The sun sunk below the sea, leaving behind a burned orange sky flecked with faint stars. A sea breeze brought cooler air, but the heat coming off the barbecue counteracted it nicely, and Laurence felt in his bones that this was the right thing for them to do tonight.

As much fun as trying to convince Quentin to dress as a cowboy might have been.

Quentin poked doubtfully at sausages on the grill while Laurence set out a bag of tea lights by the side of the pool, and Clifton sat with his feet in the water. Lisa had even turned up, though she kept herself separate from the others, curled up on a deckchair beneath one of the brightly-colored parasols by the poolside.

Laurence wasn’t too surprised that Felipe wasn’t to be found. The guy was far more interested in chilling out than getting serious, and he’d found himself a party to get invited to.

“How do you tell whether they are ready?”

Laurence laughed and looked toward Quentin. “Baby, why don’t you let me do it?”

The earl’s features scrunched up into his adorably stubborn little scowl. “I’m sure it can’t be that difficult.”

Windsor hopped up onto the back of a vacant chair and clacked his beak in amusement. Then his maw opened wide, and a word seemed to spring out like a gunshot. “Poop!”

Quentin froze. Worse, he looked guilty as hell.

Laurence blinked. “Did he just…” He hopped up to his feet and looked between bird and boyfriend.

They were eyeing each other like there was a conspiracy going on.

“Quen?” Laurence said it slowly. “Is there anything you wanna tell me?”

Quentin’s cheeks were bright, and not only with heat from the grill. He used the tongs in his hand to gesture toward Windsor as he faced Laurence. “It’s all his fault, darling. I had nothing to do with it.”

Windsor flapped his wings as he cawed with glee.

“Really? ‘Cause it was kinda a British-sounding poop if you ask me…”

Lisa hid her smirk behind her hand.

“Honestly, all I said to him was that if he wished to poop he had best take it outside, and that was that!”

“Poop!” Windsor agreed.

“Will you stop it!” Quentin was so flustered now that he’d apparently forgotten all about the sausages, and Laurence’s delicate nostrils picked out the first hint of burning.

“Sausages,” he prompted, doing his damnedest not to laugh.

“Bloody hell!” Quentin turned and poked them all, one after the other.

Clifton splashed his feet in the water and laid back with his hands behind his head. There were no birds in the sky for him to entertain himself with, but he seemed happy enough without the distraction. To Laurence’s mind, the kid had come a long way already, even if he barely spoke more than one sentence a day. So when Clifton spoke, everyone present stopped what they were doing to stare at him.

“I reckon,” Clifton drawled, “this is a great idea.”

“See? Even Clifton’s on board!” Laurence grinned as he peeled off toward the house. “I’ll go rustle up Kim and Soraya, then we can get started.”

* * *

“So now what?” Soraya mumbled around her last mouthful of food. “Do we start the touchy-feely stuff now?”

Laurence squeezed Quentin’s fingers as he nodded to her. “Sure. All you do is talk about someone you’ve lost, and then light a candle for them from the one in the middle.”

Quentin glanced to him, then took the hint, and a little flame flickered to life to consume the centre candle’s wick.

“Why me first?” She gave Laurence the stink-eye, then huffed and leaned back in her chair. “Fine. Okay. Whatever. Mom died when I was six. Okay?”

Laurence felt Quentin’s fingers stiffen, and heard the soft gasp at his side.

“I’m so sorry,” Quentin murmured.

“Eh, it’s okay.” Soraya nudged some grass with her toes. “She was in Afghanistan. Stupid roadside bomb.” Her thin shoulders shrugged loosely, but her head dipped forward.

Laurence released Quentin’s hand and leaned toward her. He propped his elbows on his knees. “What was she like, your mom?”

“She didn’t take any shit. She was funny, smart, super strong.” Soraya sucked her teeth. “So pretty, too. She was in the Army all my life, but when she came home on leave she spent all her time with me like I meant everything to her. She wanted to leave and come home to look after me, but they wouldn’t let her. They pulled some legal stuff to stop her leaving before her enlistment was up or something, and she ended up there two more years than she should have been before a bomb killed her. My auntie raised me instead.” She rubbed her eyes and took a deep breath, then cleared her throat. “Anyway, that was my mom. I wish I’d… known her better.”

Soraya jerked forward out of her chair and grabbed a candle, then held it to the lit flame and set it down once it caught. She let out a ragged breath and crumpled down again, leaning toward Kim and gripping her hand.

“Your mom would be proud of you,” Laurence murmured. “You’re everything she was.”

Soraya shrugged and said nothing.

He looked on to Kim, but she shook her head as she rested a hand on Soraya’s shoulder.

“Clifton?”

“Eh. You know how it goes.” Clifton was sprawled out over the grass, his feet long since dried from their dip in the water. “We’ve all lost someone, right? Other than Kim.” He smiled wistfully. “That’s what life’s about. You lose your friends, you lose your family, and eventually you lose yourself.”

Laurence blinked slowly.

Clifton didn’t pause. “Lost my grandpa a couple years ago. Pancreatic cancer. Ate him right up. He was happy to go, though. Said we all gotta go some time. My grandma died long before I was born. He never re-married.” He shrugged as he wriggled his toes. “Miss him, though. He had a wicked cool sense of humor. Some really interesting stories from Vietnam. Wish I’d heard more of ‘em before he went.” He rolled onto his side and stretched out one arm to pluck up a candle, then lit it. As he set it beside Soraya’s, he added, “God speed, Grandpa Joe. At least you’re with Grandma Wendy again.”

They fell silent a while, watching the little flames dance in the breeze, and Laurence marveled at how fire could be such a comforting thing in small doses.

That could be why he wasn’t so keen on going to his mom’s Samhain tonight. She was a priestess, and events she attended were busier than this. They usually had bonfires, way bigger than a cosy little fire for a few friends to sit around, and even knowing Quentin could put it out with a thought wasn’t enough to stop the trickle of dread down his spine.

No, this was plenty. And it seemed to be doing the kids some good.

Lisa flicked some crumbs off her lap and reached for a candle. “My dad was an asshole, and I killed him,” she muttered. “He deserved it, and I hope he rots in hell.”

She held her tea light to the flame of Clifton’s until it caught, then set it down and leaned back away from it.

There was a stiff silence for a few seconds, then Soraya shrugged.

“Amen,” she said.

Quentin drew a deep breath, and Laurence turned toward him.

“I suppose that everyone knows that my mother died a few years ago,” Quentin murmured. “But you don’t know her. Can’t know her.” He brushed strands of hair out of his eyes with the backs of his fingers and regarded the candles. “She was beautiful and kind. Her laughter came easily. She taught me compassion when all my father wished for me to learn was…” He trailed off into a soft laugh. “Well. There’s a Wilfred Owen poem about that. But this isn’t about him, it’s about her. She was light and life, and when she passed, when I found her-”

His voice cut out and his gaze lost focus.

Laurence knew that look. Quentin was counting to ten.

“I found her body,” Quentin whispered. “In her rose garden. God alone knew how long she’d been dead, but I knew the moment I saw her that she was gone. People aren’t… They aren’t gray. They can’t be that color and still be alive.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and was quiet another ten seconds.

“Jesus,” Soraya whispered.

Quentin raised his head and reached for a candle with his hand, rather than his gifts. “She was my safety net, and I miss her terribly.”

The wick caught as he held it to the flame Lisa had lit, and he set the tea light down by the others so that they could flicker together.

Windsor gently clacked his beak and waddled over to nestle down by Laurence’s side, then cast a beady eye up at him with some expectation.

Laurence rubbed his jaw. He knew this was coming, and he wasn’t looking forward to it.

What a hypocrite. How could he say this would help them when he’d refused to do it himself every Samhain since dad died? Windsor was right. Laurence had to press on.

He drew in air and looked to the stars.

“I lost my dad,” he said when he felt he could trust his own voice. “I knew it was coming and I couldn’t stop it. First time my gifts ever manifested I saw the future, and I saw my dad die, and a year later I watched it happen right in front of my eyes. He was…”

Laurence trailed off as his throat grew tight, and he sniffed. Goddess, how could this still hurt so bad?

‘Cause it was only a couple of years ago, dumbass.

Windsor rested his head on Laurence’s thigh and made a soft little sound of comfort.

Laurence nodded gratefully to the bird. “He was this big guy. Larger than life and twice as loving. He loved music and terrible jokes and good food and even better chocolate. He took good care of me and Mom and he could always make the bad stuff go away. He was like the fountain of dad jokes.” He laughed a little. “If I’m ever a dad, I wanna be a dad the way he was. With a big heart. I wish…” He choked again, and had to wipe at his eyes. “I wish he was still here.”

He picked up a candle and lit it, then sat back and leaned against Quentin’s side.

Quentin twisted to press his lips to Laurence’s forehead.

“Thanks, baby,” Laurence whispered as the tension began to seep from his bones. “I think I needed this.”

“I think we all did,” Quentin whispered in return.

Laurence looked to the children sprawled out peacefully around the flames and had to agree.

* * *

Quentin helped him tidy up the garden after the kids had gone to bed, and Laurence rinsed the dishes before he stacked them in the dishwasher.

“Are you ready for bed?” Quentin murmured to him.

Laurence glanced across and caught the soft smile and light gleam in his eye which hinted at something more than sleep, and he laughed gently. “In a while, baby. I wanna try something first.”

“Oh?” Quentin placed the last of the condiments back in the fridge and closed it.

“Yeah. Samhain’s when the veil between worlds is thinnest. It’s the best time of year to look to the future. I’m gonna see if I can stop any surprises sneaking up on us, you know?”

It wasn’t entirely true. Hell, if Laurence were honest to himself, it wasn’t at all true.

He wanted something else, and there was no way to tell Quentin what it was without defying the very purpose of what he was going to attempt.

“An excellent idea,” Quentin murmured. Still, he leaned in to kiss Laurence’s cheek, and his lips lingered.

Laurence couldn’t blame him for wanting more, and not even in an arrogant way. No. Laurence had lit this fire, and now he was unwilling to stoke it, because whenever he was awake enough, his brain fucked with him and showed him things he desperately wished he could forget.

Things he couldn’t tell Quentin.

Thank the Goddess that Quentin was satisfied with some blow jobs and dry humping, ‘cause the thought of going any further turned Laurence’s stomach, and he couldn’t live like this. They couldn’t live like this.

He had to find the right path, and Samhain was his one chance to get this right.

Laurence turned his head to brush his lips across Quentin’s, but he withdrew a second after. “Go to bed,” he chuckled. “I’ll catch up with you when I’m done.”

“All right. Good luck.”

“Thanks, baby.”

He was going to damn well need it.