Under the Moon (41 page)

A second shadow appeared at the first one’s right shoulder. “What are you waiting for?” it whispered, not nearly as smart or as cautious as the first. “There she is.” The two moved a few steps forward, and the third entered the building. This guy, shorter and wirier than the first two, headed straight for Marley. Quinn held her breath, sensing Sam going rigid. She knew if the guy tried to harm her sister, Sam would abandon the plan and go after him. Never mind that Quinn could take these guys and would, long before they got anywhere. But they weren’t her prey.

The air seemed to shimmer a moment later as Anson stepped through the doorway.

Now!
Quinn yelled only in her head, for fear of alerting Anson. She released the hook holding a net full of boxes of rusted metal scrap, which cascaded down onto the three shadows. At the same time, Sam and Nick jerked the rope they’d strung across the doorway. When Anson started forward, either to help or skirt his men, he tripped and fell flat with a yell.

Nick and Sam pounced, holding him down. One of the shadows struggled out from under the boxes and scrambled on hands and toes toward Marley, who he still seemed to think was Quinn. But Marley had leaped to her feet when the boxes came down, running halfway across the room to put a safe distance between herself and the attackers. Quinn zipped energy at the man, a short, sharp burst that knocked him out. The other two were already unconscious, as planned.

Anson was another story. Quinn knew she’d be ineffective fighting directly against him—he’d become too powerful. In the few seconds since Sam and Nick had jumped him, he’d managed to fling Sam off to the side. Nick hung on, though with the power behind Anson’s efforts to dislodge him, he’d be dead in moments.

Unless Quinn helped him. Instead of attacking Anson, she infused Nick’s muscles with energy. His grip on Anson’s arm and the back of his neck tightened, and he threw his leg across the smaller man’s to hold him down.

Sam snatched at the rope they’d used to trip him and tried to wrap it around Anson’s legs. The leech obviously worked against him, because the rope didn’t want to stay wrapped. Quinn shielded it so Anson’s power couldn’t reach it. Sam got his ankles tied, then wrapped the other end around his wrists, jerking them to his back with force despite the wind that now whipped at them all. It swirled into a funnel, lifting the three of them off the cracked concrete floor as Nick and Sam clung to the rope around Anson. Quinn tried to form a sphere of calm inside the funnel, but she had little affinity for air and only managed to slow it. Sam pulled at Anson’s shoulder, flipping him over, then hauled back and slammed his fist into Anson’s jaw.

Everything stopped. The wind and unseen forces disappeared. The three men fell to the ground, Nick and Sam grunting at the impact. Anson thudded, limp, underneath them.

Quinn flipped on overhead lights and hurried to the men. Nick lay on his back, gasping for air. Sam sprawled next to him, supporting himself on one arm. They were rumpled but okay, thank god. She allowed herself a grin.

“Nice job, boys.”

“Asshole,” Sam muttered, his expression thunderous.

Marley joined them with a wary look at the thugs in the center of the room. “What about them?”

“Help Sam secure them. I don’t need them interrupting me if they come to.” Quinn took deep breaths, trying to prepare herself for what she had to do. At Marley’s, the need to fight had drawn something out of her she hadn’t ever had to use before, though she’d always known, somewhere inside, that it existed. But this—this was not only bigger and more difficult than anything she’d ever
heard
of, she wasn’t even sure how to do it. “Nick, you might want to stand back.”

“No way. I’m ready in case he wakes up partway through.” Nick dragged himself to one knee next to Anson, his fist cocked. Quinn knew he would awaken, and if he did, it was doubtful Nick would get a punch in. She had to hurry.

But she stood straddling the man and studied him for a moment first. His eyes were closed, but she remembered their vivid blue. It contrasted with his dark, carefully cut hair and matched the tie that had been neatly knotted around his throat before the tussle. He was a well-built man, though much smaller and more refined than either Nick or Sam. She could see why women would fall for him and how he’d used charm to get as close as he needed. Marley had to love him so she’d bestow power. For Chloe and Jennifer he’d only needed proximity and opportunity.

“No more,” she said aloud. Determination filled her and she crouched to put her hand on his chest. Before she could start, Marley grabbed her arm.

“Are you sure about this, Quinn? You know what the consequences will be.”

“I know.” The board would punish her for this. They had to. But it also had to be done. Anson was too powerful to be taken any other way.

“I’m not just talking about the board.”

Quinn knew that, too. No goddess had ever done this in recorded history. So when Marley said she knew the consequences, what she meant was they had no idea what to expect. Maybe it would kill her, but whether it did or not, she’d have made her world safe for the innocents and the people she loved. That alone gave her the strength to try.

“I have to do this, Marley. Give me room.”

She did, slowly. “I’m sorry.”

Okay. Now. Quinn bunched Anson’s coat in her fist so it tightened against her skin. His essence swirled around her—the essence she’d felt as soon as she touched it, that gave her a connection to Anson in a way she’d never anticipated. She tapped into it, drawing it inside herself, then opened up a conduit through her arm and hand on Anson’s chest. Like went to like. She found the power inside him, now tainted, part of him. Marked as his. She drew on it, like sucking a milkshake through a straw.

It resisted, surprising her. He’d made it seem easy when he leeched Marley. But then, she didn’t know how he’d done it, or what he’d done to prepare or aid the process. She mentally tightened her grip on the power she wanted and pulled hard. It seeped out of Anson and up into her, burning a whiskey-like trail. Like an infant tasting squash for the first time, her body revolted, tried to reject the foreignness of it. The flow slowed, burning more intensely the more she pulled. She gritted her teeth. Light flashed on the other side of her closed eyelids, then again.

Nick shouted, distracting her, and she opened her eyes. Anson’s brilliant blue eyes stared back at her, and he’d wrapped one hand around her wrist. She hadn’t even felt it. For a moment they stared at each other, his eyes almost glowing, a vibrant contrast to Marley’s bleached irises. Then he bared his teeth. Quinn heard a wheeze beside them and realized Anson’s other hand squeezed Nick’s throat. Nick was already turning red, struggling to pull Anson’s fingers away. She couldn’t see Sam and Marley in her peripheral vision.

She bore down on Anson’s chest, both to hold him in place and to increase the contact. His power flowed freely toward her now, but she had to concentrate harder to make her body accept it, and Anson fought the draw until it slowed. He shoved at her, both with power and with his hand, and raised his legs to try to wrap them around her body. She blocked them with her free arm, but his efforts distracted her, and the power reduced to a trickle. With a roar Anson shoved Nick away, pushed Quinn back, and struggled to his feet. She tried to grab him, but her stiff fingers wouldn’t grasp. He ran.

Nick fell to his side, clutching his neck and gasping.

“Nick.” Quinn knelt next to him, touched him, but then Sam was there, lifting her to her feet.

“I’ve got him. Go after that asshole.”

Sparks flew from the giant round overhead lights, which swung wildly and sent shadows soaring across the walls and floor. He still had plenty of power, and catching him now would be difficult. But she had to do it. He couldn’t be allowed to leave here—he’d just start over.

The energy she’d taken surged and swirled inside her. Her body crackled, electrified and hot, like if she touched anything she’d set it on fire, and euphoria sang in her. She could do anything without draining herself. An urge to try it, to do something astonishing, warred with terror that Anson was going to get away.

When Quinn paused and drew a deep breath to stave off panic, she detected a thread between them. She knew exactly where Anson was. He’d found the set of stairs leading to the offices that overlooked the main warehouse floor. She ran to them, moving faster than a normal person. Her feet barely touched the metal steps she climbed, nearly levitating in her effort at speed and quiet.

He’d ambush her. He wouldn’t just want to get away. He’d want to disable her and try to get his power back, as well as to leech hers. The office door at the top of the stairs was half open. Quinn stopped a few steps from the landing and pushed the door open without touching it. As she’d expected, a metal trashcan flew through the empty space where her head would have been. Anson cursed from inside the room, then ran out the far door. Quinn followed, her hand up, ready to bounce away anything that came at her.

The office was surrounded by glass, so she darkened the room. Anson probably sensed her as she sensed him, but if he couldn’t see, he would be less effective in attacking her. She crossed the dark, empty space cautiously. When she got to the other entrance, which opened onto office space that still held random cubicles and therefore many hiding spaces, she ducked and ran along the wall to her right. Anson was somewhere in the middle, not moving. Getting to him would be tricky with the cubicle walls in the way. She paused, considering her options.

“You’re a worthy opponent, Quinn Caldwell.” Anson’s voice was smooth, cultured, though marred by a ragged edge of fear. “I didn’t expect you to use my methods against me.”

Quinn didn’t respond. She tried to pinpoint Anson’s location, but his voice echoed and seemed to move. Which cubicle he was in was important. If she guessed wrong, he’d gain the upper hand.

“You only delayed the inevitable, though. And this time, I’ll have to kill you.”

Yeah, like you didn’t intend that before.
She moved a few steps to her right and peered around the cubicle wall. This block was three cubes by three. The three on this side were empty. And there were no openings down the perpendicular wall, so there had to be an aisle down the middle on the left, and three openings on the opposite side.

“You know, I never would have leeched Marley. That’s all your fault. If you’d left her in Maine it wouldn’t have happened.”

“Liar,” Quinn said under her breath. He was trying to bait her, determine where she was. She moved back to her left and around the end of the cubicle block.

“I’m not lying. I had no intention of harming the woman who gave me my start. I care about her, you know.” His tone was regretful and almost sounded sincere, but Quinn ignored it.

This wasn’t working. The thread between them wasn’t enough to pinpoint his exact spot, and she couldn’t see into any of the center cubicles. She stood slowly to make sure Anson wasn’t visible above the tops of the cubicles. Then she grasped the top of the narrow wall next to her and launched herself upward.

It happened just like she visualized. Her body flew up and landed on the cubicle wall, feet balanced on the two-inch-wide metal strip, hands gripping the wall so she was ready to swing right back down if she needed to.

But Anson hadn’t noticed, too intent on his monologue. “Can you believe the fuss everyone’s making, anyway? I mean, it’s not like I raped or murdered anyone. I made them normal. Millions of people would give anything to be normal. Even some goddesses.”

His words barely penetrated. The four nearest cubicles were also empty. His voice still echoed and played games with her ears, but she could tell he was in front of her. She crawled forward, looking down onto dusty, empty desks and shelves.

And then there he was. Crouched in the center cubicle, protected on three sides by other cubes and half under the desk. He was doing something with his hands that Quinn couldn’t see. She shifted her weight, preparing to jump down on him, when he held out his palm. In the center spun a piece of cloth, what looked like a rolled-up sock—her sock? One end was pointed and as she watched, it rotated upward to point at her. Anson jerked his head up, and Quinn pounced.

He had enough power to shield himself, so instead of landing on him she slid to the ground a few inches away. With a thought, she swept away his shield. Then she caught him by the shoulders and tried to wrestle him down.

He struggled, but she ignored the blows on her face and torso and concentrated on connecting again with his power core. It was easier this time to make the connection. Frighteningly easy. She craved the power, scrabbling for it like an addict, but when she drew on it, the resistance was stronger.

Anson yelled and twisted and punched and tried to get away from her. She maintained her hold but couldn’t focus enough to draw. She thought of Marley and Sam and Nick and even her birth mother, as vulnerable as all the other goddesses, but it didn’t bolster her strength. A desperate need welled in her, a silent keening when the power eluded her draw.