Free Refracted (The Celadon Circle Book 2) by Nicole Storey Page A

Tennessee, they had completely demon-proofed the house. Aamon’s visit to Jordan revealed how lax their security was. Before, their work never followed them home. Before, demons rarely gave them a second thought.
    But that was before…
    Nathan nodded. “I think you’re right. It sure as hell can’t hurt. If we can’t work something out with the angels once Jordan returns, we’ll have to secure the house against them anyway.”
    Casen chewed slowly, a faraway look in his eyes. A moment later, he shook his head as if to clear the thoughts that had collected there and dropped his spoon. The sound of metal clanging against the empty ceramic bowl made Quinn wince.
    “There’s so much to do,” he said, pushing his chair back from the table.
    Quinn looked on while his uncle appeared to struggle with the decision to get up or stay seated. For once, his customary Stetson was nowhere to be seen. Case looked vulnerable without it. The wrinkles around his eyes stood out against his tan skin. There was more gray in his hair than brown. Every one of his fifty-two years was on parade.
    Nathan headed toward the hallway.
    “Where are you going?” Quinn asked.
    “Uncle Case is right; there’s a lot to do.” He kept walking, calling over his shoulder as he disappeared around the corner. “We can sit and mope about it or we can get started!”
    “I ain’t moping, boy!” Casen barked. He dropped his bowl and spoon in the sink and followed his nephew through the door, all the while mumbling about disrespectful children.
    Quinn laughed aloud and then clamped his lips shut, looking around to make sure no one heard. It felt wrong to laugh in the middle of the shitstorm that was their lives right now. It felt wrong to feel good , even for a second, while his sister was trapped with Hades’ finest.
    Jordan wouldn’t want you to feel that way.
    The thought brought him up short and he squeezed too much dishwashing liquid into the running water from the tap, causing a mountain of suds to spill over onto the counter and the front of his shirt.
    It was true. For years, the only sounds to fill the rooms of this broken-down farmhouse were raised voices, whispered secrets, and muffled tears. If nothing else positive came from all the pain they inflicted on themselves and each other, Jordan would be happy to know that healing was possible – that her home was capable of hearing and feeling more from its occupants than anger and discontent.
    A familiar sight greeted him when Quinn entered the study with a full thermos of coffee, mugs, and a box of glazed donuts on a tray. Nathan and Case sat at the refectory table with The Book between them. The glare from his laptop screen illuminated Nathan’s face and his fingers flew across the keyboard. A pile of books, notepad, and pen were Case’s research materials of choice. His bespectacled eyes traversed from The Book to his notepad, where he occasionally scribbled a word or passage, and then to a different book opened on his other side. Every so often, information was passed between them in soft, conspiratorial murmurs…They were in their element.
    Quinn set the tray down at the other end of the table. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask what he needed to start on when his phone rang. Muffled strains of BOC’s “Don’t Fear the Reaper” sounded from his back pocket. 
    “Needs more cowbell!” Nathan shouted.
    Casen rolled his eyes and Quinn grinned. “Always.”
    He didn’t recognize the number that flashed on the screen but answered it anyway.
    “Hello?”
    Quinn pressed the button to activate the speaker and lay the phone on the table.
    “Yeah,” a rough voice answered.
    Both Uncle Case and Nathan paused in their reading and stared at the tiny black device. The man on the other end sounded familiar.
    “Is this Quinn Bailey?”
    “Who’s asking?”
    “Lucas Fane from Mississippi. Not sure if you remember but you and your brother worked with me and my boys on a hunt in