Under the Moon (29 page)

Sam pulled on a pair of latex gloves and stripped a set of forceps out of their sterile wrap. He nodded at Quinn, who sat on the edge of the bed and braced Nick’s head between her hands. He kept his green eyes locked on hers, and she opened herself to the power of the moon, letting the cool surge of energy snap into place. She didn’t know how much she could draw. The moon wasn’t very high yet, and there were still two days before she reached full power.

The physical limits on her ability to draw and use what could be unlimited power had never bothered her before. Humanity was about strength and weakness, and goddesshood was another level of that. But now, for the first time, it affected someone she cared about.

And it sucked.

Quinn didn’t watch Sam but knew when he first touched Nick, who hissed through his teeth and grabbed her wrist as if fighting to keep still. His eyes skittered sideways.

“Keep looking at me, Nick.” She reached into Nick, to feel what he felt, so she could interfere with the effect of Sam’s touch. Her power wasn’t strong enough to block it completely—she had to take some of the pain into herself. The sharpness made her gasp and she stopped as soon as Nick settled and locked his gaze back on hers. Taking in too much could make her lose contact with Nick, and the explosion of physical and psychological pain could kill him.

“I can feel the bullet,” Sam said. “It’s deep.”

Quinn ignored him and focused intently on Nick’s eyes, trying to draw all his attention so he wasn’t aware of what was happening at the foot of the bed.

His body jerked. “Son of a bitch,” he gritted out. His fingers tightened on her wrist, but he didn’t look away from her again.

“That’s it, Nick. Stay with me. It won’t take long.” She pressed her hands tighter, holding on.

“Nng. Naaarrrgh!” He strangled the yell, but the pain increased. Quinn let more of it in. Shards of glass tumbled through her bloodstream, but Nick screamed and she opened up even more. Her eyes watered with the effort of keeping contact, but Nick relaxed a tiny bit and his breathing became more gasp, less hiss.

Quinn tried to relax her body, to distance herself from the pain. She gritted her teeth to avoid screaming as Nick’s grip tightened again and the shards sliced deeper into her. Sam cursed behind her. Nick’s body bowed. She couldn’t talk, couldn’t see anything beyond the torment in his eyes, or feel anything but the agony spinning between them.

“I’ve got it.”

There was a clink behind her, and Nick went limp. Quinn gulped in air as the glass seemed to melt and slide out of her body.

“I need to rinse it with saline, put some ointment on it, and re-bandage it. I’m not going to try to stitch it or anything. Infection risk, besides keeping him in pain.”

“Appreciate that,” Nick managed to say. His hand slipped off of Quinn’s wrist, but she didn’t release him. She held on while Sam quickly medicated and bandaged the wound. Her fingers cramped and her back spasmed. Nick groaned a few times, but the worst of his agony had passed. When Sam declared himself done, Nick sank deeper into the pillow and patted Quinn’s hand.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his eyes boring into hers even more intensely than they had during the procedure. Then they closed, and he fell asleep.

And Quinn allowed herself to collapse.

…

“What the hell was it?”

A short while later Sam and Quinn huddled over the cart in the corner of Nick’s room while he slept. Sam had gathered her off the floor and deposited her in a chair, then rushed out to find her a bottle of juice. She’d recovered enough within a few minutes that she could focus on what the hell was going on.

She held the bullet with the forceps Sam had used to retrieve it and studied it with both her senses and her power.

“It’s been treated,” she said.

“With what? And why?”

“Hard to say without knowing who did it, but there are some goddesses who combine their powers with other disciplines. Like healers who use herbs and homeopathic remedies and infuse them with power to enhance their properties.”

“Or the opposite?”

She frowned. “So it would seem. This is strange, though. It’s like a hallucinogenic, but it caused him pain and insight, not hallucinations.” That rang a bell, but before she could figure out why, the tall psychiatrist returned with a baggie Sam had asked for, to contain the bullet he’d extracted.

“I’m sorry, but we are
not
equipped for this kind of thing,” the doctor said with a nervous glance at Nick. “I must insist you move him to a proper facility. One that has the experience to…handle all the…requirements.”

“We’ll pay you for the room and supplies,” Sam assured him. “And we’ll leave in the morning. He needs rest now.”

The doctor pursed his lips but nodded shortly. “If you’re finished with this?” He backed out of the room, pulling the cart.

“He’s got to call the police,” Quinn said in a low voice, watching the door. “It’s the law.”

“Don’t worry.” Sam dragged over the vinyl chair he’d used and pressed Quinn’s shoulder until she sat. He bent close to her ear. “I convinced him we’ll move Nick to a regular hospital tomorrow, and they can handle the report. He’s not made for this. He was eager to take that reprieve.”

“Good.” She stared at the plastic-encased bullet in her hand, her vision going lax from fatigue and post-adrenaline comedown, as well as from the use of power.

“Tell me again where you were.” She forced her heavy eyelids open. She had to stay strong so they could figure this out.

“The inn is on a hill surrounded by open land. It’s clear-cut at the back and carved with walkways and gardens and stuff. It’s one of her draws, I guess. Peace, serenity…”

“Getting shot.”

“It might not have had anything to do with her.”

“Or with Nick specifically? Like they’d do this to just anyone who was there?”

Sam didn’t answer, but she’d been speaking rhetorically. There was no way this didn’t have anything to do with Marley or that Nick wasn’t a deliberate target. Blame tried to settle on her shoulders. Nick wouldn’t have been hurt if he hadn’t come up here, if she hadn’t been so insistent on this path.

But that was stupid. The only person responsible for this was the person who’d done it. They could run and hide, but that would only delay the inevitable. They had to keep going and stop the enemy before they harmed anyone else.

She held up the bullet, finally understanding the hallucinogeniclike properties. “Do you know who does things like this?”

“Who?”

“Jennifer Hollinger.”

Sam scowled. “Like this? To hurt people?”

“No.” She set the bag on the flat arm of the chair and let her head drop against the back. “She infuses objects. Fun stuff for souvenirs—infusing light or kinetic energy or the essence of certain compounds. There were rumors she did it for legal highs, too.”

“But she’s been leeched.”

“Exactly.”

Understanding dawned. “You think the leech did this.”

“Or someone working with the leech.” She didn’t need to spell it out. The heaviness in her voice was obvious.

“Quinn.”

“See if you can find another chair. We need a little sleep before tomorrow.” She dragged herself to her feet and pulled the chair to the side of Nick’s bed before collapsing into it.

She was asleep before Sam returned.

…

Quinn woke with degrees of awareness. First was the dishearteningly familiar churn of need. The moon lust usually took half the full moon period to manifest, but because she’d ignored it for so long, it surged much earlier.

Luckily, the crick in her neck and tingling up and down her left side were stronger discomforts. Sunlight poured through the window, making her blink. She realized the tingling was from the vibration of her cell phone, which
wasn’t
also ringing. She must have hit the button to silence it at some point in her frantic scramble to get here. That explained why she hadn’t heard it when Sam called last night. She tugged the phone out of her pants pocket and checked the display. The number wasn’t familiar.

“Hello?”

“How’s your boy?”

She sat up. The voice was disguised, neither male nor female, but whatever device the caller used to distort it didn’t filter out the glee. Hatred made her voice shake when she answered.

“What boy?”

“Don’t play coy. The legendary Nick Jarrett, taken down with a little of the magic he protects.”

“It’s not magic.”

“Of course it is. Magic is just another word for things science can’t explain.”

“Who are you?”

“I think you call me ‘the leech.’ I’d capitalize it, though.”

“Why disguise your voice? Do I know you?”

“No. You don’t know me. But you will, and I don’t want you to see me coming. Ta for now.”

Her phone beeped the call summary, but she didn’t look at it. It had been thirty-four seconds. Not enough time to trace the call, either electronically or with power. And dammit, she hadn’t even thought of it.

And there wouldn’t be a next time. He wanted to play games but wouldn’t be stupid enough to repeat himself. She squeezed the phone in her hand, her jaw clenched, until the urge to roar her anger subsided.

“Who was that?” Sam unfolded himself from the chair he’d scrunched into on the far side of the bed and rubbed his eyes. Nick slept on between them, much more peaceful and rested than a few hours ago. The sunken look was gone, his color normal.

“The leech,” she said, not taking her eyes off Nick. His chest rose and fell with a slow, natural rhythm. Watching it calmed her, and she unclenched her muscles, one by one.

Sam, on the other hand, lurched to his feet. “What?”

“The leech. Apparently Nick was right. He’ll be coming after me.” She told him about the conversation. “He’s responsible for Nick’s leg.”

Before Sam could launch into the outburst that had built while she talked, the doctor appeared at the doorway. “It’s time to check out,” he said dourly. “If one of you would like to settle the charges?”

“I’ll do it.” Sam followed him.

So Nick had been right all along. She might not be the leech’s endgame, but he was coming for her, and he was smart. He knew she wouldn’t be as easy as the others had been, so he was targeting the people around her first. Trying to get them out of the way or to unbalance her, make her vulnerable emotionally? Maybe both. His motives didn’t really matter. Now there was no doubt this was personal. So, okay. He’d learn what a mistake that was.

Quinn sat forward and touched her fingertips to the back of Nick’s hand. He didn’t move. Relieved, she stroked his fingers, then up his wrist and forearm to his elbow. Still no writhing or screaming. He rolled his head the other way but slept on.

“Nick.” She pressed her thumb into the spot inside his elbow. “Wake up, hon.”

He smiled. “I like the way you say that.” His voice was sleep-rough, but not the croak it had been the night before. Rolling his head back toward her, he opened his eyes and twisted his arm to wrap his fingers around hers. “Not a bad sight to wake up to, either.”

Quinn couldn’t help it; she laughed, shoving her hair back with her free hand. Her relief that he was okay made her momentarily giddy. “I’m a mess.”

“The gold light makes your skin glow. Your eyes, too. You’re beautiful.” His brows furrowed, as if he were remembering what had happened. He looked around at the hospital room, then lifted his left leg a little and flinched. “Ow.”

“I’d better look at that before we leave.” Quinn released his hand and moved to the end of the bed. She carefully peeled up the bandage. The flesh beneath was pink now and not bleeding. She smiled. “Much better.” The wound was still severe, but she didn’t want to try to heal it yet. She’d used so much power, she wasn’t sure how much she could draw on right now, and the leech could attack at any time.

“If you say so.” Nick frowned. “Man, he shredded my favorite jeans.”

“You can thank him later. Can you get up? They’re kicking us out.”

“Yeah, no problem.” He swung his legs around, started to push himself off the bed, and sank back down, raising his eyebrows and squeezing his eyes shut. “Okay, small problem.”