter for good measure and returned her attention to her homework and the lingering crowd in the store.

…

Almost every day, Charlie overheard one conversation or another of a classmate who goes home to an occupied house with a mother who has freshly made a snack for them upon their return, or complaints about a mother who cleaned the wrong clothes or made them take out the trash. Those same classmates would then turn a pitiable eye on Charlie, even sometimes asking details about her "strange" and "sad" life, which she felt was unfair. After all, plenty of other classmates lost fathers during the Korean war but none of them had been publicly questioned on their situations at home. But Charlie, who had no mother, was put under a scope. What was a home without a mother to tend to it?

Really, her life wasn't all that different from anyone else's. Only, instead of a mother, her family had Alastor. It was hard to put a word on Alastor's relationship with her and her father, so she instead told others that he was a "family friend" who worked around the house. Being a negro, many people didn't question why Alastor lived with them and instead just assumed he worked for her father.

But Alastor wasn't like that. Not really. He didn't cook their meals, clean Charlie's clothes, and tend to the house because he was paid to do it. No, he did it out of love. Like a mother would. The only real difference, outside of being a man, was that Alastor didn't stay at the house all day to cook and clean and do whatever mothers do all day. No, he worked long hours, often gone before Charlie got up in the morning and returning sometimes later than Lucifer that evening. Which meant that Charlie typically came home to an empty house whenever she didn't work a shift at the shop, at least for an hour or so before either Alastor or Lucifer returned home.

But lately, both Lucifer and Alastor had been working late into the evening, leaving Charlie alone in the house for hours, even after working a shift. It was perfect. She and Vaggie would be uninterrupted.

The winds were harsh as the bus turned into their neighborhood and Vaggie was nearly blown away when a particularly strong wind caught her umbrella. Giggling, the girls rushed to the house before the gentle downpour of rain drowned them in the street. Vaggie did her best to shield Charlie with the umbrella as she scurried to get the key hanging from her neck to unlock the door.

The girls were a giggling, damp mess when they clambered inside. Thankfully, Charlie's pack had remained virtually untouched by the rain and so she let out a sigh of relief. While Vaggie used the phone to contact her mother to let her know they made it home safe, Charlie rushed upstairs to get everything ready.

Her heart raced with excitement as she splayed out all the candles she had collected throughout the house. As she carefully placed them in a circle in the center of her floor, she chuckled at the memory of her father nearly ripping his hair out trying to find a single candle the other day. She felt bad for not saying she had taken them all but she couldn't tell him, otherwise he might ask why she needed them in the first place. Once the candles were placed and properly lit with a match, she pulled the Ouija board from her pack.

With a delicate hand, she opened the box and removed the Ouija board. She bit her lip to fight a squeal as she placed it within the circle of candles, their orange glow reflecting off the magnified lens of the planchette as she set it on top. In an attempt to busy herself, she jumped into reading the directions printed on the back of the box. It looked simple enough and that only had her growing giddy.

"Wow, it's creepy in here," Vaggie said when she finally joined Charlie. She made sure to follow the house rules and cracked the door. "Mom says she'll pick me up in the morning unless the storm gets bad."

Charlie shoved her impatience down and refrained from rolling her eyes. It was barely even raining outside; it was hardly a big enough reason to interrupt what they're doing. A quick glance out her bedroom window confirmed that when all she saw was the dark backdrop of heavy clouds and relatively light patter of rain against the glass. In fact, the storm was working in their favor. The sun always set earlier in fall, but the dark clouds made it seem later than it was, allowing the candles' otherwise dull glow to light up the room in an orange halo.

"Well, then we better hurry, just in case," Charlie said as she gestured to the spot opposite her. "Come on, sit, sit, sit."

Vaggie sighed but there was a smile on her face as she followed Charlie's directions. She stared at the Ouija board and all the letters and numbers painted across its wooden surface. "So… how do we use this?"

"It's easy!" To demonstrate, Charlie lifted her hands. "We both put our middle and forefingers on the planchette. Oh! But it's gotta be on the 'G' first." Charlie quickly corrected her mistake and then gently rested her hands on the planchette. She waited for Vaggie to oblige with both hands before she continued. "Okay, we have to make sure not to put any pressure on it. That way, the person we're talking to can control it."

"Okay," said Vaggie, her own excitement shining through. "Like this?"

"I think so." Without moving her hands, Charlie leaned over to glance at the directions. "Now we just… call out."

"Call out?"

"Yeah, like, um…" She bit her lip. Her anxiety was bubbling up again. She lifted her head and spoke to the ceiling. "Is anyone there? Oh! Um, are there any ghosts with us today?" She and Vaggie sat with bated breath for any kind of response.

Vaggie lifted a brow. "That's it?"

"Wait, hold on." She leaned over again. "It says it might take a while for ghosts to respond. Maybe we just keep calling for them?"

"How about this?" It was Vaggie's turn to lift her head. "Oh, spirits! We would like to talk to you. If you want to talk to us, uh…"

"Please come talk to us," Charlie chipped in. "We would love to hear what you have to say." She shifted her position and let out a gasp when she felt the planchette move. "Did you feel that?!"

Vaggie's eyes were blown wide. "I did! Call to them again!"

"Okay!" She cleared her throat. "Oh, spirits! We invite you in our home. Please, come talk to us."

An eerie silence followed, accompanied by the unrhythmic fall of rain and the whistling of the wind. They could even hear the distant rumblings of thunder. One of the flames on the candles flickered and Charlie felt a chill down her spine.

"Oh, spirits—"

The sound of a muffled bang echoed throughout the house. Charlie screamed and jumped where she sat. When she looked back down, the planchette had moved!

"Look! It's on the number seven!"

"I see it!" Vaggie leaned over to get a better look in the dim light. "What do you think it means?"

Charlie gasped. "What if we're talking to a little kid?!"

Vaggie echoed her gasp. "Someone who's seven years old!"

"Hey, little girl," Charlie started, looking back up at the ceiling.

Vaggie cut in, "It could also be a boy."

Charlie corrected herself. "Hey, little girl or little boy. We won't hurt you. You can come talk to us." She had to restrain herself from bouncing in place. She couldn't believe they were talking to an actual ghost! "What's your name?"

Again, they waited. The planchette didn't move, but they heard the ghost respond with a deep moan, like the sound of creaking wood. Charlie's breath came out in rapid gasps. She could practically hear footsteps just outside her door.

"It's okay," she soothed. "We want to hear what you have to say. If you're too shy to talk, maybe make a noise and let us know where you are?"

The footsteps sounded louder and Charlie had to strain her ears to hear past her own breathing and the growing wind outside. She was just turning towards the door, anticipating the pale face of a child peering out at her from the dark hallway, when the loud crack of lightning reverberated the house.

Charlie and Vaggie screamed. She instinctively brought her arms up to cover her head as the blinding light faded from the room, followed swiftly by more rolling thunder. Her heart was racing and, as she met eyes with Vaggie, she burst out into raucous laughter.

Vaggie's laugh came slower but before long, she was laughing as loud as Charlie. The two girls doubled over the Ouija board, reaching out and offering comforting hands on each other's shoulders and folded knees.

"Oh my gosh," Charlie said as she leaned back on her hands. "Oh, that scared me so much!"

"Me too! I was so focused, I forgot all about the storm."

Just as the lingering fear began to dwindle away, her bedroom door began to swing open. She felt her heart wedge itself in her throat as she whipped her head around, expecting to see the eyes of a dead boy or girl staring at her. Except, what she saw standing in her doorway was far more terrifying than any ghostly apparition her mind could conjure.

"My! That was quite the fright, wasn't it?" said Alastor as he smiled down at the girls. "Why, I almost screamed along…side… you—Charlie." His voice, which had carried its usual cheer and high lilt, suddenly dipped low as his eyes regarded the Ouija board sitting in the middle of her room. Upon laying his eyes on it, his ever-present signature grin disappeared. "That is not a Ouija board."

The tone itself was nearly threatening enough to will the game out of existence right there and then. Charlie had never heard Alastor use such a tone, much less targeted towards her. A vice clenched around her chest and squeezed tight. She realized in an instant that it was impossible to hide what she was doing.

"Look, Al," she attempted, placating. She felt her attempt at assurance missed its mark when her voice stuttered. "It's just a game. It's harmless."

"You say that only because you don't know better," he snapped as he crossed the room in a wide gait. In an instant, he was snatching the quilt off the foot of Charlie's bed and tossing it over the board. "This is banned from this house for a reason, Charlie."

As Charlie helplessly watched as Alastor crouched down beside and wrap the Ouija board in a hastened bundle, the shame of being discovered slip away as fury took its place. "I don't know better?!" she snapped back as he straightened to his feet. He stormed out of the room but Charlie wasn't done. She launched herself up onto her feet and followed after him down the dark hall. "I'm not the one freaking out over an innocent game!"

"Innocent?" Alastor whirled where he stood and glowered down at her.

The crack of lightning echoed the shattering of Charlie's heart as she felt the heat of his gaze bearing down on her. The flash of light from the window reflected like fire in his eyes, scalding and fierce. As the light gave way and surrendered to the oppressive darkness of the hallway, she felt herself shrouded in a freezing chill that left her shivering and breathless in the face of his fury.

"The fact that you hid this from me—" Alastor cut himself off and took a deep beath. When he spoke again, he was calm, but his tone carried the chill of winter. "You deliberately disobeyed me." He lifted the wrapped Ouija board in his hand. "Do I ask so much of you that feel the need to lie to me?"

"What? No. I didn't lie to you!"

"You kept this from me," he argued.

"But I didn't lie!"

"It's lie by omission, Charlie!" Charlie jumped at his raised voice. Alastor let out a hefty sigh. "You've deliberately disobeyed me," he repeated. "I cannot overlook this. You'll have time to think about what you've done this weekend. You're grounded."

"W-what?!" Charlie gaped as Alastor turned on his heel and made his way downstairs. She felt herself following without putting any thought at all as to why. Alastor had never grounded her before. "That's not fair! It's just a stupid game!"

Alastor didn't break his stride as he said over his shoulder, "Call it whatever you want. You broke a rule—"

"A stupid rule!" she bellowed. Fear and anger welled in Charlie's chest, squeezing her heart and churning her stomach. "This weekend is Halloween! You can't make me miss the party because of a stupid rule!"

Once he reached the foot of the stairs, Alastor spun to meet her eye. "Rules are set in place for reasons. You may disagree with those reasons, but that gives you no right to break them."

From her lifted position, Charlie felt a swell of confidence as she glared down at him. "And you have no right to ground me! You're not my mom!" Alastor took a step back and Charlie felt empowered at the sight. "And you're not my dad either – so stop acting like it!" She reached out her hand to him. "Give me back my Ouija board."

Alastor's face was shrouded in shadow with only the dull glow of the kitchen light against his back. The only inkling of an expression that she could guess was the downward crescent of light reflecting off his glasses.

He lifted the Ouija board up from the crux of his arm and Charlie thought she had won, but he instead pressed it tight against his chest before walking away from her again without a word. Miffed and feeling her argument slipping out from under her, she persisted after him. "Alastor! That is my Ouija board! Give it back."

"Absolutely not," Alastor responded stiffly. He didn't even glance over his shoulder as he spoke. "I'm disposing of this atrocity."

"You can't! Me and Vaggie bought that together with our own money!"

"Then Vaggie will be compensated for her share."

"But, Alastor—!"

"That's enough, Charlie!"

Alastor stopped dead in his tracks. When he turned to face her, it was deliberate and slow. The expression on his face was one she had never seen before. His brows were low and furrowed, his expression soft but the muscles of his mouth were drawn tight.

"Go back to your room. I will be calling Vaggie's parents to pick her up," he said in a dark whisper.

"But I—"

"If there's anything more you want to discuss," he went on in the same calculated tone, "you can bring it up with your father when he gets home." He pointed in the direction of her room. "Now."

Charlie's hands clenched into tight fists and she clashed her teeth together, but she obeyed. Stomping every step of the way, she made her way back towards her room. She only made it halfway up the stairs when she noticed Vaggie waiting for her at the top. Seeing her friend, with that ashamed look on her face, broke through every one of Charlie's angry reserves. Tears fell from her eyes and she choked back sobs as she made her way the last stretch of the stairs.

Once she mounted the top of the stairs, Charlie peered down at Alastor below. It was hard to see him at her angle, but she could tell he hadn't moved. When another strike of lightning flashed in the window at his side, she could see a deep frown etched on his face. And Charlie, who was still upset and consumed with anger, felt justified at seeing his misery.

But there was a part of her, somewhere hidden in the storm raging inside her chest, that cried at the sight.

A/N: The Young Vampire and Other Cautionary Tales is a French anthology novel written by the late J.-H. Rosny Aîné, published in sections through the late 19th century to the mid-20th century. It was later adapted into English by Brian Stableford and published as one novel in the early 21st century. For the sake of the fic, the American publishing was streamlined several decades earlier than history dictated.