Under the Moon (Goddesses Rising) - By Natalie J. Damschroder Page 0,85
inside Quinn could be anticipation or apprehension, but it came from her, not from the environment. The foreboding she’d had before Nick left to come up here was absent. Still, she remained alert, prepared for anything.
The bell on the counter dinged when she tapped it, but it didn’t bring footsteps or voices. It would be rude to walk into the back, Quinn told herself, but did it anyway. She saw no one in the hall, nor in the spacious dining room she passed. Pots and pans clanked deeper into the building. Quinn followed the sound of running water to the very back of the house.
The kitchen door was open to the backyard, the room sunny and bright and clean except for the makings of bread dough scattered across several counters. A young woman stood at the center counter, digging her hands deep into the dough she kneaded. Quinn registered dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, the exact color of her own, and a wide face with high cheekbones and pointed chin that reminded her of Tess. She didn’t move, waiting for a sense of…something. Family. Connection. Recognition. There was nothing. Then her sister looked up and froze, surprise and pleasure spreading over her face.
“Quinn!”
“Marley.” It didn’t shock her that Marley knew who she was—not as much as it did to see her pale lavender eyes. They couldn’t be normal. Uncertainty drained her determination, and she began to hope again. Maybe Marley wasn’t the threat after all. Maybe she was just another victim.
“How did you get in here?”
Reminding herself to assume nothing, Quinn said, “It wasn’t hard.”
“But the front door is—”
“A couple was coming out. They let me in. Said Fran would be at the front desk, but there wasn’t anyone around.”
Marley pursed her lips and shook her head. “Fran’s in the laundry room.” She manipulated the dough into a mound, dropped it into a bowl, and draped a towel over it. “Let me get cleaned up and we’ll go in the other room.” She turned to the sink to wash her hands. “Not exactly the—”
BwoooOOP. BwoooOOP. BwoooOOP.
Marley cursed over the loud alarm and quickly dried off her hands.
“What’s that?” Quinn shouted.
Marley waved a hand toward one wall and the alarm stopped. Quinn saw a speaker up near the ceiling, then noticed the windowsills, backsplashes, and shelves high on the wall were all lined with different kinds of crystals. Marley’s power source, and she’d just used it. So her eyes weren’t the result of leeching. Quinn felt her expression twist with disgust, her hope short-lived. Marley had both light eyes and power, so the only possibility remaining was that she had created the leech.
“Someone’s trying to get in.” Marley squeezed past her and rushed down the hall toward the front door.
“They’re probably with me!” Quinn hurried to follow, not wanting Marley to attack her friends. When she burst into the foyer lobby, two men held guns on Sam and Nick, who stood with their hands raised, looking disheveled and disgruntled. When they saw Quinn, Sam sagged in obvious relief while Nick tensed, his eyes flashing and his jaw tight.
“They are with me,” Quinn said, stepping up next to Marley. “Call off your goons.”
“They’re not goons.”
But neither were they typical security. The guy on the left, standing in the doorway of what appeared to be an old-fashioned parlor, had long, stringy hair and wore dirty jeans and a Metallica T-shirt. The older one on the right was beefier and held his rifle with more authority, but he looked farm-hardened rather than street-tough.
No one moved. Exasperated, Quinn stepped forward and introduced Nick and Sam. Then she pointed to Marley. “Marley Canton, my sister.”
The two armed men lowered their weapons halfway, surprise overtaking grim determination on their features.
Marley smiled slightly. “Bobby and Tim, two of my staff. You’ll meet Fran in a little while. She’s my assistant manager.” She motioned to Nick’s leg. “You’re bleeding.”
Quinn whirled and bent to check. Blood had seeped through the denim, which meant he’d torn open any slight healing he’d had overnight. She moved quickly to tuck herself under his arm. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, wishing she’d healed him earlier. “I shouldn’t have gotten so angry and taken off.” She’d known he would come after her, but she hadn’t thought about the impact on his injury.
Now that his adrenaline was wearing off, Nick looked pale and pinched with pain. “We need to work on our communication skills,” he said.