Goddess's Gift (Get Your Rocks Off #4) - Sam Hall Page 0,4

conjuring a spitting ball of light, something that drew noises from the table. Marlow had grown up here and obviously been tested, but hadn’t shown capacity for this before.

“So we will have several issues here. Training those newly come into their power. Some understanding of their gifts would be helpful. Is this something that happens only as a result of being a consort? If that designation is withdrawn, what then? There is also the preparation required for the trials. Bea is our archivist.”

She pointed to the curvy woman who’d spoken before.

“The avatar and her consorts will need to attend sessions with her to orientate themselves on what to expect, and Duke and his crew will direct the physical training itself, practising working together, using your elemental powers in conjunction with the other person, developing strategies and skills as a team.”

Together—the word sounded like a life sentence.

“Happy to, Mother,” Duke said, sitting forward and surveying the lot of us. “We have another problem that’s gonna require attention. Rutherglen is mobilising. He’s directing his focus on us. We’re bringing people into Amasirenas, but we’re fast running out of places to put them. The trials are good. To bring the goddess back to the world…” He nodded a few times, as if considering that reality. “But that don’t stop people from being killed on the street. The fuck’s pouring money into the pockets of some of these assholes and arming them.”

“Divide and conquer,” Jen said with a tight smile. “It’s straight out of his playbook. He wants you focussed on your people, not Kira. Not the trials, not her ascension. He’s running scared because he has nothing left to offer the…”

“We call him Sky Daddy,” I said.

Her lips quirked at that, but she smoothed her face back to neutral.

“He has nothing left to offer Sky Daddy. He’s lost Kira and The Changelings.” Her eyes slid to Liam, who sat watching all of this with his arms crossed. “You’ll need to get Hartley here as well, because your people are next. He’ll use them to see if he can flush you out. He needs a bargaining chip, because a useless man is a dead man in the circles he mixes in. It’ll only be a matter of time before the other lords and ladies associated with the sky god start to circle him as he does us.”

Ashanti nodded once, her eyes pensive, but when she went to reply, the door opened and a tall black woman strode in without recognition or greeting.

“Hey, Quinn…” Vervain said, raising a hand, but her voice trailed off when she saw the woman’s face. Quinn walked over to the table, kept her eyes down and took a seat.

She had long dreadlocks swept up in a bun and wore a khaki shirt left open over a navy-blue tank top. Her jeans were worn and splattered with something, and she had a courier bag slung across her body. She sank down in the space between one of Ashanti’s crew and Billy wearily, smiling her thanks when food was passed down to her, but I could clearly see the lines around her eyes.

“Quinn? Are you OK?” Ashanti said.

“No.” The woman shook her head and then picked up her fork, shovelling food into her mouth both before pausing and chewing intently, the utensil moving around on the plate’s surface aimlessly. She finally looked into the many eyes directed her way when she swallowed her mouthful. “Just got back from Chicago.”

“And?”

She shook her head, kept on shaking it as she speared mushroom slices on her fork, stab, stab, stab. She ate them like they had personally offended her, like she had to, but she wasn’t going to like it. She swallowed it down and then reached for the glass of milk before her, drinking down half before she’d speak. Then she tilted her head sideways, waiting for a beat or two before continuing, her knuckles white around her utensil.

“It’s war out there. Like, literal war. We use the word all the time, all hyperbole. The war on terror, the war on drugs…” Her brow creased, then smoothed. “I don’t know what else to call it. The police… ‘A few bad apples,’” she said with a sarcastic voice. “As if any one group could ever be described the same way. But the bad ones, the angry ones, the scared ones. So, so many of them…” Her eyes flicked up as she regarded each person, one at a time. “They’re firing rubber bullets on the whites,