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She relaxed into him, so he fished for information. “You never told me how you ended up with Tyler.”
“I walked to the 7-Eleven. He was there.”
“You walked there alone?”
“I walk there all the time. Stop being such a mother hen.”
“Why did Tyler start hassling you?” For an instant, he wondered if Quinn had walked up and started hassling Tyler. She wasn’t exactly subtle.
“He wants to know what happened at the carnival. He said something about the Guides.” She paused. “The news said those explosions at the carnival were due to poor wiring.”
“No. That was Calla Dean. She started those.”
“Calla Dean!”
“Shh. Yeah. She was behind the arson attacks, too.”
Quinn’s house had burned down in one of those arson attacks—it was the whole reason they were living in that damned apartment. “I thought that was Rick Stacey!”
“He helped, but she was the mastermind.”
Quinn was silent for a minute. She knew Calla Dean from school—but she didn’t know her well. Calla had been one of the students who’d disappeared after the carnival, and everyone thought she was dead. There was still a memorial of notes and pictures taped all over her locker.
It seemed ridiculous, but all Quinn could think was, I always liked her highlights. “I thought she was one of the students who died in the carnival explosions.”
“We don’t know what happened to her. When Silver came after us, we found the middle school Elementals, but not her.”
He shrugged. “Maybe she ran.”
“And Silver is one of the Guides that are trying to kill you guys, right?”
“Right. But he’s in prison.”
“When will they send a new one?”
“Eventually.” He brushed a finger across her cheek. “How’s that feel?”
Her eyes, normally so bright, were shadowed in the darkness.
“Much better,” she whispered. “Thanks.”
Then, without warning, she shifted up and pressed her lips to his.
For a second, Nick didn’t resist. He’d kissed girls—lots of them—and he knew how to respond. If that girl Courtnie had ambushed him with her lips, he probably would have kissed her back without thinking about it.
But this—this was different. Quinn knew. And this wasn’t like earlier, when she’d been giving him a cover.
He’d never shove her away, but he stiffened and drew back.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“It’s okay,” he said automatically.
But it wasn’t okay. He felt like he was hurting her, when he hadn’t done anything.
And this would be easier if she weren’t still attached to his side like a leech.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I forgot—what you were doing—it felt—it felt—”
