but he sat straight and determined. “Have you looked at it yet?”
Sage knew that at least part of his interest was in finding out as much about Fielding as possible. Horrified and devastated by the knowledge that his father had been involved in the Change, Quent had vowed to find him and kill him. The only thing holding him back was not knowing where or how to find him, or even being certain that he
could
kill him.
After all, the Strangers were immortal, made so by the special crystals they wore embedded in their flesh.
“I haven’t had a chance, I’ve had so many interruptions.” Sage didn’t care that she sounded annoyed. They were interrupting her work and she knew she wasn’t going to get out of attending the festival tonight, so she only had a little time. “If everyone would clear out of here,” she added pointedly.
No one moved. She sighed and stuck the drive back into the USB port. A few moments later, she had the list of files up on her screen.
“They’re…” She stared at the list of gibberish and flapped her hand at it angrily.
Theo was at her side in a minute, and, hand resting lightly on her shoulder, leaned forward to look. “Ah. They’re encrypted.” The relish in his voice tugged a smile from beneath her annoyance, and she looked up at him. “Of course I can get in,” he told her with a smile. “It’ll take some time, but no problem.” He was fairly slathering at the idea of sitting down and getting to it, apparently his need to lecture her gone in the excitement.
Sage rose from her seat and he slid into place. She would have stood to watch, but Jade came forward and curled no-nonsense fingers around her arm. “Good. It’ll take him some time to do that, which means we can go do something with your hair and get you ready for the festival.”
One glance at her friend told her there would be no escape, so she bowed to the inevitable and, with one last woeful glance, left the computer sanctuary.
Hours later, back in the hotel room that had become his since their arrival in Envy, beneath the hot shower that pounded the shite out of his shoulders, Quent was almost able to forget where he really was. In hell.
As the water rained down on him there in the fancy marble bathroom, he was back home, fifty years ago, in another fancy bath (a bit larger, of course, with windows overlooking the Atlantic and dual showerheads).
And Bonia Telluscrede, whom
Vogue
had called the next Gisele Bundchen, was waiting for him in the master bedroom, dressed in that red silk thing she’d worn in Paris.
Or…he spun his memories a different way. Perhaps Lissa Mackley, who’d just won an Oscar and had brought it into the Jacuzzi with them. She had the poutiest lips he’d ever had the pleasure to have around him, though she couldn’t carry on an unscripted conversation to save her life.
And his Piper would be waiting, ready to fly them from Boston to Naples for the weekend…
Maybe it was Marley Huvane, the socialite with whom he’d hooked up at more than one of his family’s elite gatherings. Even when he’d brought a date.
Marley could actually put sentences together in an interesting way. And she understood what it was like to grow up with more than a silver spoon.
They might have had a chance.
But when the water from the single shower head turned cold much too soon than it would have back home, and Quent stepped back out into reality and a too-small Astroturf towel, the truth settled on him once again like the weight of the world on Atlas.
Everyone was gone.
Every
thing
was gone.
Thanks to his goddamned wanker father.
A mass murderer. A
global
mass-murderer.
He whipped another towel from the rack, the snap loud over the last remnants of dripping water. The mirror was too steamy to see anything but a muted shadow, and he wrapped the towel around his waist wondering, as he did, why bother?
As he stepped out of the steaming bathroom, Quent automatically scanned the room.
She wasn’t
Sage knew that at least part of his interest was in finding out as much about Fielding as possible. Horrified and devastated by the knowledge that his father had been involved in the Change, Quent had vowed to find him and kill him. The only thing holding him back was not knowing where or how to find him, or even being certain that he
could
kill him.
After all, the Strangers were immortal, made so by the special crystals they wore embedded in their flesh.
“I haven’t had a chance, I’ve had so many interruptions.” Sage didn’t care that she sounded annoyed. They were interrupting her work and she knew she wasn’t going to get out of attending the festival tonight, so she only had a little time. “If everyone would clear out of here,” she added pointedly.
No one moved. She sighed and stuck the drive back into the USB port. A few moments later, she had the list of files up on her screen.
“They’re…” She stared at the list of gibberish and flapped her hand at it angrily.
Theo was at her side in a minute, and, hand resting lightly on her shoulder, leaned forward to look. “Ah. They’re encrypted.” The relish in his voice tugged a smile from beneath her annoyance, and she looked up at him. “Of course I can get in,” he told her with a smile. “It’ll take some time, but no problem.” He was fairly slathering at the idea of sitting down and getting to it, apparently his need to lecture her gone in the excitement.
Sage rose from her seat and he slid into place. She would have stood to watch, but Jade came forward and curled no-nonsense fingers around her arm. “Good. It’ll take him some time to do that, which means we can go do something with your hair and get you ready for the festival.”
One glance at her friend told her there would be no escape, so she bowed to the inevitable and, with one last woeful glance, left the computer sanctuary.
Hours later, back in the hotel room that had become his since their arrival in Envy, beneath the hot shower that pounded the shite out of his shoulders, Quent was almost able to forget where he really was. In hell.
As the water rained down on him there in the fancy marble bathroom, he was back home, fifty years ago, in another fancy bath (a bit larger, of course, with windows overlooking the Atlantic and dual showerheads).
And Bonia Telluscrede, whom
Vogue
had called the next Gisele Bundchen, was waiting for him in the master bedroom, dressed in that red silk thing she’d worn in Paris.
Or…he spun his memories a different way. Perhaps Lissa Mackley, who’d just won an Oscar and had brought it into the Jacuzzi with them. She had the poutiest lips he’d ever had the pleasure to have around him, though she couldn’t carry on an unscripted conversation to save her life.
And his Piper would be waiting, ready to fly them from Boston to Naples for the weekend…
Maybe it was Marley Huvane, the socialite with whom he’d hooked up at more than one of his family’s elite gatherings. Even when he’d brought a date.
Marley could actually put sentences together in an interesting way. And she understood what it was like to grow up with more than a silver spoon.
They might have had a chance.
But when the water from the single shower head turned cold much too soon than it would have back home, and Quent stepped back out into reality and a too-small Astroturf towel, the truth settled on him once again like the weight of the world on Atlas.
Everyone was gone.
Every
thing
was gone.
Thanks to his goddamned wanker father.
A mass murderer. A
global
mass-murderer.
He whipped another towel from the rack, the snap loud over the last remnants of dripping water. The mirror was too steamy to see anything but a muted shadow, and he wrapped the towel around his waist wondering, as he did, why bother?
As he stepped out of the steaming bathroom, Quent automatically scanned the room.
She wasn’t
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