Refracted (The Celadon Circle Book 2) (26 page)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Jordan

“Her name is Illyria.”

Gina’s voice was wooden, devoid of inflection. It was eerie, yet welcome at the same time. Xander explained that while under his influence she would answer any question he asked, but the replies would come from her subconscious and Gina would not be aware of what she was saying.

So far, they’d learned that an angel – Michael’s first in command – had been ordered to distract Jordan’s family while other soldiers looked for her. According to what Gina had overheard while negotiating the terms of her afterlife with the Archangel, there’d been a sudden change of plans. The Aeon had followed Nathan to a meeting with Quinn and Gabe regarding a holy relic – a book of great importance. Michael had immediately ordered Jordan’s family be detained until it was retrieved.

“Quinn and Gabriel have the book. Illyria was told to drop everything and do whatever was necessary to get it.”

“What is this book?” Xander asked.

Gina shrugged. In a stilted tone, she said, “I don’t know. The name was never mentioned. Michael said it contained information on magic from all of creation and powerful spells.”

“Did he say what he planned to do with it?”

“With instruction from the book, Michael believes he can obliterate all evil on Earth. No one with a drop of demon blood would be spared.”

To Ivy and Jordan, Xander asked, “Is this ringing any bells for you?”

Jordan shook her head.

“I could ask Dad.” Ivy looked at the door. “Maybe he knows what she’s talking about.”

Jordan nodded. “I have to get to my family. If this book is as important as she says, Michael will be desperate to get his hands on it. Who knows what he’s capable of?”

Would he kill for it?

“I can hear them.”

Gina was no longer under Xander’s influence. With his attention diverted, the spell had broken. Face pale, eyes closed tight, she gripped the seat of the metal chair with both hands. Jordan expected her to be angry. Instead, she looked petrified.

“Hear who?” Xander asked.

“The angels.” Gina’s body trembled. Her breath came in short bursts. “I can hear them talking. What did you do to me?!”

“I-I didn’t do anything.” Xander stammered. “I don’t have the power to eavesdrop on angels or transform people into two-way radios. Are you sure, Gina?”

“Fuck yes, I’m sure!” She pulled at the chain attached to her ankle. “I have to get out of here. Let me out of here now!”

Ivy stepped forward and slapped her across the face. Gina lightly touched the spot on her cheek where Ivy’s handprint blazed red against her porcelain skin. “Shut your cakehole and tell us what they’re saying.”

“Fine!” Gina slumped and closed her eyes. “Michael is speaking to Illyria.” She hesitated, cocking her head. “Illyria’s in a town called Gillette. She said she used Reverberation – whatever the hell that is – to track Quinn and has his location narrowed to a square mile…there aren’t many places for him to hide and she’ll find him soon. Michael asked for her position…she’s near an elementary school. Michael said to remember that the book is her objective, if she must use force, to keep injuries to a minimum if possible. Another angel just asked if she needs assistance and Illyria told him it wasn’t necessary, that Quinn is alone…Michael told her to report back when she has the book.” Gina paused, then opened her eyes. “That’s it. Everything’s quiet now.”

Jordan leaned against the wall. Gillette was about an hour south of Dixon’s Bluff. She’d been through that town at least a hundred times and knew exactly where the elementary school was. If she teleported there, would she be able to locate Quinn before Illyria? Doubtful, but Jordan had to try.

Xander and Ivy watched her with keen eyes. “So, when do we leave?” her sister asked.

“As soon as possible.” Jordan headed for the door.

“Wait! What do we do about her?” Xander motioned to Gina who, from the raised eyebrows and half-open mouth, wanted to know the same thing.

“I tell you what we’re gonna do.” Jordan backtracked to the table. “We’re going to let Orias deal with her.” Tapping her bottom lip with her finger nail, Jordan said, “Tell me, Gina, how do you think Orias would feel about one of his own using her powers on her siblings, turning on them, spying for the enemy,
killing
her sister, and making a deal with an archangel for her eternal soul?”

Gina froze, the heaving of her ample chest and an audible gulp when she swallowed the only signs that she was still in the here and now. 

Jordan waited for the severity of Gina’s fate to hit home…and it did.

Her face fell, as if the metaphorical screws holding it perfectly in place were loosened by a couple of turns. It wasn’t a pretty sight, what fear could do to a person’s physical appearance. Gina aged in a matter of seconds. Wrinkles appeared like omens, cutting furrows through her faultless ivory skin. Her cheek bones became more prominent, giving her face an emaciated appearance.

“You can’t do that,” Gina said, her voice cracking. “You have no idea what he’ll do to me!”

“Oh, I think I do.”

Jordan walked to the door. Ivy and Xander fell in beside her. Before leaving, she took one last look at the person responsible for the pain she felt. Mazie’s sweet laughter echoed in her head like wind chimes and Jordan hoped she’d made the right decision where Gina’s fate was concerned – hoped her little sister would be proud of her for not compromising who she was.

“The only reason I’m letting you live is because there’s nothing I could do that’s worse than what you’ve done to yourself. Death would be a blessing, Gina, and I think you know that now. You deserve every horrible punishment you’ve got coming.”

“Jordan, wait!”

Gina’s faced crumpled but it was too late for tears to move her, if they ever had a chance at all.

Ivy gently pushed her out the door and then turned back to their sister. “You can expect a delivery from 1-800-KARMA. I hope you get the biggest bouquet they have.”

<><><>

Back in her room, Jordan changed into the black leather pants and lightweight lycra shirt Ivy gave her. She didn’t bother with weapons, knowing they would be useless and could hinder any quick movements she might have to make. She laced up her black boots and ran downstairs before her mind could dwell on the fact that her brother was being stalked by an angel.

Quinn’s not dead
, she told herself.
I’d know if he was. I’d feel it
.

She met Xander and Ivy in the living room. Aamon had her sister pulled to the side and they whispered in urgent tones. Ignoring them for the moment, she turned to Xander, who looked more than a bit intense.

He had changed clothes, as well. The black military get-up made him look strong…handsome. Jordan’s lips burned with the memory of the kiss they shared. Xander said his path was with her and she believed him.

When he pulled her into his arms, she didn’t protest. Jordan rested her head on his chest and circled his waist with her arms, drawing him close. It didn’t bother her that she’d grown so complacent, so familiar with this guy who was still, for all intent and purposes, a stranger. She was grateful to have him.

At last, Ivy joined them. Aamon reached over and kissed the top of Jordan’s head. She no longer hated her father for what he’d done. He’d sold his soul to save his daughter back in a time when medicine consisted of herbs and prayers. When Jordan thought about her family, both Cambion and human, she could see herself doing the same thing to save one of their lives.

“I won’t tell you not to go,” Aamon said. “Just please promise to call if you need me.” He sighed. “I lost one of my kids today; I couldn’t bear to lose another.” Pulling her and Ivy into a group hug, he murmured, “I love you girls.”

“Love you, too, Dad. Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.” Ivy kissed his cheek.

Jordan didn’t know what to say. It had been a long time since a parent had shown affection toward her. Uncle Case wasn’t the touchy-feely type. His hugs were few and far between.

Did she love Aamon? Jordan honestly didn’t know. Part of her felt if she allowed him into her heart, showed more than cursory respect for this demon who was her real father, it would diminish Richard Bailey’s memory; cheapen the risks he took to protect her. What happened so long ago was tragic. One bad decision had led to another and, in the end, no one could claim victory. Now, it was up to Jordan to decide when or if she could move on.

Standing there with Aamon, not knowing if she’d ever see him again, Jordan felt she owed him more than a casual nod.

“Dad?” she asked, hating how small she sounded. The word floated on the air, rootless, but maybe, just maybe, one day that would change.

Ivy’s head snapped to attention. Aamon sucked in a quick breath and covered his mouth with his hand, suppressing any emotion lest he ruin the moment by scaring her away.

Amused, Jordan watched her father mentally pick his way through the aftermath of the bombshell she’d dropped. His face, like some sort of fantastical creature, morphed from one visage to another – most accompanied by a grin he couldn’t subdue.

Moments later, rocking on his heels, Aamon said, “Yes, hon? What is it?”

“I just wanted to say that I understand now.” She licked her lips, uncomfortable with an audience. “And I’m trying – I really am.”

It wasn’t much, but it was more than she could have managed three months before.

Aamon touched her cheek and she placed her hand over his. “One step at a time, sweet girl, one step at a time.”

Xander watched their exchange with a pained expression. Jordan wondered if he’d ever been hugged, if he’d ever had a parental figure to lean on. She doubted it.

Aamon must have been thinking along those same lines. He faced the young man who had so recently come into their lives, and then pulled him into an embrace fathers reserve for their sons.

“Forgive me for not welcoming you into our family sooner.”

Xander looked about as lost as Donald Trump in a corn field. He gave Aamon an awkward pat on the back. “It’s okay, you don’t have to,” he mumbled. “I mean, I’m not family, not really.”

Aamon clapped him on the shoulder. “You have a home here if you want it, and I’ve always got room for another child. You don’t have to be blood to be family.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Quinn

Suffocating.

Quinn’s lungs, constricted and burning from constant exertion, screamed for air. Legs as weak as matchsticks, he stumbled around another piece of machinery he couldn’t name. His fingers trailed along the corrugated surface. Toxic snowflakes of burnt-orange rust peeled away and drifted to the floor.

The vacant factory had seen better days. It was a labyrinth of dark passages, tipped catwalks, and fetid air. The cloying scents of diesel fuel, damp concrete, and urine clung to him. It seeped into his clothes and the pores of his exposed skin. Quinn imagined how horrible the smell would be if it were August instead of October. He swallowed hard against the bile that crept up his throat.

Rounding a corner, he tripped over a nest of moldy blankets and something squeaked. A rat the size of a Chihuahua scampered from the pile. Quinn halted his labored progress until the rodent’s fat, leathery tail disappeared beneath a scarred desk. He shivered. Rats were the least of his problems but he still hated them. He nudged the makeshift den with the toe of his boot and prayed no more critters were home. Quinn speculated on the number of derelicts who took refuge in the dreary, crippled building, and hoped none of them squatted there right now. To be anywhere in his general vicinity meant death.

Death
.

It was coming for him.

The sun climbed higher in the sky to burn away the fog that lingered around the scattered buildings of this abandoned industrial park. As the wet foundations dried, their lighter color hinted at subtle purity.

Illyria was also searching for someone to purify. Quinn wondered if he’d feel clean after she scorched him from the inside out with the touch of her hand or ran him through with her sword. Maybe, once his ashes mingled with her maniacal laughter and the wind carried them ever upward toward Heaven, he would be whole again.

Vengeance and guilt, with their voracious appetites, had gnawed at his soul for years: the victims he couldn’t save, the family he left behind, the sister he tormented...nothing suppressed their cravings for long.

Once Illyria took his life, perhaps their hunger would be sated.

Unable to go any farther, Quinn’s legs buckled. He crawled to a nearby wall and leaned against it. Moisture from the floor seeped into his torn jeans, adding to his misery. His lungs whistled as they sucked in air. Legs, splayed like a broken marionette, seized, and then cramped. Too tired to massage them, he clenched his jaws to keep from crying out.

In the silent, drafty room, the sound of a door shattering was akin to ringside seats at a car crash.

The angel had arrived.

It was a shame he never made it to the school. He’d tried, but no matter what direction he took, the light was there, herding him like some sort of celestial border collie.

He was only a sheep.

Quinn wondered if Gabe was still nearby. If Illyria was able to track him surely his Guardian could, too. It was a long shot but that’s all he had left.

Somewhere in the dark recesses of the factory, a piece of heavy machinery scraped across the cement floor and he winced.  She was getting closer, and Quinn had no strength left to run. Hell, he was too tired to crawl.

Footsteps echoed, reverberating through his mind. The angel made no effort to disguise her whereabouts and why should she? Illyria was immortal. There was nothing a simple human could do to deter her. His only saving grace was that he was the only one who knew where
The Oraculum
was. Unless she could read minds (please God, no!) Michael would never get his hands on the book he coveted. Its whereabouts would die with Quinn.

As if on cue, black boots turned the corner. His eyes travelled up shapely legs in skin-tight material, taut stomach, round breasts, long, almost delicate neck, and the face of a centerfold model. If not for the leering eyes and the wicked-sharp sword in her hand, Illyria would be the perfect picture of every guy’s wet dream.

When her tongue snaked out, leaving her full, pink lips glistening, Quinn groaned and closed his eyes. “You’re killing me,” he mumbled.

“Not yet.”

Damn, even her voice was sexy – deep and husky, like the rumble of a finely tuned engine.

When he opened his eyes again, she was kneeling in front of him. Quinn never heard her move. She was better at hunting than he was. He could appreciate that, even if he was the prey.

“I want the book,” she purred, and his heart thumped a little faster. “Tell me where it is and we can both get on with our morning.” She moved closer, leaning so far on her hands and knees that her nose skimmed his neck and moved up to his ear. Her warm breath mingled with the currents of chilly air, pushing against his skin. Quinn shivered even as he broke out in goose flesh.

“Tell me,” she whispered.

“I can’t remember,” he said, breathing hard.

And for a moment there, he couldn’t. It was all he could do to form a coherent sentence. Her nearness screwed with his mind, like static on a radio station. He would form a thought only to have it whisked away on a tide of gentle dissonance.

“Perhaps I can help with your memory loss.”

His witty comeback was lost in translation. Her mouth inched sideways, trailing heat as she worked her way across his jaw. When they were face to face, her perfect lips hovered above his. Eyes half closed, Illyria gently pulled air into her mouth and smiled, as if tasting something sweet.

By the time her mouth met his, Quinn was groaning with need. Her lips fit perfectly with his. They moved in a synchronized dance against each other. She tasted like clover honey.

Tell me where
The Oraculum
is
.

He could hear her in his head, gently prodding, urging. He went to break away but she climbed on his lap and dredged farther with her tongue, sliding it over his own. Suddenly, he couldn’t get enough.

Tell me
, she beckoned again.

Oh, God, she was everywhere. His mind was full of her. Illyria commanded his thoughts and actions. As this kiss deepened and she ran her hands through his hair, pulling him closer, he began to question his reason for hiding the book.

Why shouldn’t he tell Illyria? It didn’t belong to him. The book was a holy relic and Michael needed it far worse than they did. He could use it to save the world. No more demons to battle! No more nightmare monsters to take innocent lives. Just…peace.

No!

He shouted the word in his head and pushed with all his might. Unprepared for resistance, Illyria rolled off his lap but quickly sprang to her feet.

Shaking, hands balled into fists, she snarled, “You just made a big mistake. It would have been much more pleasant to do it my way.”

Quinn felt more exhausted now than before she’d kissed him. Limbs heavy, every movement he made was clumsy, damn near impossible. 

“Yeah, well,” he said, head rolling back to rest against the wall, “I’ve never been one for taking the
pleasant
route. Frankly, I wouldn’t know how.”

“Pity, I was actually enjoying myself.” Illyria paced, one perfectly manicured nail tapping against her chin. She stopped and studied him. “You aren’t going to tell me where the book is, are you?”

Looking her in the eyes with all the concentration he could marshal, he replied with a definite, “No.”

She sighed.

If Illyria was trying to emulate the loving seraph portrayed in picture books, she was failing miserably. All she managed was a bad photoshopped copy, a cheap imitation that didn’t fool him in the slightest. Long face and drooping shoulders aside, there was a glint in her eyes she couldn’t extinguish. Quinn knew that spark – had seen it many times in his own eyes reflected in dirty windows and spotted mirrors.

Illyria was closing in on her quarry and wet work was just around the corner.

The high of the hunt used to be the only reason he worked in the Circle. Unlike Nathan, Quinn didn’t kill monsters because it was the right thing to do. He’d seen enough incidents in his time to know that humans could be just as evil, if not more, than the creatures he slaughtered. No, he did it for the rush, to feel
something
, to nourish the hate.

He looked at Illyria and saw the person he used to be – the person he tried so hard to forget.

Cracking her knuckles, she said, “In that case, you leave me no choice.”

As smooth as a serial killer, Illyria shrugged off the façade of a benevolent angel like a cloak. What he saw underneath made Quinn rethink his decision. Maybe he should beg to resume the kiss. It would be painless and wouldn’t involve blood loss.

When she bent over and touched a fingertip to his head, setting his veins on fire, Quinn knew he was right.