Paragon - Chapter 46: Chapter 46

"You never disappoint." Quinn said shaking her head as we entered the car. I shut her door behind her as we slipped into the cool dark interior of Pearson's car.
"You're right I should lower my standards considerably..." I drawled, leaning against the headrest. "I'll take you to a McDonald's next time."
Quinn's laughter was quickly my favourite sound.
"Don't knock it until you've tried it." She said, trying to sober herself. The idea of any immortal at such a mortal eatery had my stomach turning.
I gave her a horrified look that only made her cover her face in her hands.
The drive back was one of the best I had ever had in this city. Pearson let music float softly back to us while we jousted over law terms that she returned as flawlessly as I did. Quinn had her arms crossed while her leg dangled over one of my own carelessly. She had every piece of my focus regardless. From the way she narrated each definition with the twist of her hand to the way she smiled when a piano solo caught her interest in the space of the journey.
"We might need to visit your flat tomorrow so you can play this." She quipped, shutting her eyes and focusing on the way the notes flowed beautifully. I tried not to get too carried away watching her peaceful expression. The way the low afternoon light cut across her jaw and cheeks in flashes.
Yet my mind was already taking me to that piano before the glass that viewed Hyde Park beyond. How I would play every note before her on that stool. After the final note was struck I would take her face and kiss her hard–
"Fletcher?"
I met her eyes and my mind snapped back into the car.
"I was absolutely focused."
"You were focused on something..." She smirked wistfully.
I returned it innocently.
"Ms Fletcher?"
I tore my eyes from her and met Pearson's ahead in the mirror.
"We have arrived. Would you like anything else delivered this afternoon?"
Quinn's attention snapped to me in accusation and I tipped my head at him unbothered. "No, that is all thank you. Send my thanks to Jamerson." I added, before going for the door quickly and stepping around the car to open Quinn's. She gave her polite thanks to him before jumping out.
As soon as the car was a safe distance away she pointed a finger at me.
"Fletcher I swear to god you'll sleep outside if you–"
I captured her accusatory finger and kissed her hand with a wink. Her anger stuttered and she became flustered in a flash.
"Relax, Adams. No crimes were committed." I grinned, before swiping her keys from her other hand and hopping up her steps quickly. I let myself in and turned the corner to her living room. When I saw it mounted above her fireplace in all its glory I snickered.
I turned from it as I heard Quinn close the front door.
I rounded the corner and caught her waist before she could see it. "Are you hungry? We can get dinner somewhe–"
"For gods sake Fletcher." She muttered, rounding me anyway and stopping dead when she took in the priceless painting of an ornate ship crossing the seas. She turned back to me slowly. Then flexed her jaw and looked at it again.
"It's just a cheap print." She concluded, striding past it and refusing to take it in more closely as she went for the kitchen.
"A very convincing one." I agreed, grinning at her back relentlessly.
"Just a nice, print that you found... At an antique store."
"Hardly even worth the shelves of a thrift shop." I added, enjoying the game even more and taking my usual spot to lean against the pillar in her kitchen. Her back was rigid as she opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of sparkling water. She unscrewed it in a rush and took a swig.
But her eyes betrayed her and she stared at the Turner painting beyond.
"You said it is unknown so no one would realise it was legitimate either way." She reasoned.
"A prize in a war I can hardly remember." I shrugged with a slow smirk.
She finally met my amused gaze and threw the bottle at my head. I caught it easily and regarded the label calmly. "Not for me thank you."
She growled in a mix of a sigh. "I hate you."
"You are welcome." I drawled, setting the bottle down and mirroring her posture. She recrossed her arms and pressed her back against the fridge.
"It's sort of sweet." She finally admitted, eyeing it inevitably again and losing some of her mask. My smirk increased. "Mad and ridiculous... but sweet."
"The reds used in the sunset were composed of his blood when he ran dry of oil."
She shot me a startled look. "Are you serious?"
"No." I broke my calm, laughing, "–But it was worth it for that look."
"It's going to be composed of your blood if you don't take it back where you found it." She growled, turning back to the fridge just to have her attention off it again.
"Is that a threat..?" I asked low, moving silently behind her until she closed it finally and turned, jumping when I was right in front of her. She swallowed and held her emotionless expression.
"I could take you on, Fletcher." She murmured, holding my gaze.
"I'm listening." I returned with a dark look, allowing every part of the predator in me fill the space between us. Her heart picked up rapidly and the adrenaline filled the air.
"How the hell do you do that?" She murmured, scanning my face more curious than fearful. "It's like you project it... that strength."
I broke off the charge instantly and relaxed, eyeing her with amusement now.
"Instincts are a powerful thing. Even a mortal's are sharp enough to tell." I shrugged, leaning back and taking a step away. But she only took a step forward. "I like the dangerous side of you as much as the safe one."
I tilted my head and remained leaning against her counter as she placed her hands on the granite either side of me.
"As I've noticed. No one else is insane enough to spill their blood in front of us."
"You're not like the rest." She stated, in a sureness I wasn't prepared for.
"You've only met one other immortal." I argued. "–and he was insane."
"From what I've been told, your elite club of assholes are not much better."
My eyebrows shot up at her easy dismissal of the most powerful organisation on the planet. A smile soon replaced it and I shook my head.
"Only Quinn Adams would dare to say such a thing..."
She finally relaxed her interrogation of me and drew back to saunter back into her living room. I watched her a moment from my spot. She dropped before the fireplace and stacked wood and paper carefully before lighting it. Then she retreated into her chair and propped her feet on the cushions taking in every detail of the painting. I would never regret its new home. Every time she savoured looks at it was infinitely more valuable than my ownership.
I stole away from the pillar finally and sat myself in an opposite chair near a lamp. But my interest was now on her bookshelf. Something was different. It was all different. Her collection now rearranged from my movers but also filled with editions that were not there before. I moved swiftly and plucked out a black bound book with no markings or print.
"Hey! That's–" She paused, before jumping up and making to swipe at it. I held it out of reach with a curious look.
"Personal?" I smirked, before lowering it into her hand. She took my irony and sighed.
"Fine. But only because you let me roam every piece of your past today..." She dropped the book into my hand. I scanned her blush a moment longer before placing in on the table between us and relaxing back into my chair.
"You don't want to open it?"
"Not if you are uncomfortable." I answered resolved. That blush increased and so did my amusement. Now she just made it all the more intriguing. Yet I still would not overstep.
"It's not that..." She let out a heavy breath and ran a hand through those dark brown waves of hair to one side. "–it's about you–well some of it is."
"I'm flattered. Did you detail my better side?" I quipped, letting my teeth point in a wicked grin. The fire crackled in response and glowed a warm orange light around us.
"All of your sides." She answered seriously. I stilled and glanced down at the leather bound book again. It was driving my curiosity mad not knowing those words she wrote about me now. Demon, mystery, detective, immortal, predator... the ideas were endless to me but perhaps different to her.
She grabbed it suddenly and kept it close as she flicked through the pages. As if she knew exactly which page she sought and the words it held. She flicked the other lamp on beside her and drew her knees up towards her. She scanned the page silently as if deciding which ones would sound aloud.
Then without warning she tossed it into the flames. I bolted upright and stared at the rapidly burning book.
"Quinn!"
She leant back with a satisfied look and draped an arm over the back of the sofa.
"Don't worry detective. The evidence is all still up here." She pointed to her head and crossed her legs on the chair. I glared at her despite it.
"I wanted to read that."
"I guess you should have taken your chance." She smirked devilishly.
"It wasn't right to." I grit out. She was still smug. I sighed and slumped back into her chair to watch the remains of the book disintegrate into ash. What a crime.
"You hate not knowing don't you?"
"Of course I do! I retain evidence I don't destroy it!" I accused, both backhanding her actions and potential career moves.
"Oh, that was low, detective." She smirked, then crossed her legs over again and bounced a foot.
"What could possibly be so bad in there?" I finally demanded, eyeing the flames licking the final pages. She was silent a moment.
"I don't like exposing myself too much." She admitted. "That book was in my room before... Your movers must have put it back there by mistake."
"At least tell me what was in that page."
She met my eyes finally. She knew I meant the one she had taken a longer look at. The one she had found instantly one final time before condemning it to ash.
"It was an extract of a poem–I didn't write it. But it reminded me of you." She couldn't hold my shocked gaze anymore and found safety in the fire again. "–it was more of a collection of things... to make sense of you–to define you."
"Do you remember... the poem?"
"Line for line." She answered a bit too quickly. The blush was back but I didn't mock her for it.
"I'd like to hear it." I answered honestly.
She let a slow breath go and relaxed her legs and body on the chair again. This time she cast her eyes above us to the chandelier. Its crystalline shards bouncing the warm orange glow into miniature meteors around the room.
Then without delay she spoke as clearly as day:
"My Sorrow, when she's here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.
Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She's glad the birds are gone away,
She's glad her simple worsted grey
Is silver now with clinging mist.
The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.
Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise."
I watched her even when her words were no more. Entranced and lost in the lines I now ran through my head. Unravelling the infinite meaning–yet so simple all at once.
"You know it well." I finally murmured. She opened her eyes and cut them to me. Unreadable. "That poem was gentle and beautiful–I see no connection to how it reminds you of me."
She threw me a wry smile and tapped her fingers to her head. It frustrated me some.
"That is not an answer, Quinn." I probed, sitting forward and scanning her relaxed expression all the more.
"Look at that painting." She told me instead. I obeyed and scanned the grand ship setting off into the waves against a warm sunset. One I had beheld hundreds of times before. "–can you quantify its meaning?"
I frowned.
"The artist used warm colours. Rolling waves. A swaying ship. He portrayed a sense of calm."
"You know that for sure?"
"No–no one could claim that–"
"Exactly. You cannot see what he saw in that moment, just as you cannot see what I see in this one. I see you in every line of this poem. From the moment it came off the dusty side of my shelf the night after you had looked over it."
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.
A ghost of a smile traced my lips and Quinn didn't fail to notice.
"I suppose I do vex you for reasons why."
She grinned and nodded in knowing. Before rolling to her feet suddenly and pulling out her phone. I was still thinking over every line in excruciating detail. It was like a gateway into her perception of me–I needed to discover. The fact that she had burned the rest made it all the more important. The only piece she would let me have.
Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list
She ordered dinner and had it deliver in the next 20 minutes, while I went through every other book on that shelf in search of something missed. Quinn was on her phone with the trace of a smile on her lips the entire time.
Infuriating mortal.
The doorbell rang and I moved before she did. I opened the door to a nervous young man with a square box.
"What is that?"
"Er, the–er, pizza? Quinn Adams?" He cleared his throat and looked unsure about the entire encounter. I was just as lost.
I shrugged and accepted the strongly smelling square box of mortal sustenance. He nodded quickly before rushing back down the steps to dart back on a moped that smelt of cheese and cheap cologne.
I guessed my expression was disgusted by the way Quinn broke down into laughter at the sight of me holding this hideous–whatever it was.
"Please–deliver my pizza–every day." She giggled, sitting up as I set it on the table like a bomb.
"It smells like a cheese wheel dumped on cheap Italian bread."
"Don't be ridiculous you know what pizza is..."
"Yes but... why is it presented in that card box?" I quipped, eying it as she opened said holder and groaned at the intense cheese and tomato explosion that came out. Whatever happened to the pride one took in creating a meal? Someone needed a page from the books of the 1920s or even the 30s. I resisted the urge to gag. In fact–
"I'll see you upstairs, Quinn. And that cheese disaster will be gone by morning." I deadpanned, already rising from my seat and swiping a book that had caught my curiosity.
She took a generous bite and exaggerated her moan. My blood flashed cooler and I glared at both causes of trouble before turning for her stairs.
"You don't know what you're missing!" She called.
"You! Without the pizza!"