“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.”