Chapter Nine
Quinn
The building sits in the middle of downtown Crescent City, a tower of reflective blue glass. It’s the tallest, with a spire that reaches to the heavens. The company’s name hangs from the top floor, and at night it glows bright as a full moon.
WIND-E.
Demetria’s empire.
Quinn spends the last few days digging into anything and everything he can find on his former housemate and how she came into such a fortune. The official business is described as the headquarters for the toy manufacturing giant. Demetria’s company creates the wildly popular line of SparkleCorns as well as GlitterFairies, WoodlandSweetures and every offshoot of product imaginable.
Demetria is a toy goddess, who ironically can make every little girl’s dreams come true by bringing them all to life.
She also, it seems, may be severely mentally ill.
Sitting in the front seat of the van, Quinn holds the psychological report in his hands and glances at the content for the fifth time since he received it from Casper.
Hacking little goblin.
It came via email in the middle of the night with the subject line: Guess Who’s Mother-effing Crazy?
Quinn was slightly relieved it wasn’t Astrid or Owen.
The information comes from a juvenile psych unit, several years after the explosion at the group home. There’s little background information, no guardian or specifics on where she lived or went to school. But there is a diagnosis, and at the time, all signs were pointing toward fantasy-prone disorder.
A disorder he’s never heard of before, but it exists. According to the doctor in the report, she had many symptoms of the unusual disorder: intense, vivid fantasies; an inability to recognize the real world from make-believe; imaginary friends; and enhanced sensory perceptions.
He drops the paper on the passenger seat and looks up at the impressive building. He has an appointment at ten. Okay, not really an appointment, more like Casper hacked into her calendar and figured out she leaves her office each day at ten to head to yoga class three blocks away.
He exits the vehicle, carrying his newspaper from his run earlier that day, and finds a spot on a bench in the middle of the plaza outside her office building. People mill about, going in and out for business. Quinn watches closely, adjusting the small camera on his hoodie. He’s recording the meeting—the whole scene—to show Astrid and Owen later. You know, when he decides to actually tell them he came down here alone.
His phone beeps that it’s ten and he shifts his focus on the front door. Demetria appears, like clock-work, surrounded by a few bodyguards. He’d known they would be here, but it definitely complicates things.
Demetria was an odd little girl with gangly legs and too-big eyes. Quinn can’t help but notice how she grew into a beautiful woman. She has the grace and poise of a princess—she probably thinks she is one, he considers. Her footsteps are dainty. Her hair, perfectly styled. A brooch of a rainbow-jeweled fairy is perched just below her shoulder and sparkly earrings dangle from her ears. She looks like a CEO of a toy company. Equal parts professional and whimsy.
One bodyguard carries her gym bag. He’s about Quinn’s size, with a muscular build visible under his suit. His eyes skim over Quinn, assessing for threat. The other, a female, with her long dark hair tied in a knot behind her head, stands a few feet away. Quinn steps up to the crosswalk seconds before they arrive. He presses the button, using a touch of his current, disabling the mechanism that changes the light. She’ll be trapped with him for at least five minutes.
His hands are stuffed in his pockets but he glances over at her casually. She looks ahead but feels his eyes on her and looks up. Demetria offers a friendly smile, but before he can go into his prepared small-talk she says, “I know you.”
“You do?”
“Yes,” her brown eyes take him in. “You were at my Gala.”
He narrows his eyes in thought, before faking recognition. “Oh yes! Right, you hosted the party. I heard your speech and it really resonated with me.”
Her lips spread, happy to hear that. “My fairies told me about you. They recognized you in the crowd.”
“They did?” He tries painfully to keep his expression neutral.
“Yes, I’ve been searching high and low for my Lost Boys. It’s time for you all to come home.”
Thinking she’s going to call him out for his interference that night or maybe their involvement with shutting down Pixie Dust, he’s thrown when she calls him a Lost Boy.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he says, although her Neverland fantasy is well known.
“Ms. Holmes,” the male bodyguard says, eyeing him warily. “You’re going to be late.”
Even though the crossing signal hasn’t changed, the other guard walks into the crosswalk and holds up traffic so they can continue across the street.
“Come home when you’re ready,” she says, looking back as she walks away. Her hair blows in the wind. Quinn stands speechless as he watches the fairy lift off her shoulder and fly over his head, sprinkling glitter in his hair.
He jumps back, knocking into a man behind him. “Sorry,” he mutters, brushing off his shoulders. But there’s nothing there. The fairy is gone, and Demetria and her bodyguards are already a block away.