Army of the Goddess: A Bona Dea Novel (Stormflies Book 2) Read Free Page B

juniper cones.”
    “Wonderful. I want to study these. Conifers are more primitive than those flowers. It's a parallel with Old Earth I find fascinating. There are certain laws of nature that might apply to any life-bearing planet in the galaxy,” the old man prattled on.
    “Fine. Fine. I have to run.” Holton tucked the gray envelop rattling with seeds into his satchel and turned on the balls of his feet to dash away, letting Ole's continued chatter fade out. He couldn't care less what the old man wanted to do with seed cones.
    “Good day!” Ole shouted after him. “Say hello to Canna for me.”
    Holton needed to remove Ole from his list of seed suppliers or convince his mother to stop trying to grow houseplants. Twelve seeds! How many pots was she going to cram into the house? And who was going to water all of them? Rosemary could barely move due to her weight and arthritis. Her most ambitious travels consisted of moving from bed to the divan.
    Renata, his sister, must have some arrangement to take care of the forty-odd pots of varying plants from across the continent already residing in the one-level North Compass home. It was the only plausible solution to keeping that many organisms alive under his mother's care. Before her weight became a debilitating factor, Rosemary was as lithe and agile as any young woman with six children needed to be. Ten years later, she was nearly immobile, requiring a cane and assistance to move around her own home. Holton blamed Quinn, the youngest child, for pushing Rosemary into depression with his insistence on denying everything for which his family stood.
    Holton would bring her the seeds as long as she didn't ask for more of his time. Perhaps Rosemary Elgar collected the plants to replace her nest-flown children, or perhaps she appreciated the silence of living things without tongues. The plants might disappoint her once in a while by dying, but that was minor compared to the disappointments caused by her children, Quinn especially. Why was he thinking of Quinn again? He hated his brother. Always had. When Quinn was born, Holton knew he would regret the twit's existence. He was not disappointed in those expectations. Quinn was a stubborn, high-nosed cark bird always flaunting his adventures and his intelligence, looking down upon his farming family. And now that he was marrying the Protectress—Holton wanted to wring his brother's neck!
    Of all the people to make it to the Palace, Quinn wasn't the one he was rooting for. Renata should have been elected councilor during the last voting period, but Sara Sunsun won out simply because of her family history. Now his sister was unbearable, lamenting her loss for over a year now and conniving ways to ensure a win at the next election. She was cozying up to Morgan Mainsteer and his crazy movement, Citizens for Restructure. Holton ignored her political tirades as much as possible.
    He didn't have time to dwell on these things. He had to get to that bus.
    “Holton, there you are!”
    Jenny's voice stopped him in his tracks.
    “You didn't say goodbye this morning. Shame on you,” she scolded, though a teasing smile belied her intention.
    “Sorry. I'm running behind. I'll be back around in a few months.”
    The curvy brunette caught his arm and jerked him back a step. She grinned. “You let Canna know how lucky she is to have you. If I had my way, you'd never go back to the frigid North. You could stay right here with me where it's warm.”
    “Oh, Jenny,” he sighed with regret. If they had met sooner… He loved Canna dearly, but she was ever so slightly like his mother in some ways, and Jenny was nothing like his mother in any way whatsoever. She was refreshing, and visits with her were regenerative. He wanted to find excuses to come more often.
    “I'll see you soon,” he promised, accepting a firm embrace, her plumps breasts pressed against his chest and her breath steamy against his neck.
    She whispered in his ear, “I'll be