Under the Moon (Goddesses Rising)

Chapter Fifteen

The goddess visited the dungeon after her love had been sealed away, where he could steal no more power from other, innocent goddesses. “If you leave me here, I’ll die,” he pleaded with her through the iron bars in his door. “I can no longer survive without access to the energy of life.” Tears dripped down the goddess’s face, for she knew the truth of his words, and it was her fault. She knew it was wrong, but there was no way to fix all the damage she had done, and she deserved no mercy. She laid her fingers on his. “Take mine.”

—“The Goddess and the Leech,” from Tales of the Descendants of Asgard

…



Nick had obtained a two-bedroom suite, by far the nicest accom-modations they’d shared this month. Quinn’s shoes sank into the plush ivory carpeting when they entered. The center room held dark, fancy antique tables flanking a beautiful but hard-looking love seat and two chairs in earth tones. Doors on either side of the room led to bedrooms with double beds visible. Nick went to the bay window to check the latch and peer out. “Fire escape here. No bedroom access, though.”

“Duly noted.” Quinn went to the French-style phone to order room service.

Sam had his laptop open already and scribbled down the research Quinn wanted him to do. Once that was all done, she grabbed her bag and headed to a bathroom to shower. The bedroom was small, with only a few inches between the gold-comforter-covered double beds, a walnut armoire against one wall instead of a closet. The marble bathroom was tiny, too, but luxurious, with a plush rug and thick white towels. The hotel’s gold logo filled the center of the white shower curtain—a real curtain, not an industrial-strength, mildew-resistant plastic liner like in most hotel bathrooms.

She lingered under the water, letting the soft spray wash away tears she couldn’t attach to anything in particular. Fatigue, fear, the burden Barbara had placed on her, which was no more than she’d taken on herself but which weighed more heavily now, regardless. She pretended none of the tears were related to the loneliness Marley had reminded her of and that she could now feel looming at the other side of this.

When she came out of the steamy bathroom, Sam sat on the end of her bed. He looked fine, with no residual effects from his injuries, but guilt twisted her heart anyway. He’d endured so much for her. From her. She couldn’t look at him as she reached for the plush robe on the bed.

“Is the food here yet?” She turned her back to pull the robe over her towel, then let the towel fall to the floor.

“No.”

After belting the robe, she drew the other towel off her head and squeezed it around her hair. “I’m so sorry I let you get hurt.”

He rolled his eyes. “That wasn’t your fault.” He shifted away when Quinn sat on the bed next to him. It was a small movement that likely meant nothing, but it felt much bigger. His demeanor had changed. Somehow, in the short time they were separated, he’d made a decision.

Afraid of the inevitable, she started talking. “Anson’s completely on our shoulders now. Even if I was his big goal all along, what he did here while we were in Maine shows he’s not likely to be satisfied with leeching me. If he gets that much power, he could be unstoppable.” The magnitude of it hit her anew. Failure just wasn’t possible now.

Sam put his arm around her shoulders. “We can do this. We won’t let him get to anyone else.”

He’d barely finished the sentence when Quinn heard the hall door opening. “That can’t be room service. I didn’t hear a knock.” She pushed to her feet and reached for the bedroom door. She’d almost reached it when it blew inward, knocking her off her feet. A white flash blinded her, mixing with stars from smacking her head on the floor.

“Quinn!” Sam bent, his hand going behind her head, but she shoved him away and launched herself up and into the main room. She instinctively knew what that flash was. What it had to be. She threw up her hands against another flash of light, glimpsing her sister in a heap on the floor, a dark figure looming over her with a hand on her chest.

She didn’t have time to think. She opened herself wide to the moon and shoved at the figure, trying to get him off Marley. The photonegative effect of the light faded, but a hum rose around them. Glasses on the bar and vases on tables rattled, as did the door of the other bedroom. Nick shouted her name and banged on the door, trapped inside.

“NooooooooOOOOO!” She pushed harder, desperate to free her sister. The figure—it had to be Anson—didn’t budge, despite Quinn’s efforts. Sam shouted behind her, and Anson lifted his head. There was a loud thud, and Quinn whipped around to see Sam sliding down the wall, unconscious. Fury took over. She scanned the room for weapons and used telekinesis to fling a heavy vase, books, and decorative bowls through the air at the leech. Marley shuddered and jerked under his hand, while he had taken on a faint amethyst glow. Everything Quinn threw bounced harmlessly to the carpet. He was powerful enough to deflect the missiles even while leeching her sister. She tried to render him unconscious like she had his people at the inn, but nothing happened.

Pressure built into a bloodcurdling scream of rage. She ran across the room, her hands in front of her, sending energy in waves, trying to knock him off or interrupt his pull of Marley’s power. In slow motion Anson raised his free hand. Quinn slammed full-speed into an invisible wall and fell to the floor again. Her vision erupted in cracked lines of pain and her nose gushed warm blood.

She touched her face to heal the injury. Haphazardly, but well enough for the pain to fade and her vision to clear. But it was too late. Anson now loomed over Quinn.

She couldn’t defend herself, couldn’t affect him. Fear flooded her, but she wasn’t helpless. Or alone. She unlocked Nick’s door with a thought. It flew open so hard it cracked the drywall behind it. Nick charged out, his pistol leading, and fired three times. The first bullet soared off course. The second stopped before it got to Anson. But the third hit him in the hand. He yelped and stared at it, going white with shock. Then, fury contorting his face, he stretched a hand toward Nick. Nick’s gun flew out of his hand and crashed through the window.

Nick didn’t hesitate. He pulled another weapon from his rear waistband and kept firing, hitting Anson twice before the leech threw a chair at Nick, knocking him to the floor.

Quinn lashed out with her feet as Anson stepped closer to her, still distracted by her protector. She slammed her heel into his knee, then scissored her legs around his. He landed on his back hard enough to shake the floor but was on his feet as quickly as she was.

Sirens outside stopped everything. Quinn recovered first and lunged, but she managed only to catch Anson’s long coat, which he slipped out of and ran through the doorway. By the time she reached the hall, he’d disappeared.

She hesitated, not wanting to let him go, but also afraid to leave the others here alone to face the police and the management. She wasn’t ready for another fight, not when he was so damned strong. Plus, racing through the streets of Boston in a bathrobe, trying to engage an enemy she was not at all sure she could conquer…well, that would be stupid.

She cursed and went back inside. Marley and Sam lay on the floor, both unconscious. Nick stumbled across the room, bleeding from a gash on his temple and another on his upper arm, right below the sleeve of his T-shirt. But Quinn looked at the coat in her hand and smiled.

Anson didn’t know it, but he’d just handed her victory.

…



The rush didn’t last long. Keeping Anson’s coat over her arm, Quinn closed the door and fastened the chain and privacy lock. Nick reached her and propped himself against the wall, leaning to peer through the peephole.

“He’s gone?”

“Yeah. You okay?” She touched the gash on his head, wincing at the rawness. The injuries were getting worse every time—but no more.

“Sonofabitch.” He jerked away. “I’m fine. Get your sister.” He wove his way back into the sitting room and over to Sam, still crumpled in a heap on the floor. Quinn saw he was covered in glass from a shattered picture frame. She told herself he’d be okay, that they’d all be okay, but even with the advantage Anson had unknowingly given her, victory wasn’t at hand yet. It wouldn’t be if she didn’t have her team intact.

Later. Deal with this now, that later.

“Don’t move him,” she told Nick. “I’ll be right there.” She knelt next to Marley, who was as still and pale as a wax figure. Quinn skimmed her hands over her sister, checking for injury, but there wasn’t one.

There was, however, a definite lack of power.

“Oh, no.” A sob escaped her. “I’m so sorry, Marley. It’s my fault,” she whispered, stroking her sister’s dark hair off her forehead. “Come on, sweetie,” she said louder. “Wake up.”

Marley’s eyelids fluttered. Her eyes, pale lavender before from the initial bestowment, were now almost white, the darker purple flecks in the irises reminding Quinn of Easter eggs. She groaned and rolled to her side. “Oh, Quinn, I’m such an idiot.”

“Take it easy.”

“I’m okay. Just weak.” She let Quinn help her to her feet. “I didn’t let him in, I swear.”

Quinn wondered why Marley would assume that was what she thought. “What happened?”

“I heard the elevator and was going to check through the peephole to see if it was room service. But the door opened by itself.” She stared at Quinn, eyes wide, disconcerting in their lack of color combined with fear and anxiety. “I didn’t let him in,” she repeated. “I didn’t tell him where we are.”

The elevator dinged, and adrenaline rushed through Quinn. “We don’t have time to be sorry. Go get our stuff. Get to the window with the fire escape.” She watched through the peephole as police officers and what looked like the hotel manager dashed past. They hadn’t pinpointed the gunshots yet.

“We’ve got to get out of here.” Hurrying across the room, she swept her hand over Sam to remove all the glass covering him, then checked his spine first. Nothing was broken, so she nodded to Nick to pick him up.

“Are you shittin’ me? The guy weighs more than I do. He’s four inches taller.” He shut up when Quinn dropped her bathrobe and pulled on Anson’s coat, buttoning it and tightening the belt.

“Just go, Nick.”

Without another word he bent and lifted Sam in a fireman’s carry. Marley beckoned from the open window, and he staggered over. Quinn grabbed Sam’s computer bag and Nick’s weapon-filled duffel from the love seat on her way to the fire escape. They were heavy enough that she had to drag them across the floor. She bent to crisscross the straps across her body. That balanced the weight, but only if she stood upright.

Voices in the hall grew louder. The police were coming. Too quickly, someone pounded on their door. She gripped the sides of the window and pushed one leg through—careful to keep the coat between her naked body and the cold, hard-edged windowsill—then heaved herself onto the fire escape to follow the others to the alley below. She cursed as the bags kept catching between the rails, but she didn’t have time to stop and levitate the bags to the ground. By the time she reached the bottom of the ladder, she was sweating.

“Any clue where valet parking is in this place?” Nick asked her. He’d let Sam down onto his feet but supported his full weight with Sam’s arm across his shoulder and his own arm around Sam’s waist. They’d never be able to drag him into the underground parking area unseen, even if she cloaked them.

She dropped the bags to the ground. “Give me the keys. You wait here.”

Nick scowled but complied. Marley made to follow Quinn, who put up her hand to stop her.

“No,” Quinn said. “Stay here. Help Nick support Sam and make it look like he’s drunk if anyone shows up.”

“You doing okay?” Nick asked her.

She’d used a lot of power, but adrenaline seemed to be making up for it. She had energy, even if she couldn’t draw as easily as she had in the apartment. As for the rest—well, if she kept them moving, she could keep from wallowing in guilt long enough to rectify everything.

“Yep,” she told Nick.

“You got a plan?”

“Nick, let me go! But yes, I have a plan.” She hurried down the alley to the rear of the building. The dim, dingy entrance to the concrete garage was a far cry from the elegant front entryway. Quinn kept to the shadows on the far side of the entrance from the booth, where two attendants bent over something below the Plexiglas windows. A valet walking up the incline toward the front of the building bounced in time to the music on his headphones and never turned her way.

Quinn circled three levels, cursing the whole time, until she found Nick’s car. She didn’t bother trying to mask the growl of the engine, hoping the booth attendants would think a valet was retrieving it.

The back exit had a gate, and she didn’t want to damage it or the car, nor did she have ID on her or any proof that she owned the vehicle, since she didn’t. So she zoomed out the open front entrance and turned right into traffic, then right again, the wrong way down the alley, before anyone could approach or stop her. Nick stood as she’d left him, Sam slung across his shoulders—except he was on his other side. Marley stood looking down at a prone figure, rolling something in her hand. A crystal?

Quinn stopped with a screech next to them and jumped out.

“What happened?”

“He came out of nowhere.” Nick dragged Sam toward the passenger side. Quinn hurried around to open the door and pull the seat forward. While Nick shoved Sam into the back, she dashed around again and got back behind the wheel. Marley crawled in after Sam and tried to straighten out his legs. Her movements were jerky, and Quinn saw tear tracks on her face. The crystal, or whatever had been in her hand, was gone.

“Who is he? The guy on the ground?”

“Anson’s friend,” Marley answered without looking up at her. “He came to the inn a few times. He ran down the alley with a gun. I tried…I tried…”

Nick slammed the door and Quinn took off. He gave her a significant look and said, “I saw him coming, dropped Sam, and popped him before he could get a shot off.”

Marley whimpered. “He leeched me. I couldn’t stop the guy in the alley. Oh, Quinn.” She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

Quinn didn’t know what to do. She hadn’t realized Marley wasn’t aware of what Anson had done to her. They were in the middle of heavy downtown traffic now and she couldn’t stop, especially when Anson was still sending people after them. Not to mention the police, who’d find the aftermath of their fight and maybe even the slugs Nick had shot at Anson. Even if Quinn was in a position to comfort her sister right now, there was nothing to say that would help.

Still, she had to try. “I’m sorry, Marley. It’s my fault. I should have anticipated he’d be able to track us that easily.”

“No.” Marley straightened. “I’m the one who gave him the ability to do this. I’ve been afraid it would happen. But it’s my punishment. I’ll accept it. Eventually,” she added in a whisper. “Now tell us your plan.”

Quinn gained more respect for Marley. Finally, she was accepting the truth and acting like more than a victim—ironically just as she had become a real one.

“Okay, first we need an empty building. Something in a deserted area, if we can find one.”

Sam groaned and shifted in the backseat. “Oh, man. I’m sick of being knocked unconscious.”

Nick twisted in his seat. “Double vision, headache, nausea?”

“No. I don’t know. Give me a minute.”

Stopped at a light, Quinn watched in the rearview mirror as Sam squeezed his eyes closed, then opened them wide. But when those eyes met hers in the mirror, they were clear and even. He winced, stretching his neck and shoulders, but his movements became more limber and controlled.

“I feel like I’ve been hauled down a fire escape or something.”

The silence rang in the car.

“Seriously? You hauled me down a fire escape?” He lifted his pant leg and touched something on his shin. “Weren’t very gentle about it, were you?” he accused Nick, who faced forward.

“You’re welcome. Go on with your plan,” he said to Quinn.

“Sam, did you get to do any of the research I wanted?”

“Yeah, um, empty building. I found a warehouse that’s been for sale for three years. Looks like a pretty dilapidated area.”

“Remember where it was? How to get there?”

“You got a map?”

Nick dug around in the glove compartment until he found a city map of Boston. “It’s a few years old.” He handed it back to Sam, who opened it and examined the markings, then ducked his head to check the street signs they passed.

“Okay, yeah. Turn left up ahead.” He directed Quinn’s driving as she relayed the rest of her plan in pieces. They pulled up in front of rusty overhead doors in a battered brick building that had maybe half its glass windows intact. The tension in the car, made up of probably equal parts disapproval and fear, seemed to crawl over her skin.

Nick got out and tried to open the overhead door. It didn’t budge. He tried the one next to it, and it, too, stayed firm. He held up a finger and went around the side of the building before Quinn could point out that she could unlock the door herself. They waited. She tried not to be aware of the minutes as they ticked by, but she noted them automatically. She’d hit eleven when, with a bang and a rattle followed by the hum of mechanics, the door rose.

As soon as she could, she pulled into the building, hoping she had a clear field and debris wouldn’t puncture a tire or something. Nick would kill her.

But no, the cavernous space was empty. The weak light from outside penetrated the grime on the windows better than she’d expected.

They climbed out of the car and stood in a cluster by the wall, Quinn feeling vulnerable and skittish and sensing her friends felt the same.

“How long do you think it will take him to track us down?” Sam moved to set up his laptop on an empty mechanic’s bin.

“Not long. He’s got something of Marley’s or mine—probably Marley’s—to track us.” She rubbed her forehead both to ease the headache building there and to hide her thoughts. Anson had an exceptional level of power now. He’d done so many things at once, so easily. Leeching Marley alone should have taken all his effort. Obviously, the collection of capacity from four goddesses was far more than she’d anticipated. Stupid.

Nick stopped walking the perimeter of the room, where he’d examined the few remaining items for anything they could use. “You’re wearing his coat. Can’t he track that even better?”

“No.” Quinn should have been repulsed by the jacket, by the man’s scent on it, but glee made that impossible. She had to stop thinking negatively. I can do this. We can do this. “Let’s split up and search the building for the things we can use. No more than five minutes. Be back here before then.”

Five minutes later, they reassembled. Quinn took inventory of the bits and pieces they’d collected. It wasn’t much, but they’d make do. She went into action, telling Marley to change into some of Quinn’s clothes and pulling on some herself, though she left her torso bare under Anson’s coat for maximum contact with his energy. Then she fixed Marley’s hair so it was more like hers and placed a chair with a bent leg in a shadowy area in the center of the room.

“You’re a little shorter than I am, so sitting is better.”

Marley did so without hesitation but said, “Won’t he know it’s me? I’m powerless. He can sense that, probably from a distance now.”

“All we need is a few seconds of distraction. Here, turn to face this door.” Nick had broken into a regular door on the building’s south wall. Quinn had left it hanging open an inch and secured the other, bigger doors. Anson would be able to open them, but she was gambling that he’d go for the easier, quieter route. Even if he didn’t, the noise would alert them, and they would have time to adjust.

Nick and Sam took up positions on either side of the door, while Quinn backed into the darkest shadows along one wall and intensified them to cloak herself. She used a little more power to concentrate on sensing Anson’s approach and determining how many people he brought with him.

Then they waited.

The net she’d cast vibrated, indicating a presence. The timbre of the vibration told her it was definitely him, his personal energy matching the residue on his coat. By wearing it, Quinn had connected herself to him and taken a slight advantage.

“He’s here,” she said quietly. “Three people with him, no goddesses.” She focused, struggling to keep her power under control, not use too much at once. “He’s last. Wait for the others to come in.”

That was all she could do except watch these first few steps. The door swung inward, creaking a little. A hulking shape loomed against the bright security light outside. His head rotated back and forth before he zeroed in on Marley. She’d dropped her head so it looked like she was unconscious. There was no reason for her to be, and Anson might detect a trap, but again, they only needed seconds.

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.”

“A*shole,” 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 a*shole.”

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.

Anson dropped to the floor. His weight wrenched her shoulders, and she almost lost her grip, but she followed him down and tried to stay on top. He managed to roll, then caught her wrists and jerked her hands off him. His knees pressed down onto her arms, pinning her to the dirty floor. Darkness pushed in around her.

“Got you,” he growled. He slammed his palm down on her chest, bare between the lapels of his coat. He connected with her core with a click she felt deep inside, then started to draw the power out of her. She gasped at the icy abrasion and for a minute she could do nothing. Her arms ached where he pinned them. The cold pain of the leeching numbed her ability to think. Her vision narrowed so all she could see was his face—lips pulled back in a gleeful grimace, hair flopping—he didn’t look remotely attractive anymore, except for those brilliant, glowing eyes.

Now she understood how completely helpless the others had been, having no way to stop this from happening. Despair squeezed her lungs, darkening into a grief she could never have imagined. She almost gave up, unable to see past it. But then she gasped for air, and the movement shifted her awareness. Anson wasn’t only connected to her. She was connected to him. She didn’t need to touch him in any certain way to draw his power.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and found the thread of light that connected them. She blocked out everything else and pulled, again like sucking on a straw, only with her soul.

As soon as the process reversed, as soon as what remained in him began to enter her, what she’d already taken seemed to reach eagerly for the rest. Overall, Quinn had more power than Anson, and even as he pulled against her, the solid connection he’d made went both ways. She realized that even though the power he’d leeched had been marked as his, it wasn’t his. It didn’t belong to him. Her lungs screamed for breath and lights danced behind her closed eyelids, but she didn’t move, only concentrated everything she had on collecting that power. The more she took, the easier it was, and she pulled harder, the conduit strengthening, the power filling her, until she’d drained Anson almost completely.

The rest of the world rushed back in when Nick, roaring, knocked Anson off her. The two of them slammed into the desk of the cubicle, Nick on top, drawing back his fist. Sam pulled Quinn out of the cube and collapsed against the cloth-covered wall opposite, cradling her against his chest.

Everything froze. Anson lay still under Nick, his eyes open but vacant. Nick held his shirt in his fist, the other arm still cocked, but Anson didn’t move.

“Is he dead?” Sam panted.

“No.” Nick let go, and Anson settled to the ground. “He’s breathing.”

Quinn felt as limp as Anson looked. She closed her eyes, unable to move. It was over.

Everything was.