Under the Moon (Goddesses Rising)

by Natalie J. Damschroder

  Quinn had settled for what they had because it was so much better than not having him at all. She’d always believed that was also Nick’s motivation. But now that she recognized the same pattern with Sam, she had to see her relationship with Nick differently, too.

  The familiar ache of longing sharpened enough to make her turn away from that line of thought and face the other. Family ties. Alana could have meant only one thing.

  “What—” She swallowed, but the rest of the question still came out raspy. “What did you learn about my birth parents?”

  Nick’s tone was gentle when he asked, “What do you know about them?”

  She folded her arms and lifted her shoulders. “Not much. I met them once, when I was about eight. They were still together, but they were only twenty-three. They told me they’d given me up for adoption because they were too young to take care of me.”

  “Did your birth mother tell you what you were?”

  “Not really, but she didn’t have to. I was too young to understand the whole genetic thing, but I believed I was a goddess because my real mother—my adoptive mother, I mean—was a goddess. But they had different sources and skills.” She remembered the small tricks her birth mother had done and how awed Quinn had been. “My birth mother snapped her fingers and made a hair ribbon appear. I thought it was out of thin air, but it was probably from her pocket. My hair was frizzy beyond belief, and I hated it, but she smoothed her hand down it and tied it with the ribbon, and it was perfect after that.”

  “Still is.”

  He said it so low Quinn wasn’t sure she’d heard him. She hesitated before going on. “She left a box for me, some things her mother had handed down to her, things to help me focus my power and learn how to use it. But my mom was the one who actually taught me.”

  “Did you ever look for your birth parents once you were an adult?”

  She shook her head. “Of course I thought about it, all adopted kids do, but I decided not to. At first, I didn’t want to hurt my parents.” They’d been a close-knit family, especially after her father quit the corporate world to open the bar. Her mother was a traditional housewife who didn’t use her power for commercial use. Seeking her other parents had seemed insulting, and then Quinn’s father had his first heart attack when she was nineteen. He stayed fragile until he died seven years later, leaving her the bar she’d renamed Under the Moon. Her mother suffered so much with his death that Quinn hadn’t even considered adding to it.

  “After Mom died, I was so lonely it was easy to spin fantasies about reconnecting with my birth family. But I decided there were more reasons I’d be sorry than glad if I tried.”

  Nick shifted closer on the cushions and lifted her feet into his lap, stretching out her legs. He rubbed her arch, like he often did after she’d worked a long shift at the bar—with care and skill and no awareness he was doing it. Warmth blossomed where he touched her and seeped up through her muscles. The banked hunger glowed a little, but she was so tired and so distracted by their conversation it remained low, present but ignorable.

  “What kind of reasons?” he asked.

  “The usual. However young they’d been, they were still together eight years later. What if it hadn’t worked out after that and they were both miserable and blamed me? Or it could have been the opposite, and they had a great life together I wasn’t a part of.”

  “But you had a good life without them, too.” He pressed his thumb deep into her arch, stroking upward, and she shivered.

  “Yes, and being sorry I wasn’t part of their life would have been disloyal to Mom and Dad.” She’d still had to work hard to fight the disappointment when they never tried to contact her again. “Mom wasn’t a very powerful goddess. She derived her power from plant energy but couldn’t draw enough to do spectacular things. I was afraid if my birth mother was as powerful as I can be, especially if she had a constant source, that would make Mom feel bad, too.”

  “Not after she was gone,” Nick pointed out.

  Quinn shook her head. “No, the only real risk after they’d both died was that I’d be rejected. Whatever I found couldn’t hurt Mom and Dad, then. But my birth parents didn’t want me when I was born, and they didn’t want me when I was eight, so why would they want me at twenty-six?” Her throat tightened, the vulnerability of being left behind returning. “Or what if they welcomed me at first but decided they didn’t like me? I was already in too much pain to face that.”

  Nick nodded and slid his hand from the top of her foot to her ankle, resting it there. His heat seeped through her sock, relaxing her even more. But god, it was easy to remember that pain. Only the bar and Nick’s visits had given her anything to be happy about at first. Slowly, she’d built her own independent life. And then Sam came along, and the pain had faded.

  “I don’t know much more than that,” Nick told her. “Just that they’re from New England and were still here fifteen years ago.”

  His gaze went distant and Quinn wondered if he was thinking of his own family. His parents had both been protectors, two strong legacies who went back to the origin of the Protectorate. Nick had wanted to be a protector since he was a little boy, but then his parents had been injured in a mundane car accident and forced to retire. His two older brothers had nothing to do with goddesses, so it was up to Nick to carry on the family legacy. It drove every choice he made.

  “How often do you see your family?” she asked, stifling a yawn. Her eyelids had gained a few pounds.

  “The usual. Holidays and stuff. We get together in the summer sometimes. You know, family vacations.”

  “I can’t picture you with them.”

  His smile was sad. “I don’t exactly fit. Six or eight families, all with spouses and kids. Even the divorced ones get along. Stepparents and real parents in one big, chaotic, mostly happy group.” He framed a space with his hands. “And then there’s me.” He stuck his fist out to the side. “The kids climb all over me, their parents braced to snatch them to safety. At night, once the kids are asleep, they want me to tell exciting stories, because I’m the freedom and adventure they want but will never risk.” His tone had gone bitter at the end, an edge of resentment at the burden he’d taken on but no one else would share.

  Quinn hesitated over whether or not to pry open that crack. “Wow.” She eyed his beer. “I thought you only had one of those.”

  He chuckled. “It’s not some big secret. I like my life. I love my family. It’s balanced.”

  Her yawn caught up to her, and she tilted her head sideways against the back of the couch. “You don’t feel like something’s missing?” Like she did. It was harder and harder to keep it buried.

  “Sometimes.” He shifted again, tugging her down so her head rested on the pillow behind her, her neck more comfortable. She lost the battle against her heavy eyelids.

  “Do you?” he countered.

  Quinn shook her head and tried to make her tongue work. “Rarely.” She didn’t have the energy to correct the lie, and somewhere in the very small part of her brain that was still awake, she knew she wasn’t ready to go down that road, with or without Nick. She let herself continue to drift until she fell asleep.

  Only to wake a short time later with the world exploding around them.

  Chapter Four

  Each goddess has a specific source that serves as a conduit between her and the energy. She also has a unique combination of abilities that we like to compare to talents. Just as one child in a family might have an affinity for playing music while another can fix any mechanical item or perform complex mathematical equations in his or her head, so can each goddess have a unique combination of talents.

  —The Society for Goddess Education and Defense, Goddess Source/Ability Catalog

  …

  Quinn shot off the couch so fast she nearly tumbled to the floor, her heart slamming in her chest, gushing aimless adrenaline through her. Nick caught her before she landed in the shards of glass that were all that remained of th
e coffee table next to them. The air vibrated with a ringing noise so loud she could see Nick’s mouth moving but couldn’t hear his voice. For a few seconds, the room swam and Quinn was barely capable of covering her ears to muffle the noise. He impatiently swung her up and over to a clear patch of floor, running his hands all over her, and she realized he was checking for glass. The noise must have shattered it, because no one else was in the room.

  “I’m fine,” she tried to tell Nick, but she couldn’t hear her own voice, either. She tugged on his arm and he straightened, angling his body in front of hers.

  Quinn couldn’t see the source of the sound, like a wet finger circling the rim of a crystal goblet, but far louder. Her chest heaved, and she searched the room wildly, desperate for a clue of what to do, how to act. Something black and hard flew toward them, propelled by nothing. Nick shoved her toward the floor, and it smashed against the wall over their heads before dropping a few inches away. A Bible. Someone had thrown a Bible at them. Telekinesis. The leech must have found them.

  Nick grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the open bedroom door, away from attack. Quinn managed to grab her bag off the bed when Nick released her to sling his duffel across his body. He went straight to the window and began shoving it open.

  Quinn slammed the door behind them, flinching as if something would hit it as she did. If this was the leech, where was he? In the hall or outside the building? Were they running into a trap?

  It was a little quieter in here, and nothing else in the room moved. She stood, trying to catch her breath, to think. Nick said something, motioning, but she still couldn’t hear him over the roaring in her ears. The horrible ringing grew louder again, as if it had followed them. But there was still nothing to see or defend against. They had to get out.

  Nick grabbed a chair from the corner and shoved it under the window. He grabbed Quinn’s elbow and dragged her to the chair. When he held up a hand, she nodded and watched him step up on it, push backward through the narrow opening and onto something she couldn’t see, and reach for her hand. She leaned out to look and saw scaffolding against the side of the building. She twisted to look up. There was nothing above them.

  The ringing stopped abruptly. Quinn glanced back as the bedroom door flew open and smacked the wall behind it, but no one entered. She jumped onto the chair to follow Nick out.

  “Let me go first.” Even in the sudden quiet, his voice was muffled through her closed ears. He motioned to illustrate his words. “We’re going to climb down the side, but some of the distances between holds are long. I’ll guide you.”

  She nodded, impatient. He swung over the side and climbed down while Quinn scanned the area, even though Nick had to have already checked to be sure it was clear. She struggled to regulate her breathing and watched where Nick put his hands and feet before she followed.

  She swung a leg through the window and grabbed the sill to lower herself to the scaffold. Pain shot through her right forearm. She gasped and let go. Blood oozed from a two-inch cut over the muscle, deep enough to hurt when she tried to use it. She couldn’t let it hamper her and grit her teeth as she began to climb down the side. At the Xs between levels, she shifted to the left and slid down the sloping tubes, her palms stinging from the friction on the cold metal.

  A few steps later, they were on the sidewalk. Both looked up, but the scaffolding was clear of forms or moving shadows. Her body sagged, her breathing and heart rate easing, and the sensation of something chasing them faded. Her ears were still closed in protection, but even that was easing.

  “Nice job. Let’s go.” Nick ran down the alley, away from the front of the hotel. Quinn followed without question, pressing the hem of her shirt against her wound. The rental car was probably being watched. The attacker knew what room they were in, so he might know more. Even though someone could be in the back of the hotel as easily as the front, there were Dumpsters and pallets and darkness that offered more protection than the bright lights and tiny valet stand on the main road.

  Nick let her catch up to him before they reached the back of the building. “Time?” he whispered into her ear. It was too dark for him to see his watch.

  “Eight past two,” she whispered back. Nick’s arm around her waist tightened when her lips touched his ear. He turned his head back to whisper to her again.

  “We’ll run, few blocks, cab, airport.”

  Quinn nodded. Nick leaned to peer around the corner, then signaled her to move. They dashed across the rear alley and continued on to the next main street. After looking both ways, they turned to the right, which was better lit and had a bit of traffic. Dodging black iron lampposts and street signs, they ran, sometimes single file, down the narrow concrete-and-brick sidewalk for three blocks before they slowed to a walk. Quinn realized they were still—or again—holding hands, and she didn’t want to let go.

  “You’re limping.”

  She looked down. The toes of her socks were flopping. She paused and bent to pull them on tighter. “I didn’t have time to get my shoes.”

  A car approached behind them. Quinn’s pulse sped up, and she braced to run again until she saw the green Metro Cab logo on the white sedan. Nick flagged it down, and they got inside practically before it came to a complete stop. As soon as her butt hit the vinyl seat, her body started to shake from the adrenaline ebb, the kind of deep shudders that weren’t visible from the outside. She imagined her face was as white as the moon, though.

  “Where to?” The cabbie yawned, which wasn’t very reassuring, but the streets, while not empty, didn’t require rush-hour alertness, either.

  “You need shoes,” Nick said to Quinn.

  “Nothing’s going to be open around here. I’ll get something at the airport.”

  “Airport?” Cabbie asked.

  “Airport,” Nick answered, and he turned back to Quinn, immediately spotting the blood on her arm. “What the hell?” He grabbed her arm quickly but gently, lifting it to see better. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “It’s not bad.” But she hissed when he probed it.

  “You have a first-aid kit?” he asked the cabbie, who tossed back a white plastic box with a red plus on it.

  “It’ll need better cleaning and a proper bandage.” Nick used a few antiseptic wipes to clean the cut and cursed when he could only find small Band-Aids to cover it. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be silly.” He looked so upset, even in the darkness, that she didn’t tell him about the deep throbbing pain. She’d get some painkillers at the airport.

  “Did we luck into that scaffolding?” Quinn tried to keep her voice low enough not to be overheard.

  “Sam may not be a protector,” Nick admitted, “but he knows what he’s doing.”

  “But I changed the room.”

  He shrugged. “He left instructions. Did you notice the room numbers?”

  “No.”

  “The ones she crossed off were one floor below the suite. I spotted the scaffolding when we first got in.” He looked down at her bag on the floor next to her feet. “What did you manage to rescue out of there?”

  “Everything.” Thank god. “I only had the one bag, and we never got around to talking about the printout. It’s still in there.”

  “Next time, bring extra shoes.”

  “Yeah right.” She watched lights flash past for a few minutes. When Nick didn’t bring up the details of the attack, she guessed he didn’t want to talk about it in front of strangers.

  The cabbie dropped them in front of their terminal. Quinn paid him, and they went inside. She dug into her bag to find the e-tickets for their return flight Nick kept his hand on her uninjured arm while he took the tickets from her, scanned them, and pulled off the boarding passes after they printed. “Where to?”

  “Boston Landing has shops. I should be able to get some shoes once stores open.” Their flight out was early, but still hours away.

  “All right.” Nick scrubbed his hands over his face. “Let’s
use the bathroom and get some coffee.”

  Quinn grinned. “You gonna follow me into the ladies’ room?”

  “Don’t tempt me. Keep your phone ready to beep me.” He watched her go into the restroom. Quinn would have been amused if it hadn’t been so reassuring.

  She used the much-needed facilities first, then washed her arm without removing the Band-Aids. The cut looked raw and fresh but didn’t bleed again. She took the time to brush her teeth, wash her face, and comb her hair, which didn’t look even close to perfect, no matter what Nick had said last night. With the travel and the sweat from running, not to mention sleeping on it twice, her hair had become lank and uncooperative. She twisted it on top of her head and anchored it with a clip. It didn’t help much. It was oh-god-thirty in the morning, and she looked like death, but she had no power to fix it, not even the mundane cosmetic kind. Her head throbbed in time with her arm, from the combined aftermath of the high-pitched scream and the emotions of fight-or-flight.

  She braced her hands on the sink top and blew out a long breath. She was avoiding the important thing, which was that in all the years Nick had been her protector, this was the first time since her parents died that she felt like she needed one. She didn’t like it. Whoever had attacked them, whatever their goal, they’d made her a target. Worse, everyone around her was now in danger. All from asking a few questions. It could be the leech, but that didn’t make sense. No matter what he could have wanted from tonight’s attack, these methods wouldn’t have gotten him any power.

  Maybe she wasn’t the target. It could have been someone hunting Nick because of the rogue thing, but that didn’t make much more sense. Which brought her back to the questions they were asking. They had to be getting too close to something. How far would this person go to stop them or get what they wanted from her? And who was it? The Society? They wouldn’t want the public to find out about the leech, increasing the danger to their goddesses. But it wasn’t like Quinn had threatened to go to the media. She was just trying to help.