Ryn skating

“I don’t get you. You can’t figure out dating, but you can sniff out a pedophile or a rapist from eighty feet away. You beat up a guy who was like three times your size. You speak some kind of crazy old-fashioned Russian.” Softer, she asked, “Who are you?”
“All those things and many others.” But Ryn could tell it wasn’t what Naomi wanted. She wanted a label, a category, but the monster was too old, too large for those things.
So she edged away from Naomi, coasting backward on the ice. With the danger passed, the moon high, and the power in the auburn-haired girl’s eyes raging through her, she whispered, “I must go.”
“Wait! I don’t understand—Ryn! You’re skating backward.” She glided quickly after. “You’ve been skating twenty minutes and… you’re already better at it than anyone I know. I don’t understand. Who are you?”
“You know more than you should.” More than any other mortal has, she realized, shivering—and turned to flee. She sped from Naomi, hopped over the rink’s wall and kicked off her skates, exchanging them for shoes. In an instant she was fading into the crowd while sliding them on, casting a final glance back.


Chapter 11, Page 175