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

took his seat and followed suit.
    Uncle Case cleared his throat and pointed at Nathan. “You’re exhausted, son. You ain’t getting more than an hour or two of sleep a night.”
    Nathan opened his mouth, perhaps to protest, but Casen held up a calloused hand and stopped him before any words escaped. “Those bible thumpers upstairs work you boys like dogs, and the few nights you have free are spent rambling around the house like a ghost with no one to haunt.”
    Casen slid the paper plate with Nathan’s sandwich in front of him and grabbed their empty coffee cups for refills at the pot. “Eat,” he ordered, his tone leaving no question for argument. He crossed to the counter like a man with a mission.
    Quinn was relieved to see a spring in his uncle’s step again. Nathan must have felt the same. He picked up the remainder of his turkey sandwich and took a bite, chewing and swallowing like a prisoner condemned to a life of hard service.
    After cups of spiked coffee were back in front of their respective owners, Casen sat down and placed his feet firmly on the old linoleum, hands on his knees – gestures that were usually followed by serious conversation. Both boys paid attention.
    “While Nathan finishes his food, we’re gonna do some talkin’. Afterward, Quinn and I will check our weapons supply and you–” he looked pointedly at Nathan, still taking rabbit bites of his sandwich, “–are going to bed.”
    Nathan slammed his hand on the table – a sign of how tired he really was. He was hard to rile.
    Quinn studied the dark smudges under his eyes and wondered how he’d missed them before. Then again, his bedroom was on the other side of the house from his brother’s. He wasn’t aware of Nathan’s nocturnal wanderings and sleep deprivation.
    “I’m not a fucking kid!”
    Nathan was cursing. Yep, he was definitely frazzled. Quinn could curse like a sailor on a three-day bender when the mood struck him. Nathan’s language was usually as clean as the Pope’s.
    Uncle Case blew a deep breath out through his nose, sounding a lot like Jordan’s horse when he got impatient while waiting for his oats. “Son, calm down.”
    “Don’t tell me to calm down,” Nathan growled. “I’m not your son.”
    The room went silent. Even the ancient refrigerator stopped wheezing. Quinn closed his eyes and wished he could push his brother back over the imaginary line he’d just crossed.
    Uncle Case had taken over as patriarch of the family after his brother – their father – was killed by a demon. In many ways, he was a better parent than their dad. Though he loved his children, Richard Bailey lived a lukewarm existence at best. For the most part, he’d been apathetic, numb. The life of a Slayer fed on his emotions like a parasite, leaving a shell behind.
    Casen, on the other hand, made sure to remind them there was more to life than the Circle. He encouraged hobbies outside of killing monsters and ancient lore. He’d bought Quinn the first clunker he’d ever fixed up.
    Quinn smiled, remembering how he’d balked when Case dragged him out to one of his seldom-used outbuildings and rolled open the doors. The hull of that rusted Mustang resting on concrete blocks was the ugliest sight he’d ever seen. Quinn had restored many cars since then, including his own ’66 Charger and Nathan’s ’69 Camaro. Some he sold for extra cash, but he could never part with that Mustang. He’d passed it on to Jordan when she turned sixteen.
    Uncle Case had bargained for Jordan’s horse. He’d scrounged up money for the internet, used laptop, and shelves of books since Nathan was kind of a nerd. His brother loved reading, researching anything to do with history or science, and had (in Quinn’s opinion) an unhealthy passion for epic fantasy books. It didn’t matter if the fads they pursued were temporary or not – from karate lessons to stamp collecting (God, Nathan really was a nerd) – Casen was there, cheering them on while