He drops the paper on the passenger seat and looks up at the impressive building. He has an appointment at ten. Okay, not really an appointment, more like Casper hacked into her calendar and figured out she leaves her office each day at ten to head to yoga class three blocks away.
He exits the vehicle, carrying his newspaper from his run earlier that day, and finds a spot on a bench in the middle of the plaza outside her office building. People mill about, going in and out for business. Quinn watches closely, adjusting the small camera on his hoodie. He’s recording the meeting—the whole scene—to show Astrid and Owen later. You know, when he decides to actually tell them he came down here alone.
His phone beeps that it’s ten and he shifts his focus on the front door. Demetria appears, like clock-work, surrounded by a few bodyguards. He’d known they would be here, but it definitely complicates things.
Demetria was an odd little girl with gangly legs and too-big eyes. Quinn can’t help but notice how she grew into a beautiful woman. She has the grace and poise of a princess—she probably thinks she is one, he considers. Her footsteps are dainty. Her hair, perfectly styled. A brooch of a rainbow-jeweled fairy is perched just below her shoulder and sparkly earrings dangle from her ears. She looks like a CEO of a toy company. Equal parts professional and whimsy.
One bodyguard carries her gym bag. He’s about Quinn’s size, with a muscular build visible under his suit. His eyes skim over Quinn, assessing for threat. The other, a female, with her long dark hair tied in a knot behind her head, stands a few feet away. Quinn steps up to the crosswalk seconds before they arrive. He presses the button, using a touch of his current, disabling the mechanism that changes the light. She’ll be trapped with him for at least five minutes.
His hands are stuffed in his pockets but he glances over at her casually. She looks ahead but feels his eyes on her and looks up. Demetria offers a friendly smile, but before he can go into his prepared small-talk she says, “I know you.”
“You do?”
“Yes,” her brown eyes take him in. “You were at my Gala.”
He narrows his eyes in thought, before faking recognition. “Oh yes! Right, you hosted the party. I heard your speech and it really resonated with me.”
Her lips spread, happy to hear that. “My fairies told me about you. They recognized you in the crowd.”
“They did?” He tries painfully to keep his expression neutral.
“Yes, I’ve been searching high and low for my Lost Boys. It’s time for you all to come home.”
Thinking she’s going to call him out for his interference that night or maybe their involvement with shutting down Pixie Dust, he’s thrown when she calls him a Lost Boy.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he says, although her Neverland fantasy is well known.
“Ms. Holmes,” the male bodyguard says, eyeing him warily. “You’re going to be late.”
Even though the crossing signal hasn’t changed, the other guard walks into the crosswalk and holds up traffic so they can continue across the street.
“Come home when you’re ready,” she says, looking back as she walks away. Her hair blows in the wind. Quinn stands speechless as he watches the fairy lift off her shoulder and fly over his head, sprinkling glitter in his hair.
He jumps back, knocking into a man behind him. “Sorry,” he mutters, brushing off his shoulders. But there’s nothing there. The fairy is gone, and Demetria and her bodyguards are already a block away.
Chapter Ten
Astrid
The clock ticks on the wall, loud and rattling. It’s been fifteen minutes since she ingested the Pixie Dust. She doesn’t feel any different mentally. If she’d planned on getting blitzed, that didn’t happen, but there’s no mistaking something is off when Owen sits next to her on the couch and holds out his hands.
She’s already removed her gloves. She doesn’t need them around Quinn and Owen on a regular basis. Without touching him, she holds her hand up in the space between them.
“I don’t know if you know this, but I do feel beyond touch. It’s not as intense and definitely not as accurate. In a crowd it’s just a buzz, but one-on-one I can get a sense of that person. Take a reading.”
“Are you reading me now?”
Her eyes meet his. “Normally I can’t. I can track your scent or count your heartbeats. I know when something is wrong, but it’s vague and I have to rely on all my senses to figure it out. But now? It’s easier, clearer.”
His heart rate increases with every word; it should, she’s about to violate his privacy. She’s going to pry around in his thoughts. In his past. He probably wonders if it will hurt. It shouldn’t.
“What kind of information do you get off of me?” he asks. She still hasn’t touched him.
“Right now? You’re nervous. I think the Pixie Dust changes our body chemistry to smell like cinnamon, because I’m getting a huge hit of that.”
“What do I normally smell like?”
“Roses, when you use your powers. Detergent and sweat the rest of the time.”
“I’m sweaty?” He wrinkles his nose in disgust.
She smiles. “It’s a good thing. Manly. I like it.”
Astrid doesn’t tell him that the following wave is one of interest and testosterone. He likes being flattered. Who doesn’t?
“Okay,” she says. “I think I’m ready.”
They’re sitting face-to-face on the couch, legs crossed under them. His hands are resting on his knees. Astrid slowly reaches for him, touching her fingertips to his palms.
She gasps as the echo runs through her.
FEAR. PANIC. Blood on linoleum.
Astrid jumps back and removes her shaking hands.
“Did it work? Are you okay?” he asks.
Her heart races. “Yeah, it’s just…it’s hard.”
“See anything scary?” His smile is teasing.
She’s not sure how much to tell him. The blood and the fear. It—no, he—was absolutely terrified.
“Let’s do this,” she says, steadying her voice. “Try to clear your mind. Let’s see what rises to the top.”
He nods and closes his eyes.
Sobs. Heart caught in his throat. Tight-fisted anger. A swirling rage of black.
Her body trembles at the pain Owen carries. So much pain. A sob rips through her and he looks at her with grave concern.
“Hey,” he says, reaching for her but stopping, aware of the boundaries. She wraps her arms around her body, fighting the chill.
“Where did it happen?” she finally asks.
He looks at her blankly for a moment before realization dawns. “In the kitchen.”
Shot, just like Atticus and Holden.
His pain flares hers back up again. It lingers like a sickness; a virus spreading through her veins. The difference, though, is unlike the woman at the fire…that was a moment of fear and panic. Owen carries this with him every day.
She’s struck with the urge to make him feel better. To give him more to cling to than pain and anger. He watches her closely as she lowers her hand to his and tentatively pushes back.
Astrid thinks of good things. Happy thoughts. Harry Styles curled up in her lap. The annoyed look on Quinn’s face when she eats junk food. Boxing with Owen and the grin on his face the first time he landed a punch. The relaxed, sexy way he sleeps.
Warmth spreads from her fingers to his and slowly his echo adjusts, shifting from the negative to the positive. Bright happiness flows from him and Astrid opens her eyes and smiles.
“Did you do that?” he asks, grinning. The dark cloud behind his eyes fades.
Warmth spreads from her hand to his and it turns from simple happiness to something else. A flicker of desire—heat burning between them.
Astrid’s face. Her lips and hair.
The echo brightens and again she snatches her hand away, surprised this time.
His eyes twinkle.
“You changed my feelings,” he says. His voice is full of awe.
“I did, didn’t I?” She looks at her hands. “It’s still really overwhelming though, good or bad.”