Chapter 4 The Host
Thomas had thrown hundreds of parties in his nearly sixty years.
Charity galas. Fundraisers. Political dinners.
Each one meticulously planned, flawlessly executed, designed to achieve a specific outcome.
Planned…by someone else. Party planners.
Event coordinators. Noah. But never by Thomas personally.
Until tonight.
Because the specific outcome of tonight’s event…was a murder.
“You’re doing that thing,” Aiden said, adjusting his Crowley costume, a perfectly tailored three-piece suit in shades of gray and black, complete with snake-eye contacts that made his blue eyes look unsettling.
“What thing?” Thomas asked, though he knew exactly what thing.
“That thing where you mentally review every possible variable to ensure nothing goes wrong.”
Aiden turned to straighten Thomas’s collar, his Aziraphale costume, cream and tartan and absurdly fussy, working perfectly on him. “Relax. Everything’s in place.”
“Relaxing is how mistakes happen.”
“Tommy.” Aiden cupped his face, forcing him to focus.
“This has been a long time coming. You said it yourself. He can’t take much more.
We’ve planned this down to the minute. The perimeter is secure.
Elite has thirty plus people monitoring the grounds.
Calliope has every camera feed live. The children will be locked down with Ever, Cricket, and Charlie.
The guests have been..warned of what might occur.
” He kissed him softly. “This will go off without a hitch, just as all your plans do.”
Thomas took a deep breath and let it out.
He knew that their victim had suffered more than enough to meet the code.
Hell, Thomas had given orders months ago.
But what had happened six weeks ago had sealed his resolve, changing the entire trajectory of the party.
This had to happen. It had to. Did Thomas need to make this such a…
spectacle? Maybe not. But he thought it might soften the blow. Even if it was risky.
He’d never liked the messy kind of justice, too impulsive, too undisciplined. Tonight wasn’t chaos. It was choreography. Every detail, every guest, every locked door designed to serve a purpose.
Thomas allowed himself a moment to lean into Aiden’s touch, drawing strength from his husband’s steady confidence. “And if it doesn’t?”
“Then we adapt.” Aiden’s smirk was sin incarnate. “In the grand scheme of things, this is less a mission and more a…party game.” He released him, voice low and gleaming. “Besides, what’s the worst that could happen? They survive? Unlikely.”
Thomas wasn’t used to this version of Aiden. Even after all these years together, seeing him like this—relaxed, wickedly amused, content to revel in the violence they’d perfected—still caught him off guard. “I’d prefer not to have to try again.”
Aiden’s grin widened, sharp enough to draw blood. “Which is why it’s going to work the first time.” He offered his arm. “Now come on. Our guests are arriving.”
Our guests. Theirs. Their guests, in their home.
Thomas truly couldn’t see them anywhere but here.
While he sometimes toyed with the idea of buying a smaller house, moving closer to his adult children—to give Theo a life with kids his own age—this place held too many memories.
It was a fortress, a legacy, and when necessary, a killing ground. Like tonight.
Music drifted faintly from the ballroom below, a low, elegant pulse beneath the sound of laughter. The kind that made people forget they were standing on a trapdoor.
They descended the grand staircase together, Thomas slipping seamlessly into his role as gracious host while Aiden scanned the room like a sentry, those uncanny blue eyes missing nothing.
The ballroom had been transformed into something out of a gothic fever dream—velvet-draped archways, chandeliers strung with cobwebbed crystals, and flickering candlelight that painted the walls in shades of blood and gold.
It was lavish, theatrical—murder disguised as celebration.
Already, guests were filtering in through the main entrance, their costumes ranging from elaborate to absurd. The air shimmered with perfume, laughter, and the faint metallic scent of anticipation.
“Grandpas!”
Jett and Jagger came barreling toward them, small comets of chaos in bright colors. Thomas squinted. Candy. Jett was wrapped like a chocolate bar; Jagger, a giant lollipop. Behind them, Atticus looked harried in his Captain America costume, while Jericho—as the Winter Soldier—amused.
“Boys,” Thomas greeted warmly, crouching to their level. “You look very…sweet.”
“We’re part of Ever’s candy theme!” Jett announced proudly, puffing his chest. “All the littles are candy. Guess why!”
“Because candy is Ever’s favorite treat and you’re all Ever’s favorite?” Thomas guessed, playing along.
Jett’s brow furrowed, small face wrinkled in deep thought, like he was suddenly unsure if that was the right answer. Jagger, ever the confident one, had no such hesitation.
“No, Grandpa,” he said solemnly. “Because Ever is Glut-N-E. And he loves candy.”
Thomas blinked once, then huffed a laugh. “Of course he is.” He ruffled their hair. “Are you excited for the party?”
“Are we gonna get to play the game?” Jett asked, eyes wide and far too eager.
Atticus made a strangled sound. “No. You’re going to be in the children’s wing with Ever and your cousins, remember?”
“Aww,” they chorused in disappointment.
“But—”
“No buts.” Jericho scooped up Jagger with effortless strength. “Come on, mini-muppets. Let’s scope out the rations in the nursery before you cause any trouble. I’m sure Ever has big plans for you later.”
“We don’t cause trouble,” Jett protested as Atticus lifted him. “We solve problems.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Atticus muttered, but he was smiling as he turned toward the children’s wing.
Thomas chuckled under his breath. “Why do I feel like there’s a story there?”
Atticus shot him a tired but fond look. “Oh, there definitely is. I’ll tell you everything later. After…” He gestured at the ballroom with a free hand. “After all this.” His tone carried weight, subtle but deliberate.
Jericho nodded toward the stairwell. “Let’s go. I won’t relax until the kids and Boots are behind a locked steel door.”
It was then Thomas noticed the cat carrier in Jericho’s other hand. Through the mesh window, Atticus’s cat—Boots, an unapologetically round lump of fur and disdain—was cleaning a paw with dainty precision.
“Wow, she’s…hefty,” Aiden observed, voicing what Thomas was too polite to say.
Atticus gasped like he’d been shot. “You take that back.”
“That rhinestone collar looks permanently embedded in her neck,” Aiden teased. “Have mercy on the poor thing.”
“Don’t let him rile you up, freckles,” Jericho said, rubbing a soothing hand along his husband’s spine. “Clearly someone is taking their demon costume a little too seriously.” His grin was sharp. “Boots isn’t fat. She’s…well-loved.”
“That’s a whole lotta love,” Aiden taunted.
“Aiden,” Thomas warned, though amusement crept into his voice.
Aiden smirked, utterly unrepentant. “I’m just saying, if she rolls over, the gravitational pull might take out half the dessert table.”
“Which is exactly why she’s being locked away,” Atticus shot back, clutching the carrier closer.
Thomas shook his head, laughter rumbling low in his chest. Even standing in the middle of what was, effectively, a death trap, they could still joke like this. It made the darkness of the evening almost…domestic.
As Jericho and Atticus headed toward the west corridor, the boys chattering at full volume, Thomas watched them go, his family, his strange, brilliant, terrifying family. He’d built an empire of killers and misfits, and somehow, they’d built something that felt like home.
He turned back toward Aiden, who was surveying the ballroom again, the faintest smile playing on his lips.
“They look happy,” Aiden said.
Thomas hummed in agreement. “They are.”
He let his gaze sweep across the sea of guests, trusted allies, dangerous friends, wolves dressed like royalty. All of them here for one purpose.
Tonight, everyone he loved was under one roof. Friends. Family. Colleagues. Monsters of his own making.
And tonight, they’d finally be rid of a problem.
He didn’t have to say it aloud. The air was already charged with the promise of blood.
Guests arrived in waves. August and Lucas came next, trailed by the twins dressed as gumdrops and little Alister as the world’s sweetest gummy bear.
Thomas’s lips twitched. He never worried about the girls—they had the self-assuredness of small tyrants—but Alister was another story.
Such a quiet thing, always hovering close to Lucas like a shadow.
He used to love visiting the estate, spending whole weekends underfoot in Thomas’s office, peppering him with questions.
But the older he got, the more he began displaying the same abilities as his father, and with that came the shrinking inwards, the hesitance.
It worried Thomas more than he cared to admit.
But tonight, at least, the boy seemed in good spirits. He waved shyly at Thomas, then tucked himself neatly between his sisters as if they were his shields.
Lucas’s Joker costume was disturbingly accurate, the grin too wide, the eyes too alive. August’s Batman was dark, brooding, and maybe a little too on the nose for a man who preferred solving problems with a knife.
“These two will be keeping Ever on their toes tonight,” Lucas said, looking exhausted but fond. “I hope it’s as hard to break out of the new children’s wing as it is to break in. The girls’ new obsession seems to be reenacting The Great Escape.”
“They’ve already made two attempts this week while we were packing,” August added, tone resigned.
“We weren’t escaping, we were conducting an experiment,” Arabella corrected primly, glowering up at Lucas. “‘Sides, we knew you could find us ’cause you’re psychic.”