Refracted (The Celadon Circle Book 2) (25 page)

“You are one sick bitch,” Xander said, his blue eyes hard, like ice.

Gina blew him a kiss. “You may be right, handsome, but considering the fact that I’m the one with important info about a certain hillbilly family, I’d watch my mouth if I were you.” She turned to Jordan. The kilowatt smile was back. “Speaking of lives, I know of three country bumpkins who don’t have much time left to enjoy theirs.”

“I doubt you know shit from Cheyenne, but I’ll bite. What’s this crucial information you have?”

“Uh-uh.” Gina waggled her finger. “First, you have to agree to one condition. I don’t give secrets away for free.”

“I don’t know why,” Ivy said. “You give everything else away for free. It’s a little late in the game to reach for standards, don’t ya think? Hell, you probably can’t pay guys to touch your
secrets
now – not without a Hazmat suit and a gallon of Purell.”

“Such a clever girl.” Lips pursed, Gina made a face like she’d sucked on a lemon. “Shut up and let the grownups talk.” She dismissed Ivy with a wave of her hand. To Jordan, she said, “My only stipulation is that you and your flunkies keep your hands off. I leave here without a hair out of place, get it?”

“You’re hardly in a position to set terms.” It was Jordan’s turn to smile. “Here’s my counter offer; you tell me what you know and I’ll make your death quick and a lot less painful than Mazie’s was.”

Gina blanched. “You can’t do that.”

“I can do anything I want; I’m not the powerless Cambion chained to the floor.”

Jordan placed a finger on Gina’s hand. It took a great deal of restraint, but she managed to keep the flow of energy to a trickle. Even so, it was a great incentive. Gina screamed and jerked away.

“Bitch! Stay away from me!”

“That was just a taste of what’s to come unless you start talking.”

Nursing her hand, she said, “If you’re just going to kill me, why should I tell you anything?”

Jordan’s stomach clenched. As much as she hated Gina,
she wasn’t Gina
. The thought of taking her life had once been appealing. Now, she just wanted to go home.

Mazie was gone. Murdering the one responsible wouldn’t bring her back, and Jordan wasn’t God. She refused to allow her
Paladin
status to dictate her fate. She might be a lot of things – some good, some bad – but she would always be the one to decide which paths to take.

Xander pulled Jordan aside and Ivy joined them in the corner. “You don’t have to do this,” he said. “I can get the information without bloodshed.”

Bottom lip trembling, Jordan closed her eyes. “Mazie…”

“…is dead,” Ivy finished. “There’s nothing anyone can do to change that. I know you, Jordan, and this isn’t
you
. Let Xander fish the information from her demented mind and we’ll blow this joint – go see your family. You need to get away from here for a while.”

“But Gina shouldn’t get away with this. She ended a little girl’s life and couldn’t care less. It’s like she’s not even human.”

Xander shook his head. “The problem is that she
is
human. Gina no longer has any powers. You’ve been so wrapped up in the supernatural world, fighting what you perceive – what you’ve been told – is evil, that you’ve lost touch with the real world.” He glanced at Gina. “There are some evil SOB’s in our neck of the woods, but nothing holds a candle to man.”

But Gina was twisted before she lost her powers and became human
.

Jordan grappled with her emotions. Right and Wrong were both players in a dangerous game – one she couldn’t win no matter what cards she played. If she killed Gina, took it upon herself to decide her fate, she’d lose a part of herself she could never get back. If she didn’t, Gina could possibly hurt someone else, and that would be her fault because she could have prevented it.

Unless…

“Come on,” Jordan said. “I think I know what to do.”

What she had planned was risky, but chances and wagers were all she had these days.

Gina yawned when they approached. She feigned indifference, but the veneer was cracking, the yellow color of cowardice showing underneath.

“Can you try to keep your sentimental pow-wows to a minimum? My ass is falling asleep in this chair and I’m hungry.”

Ivy flipped her off while Jordan motioned to Xander. “Do your thing,” she instructed. “Make sure to get every detail.”

“What are you doing?” Eyes narrow and cat-like, Gina moved as far as the chain would allow. “I’m not telling you a damn thing until Jordan agrees to my terms.”

“Xander’s an Invictus. We could make you spill every nasty, horrid thought in that perverted head of yours if we wanted.”

Gina paled, and Jordan felt hopeful. This would work. It had to.

“Lucky for you, we don’t have time for all the therapy we’d need afterward, and there isn’t enough bleach in the world to scour those images from our brains, so we’re only going to focus on the information you have about my family.”

Struggling with the chain now, Gina screamed, “I never agreed to that!”

Ivy grabbed her shoulders and she suddenly went still. “Ain’t that a bitch? Now be a good girl and give this handsome guy your undivided attention or I’ll be forced to make a mess on Dad’s nice shiny floor.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Quinn

The ride back to town was the longest of his life. Even on the weed-choked back roads where farm land distanced neighbors and electric light was scarce, the night was unusually dark. Thick clouds eclipsed the moon, leaving the barest hint of ghostly shine that did nothing to cut the blackness.

The headlights of the Mustang illuminated faded white lines, flickered across the trunks of trees, and occasionally highlighted an animal before it scampered from his sight. Quinn felt like he was driving under water. It was too quiet and the weight of leaving his family behind pressed down on him like the sea. Several times he stopped the car, determined to go back and help. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Gabe. Archangels probably had more juice in their little fingers than soldiers contained in their entire beings. His brother and uncle would be fine. The problem was that he wasn’t one to run from a fight.

For as long as he could remember, he’d taken the biggest risks when lives were on the line. Unable to endure another loss, Quinn gladly threw himself into caves, swamps, woods, dens…wherever evil dwelled, always a few steps ahead of Nathan and Case. He did his best to make a safe passage for them to follow. To run and leave them in the middle of a dangerous situation went against his very nature. He’d spent his entire life trying to keep them alive, and because of a book, he may have pissed it all away.

Don’t think like that. They’ll be fine. Gabe promised to keep them above ground
.

Though fear, with its sharp claws, clung to him, Quinn pressed harder on the gas. Soon, more light filtered through the Cimmerian world outside. Houses became more prevalent, road signs popped up, civilization appeared.

The sheriff’s department beckoned. Quinn drove by the parking lot and zeroed in on a small storage building in the back lot. He circled the block and pulled in behind the pre-fabricated structure, hiding the car from prying eyes.

Sheriff Wellard Briggs used the building to store old files. He’d finally taken a step into the 21
st
century and purchased a few computers (along with a secretary who knew how to use them), but still preferred “old school” ways, refusing to go completely digital.

The locking mechanism on the door was a simple one and Quinn had it open within 30 seconds. He stepped across the threshold and shut the door firmly before turning on a small penlight. Bank boxes, dusty and forgotten, littered the floor, stacked in tottering piles and scattered haphazardly around the room. There was no method to the madness. The sheriff was not an orderly man – a trait that drove his wife crazy. He did have the years of the files each box contained scrawled on the lids with a black marker. Quinn chose the one labeled 1997-99.

Being careful not to disturb the thick layer of dust on the lid, he lifted the top by the edges and set it aside. A jumbled mess of file folders and loose papers, yellowed with age and smelling strongly of ink and mold, lay inside. Quinn gathered up an armful and placed them on the floor.

Jesus, is this what I’ve been reduced to – breaking into a building owned by the sheriff to hide a book? I am so going to Hell.

Glancing around like the nervous trespasser he was, Quinn listened for any noise outside. Confident he was still alone, he dried his sweaty palms on his jeans and unzipped his jacket. From its depths, he pulled out
The Oraculum
. Without hesitation, he buried the book at the bottom of the box, covering it with the original files.

After replacing the lid, Quinn made a quick inspection of the floor to assure he hadn’t missed any stray papers. That’s when he saw the prints left by his boots. He spent a few minutes walking around the shed, dragging and shuffling his feet. He stopped in front of several boxes, knelt down in front of them, and generally made sure his prints were everywhere. No one would be able to discern which box contained the book.

Satisfied, Quinn exited the building. He locked the door and surveyed the parking lot. There wasn’t a soul in sight. With a sigh, he stepped off the low porch and around to the back – where Wellard Briggs leaned against the Mustang.

And there goes my happy feeling
.

Knowing he was caught, Quinn joined the sheriff and took up space beside him.

“Your phone’s been ringing,” he drawled, the ever-present matchstick dangling from the side of his mouth.

“Did you answer it?”

Wellard scratched his chin. He was dressed in his “uniform” of faded jeans, plaid shirt, shearling coat, black cowboy hat that had seen better days, belt buckle the size of a hubcap, and worn boots. A gold star displayed on his pocket proclaimed that he was the sheriff of Juneau County. A .45 hanging from his belt made sure no one argued that fact.

“I figured it weren’t none of my business.”

Quinn nodded.

Wellard Briggs had served his country for two terms in the Army fresh out of high school. At the age of 27, he’d come back to Dixon’s Bluff and signed on with the Juneau sheriff’s department. By the time he was 30, his hair had gone prematurely gray and he had married his high school sweetheart, Katherine “Kat” Hale. At the young age of 32, he’d been elected sheriff when his mentor and good friend, Gandy Strickland, had decided he’d rather pull steelhead out of the river than drunk kids out of smashed cars.

Now, what was left of his hair was silvery-white and cut close with a goatee to match. His wife still fussed over his love of country-fried steak with gravy and New Glarus Spotted Cow, and his hazel eyes were as keen as ever. Twenty-nine years of patrolling their small town had not dulled his senses. Nothing got past the man, which was the very reason he was privy to their odd profession.

“Do I even want to know why you were holed up in my storage barn?”

Quinn leaned his head back against the car. The night was flying by and he suddenly felt bone-tired. “I don’t think so.”

“You didn’t come out with anything.” The sheriff stuck his hands into the deep pockets of his coat.

“No.”

Wellard moved the matchstick to the other side of his mouth. “I’ll keep a close watch on the shed for the next couple of days…let you know if I see anyone out here that shouldn’t be.”

“Thanks,” Quinn said, grateful for sheriffs who didn’t want to know too much.

Shoving away from the car, Wellard pushed his hat back and stared long and hard at Quinn. “You okay, boy? You need some help?”

If only.

He’d like nothing more than some help right now – and the sheriff would. He’d swallow every detail Quinn fed him without so much as a burp and then climb into the passenger seat as if it was something he did every day.

Smiling at the thought of Wellard Briggs sitting in the Mustang, checking the loads in his gun with his cowboy hat settled between his knees, Quinn shook his head.

“I appreciate it, Sheriff, but it’s just work. You know how it is.”

Wellard heaved a sighed. “You ever need anything, you come see me, ya hear?”

“Yes, sir.”

The sheriff seemed reluctant to leave. Quinn wondered just how exhausted he looked. Eventually, Wellard placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze before turning away. As he tramped back across the parking lot, he called, “You know where to find me, boy. Be careful!”

Quinn watched until Sheriff Briggs disappeared through the back entrance of the main building and then crawled back into the car. His phone showed one text message and three voice mails.

He checked the text message first. It was from Nathan. He smiled despite his exhaustion. True to his word, Gabe had kept his family safe –
their
family safe. He opened the text and his blood ran cold.

Illyria is coming for you. RUN! Call ASAP.

He didn’t take time to dwell on how the angel had escaped Gabe. He was parked next to the place where he hid the book and needed to put some distance between them before she showed up.

Quinn was back on the road and didn’t even remember starting the engine. He drove with no specific destination in mind, and eventually found the car heading west on highway 90. His phone rang, jarring him out of the hypnotic daze he’d fallen into while staring at segments of broken white line that went on forever.

Shit. He forgot to call Nathan.

Fumbling for the phone, Quinn nearly knocked it off the passenger seat. The car swerved as he reached for it again and finally pressed the speaker button.  

“Quinn?!”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Are you okay? Where are you?”

Nathan sounded like a bottle of pop that had been shaken to the point of combustion.

“Calm down, I’m fine. I’m in the car heading west.”

He heard voices in the background and then Gabe was on the line.

“Quinn, you need to abandon the car and go on foot. Stay away from areas that can easily be seen from above.”

“You want me to walk? Do you know how much fun Illyria will have with that four-foot shank if she catches me without the book? You won’t be able to count all the pieces she’ll leave behind. Riding is safer than hoofing it.”

“A car is easier to spot from the air. Leave the road and find cover. She could be following you right now.”

Comforting thought
.

“Tell me where you are and I’ll come for you.”

Quinn slowed the car and looked around. He’d been on autopilot since leaving the sheriff’s office and it took a second to recognize his surroundings.

“I’m in Gillette, just past South Burma Avenue.”

Quinn hung a left on Skyline Drive. He wanted to stay away from residential areas but there wasn’t much cover to be found down this way.

“The school!” Casen yelled. “Go to the elementary school.”

His uncle referred to Prairie Wind Elementary which, if Quinn remembered correctly, boasted large parking areas and not much else. Still, it was better than nothing. Quinn knew it was nearby, but needed to get his bearings.

“Got it,” he confirmed and ended the call.

Taking a quick right, he pulled the car into the empty lot of the Kum & Go gas station. This time of night it was dark and quiet.  A few insects, sluggish from the cold, battered against a pitiful security light that did nothing to cut the gloom.

Quinn pulled his hands down his face in an attempt to slough away his weariness. When he opened his eyes, a flash of light reflected in the rearview mirror caught his attention.

Lightning
?

He stepped out of the car and gazed up at the sky. Puffy clouds, backlit by the moon, lumbered across his vision like elephants. None of them threatened rain or snow, much less a storm. When the phenomenon did not reoccur, Quinn shrugged it off.

Crossing his arms against the chilly air, he turned in a slow circle. A Chevy car dealership across the way jogged his memory and Quinn knew where to go. The gas station sat at an intersection with Skyline on his left. Taking a right out of the parking lot would put him on Westover, which led right past the school.

His fingers barely brushed the metal of the car door when the sky lit up again. Quinn paused. Definitely not lightning. It was more like a pulse – a signal in three rapid successions that covered the world in blue.

As he watched, the pulse grew faster. Throbbing now, like a heartbeat, the light shredded clouds in its wake and drowned the moon. It was coming closer.  

And suddenly Quinn knew.

Illyria
. 

Abandoning the car, Quinn didn’t bother to grab a weapon. It was a waste of precious time. Nothing he had in the trunk would stop an angel.

He was halfway across the parking lot when he remembered his cell phone lying on the seat. Cursing, Quinn glanced over his shoulder and saw it was too late to go back for it. Blue light surrounded the exterior of the Mustang, making it glow like some extraterrestrial hotrod.

His only hope was the school, and Gabe.

He ran. When the first tendrils of cold air worked their way into his lungs, Quinn knew he wouldn’t get far. He checked his watch. It was 3:07 a.m.