Quinn wiped sweat from her brow, hung the jump rope back on the hook, and dropped to the floor. “Eye of the Tiger” blared from the gym speakers as she counted off a hundred push-ups. She loved how quiet the gym was between the pre-work crowd and those who spent their lunch hour on the long line of treadmills. Nobody to stare at her or to whisper and point at the one who’d caused Aaron Collier to jump in to save her only to lose his own life. The whole town praised Marcus and Aaron as heroes and looked at her with downcast eyes. What do you say to the girl whose death was traded for another’s?
Rolling on her back, she crunched her way through her usual twenty-minute ab workout. Preparing for the final part of her torture, an hour of kickboxing, she pulled a pair of gloves over her hands and faced her target. The heavy bag, covered in red vinyl, hung from a chain in the ceiling. Here it was just her, her grief, and the waiting shadows. That’s the way she liked it.
Gritting her teeth, she dropped her protective barrier and slammed a fist into the bag, basking in the pain.
Aaron kissing her beneath the stars.
Two more jabs in quick succession.
The look on his face when he found her with Jeff.
Another hard roundhouse left her ankle aching and probably bruised. Good.
Singing a song he’d written just for her.
Left hook.
Something moved in the corner of the gym, and the temperature dropped.
Right cross.
Regret and anger drew the demons out of hiding like mosquitoes looking for blood. Their dark essences reminded her of the moment before a storm, electric and dangerous.
Jab, jab, jab.
Tendrils of familiar fog coiled around the bag, swathing it in thick, gray strands. A side kick with the heel of her foot sent the heavy bag swinging in a wide arch, the smoke twisting and writhing around it.
Three dark shapes inched closer, materializing from the dissipating fog. Six pairs of orange eyes glowed in their small, feline-like bodies. Saliva dripped from their fangs, air rushed around their wings. Let them come, she thought, not even trying to keep them out.
Quinn dodged to the right and came at the bag from behind, landing another hard blow with her fist.
Killer. One demon materialized on her shoulder and hissed against her ear, its sulphur-laced breath so strong she gagged. It understood her secret, her shame. With it, she didn’t need to hide.
Azrael would not approve. How long would it take before their bond alerted him to her danger? One minute? Ten? He’d been called away on some secret mission to the angelic city of Arcadia, and she’d promised to lay low. If he even got a whiff of what she was up to, he would drop everything and return to her side.
One monster dug its claws into the red vinyl and hung upside-down, its forked tongue licked at the air to slurp at the negative emotion pouring from her.
Screw Azrael. This was her life, her powers. She could use them any way she wanted. Quinn aimed a right cross for the center of its body, but the demon blinked out before she made contact.
Another beast flew in.
That’s right, you bastards. Come on. Anger, regret, shame, she gave it all to them as they crawled inside her mind and magnified the bleakness living inside.
Left hook.
It disappeared in a puff of smoke before she could hit it.
So guilty. So much pain. We want it all. Give us more.
Two more roundhouse kicks, an uppercut, four jabs.
Another echo of laughter.
You never loved him.
Quinn slammed another fist into the bag. That was a lie. She had loved him, enough to let him go, to keep him from the demons, from her crazy.
You were a coward. You took the easy road, and look where that led.
The demons blinked and spiraled around the heavy bag, leaving long trails of gray wisps behind them. Each dodging her blows, magnifying her frustrations, and growing fat from her pain. Hungry, so hungry. They would never get enough.
He’s dead, and you’re alive. It should have been you at the bottom of that river. If it weren’t for you, if you hadn’t jumped, he wouldn’t have been in the water that night. You should have died, yet you live, and he’s gone.
All three converged in the center of her line of sight, a dark triangle of evil hanging in mid-air. Demons like these had urged her into the water, pecked at her hands, and forced her under the waves. They had pushed her into Jeff’s arms, made her believe that letting Aaron go would keep him safe, that choosing Jeff would make them go away. If she had listened to her heart instead of their lies, if she had been stronger, maybe Aaron would still be here. Azrael was right; they didn’t have any answers. She was guilty, but so were they, and she would make them pay.
Quinn pulled her arm back and slammed her fist through them. It hit the bag with a sickening crunch. Pain flooded her hand. The demons laughed and danced while Quinn gritted her teeth and ignored the numbness spreading down her fingers. Right cross, front kick, side, kick, dodge left, punch left. Her breaths grew ragged, the room swam, but she kept lashing out, pouring her whole self into more punishing blows. The demons dodged and weaved between impacts, gorging on her frustrations. Sweat dripped into her eyes; she wiped it away with a gloved hand.
“Hey, Blondie, I think that bag’s had enough punishment for today.” Two strong hands attached to a Mr. Tall, Dark, and Annoying grabbed the bag and stopped it swinging. She’d seen him before at the reception desk, cleaning equipment, and occasionally training a girl with short brown hair whose outfits got skimpier every workout.
“I’ll say when it’s had enough. And don’t call me ‘Blondie.’” Quinn tried to ignore him and took another swing, landing one just shy of one of his fingers.
“Well, you are blond, aren’t you, Blondie? Or is that from a bottle?”
The demons laughed. If they thought this creep was funny, she didn’t. She lashed out at a demon hovering over the Everlast logo embossed on the red vinyl, but as always, it was too quick. Not that her fist could do any real damage to dark spirits from the Underworld. They weren’t even corporeal. But it felt good to try, to kick the crap out of something.
“That was seriously poor form.”
Quinn’s jaw tightened, and a ball of fury burned in her belly. If this guy wasn’t careful, she might “accidentally” miss the target and sweep his leg instead.
“Your hips are out of line, and your stance is all wrong.” Mr. Arrogant circled her, studying her every move. His toffee-colored eyes raked across her body, and she suddenly wished she’d worn more than just yoga pants and a sports bra.
“Nobody asked you.” Quinn glanced at the nametag attached to the almost-too-tight red 4 Ever Fit T-shirt. Caleb. Well, she would be sure to complain about Caleb’s rudeness to the manager.
“I could show you some moves, if you want. If you’re going to keep skipping school to come here and punish your body, you should at least do it correctly. I won’t even charge you. What do you say, Blondie?”
“No thanks, I don’t need any help from a meathead who didn’t get good enough grades to go to college.” Quinn glared at him. “Besides, don’t you have some stay-at-home-mom to whip into shape?”
“Looks like your bark is just as fierce as your bite. Just so happens those stay-at-home moms are paying for my biochemistry degree. Some of us don’t have rich parents who let us skip school to sulk every day.”
“You don’t know anything about me.” Sick of the demon game, she pictured a bubble of light surrounding her, cutting them off from their meal. They hissed and backed into the corner, and Quinn smiled. She was in full control.
“Despite my meathead status, I read quite well. And even if I didn’t, you look exactly like your picture, Quinn.”
“I think I preferred it when you called me ‘Blondie.’” She turned away, yanked a glove from her hand, and winced. Her knuckles had split. Blood dripped from the tips of her fingers.
“That’s what happens when you don’t wrap your hands before you start wailing. Plus, those gloves are too thin for heavy bag work.”
“It’s fine. Just a little cut.”
“It will get infected if you aren’t careful.”
“What’s it to you?”
“Just trying to do my job. How can we continue to take your money if you injure yourself and cancel your membership?” Caleb pulled a small tube from the pocket of his sweatpants and threw it at her. “Use this at least.”
Quinn mumbled her thanks and made her escape to the locker room.
“What was that?” Caleb called to her before she opened the door.
“Thank you, Meathead,” she replied over her shoulder, putting all the sarcasm she could behind her words.
“You’re welcome, Blondie.”
The heavy wooden door to the women’s changing room swung closed. Leaning against the wall, she rolled the tube of antibacterial ointment between her fingers then tossed it into the trash.
Quinn half-smiled and nodded at the dark-haired woman changing into tight-fitting spandex shorts and made her way to her locker to retrieve her towel. Caleb’s next victim. Good luck to her.
Quinn checked her phone. Still no reply from Reese. Her best friend would be sitting in homeroom right now, probably flirting with Marcus and sharing the latest gossip with Ami. A pang of jealousy pinched at her heart. If only it were that easy for her to go back to being normal. What was normal? She couldn’t remember.
Quinn wrapped the white cotton towel tight around her chest, tucking one end snugly against the other to hold it in place, and slipped on her flip-flops. No matter how clean the gym might look, who knew what kind of fungus lurked on the wet floor. Water dripped in the empty shower stall. She reached in, set the handle midway between hot and cold, and waited for it to warm up.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Quinn jumped and whirled around.
“You can’t be in here,” she hissed and pulled her towel tighter around her. Drops of red dotted the edge, evidence of her injured hand. She looked at the ground and tried to hide it behind her back.
Azrael leaned against the tiled wall, eyes burning with unexpressed accusation. “Naked human flesh means nothing to me. Go about your business.”
“I need my privacy.”
The dark-haired woman glanced at her, oblivious to Azrael. Quinn smiled and turned the shower to full stream. The woman grabbed her water bottle, raised an eyebrow at Quinn, and left.
“You have now lost your privacy privileges.” Azrael wrenched her wrist from behind her back and pulled her split knuckles to the light. Blood dripped onto the tiled floor, and he shook his head. Quinn squirmed but couldn’t escape his grasp. His touch burned like too-hot tea spilled over flesh.
“I can command you away.” It was an empty threat, all the fight had already drained out of her and been replaced with a light-headed wooziness that pushed her off-balance.
“You could.” Azrael’s voice soothed her, all low dulcet tones and soft coos, and her hand relaxed in his. “This is my fault. I have been too soft on you, cleaning up your mess for weeks now and not allowing you to suffer the consequences.”
Azrael didn’t need to explain what the demons could do; she had experienced it first-hand. Besides, she could handle them, cut them off anytime she wanted. Azrael caught her gaze, and his look told her that her thoughts were not her own.
“This is not just about you. Those demons you let feed on you? They’re dead by my sword. If they had been allowed to live, they would have gone on to create more chaos and darkness, perhaps with an unloved and broken vagrant on the street or one of your beloved friends, Reese or Marcus. No one is immune.”
Quinn broke eye contact and looked at her feet, and Azrael went back to inspecting her injuries.
“This is bigger than you. Stop being selfish. Now, I need you to take a deep breath, Quinn. No healing comes without pain.”
Pulses of hot electricity coursed up her fingers, between her muscles, soaking through her bones. The bruise on her ankle turned purple, black, green, and then faded all together.
Every ache deepened and throbbed like a bitch, and she wanted to cry out, but before she could, her muscles relaxed. Pain replaced by a warm tingle.
“This one will be the worst. You have a small fracture in your finger.”
Quinn bit her lip and pushed back a sob. She refused to let him know how much it hurt. Fire, the cracking of bone, and pain so intense she thought she might vomit. And then it was over, the skin over her knuckles weaved back together, leaving nothing but a smear of blood across clean skin and a light scar.
“Thank you.” Quinn flexed her fist.
“You should take up that trainer’s offer to help you. He is right. Your form is erroneous.”
“Who, Meathead? No way!”
“I do not want to spend every day treating self-inflicted wounds. You want to punish your body, take your anger out on that bag hanging from a chain, fine, but you will learn to do it properly.”
“Whatever.” Quinn folded her arms over her chest and glared at Azrael. “Can I take my shower now?”
Azrael nodded and turned his back.
Quinn pulled the curtain closed and waited for him to leave. He didn’t.
“Really? You’re going to stand there the whole time?” Nothing but a thin sheet of plastic separated her from her Sentinel.
“You have privacy. I cannot see you.”
Quinn stomped a foot in protest, turned the water up as hot as it would go, and let it pour over her head and down her body.
“You may be able to cut them off, but once they have drained you, taken all the misery you have to give, then what?”
Quinn rolled her eyes, a captive audience to more lectures.
“It comes back, does it not? The emotions, darker and deeper?”
Quinn paused, hand on her shampoo bottle.
“And the demons live to find another victim. The more pain and chaos they are allowed to create, the more demons can cross the veil. The more demons that cross the veil, the more chaos and darkness they exploit, and the weaker the veil between worlds becomes. It’s a vicious cycle.”
Quinn lathered and rinsed, hands yanking through the short tangles. Where was he going with all of this?
“Other humans can’t see what’s out there, but you can.”
Ripping the towel from the hook, she covered herself up and turned off the spray. When she yanked back the curtain, Azrael grinned at her. Did he have any idea how much she wanted to punch him?
“I’m sick of hiding.”
“That’s why I have, what do you humans call it—a belated birthday present for you.” Azrael reached into his boot and pulled out a knife roughly eight inches long. Blue runes danced across the blade, reminiscent of Azrael’s Qeres sword. “A dagger, actually, very rare and imbued with Qeres poison. I had to jump through a lot of hoops to get this for you.”
So that’s where he’d been all morning. Laying the blade across both his palms, he offered it to Quinn. She picked it up by the ornate hilt and spun in between her hands. It hummed in her touch, the runes burning bright. A wicked grin spread across her lips. A poisoned blade, deadly to immortal essences. Now she could kill them.