The Curse (Belador #3)(46)
He maneuvered past tourists bunching along Peachtree Street in downtown Atlanta. Sunshine and succulent smells from restaurants brought them out in hordes at lunchtime to window-shop and impede his progress.
Every minute counted until he found Lanna.
He vowed to never have children.
The same vow he made every time he got stuck tracking down Svetlanna Brasko. He’d called her Lanna since she’d been an adorable two-year-old who’d floated Cheerios in the air. He’d thought her precocious at eleven when she turned a mean-tempered mutt into a lapdog that performed tricks.
But when Lanna reached thirteen, Quinn became the go-to man for finding her. She’d taken it upon herself to help another young girl escape an abusive father in their small village. Yes, he admired the way Lanna stepped forward for others, but she was too impulsive for her own good and had almost died at the hands of a Siberian warlock, the girl’s father. Quinn dealt with the bastard, found a home for the girl and warned Lanna not to use her gifts until she trained. Those had been yet more wasted breaths.
The Braskos were a gifted side of his family tree, if you could call dysfunctional beings with the ability to wield majik gifted.
Lanna’s mother struggled to handle Lanna alone, but her bloody Ruska Roma relatives—Gypsies originally from Russia—should have reined the girl in and taught her discipline by now.
Someone should have.
Quinn’s conscience poked at him about how long it had been since he’d gone home to visit Lanna and her mother, who was his aunt. He loved them both, even if the brat did make him crazy sometimes, and watching over his father’s only sibling and niece had fallen to Quinn when his father died.
Quinn had a duty to family, and right now that duty called for getting Lanna out of this country before VIPER discovered her presence. The minute Sen got involved, this would turn ugly.
Based upon the reports Tzader had shared, it sounded as though Lanna had been here only since last night.
Alone all night.
The thought terrified him even if she did have powers.
Who knew what she could do these days? He should know. Bad case of out of sight, out of mind. Not anymore. He’d have to take some time soon and deal with this. But who would train Lanna when not even her mother had a clue what the girl was?
Her mother had disappeared for a month almost nineteen years ago, then reappeared with no knowledge of where she’d been … or how she’d become pregnant.
A suspicious beginning to any child’s life.
Quinn picked up his pace when Woodruff Park came into view, hoping the Nightstalker he’d traded for intel was right about her destination. The old ghoul had said he’d overheard a young woman with powers, of Lanna’s description, asking for a public place where she could wait for her cousin to find her.
Somewhere with a lot of people, boys to be specific.
Quinn blew out a frustrated breath over that.
When he reached the stair-step fountain at the north end of the park, a gust of wind came out of nowhere, twisting along the streets and causing the water to splash hard as it cascaded over the tier of steps. He paused at the sudden change, looked around, then dismissed it as Atlanta’s fickle weather, which had been dead calm beneath clear blue skies minutes ago.
Circling the area, he watched for a petite chess shark sitting on one side of a game board. Lanna might have come here looking for him, and boys, but she couldn’t pass up a challenge and would have wormed her way into one of many chess matches going on across the eclectic venue.
Got her. She sat on a short concrete wall bordering the tree-studded lawn.
Blond curls ink-tipped in black fluttered in the breeze.
The last time he’d seen Lanna her hair had been half red and half purple.
She observed her opponent—a blond-haired boy around seventeen or eighteen intently studying the game board. He moved a black rook, capturing her silver pawn, then hit the egg timer on his left. She took her time looking over the board as though she didn’t already have her next six moves planned.
But Lanna would choose someone she considered an equal with whom to play, so the boy must be pretty good.
Quinn noted the small brown suitcase nearby. It had seen better days, but hopefully held something other than the red shorts and skimpy blue top she wore. What had happened to the cherub face he recalled from their last encounter? When had she become a striking beauty? But she was safe and alive. The fist of worry in his chest relaxed as he strolled up to her.
She pushed her knight into risky territory, drew a long breath, hit the timer, then tilted her head back, eyes excited when her gaze lit on him.
Jumping up, she hugged him. “Hello, Cousin.”
Quinn expected her to be taller, but she still topped out at barely five feet tall. He smiled in spite of everything, the sound of her Romanian accent reminiscent of his childhood. She might be eighteen, but she still hugged his neck the way she had at ten, and he’d missed that. When he released her, he asked, “What are you doing here, Lanna?”
The boy hadn’t made a move to acknowledge Quinn’s presence, but the frayed edges of his misfitting clothes and the wariness in his tight shoulders spoke of time on the streets and someone who wouldn’t engage easily.
Not with Quinn, anyhow.
Lanna lifted her shoulders. “I play chess.” Then she plopped back down and glanced at her chess partner, saying, “This is Kell. Kell, this is my cousin—”