Soul to Shepherd (30 page)

“It’s complicated,” I finally muttered.

“Actually, it’s not.” Quinn got out of bed and headed to the bathroom.

A while later, Dylan stopped in to check on us. He eyed the plate of leftover blueberry pancakes on the kitchen counter.

“What’s this?”

“Evie made me breakfast,” Quinn replied, grinning. His mood seemed to have improved some after a long swim in the pool.

“Oh, did she now?” Dylan teased, eyeing me. “So, you’re feeling better then?”

“Yeah.” The achiness in my body was completely gone, but I still felt tired and weak. In fact, Quinn was still physically stronger than me at the moment, the irony of which was not lost on me, especially considering our conversation earlier in the day.

Dylan studied my expression, and I knew he was trying to get into my head, trying to determine just how much better I felt—or didn’t feel. I quickly averted my eyes and looked out the window to see the sun was setting again.

“Hey, what time is it out there?” I asked, changing the subject. With as often as the sun seemed to rise and set around here, it was difficult to gauge how much time had passed on Earth since we’d arrived here—even by portal standards.

“Six in the morning, mountain time, on the twelfth.”

“This place really screws with your sense of time,” I noted.

“Yeah, I have a theory about that,” Dylan stated. He explained how he’d recently discovered a handful of portals like Casa del Alma, which he believed existed within a different layer in the fabric of time, one that was physically closer to the plane on which humans lived. He believed that was why there was some fluctuation in weather and time in this portal instead of everything being completely suspended in time like in the Falls.

He also said these new portals were much more difficult to find. While other portals could be identified by a single glimmer of light, like a firefly suspended high up in the sky, these new portals were much trickier to spot. There were no lights identifying their positions in the sky; there were no shimmering effects as you passed though them. The only marker for their locations was a virtually undetectable ripple in the sky. They could easily be passed over by even those who knew of their locations, and nearly impossible for a newcomer to find. That’s what made this portal such an attractive option for our safe house.

Before leaving, Dylan told us he’d check in on us every couple of days to update us and help us keep track of how many days we’d been in hiding.

During those first few days, I experienced firsthand just how different Casa del Alma was from the Falls. I knew time fluctuated from day to night and back again, but there was no consistent pattern as to when or how often the time changes occurred. We could have daylight for what seemed like an eternity, only to be greeted with sunset, dusk and sunrise all within the time it took Quinn to eat a meal.

I also discovered Quinn fully intended to keep his promise to prove to me that I needed his help. In fact, he made it his mission to take care of me. I was still under strict orders to rest until I felt stronger, so we spent the majority of our time lounging by the pool, sitting by the outdoor fireplace, watching a ton of movies, and talking for hours on end. The few times I was able to seduce Quinn, he was almost too reserved, too gentle—like he was afraid he’d break me. And considering how gradually I was recovering, it was no wonder he acted that way.

I was true to my word as well. I took Quinn’s advice as agreed—sans argument or protest. I did, however, have my own questions about why it was taking me so long to heal. I should’ve regained my strength in a matter of minutes, but it’d taken me two days to regain
half
of my strength, and since then, I felt like I’d hit some inexplicable plateau.

Secretly, I was still terrified Dylan was right. What if Shepherds only had a finite amount of blood? What if I’d given too much away and the damage was permanent? What if I’d never be able to regain all of my strength? I shuddered at the thought. The last thing I wanted was to be the weakest link.

I couldn’t help but think that Tartuf had the answers to these questions. But that didn’t really help me because I couldn’t
find
Tartuf. And even if I could, there was the issue of explaining to him what had happened to his Journal.
Crap.
What in the world would I tell him? How mad was he going to be with me for taking the Journal from his office after he’d asked me not to? And, of course, there was the pink elephant in the room, sitting front and center—right now I didn’t have the strength to teleport or phase. I was trapped in the portal, stuck … helpless—and that was the most terrifying scenario of all.

“You need to try to relax,” Quinn insisted on our fifth day in the portal. He walked over to where I was lounging by the outdoor fireplace and began to rub my shoulders.

“I can’t,” I admitted. “It’s driving me insane not knowing what’s going on out there.”

“There’s a good reason why you’re not running around out there.”

“Yeah, because I’m a lame duck.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of preventing you from becoming a
dead
duck,” Quinn countered.

“At least if I had the Journal, I’d
feel
like I was being more productive,” I said, ignoring his comment. “I know it has the answers we need. It spoke of how the head of the clan spent centuries searching for the right generals to lead his army to find a key that would unlock all the unbound souls, or something like that, so they can be recycled.”

“Why would he want to recycle souls?” Quinn asked.

“When a human dies, the soul goes to Heaven, Purgatory, or Hell. That said, a soul still has a chance of being sent back to bond with a new spirit in a new body when the soul is ready.

“But,” I continued, “Mathius, the head of the Servants, intentionally began recycling souls
before
they were ready. He began handpicking souls that had certain histories, certain predilections, for wicked acts—whether it be for creating wars, cults, political abuses, you name it—and then he released these souls in clusters, repopulating the mortal world with these evil seeds. Then Mathius would just sit back and watch how his interference adversely affected the human race decades later.”

“Why go through all the trouble of doing that?”

“Because Mathius wanted more power—he still wants more power—and he thinks he can get it by controlling these souls and introducing more evil in the world.”

“So, why not interfere more directly? Why use mortals to do it instead?” Quinn asked.

“I don’t know—but I bet I would if I had that damn Journal.”

“Maybe Dylan and Minerva are making some headway figuring out who took it.”

“Maybe,” I said, trying to hide how disheartened I was feeling.

“I still can’t believe someone took it.”

“Neither can I.” I sighed. “You realize we have to assume the Servants were behind the theft until we know for sure otherwise, right? We’ve got to assume they know about the Falls.” I tousled Quinn’s hair softly and frowned. “Quinn, neither of us can go back there for a while—we may never be able to go there again.”

“I know,” he replied sadly. All of the memories of Quinn and me in the Falls began flashing through my mind, and tears welled up in my eyes.

“Hey,” Quinn grabbed me by the waist and pulled me into him. “Everything’s going to be fine. We’ll make new memories up here,” he said reassuringly.

I nodded slightly as I wiped the tears from my eyes. And then an idea suddenly popped into my mind—one that would surely take my mind off things for a while. “Starting with me making you dinner.” I grinned. “Give me thirty minutes.” I stood up and bolted for the kitchen before Quinn could protest.

Of course, I had no clue what to make for him to eat. But after rummaging through the pantry and fridge, I found all the ingredients to make pasta with sautéed sausage, shrimp and mushrooms in a spicy tomato sauce. I also found some asparagus to roast and a bottle of Italian red wine.
Voila!
Dinner.

“This place is really incredible,” Quinn commented as I walked outside to set the table. He was sitting by the outdoor fireplace and watching the sun set over the ocean.

“Yes, it is,” I agreed, wrapping my arms around him. “Dylan did well.” I leaned over to kiss the top of his head. “Time to eat.”

“Good. I’m starved. What’s on the menu?”

“You’ll see.” I took him by the hand and led him to the table.

“Wow! Smells great.” He sounded surprised when I returned with the food. It made me smile. And to my ultimate satisfaction, he was even more amazed after he took his first bite.

“I will never again doubt your culinary skills.” Quinn took another huge bite of pasta. “
Ever
.”

“What do you mean ‘again’? When did you doubt them in the first place?” I asked, pretending to be miffed.

“Well, with the whole no-eating thing, I just assumed there was a no-cooking thing too.” He took another bite. “But, I clearly stand corrected,” he added, his mouth half-full.

After another helping, Quinn leaned back in his chair, dropped his napkin on top of the table and sighed. “Dinner was awesome. I don’t think I could eat another bite.”

“But you haven’t even had dessert,” I said so hopefully, knowing he’d enjoy the little game I had planned.

“There’s more?” he asked, sounding a little uneasy.

“You didn’t think I’d forget dessert the first time I made you dinner, did you?” I asked as I gathered the dishes from the table.

“No, I suppose not.” He almost looked like he was in pain at the thought of having to eat more.

“Well, prepare yourself. I’ll be right back.” I could no longer hide the smile that was fighting to stretch across my lips, so I quickly turned around and walked into the kitchen. I dumped the dirty dishes in the sink and ran over to the fridge. I felt my excitement buzzing wildly when I walked back outside a moment later and handed Quinn a can of whipped cream.

“Whipped cream.” A puzzled expression crossed his face. “That’s dessert?”

“No,” I cooed.

“Well, then where’s the rest?”

“You have to catch it.” I giggled and ran inside and down the hall towards the bedroom.

“Oh! So that’s how it’s going to be, huh?” he yelled, half-laughing as he ran after me. I squealed in delight as I jumped onto the bed and positioned myself for his attack.

Quinn bolted into the room, took one look at me standing on the mattress, ready to defend myself and laughed. “I’ve got you now!” he shouted. He belly flopped onto the mattress and landed beside my feet. Before I could regain my balance, he grabbed my legs and pulled me down on top of him.

“I just want to tell you this is the best dessert ever,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.

“You haven’t even tried it yet.” I giggled.

He shook the can, filled his mouth with whipped cream and swallowed. A tiny dollop of whipped cream was on the tip of his nose, and I giggled even harder. I wiped the whipped cream off with my finger and fed it to him just before kissing him. I could smell the sweet and buttery scent on his breath.

“So.” He held up the can and looked at me, his deep blue eyes full of mischief. “Where should I start?”

“Anywhere you like.”

“I think you should cook for me more often,” Quinn said as he rolled over in bed to face me the next morning.

“I should, huh?” I asked playfully.

“Definitely. Especially dessert.”

I chuckled.

“Speaking of food,” he rolled onto his back and patted his belly, “I’m hungry.”

“With the amount you ate last night, I thought you’d want to fast today.”

“Apparently, I worked most of it off.” He winked at me.

“Well, in that case, you want me to make you some breakfast?”

“Only if you want to.” I could hear the hope in his voice.

“Breakfast in bed, then?”

“If you insist.” He smiled.

“Okay, wait right here.” I smiled in return, got out of bed and threw on the t-shirt he’d been wearing last night.

“Hey,” Quinn called out from the bedroom as I made my way into the kitchen. “You wouldn’t want to whip up some more of those awesome blueberry pancakes, would you?”

“Coming right up,” I called back.

“I could get used to this,” I heard Quinn say to himself, making me giggle to myself. It was kind of fun doting on him for a change instead of having to protect him.

That afternoon, Quinn walked outside and sat down beside me, a sandwich in hand. I watched as he ate his lunch, loving that I’d committed to memory his steps to making a “perfect” sandwich. In the grand scheme of our relationship, it was such a simple thing, but to me it still said a lot. It said, despite all the huge obstacles we’d had to face, we’d actually taken the time to get to know the little details about each other.

“You have that faraway look in your eyes again,” he observed just before taking the last bite.

“Just thinking,” I said, still preoccupied by my thoughts.

“About what?”

“Oh, about my life. School. Meeting you. How we both ended up here now.”

“Just sweating the small stuff, huh?” he joked.

I chuckled wryly. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Why me?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, why did you talk to me that morning in class when I looked like a complete mess?”

“That’s kind of a random question.”

“I’ve been having a lot of random thoughts, so humor me, okay?”

“Okay.” He paused for a moment and then grinned. “Well, I’d noticed you before. I guess I was just waiting for the right time to make my move.” He winked. “But when you walked into class late, looking like a ‘complete mess,’ all I could think was you might’ve been running late that morning because you’d had a late night—you might’ve been with some other guy—and I didn’t like it. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more it bothered me. By the end of class, I guess I had to know your deal.”

“What would you have done if I’d told you I had a boyfriend from the get-go?”