Free A Quarrel Called: Stewards Of The Plane Book 1 by Shannon Wendtland

he was blushing. And then all of a sudden he was really close
and I gulped, having a hard time not looking up at him. Oh my God, it was
really happening. My first real kiss from my first real…
    G. leaned down very close. “Be my girl, Tara.”
    I nodded, unable to make a sound, mouth suddenly dry and
every inch of my body on fire with the most remarkable tingling.
    His lips were soft, not mushy, and his breath smelled like
cinnamon. He pressed his lips to mine and for a long moment, we just held it
there, our hearts beating overtime. Then my lips parted and so did his and the
heat and the moistness mixed with the cinnamon flick of his tongue made me weak
in the knees. I clutched the flowers with one hand, and his arm with the other.
He’d obviously done this before and oh man, he knew how to do it right .
    When he finally pulled back, I looked up at him and said
“I’ve been waiting for you to do that forever .”
    He grinned.

 

18. MELODY
    Late in the afternoon, I was taking a nap. It was another
dream, only this time it was more like a memory – of the first time I saw
Matthew’s ghost.
    The garage was closed. The bay doors were shut, the front
windows had the blinds pulled and the ‘closed’ sign was in the window. But I
hadn’t seen my brother for a couple of days and I figured this was the best
place to start looking for him.
    The sun was setting to my back, and I could see my shadow,
long and stretched out in front of me, racing me to the door, or in retrospect,
trying to warn me away, as I approached. I tried the handle. It was locked, so
I pulled out Matthew’s spare key ring and inserted the big silver key in the
lock. I opened the door only a crack, a strange smell assaulting my nose, but I
didn’t think anything of it at the time, since garages were always full of
strange odors.
    “Matthew?” I called from the front. I still had not stepped
all the way into the room when I saw movement from the corner of my eye: the
flash of a pair of coveralls as someone walked past the door, a red shop rag
hanging out the back pocket. “Matthew!” I called. When I got no response, I
darted in after him, flicking on the light switch over the cash register as I
rounded the corner.
    A ruddy sunset cascaded through the windows on the bay doors
and washed over everything in the main part of the garage. Where that light met
with the greenish fluorescence from the lights overhead was a visual schism, a
harsh rip in the fabric of reality.
    There was something on the floor, some substance, and
because of the clash of light, I couldn’t tell what it was or even its color. I
bent down to touch it; it was slick, smelled metallic, and it was sticky and
brownish red. My mind couldn’t make sense of it at first.
    I turned to the left to see where Matthew had gone, but
could see no one. The back of the garage was shrouded in darkness, and I could
only make out basic shapes.
    “Matthew?” I called again. There was movement in the very
back, and a sharp metallic clang rang out, causing me to jump and shout. I felt
for the light switch near the door and flicked it on. Then I waited a moment,
blinking slowly, as fluorescence gained victory over ruddy sunset.
    There was more of the reddish brown stuff in a thick, shiny
pool on the floor, and Matthew’s toolkit was overturned. Whoever had done that
must have been big, because those rolling cases were very large, and usually
filled with heavy, expensive tools. Air wrench attachments, screw drivers, and
hex wrenches lay everywhere.
    Something moved in the back again, knocking some items off
of the workbench, and I jumped and screamed. It was only a rat, but that wasn’t
really what I was thinking at the time. Because my brain had finally figured
out what the sticky pool of liquid was – it was blood. And there was a lot of
it. And beyond the blood I saw that rat. And beyond the rat I saw another
shadow. It moved and I knew it was Matthew. He was faded, nearly gone; he
looked at