complete.
The Young Dread had brought them to Hong Kong and used the athame to get them onto the Bridge surreptitiously, but John was on his own now. She’d made it clear that this was his task to carry out by himself, and that if he succeeded, she would continue his training and also allow him to go to the next place in the journal.
He’d thought it might be difficult to find Quin, but as he neared the middle of the Bridge, he saw her immediately. She was out in the open near her own front door, saying goodbye to a very old Chinese man in a healer’s smock. She looked the same, dark hair falling past her shoulders, dark eyes large against her fair skin. The ties of her blue healer’s smock pulled the material tight at her slender waist, calling to mind countless times he’d placed a hand there and drawn her closer.
John’s breath came a little faster, and he could hear the thumping of his own heart. Of course she looked the same, he reminded himself, it had been only a few weeks since he’d last seen her on Traveler. She looked almost as worried now as she had then.
The other people on the Bridge faded from John’s sight as he maneuvered through foot traffic. He moved the way Maud would move, and the focus of the steady stare came automatically. He was pleased to notice how much he was coming to be like her.
Then his hands were on Quin’s arms, and he was pulling her into the narrow alley between her house and the next. Only when he had her cornered near her back stairs did he realize how fast he’d been going. He hadn’t wanted to give her time to tell him no, and so he’d come at her with a sudden, near-impossible burst of speed, like a Dread.
Quin had her whipsword drawn before she had time to see his face clearly. John could see the change in her eyes when she realized it was him. She froze, for the space of a breath, when her gaze locked on his; then she jerked herself out of his grasp.
“Quin, I only want to talk to you.” He had slowed himself down so he could speak properly, and he kept his voice calm. He had his own whipsword with him, but he had no intention of drawing it.
“You say that a lot before we fight, John.” Her voice held anger and something else, a sense of exhaustion, as though being near him drained the life out of her.
“Truly, I mean it.” And he did mean it; he wanted her attention for only a little while.
“Weren’t you satisfied with the concussion you gave me last time we saw each other?” she asked sharply. “Did you want to try harder now?”
Her whipsword was still coiled in her hand, yet her dark eyes flashed a warning at him. She would have no problem using it.
“I’m sorry for what happened on Traveler. It didn’t go the way I’d planned. And I didn’t want to hit you.”
“Your hands just moved on their own, did they?”
He thought of Quin on Traveler, leaning over Shinobu, who’d been lying injured on the floor. The way she’d spoken to him, her tone of voice…John had been so jealous that he’d lost control completely. He’d hit Quin as hard, as viciously, as he could. Maud was right—he had no control over his heart and his thoughts when it came to Quin.
He closed his eyes for a moment. “I…I wanted to see you,” he said at last. The words sounded so childish, though they were the unfortunate truth; he looked away in embarrassment. I think about you so much it’s getting in the way of my training, is what he should have said.
“Well, you’ve seen me,” she said coldly. “Now you can go.”
She pushed him aside and headed out of the narrow alley toward the busy thoroughfare they’d just left. John caught her arm.
“Wait, Quin, please.” He kept his voice soft and his grip on her wrist light. He didn’t want to seem rough.
She yanked her arm from his grasp but stood there looking at him, waiting for him to speak.
“I—I try to keep you from my mind,” he stammered. “But I can’t quite—”
“We’re not friends, John,” Quin interrupted. “You don’t have to confess anything to me.”
She was turning again, not even giving him a chance to explain, when he was desperate for her to listen. He tugged her