“Quinn, don’t!”
Jordan’s outburst distracted Xander. It was the opportunity Illyria waited for. The second he looked away, she thrust her sword into his shoulder. In most circumstances, the wound wouldn’t be fatal, the blow too high to cause major damage. But circumstances were far from ordinary, and the weapon used could destroy in more ways than one.
Time slowed to a dribble. Ivy teleported to Xander and pulled him out of the way before Illyria could turn him into a pin cushion. Quinn’s eyes blazed. It was a look Jordan knew well.
Her brother sought her out, his face full of love. Jordan saw his intentions, felt his goodbye, and called his name, knowing he wouldn’t listen.
Weaponless, armed with only the hope of buying her some time, Quinn stepped in front of Illyria. The Aeon snorted and made a “come hither” gesture with her hand.
“No!”
Jordan ran. Ivy screamed her name while Xander lay unmoving beside her. Jordan gulped, choking on guilt, knowing in her heart that Xander was dying.
Illyria swung her blade and Quinn twirled out of reach, barely avoiding being ripped in two. Jordan rushed to his side. With a flick of her wrist, the angel propelled her into a rusted contraption that had probably been new when dinosaurs walked the earth.
“Tell me where the book is and I’ll let you live,” Illyria bartered, her sword spinning fast enough to ruffle Quinn’s hair.
“Why don’t you check your mama’s house?” he countered, and surprised her with a roundhouse kick.
He was going to get himself killed.
Jordan teleported and grabbed Illyria in a choke hold. She pulled, hoping to give her brother an escape. Off to the side, Ivy encouraged Quinn to move his ass.
Power oozed from her hands and the Aeon screamed in pain.
“Quinn, go. I’ve got this!”
But he couldn’t move. Her brother was rooted to the floor, transfixed by the scene playing out in front of him. Puffs of smoke rose from Illyria’s hair. The angel howled, struggling to break free. In a last ditch effort, she reversed momentum and pushed into Jordan instead of pulling away. Both of them lost their balance and went tumbling.
Illyria landed on top, knocking the breath out of Jordan. She tried to inhale but her lungs had no room to expand, even after the angel rolled off and staggered to her feet.
Jordan struggled to her knees. Dizzy from lack of oxygen, her heart pounded in her ears while black butterflies swooped in her vision. Illyria tumbled about the room like someone punch drunk, but became more sure-footed with every step.
Once again, she made a beeline for Quinn.
Ivy appeared in a pop of displaced air and grabbed the angel’s arm. From the look on her face, she was giving Illyria all she had. It wasn’t enough. A mid-level Cambion was no match for a seraph. Illyria tossed her aside like a forgotten toy.
Jordan called out to Quinn but still could not breathe, couldn’t get to her feet. All she managed was a choked wheeze that no one heard.
Illyria drew closer to her brother.
The Aeon’s wounds were healing at a rapid rate. Jordan cursed herself for not using the full extent of her power.
My power, she thought. That’s it!
Jordan called upon it, willing it to heal her. Energy coursed through her body. Her shallow breaths became deeper. Oxygen filled her lungs. The dark butterflies faded from her sight. Renewed, Jordan jumped to her feet.
Too late.
Blinding light burst from Illyria’s palms, pinning Quinn against the wall. With a cry born of war and nourished by hate, she raised the sword and buried it in his chest.
I didn’t see that.
Jordan put up a mental wall, blocking her emotions.
Quinn was fine. That gurgling noise wasn’t him taking his last breaths. Ivy’s anguished screams meant nothing. Her sister was too dramatic.
Quinn was fine.
Xander was fine.
They were both fine, dammit!
Anguish fought with rage. The nagging itch – that deep burn between her shoulders – intensified. Unwilling to see what she couldn’t face, Jordan blindly searched for the source of her turmoil.
Illyria reclined against the wall with a big grin on her face – a hunter posing with her kill. Jordan refused to look at the poor soul hanging next to her like a slab of meat. It wasn’t anyone she knew.
But the pain in her heart and her trembling hands said differently. Jordan shook her head. It didn’t matter. The angel started this. The demon would finish it.
Illyria patted her brother on the head.
Don’t look, it’s not him.
“My negotiations with Quinn didn’t end well.” The angel rolled her head from side to side. Her neck cracked and popped. “Sad, really. He had potential. Still, I’m not above giving a replay.” She glanced at Ivy to make her point, and then pulled the sword from Quinn’s chest. It made a sick, sucking noise as it exited, and he fell to a heap on the dirty floor.
It’s not him.
Wiping the blood from her blade with a crumpled piece of trash, Illyria continued. “I need that book, Jordan. You will call the remaining members of your inept family and have them come here. One way or another, I will take possession of The Oraculum. I assume things will go much more smoothly this time.”
Her cold, condescending smile reminded Jordan of a teacher she’d had in fourth grade. She wasn’t surprised when, years later, a member of the Circle had been sent to hunt her down in Massachusetts for practicing bad witchcraft. With the snap of her fingers, the student of Ms. Sunday’s scorn would fall ill to a three-day stomach virus. Those snaps were always accompanied by the same sick smile that never reached her eyes.
“You assumed wrong,” Jordan replied.
In a whoosh and rip of fabric, wings unfurled from her back. From the corner, she heard Ivy gasp and mumble something about how they had changed from the last time she saw them. Illyria’s eyes bulged and she prayed aloud to God.
“I think,” Jordan said, stretching her twelve-foot appendages, “it’s Michael you should petition for help. God probably doesn’t know you exist.”
Though weightless, Jordan felt sure her wings were powerful. Silvery-white feathers, magnificent and glorious, were outlined in royal-blue flames. The fire kissed the edges all the way around, but never spread inward.
Illyria regarded Jordan’s wings with a type of thunderstruck horror. Mouth agape, hand pressed against her chest, she whispered, “The fire represents metamorphosis.” She took a few steps away, putting some distance between them. “Like a Phoenix, you’re…you’re changing, but into what?”
Jordan’s eyes dipped to the still form on the floor – the one dressed in her brother’s clothes – and the dam keeping her misery at bay exploded. Her lungs seized. The mixture of emotions, frigid and expeditious, almost swept her away.
Choking back tears, Jordan asked, “Why don’t we find out?”
Illyria raised her sword. As Jordan advanced, the angel revealed her own wings. Unfurled, they were shorter, narrower, the brooding gray color of a storm cloud.
“It doesn’t have to be this way,” she said, moving the blade from one hand to the other.
“Yes, it does.” Jordan was close enough to reach out and touch the angel. “You assured that when you killed Xander and Quinn. She paused. “It’s important that you know. Your actions signed this death warrant, Illyria; not me.”
The blade came down, splitting the air. Jordan smelled the venomous magic within the steel. It was sharp, astringent, like the inside of a dentist’s office. It sliced through her forearm, drawing a deep gash. Before she could blink, Illyria switched hands. The next swipe split her cheek clear to the bone.
She felt no pain. Jordan chanced a look at her arm, and watched in amazement as the muscle, tendons, and skin knit back together. Even then, the irritation that came with healing was little more than a burning itch.
Illyria gasped as Ivy gave a triumphant shout.
F
rom the corner of her eye, Jordan saw Xander, her safe haven, sit up with her sister’s help. His wound had also healed. The question was, how?
A quick look told her Quinn had not been so lucky. There was no movement. Black lines of poison marred his visible skin, having spread from the point of impact.
She kept losing the ones she loved. It wasn’t fair. Silently, Jordan cursed God for letting this happen.
I may be a Paladin but dammit, I didn’t ask for it! I’ve done nothing to deserve this and neither did Mazie or Quinn. So God, if you aren’t too busy, how about a little help here, huh? Get off your holy ass and send my brother a miracle.
She waited a beat but nothing happened. Figures. He was probably walking streets of gold right now. He sure as hell wasn’t curing cancer or punishing the wicked. God wasn’t going to save Quinn.
And she was sick of it – all of it.
Power surged through Jordan’s veins. Raw. Unmitigated. Wrenching the sword from Illyria, Jordan twisted the blade, bent it back upon itself, and flung the weapon across the room.
“Are you off your gourd? We could’ve used that!”
Ivy balked at the loss of a weapon that could kill angels.
“I don’t need it,” Jordan snarled.
Illyria’s wide eyes darted around the room, pausing at the windows, doors. Before the angel could flee, Jordan charged. Illyria brought her hand up in defense. In one swift motion, Jordan caught the arm, spun in close, and wrenched it behind the angel’s back. With a cry, the Aeon fell to her knees.
“Time to burn,” Jordan whispered.
The echoes of Illyria’s screams filled the room, shook its foundations. Plaster peppered the ground. Dust choked the air. The stench of scorched flesh filled Jordan’s nostrils.
In the fire, she became the very monster she was trying to destroy.
Chapter Thirty-One
Quinn
Something crawled underneath his skin like worms. They tunneled outward from the point where Illyria’s sword had passed through like a steel spike and spread up and down his body. Black tracer marks crept along in their wake, burning, itching. They tattooed his skin, decorating it in twisting patterns that resembled diseased vines.
Quinn was dying.
For years, the thought of burying another family member had haunted him. Unable to go through that pain again, Quinn had pushed away, tying himself in knots, bending over backward to avoid the snare.
All those reckless twists and turns. In the end, he found himself hanging from a noose he’d devised himself.
Death was inevitable. There was no escape.
Resigned, Quinn finally learned to accept what couldn’t be changed. Once he stopped struggling, breathing became easier. Now, it looked like he would get his wish. Quinn would go first. Peering at his sister through heavy eyes, the thought made him smile.
Jordan looked radiant, commanding, her wings even more splendid than Gabe’s. The blue fire that brushed the edges of spangling silver was awe-inspiring. Quinn realized his little sister, the one he had worried about losing, was stronger than he – not because of her Paladin status or extraordinary strength, but because she had endured so much and was still standing, still fighting.
Was there ever a time when she wasn’t?
The sun finally broke over the horizon. One last sunrise, and it was beautiful. Even through the grimy windows, Quinn could see amazing colors flooding the pale sky, changing it into something more – something magical.
In the corner, Jordan’s half sister sat with the boy’s head in her lap. Watching Ivy smooth his brow, Quinn remembered the words she’d whispered to him as she healed his injuries.
<><><>
“Hang in there, Quinn. Don’t you dare give up!”
For a second, he’d forgotten that she was a Cambion. There had been concern in her eyes, warmth and gentleness in her touch. She had smoothed his brow, as well, and told him not to worry.
“Close your eyes and rest. I’ll have you fixed up in no time.”
Quinn had never closed his eyes to a demon before. May as well offer yourself to a lioness and pray she had a full stomach – there was no difference. Ivy must have sensed his mistrust. Her eyes blazed red. Like swirling smoke, he watched them slowly revert to the Delphic, stormy gray color that mesmerized as much as they unnerved him. She was an enigma that both tempted and terrified.
Ivy took a deep breath and pulled her hands away.
“Sorry; didn’t mean to go all demon on you, but I have a hard time with dogmatic asswipes. So, why don’t you drop the Jim Crow act? Being human doesn’t make you squeaky clean, and that ‘holier than thou’ shit really pisses me off.”
As he lay there with third-degree burns, pulled muscles, dehydration, and fatigue, all he could think about was the fact that, in so many words, she’d just called him a racist. Quinn didn’t know whether to laugh or be offended. There was no comparison between minorities of the human race and demons.
Did he hate demons?
Yes.
If he could, he’d eradicate every damned one of them from the face of the earth. They served no purpose other than to spread pain and misery – like mosquitoes. But even as these thoughts circled Quinn’s mind, he thought of Jordan.
She’d been part demon her entire life and, though they hadn’t known about her genetic makeup until recently, she had always been a good person. Now that he knew she was sired by a demon, did that automatically make her evil? Up until then, it had never crossed his mind.
Like Jordan, Ivy hadn’t been given a vote on her Cambion heritage. How many other demons were victims of circumstances they couldn’t control?
Softly, she said, “Our sister trusts me; can’t you do the same? I only want to help.”
She looked pitiful and Quinn felt like an ass. With a nod, he closed his eyes.
After she healed him, Ivy helped him to his feet.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Quinn had treated her like a pariah and she was thanking him. Jesus.
As usual, words failed him. He had a hard time expressing himself to normals. Showing gratitude to a demon was just…wrong, on so many levels. Still, Ivy had saved his life.
He gave her an awkward pat on the back. “Ditto.”
The look she gave him was nothing short of amazement, and not in a good way. It was more of a “‘Who ties your shoes for you?’” expression.
<><><>
Darker now.
The light he lived in was going dim, and God, he was so tired. Quinn would miss his family but not the pain. Not the hunts. Not the memories. It would be a blessing to shed them and leave it all behind.
As the bags tied to his eye lids grew heavier, his body felt lighter. A sensation of floating on cold but gentle waves overtook him and Quinn wondered if it was time to let the line he’d kept a tight grip on – the one that kept him moored to the broken-down dock that was his life, his responsibilities – slip free at last.
He wanted the last sight his eyes perceived before closing forever to be that of his sister, so he slowly rolled his head to front and center…and froze.
Jordan advanced toward Illyria with murderous intent. Eyes glowing like beacons, flowing steps, shoulders back, she was out for more than a little blood and revenge. His mind, in its weakened state, tried to recall the prophecy from The Oraculum.
Dammit! What had it said?
His eyes fluttered and slammed shut. Moments before, he welcomed the darkness. Now, he had to fight it for Jordan’s sake. She was going to fall.
Fall! Something about falling…
A memory of him, Nathan, and Gabe sitting in a nice hotel room discussing the passage darted across his mind like a fish but was too quick and slippery to grasp.
Fuck!
Someone screamed. It was the shrill, harrowing lament of life ending in slow torment. With the effort of a bodybuilder, Quinn opened his eyes. Illyria was on her knees before Jordan, and his sister was – sweet Jesus!
&nb
sp; What was she doing?
Illyria was frozen in place, her skin alight with blinding radiance that resembled fire. The only part of her that still worked was her vocal chords and even now, the scream was losing intensity and strength. Soon, there was only the barest hint of a whimper.
The light moved across Illyria’s exposed skin. What was left behind looked calcified, on the verge of crumbling. Quinn called out to Jordan, to make her stop, but the mighty roar he intended was replaced with a tiny peep that would have made a canary shake its head in shame. He tried to raise his arm to draw her attention, but his limbs were dead and useless. He wasn’t going to be able to stop her from killing Illyria, from falling, from bringing on a holy war like the world had never seen.
Quinn closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see the end and no longer had the strength to keep them open. The whooshing sound of wings and Gabe’s voice from somewhere close had him competing with death again, but it was too late. Too late for all of them. Even so, he pushed, and the reaper paused a second time.
“Jordan, stop!”
Gabe pulled her away from the Aeon. As soon as the contact was broken, Illyria’s form collapsed, flaking apart to drift into soft piles of charcoal powder on the floor.
“I’m fine,” Jordan whispered. “I’m okay.” Her entire body shuddered violently – the aftereffects of taking a life. Quinn had been there many times before.
And then Gabe was by his side. He placed his hands over the ghastly wound in Quinn’s chest and generated soothing blue light. Within moments, the jagged hole closed and the black tracer marks began to fade, disappearing like invisible ink. Quinn’s strength returned, plowing into him like a landslide, making the room spin and his heart beat in double-time.
“Don’t move too quickly,” Gabriel advised, helping him to sit up.
“Yeah, no problem there.” Quinn took a deep breath – his first since he’d been stabbed – and clapped his Guardian on the shoulder. “Thanks, Gabe.”
Jordan practically fell at Quinn’s feet and sobbed. “I’m so sorry. I hesitated, I…Oh, God, you could have died because of me!”
Refracted (The Celadon Circle Book 2) Page 28