Chapter 8: Power Out

The storm came in off the water at midnight, and by one the power was out along the whole quay.

I lay in the dark under three blankets and listened to the wind lean on the building.

The window above my bed had a crack in the corner.

At ten past one, the whole sash blew in.

Glass hit the floor and the bed and the back of my chair.

Rain came in sideways, and the candle I had lit went out.

I pulled my knees up and sat in the middle of the mattress with my arms over my head.

Boots hit the outside stairs.

Someone pounded on my door.

"Mireille."

I knew the voice, and I hated that I did.

"I'm fine," I called.

"The window went. I saw it go from the car. Open the door."

"Rule one."

"I'm not touching you. I'm standing in the hall. Open the door."

I opened it.

Killian stood on my threshold, soaked to the skin.

He had a flashlight in one hand and a claw hammer in the other.

His eyes went over me quickly, from my bare feet to my hair.

"Are you hurt?"

"No."

"Stay on the bed."

"It's my room."

"Then stay on the bed in your room."

He crossed the floor and swept the beam over the wreck.

There was a wide strip of glass along the sill and a spray of it across the quilt.

He looked at the floor beside my bed, where my feet would have been.

"Stay," he said again, quieter.

He went down the stairs and came back with a long sheet of plywood from the bakery's shed.

I held the flashlight.

He held the board against the frame with one shoulder and drove the nails with his right hand.

The wind tried to tear it away from him twice.

On the third gust he put his left palm flat on the sill to brace it.

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