Refracted (The Celadon Circle Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page A

meal.
    And I never thanked her – not even once.
    An old vase filled with wildflowers sat in the middle of the kitchen table. Jordan had picked them a day or so before they left for Tennessee. Now, there was nothing left but shriveled brown stems, the water long used up. Scattered around the vase, dried petals lay where they’d fallen, memories of more normal times.
    Uncle Case forbade them to touch the pitiful remains, as if throwing them away would be equivalent to tossing any chance they had of getting Jordan back. So the dead flora remained on the table – a shrine of sorts – and waited with the rest of them for her return.
    They sat down to eat. Quinn attacked his sandwich with gusto, his hardy appetite rarely affected by anything. But his hunger waned when Nathan pushed his food away after two bites. His brother had lost weight. Quinn watched him lift the coffee mug with shaking hands. The dark brew sloshed over the side. Nathan’s eyes, partially hidden behind wisps of hair in desperate need of a trim, were lifeless and far away. He seemed unaware of his trembling hands, the spilled coffee, or anything else. He’d taken to falling into these trance-like states far too often.
    Quinn and Casen’s chairs moved at the same time and still, Nathan didn’t notice. They met on either side of his chair, Quinn with a dishtowel and Casen with a bottle of Black Bush.
    “Nathan.”
    No reaction. Uncle Case set the bottle of Irish whiskey down and placed a calloused hand over the top of Nathan’s mug to steady it while using the other to gently pry his fingers away.
    “Nathan,” Casen said a bit louder. “Let go of the cup, son.”
    Quinn busied himself with the spilled coffee.
    For as long as he could remember, Nathan had been the rock he’d clung to. At 6’4” and 225 lbs. of pure muscle, his brother was a formidable Slayer. He could snap necks, plunge knives through thick bone. He never backed down from an adversary, often going hand-to-hand against creatures with extraordinary strength, distracting them so Quinn could sidle up and deliver the fatal blow.
    Brute force and powerhouse techniques were just a few of Nathan’s talents. As easily as he could take life, he could also give it. Hands that broke ribs and crushed skulls had delivered baby calves and mended tiny bird wings. He had a brilliant mind that could find answers where none seemed to exist and a heart as big as the Chrysler building. Nathan was the one they all came to for answers…for hope.
    My brother’s falling apart and I’m cleaning up coffee. Damn, I’m such a douche.
    Quinn straightened and tossed the dishtowel on the counter. Casen reached for the whiskey the same way Chinese people reached for tea. It was his preferred brand of medicine. If it didn’t cure what ailed you, it sure as hell could make you forget about it for a while.
    Nathan rubbed his weary eyes with the heels of his hands and then pulled them down his face, as if hoping to wipe away the months of confusion.
    “I phased out again, didn’t I?”
    Quinn placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. God help him, he didn’t know what to say. Their positions were usually reversed with Quinn, always quick to anger, pissed off about something trivial like a scratch on his car, and Nathan soothing his twisted ego with words of comfort. The one time Nathan needed him to be the strong one, the one with the right words to ease his pain, and Quinn felt about as useful as a condom machine in the Vatican.
    In a choked voice Nathan said, “I have no idea what’s wrong with me.”
    Casen slid his coffee cup toward him, now spiked with a generous glug of whiskey. “Sip this,” he instructed, and moved back to his seat. “I know exactly what’s wrong.”
    Uncle Case to the rescue . Relieved, Quinn took a calming breath.
    Nathan drank his coffee and waited for the explanation. Casen spiked his own brew before passing the bottle to Quinn.
    Guess we all need medicating tonight. Quinn