The Winged Girl VI

Quinn was left in the dark only a moment before a light allowed her relief.
The room was cavernous: wide and echoey despite the sheer amount of things there were. There were lampshades and stencils and sofas and hair pieces and hats and hatstands and clothing and every manner of useless thing there might be. Quinn's eyes perished the clutter with interest, stopping occasionally on the truly baffling object - a monocle perhaps, or the giant stuffed bear lying on top of a chest of drawers with the draws missing.
'So you're the winged girl, eh?' The voice was husky, as if its owner had smoked one too many cigars, and came from somewhere within the mountain of furniture near the left of the room. Quinn froze.
'No need to be scared,' the voice wheezed on, leaving Quinn with the knowledge that he could see her. 'Quinn. Quinn's your name, so I have been told.'
Quinn thought of Cole. He must've said something. She scowled, without truly understanding why that made her cross.
Movement caught Quinn's eye - hulk of a figure was coming towards her, from behind a legless piano. Quinn watched as he neared, feeling no fear, nor any need to back away from the impending person.
He was middle-aged. Past his best, but not so old as to seem frail - on second thoughts, frail was on no means the correct word to use for him. He was muscled everywhere, intimidating yet also comforting, there was something of a protector in him, that Quinn could sense.
Small brown eyes, grey hair, thin lips brooked no nonsense. He looked suspiciously like hired muscle rather than anything else. Quinn took a breath, catching a distinct whiff of oil, as if from a gun. A smile broke across her face. This wasn't the leader of Cole's special organisation. This was some hired guard - a test, probably.
'I was told,' Quinn fought to keep smugness from her voice, 'that I would be meeting with the leader, not his guard.'
A clapping resounded about the room, bouncing across the furniture. 'Well done,' this voice was different to the first. This voice was young, cultured. It sounded like someone of Quinn's own age, or thereabouts. Someone like-
A boy, a replica of Cole, moved round the corner of the piano, moving lithely. Quinn gasped, her eyebrows shooting into her hairline. He looked just like Cole. The only way Quinn could tell he wasn't was the eyes - where Cole's were the darkest of browns, this boy's were green, catlike, enticing in their vibrant colour.
'My name is Drake. I assume from your expression of incredulity that you've already had the... pleasure of meeting my younger brother, Cole.'
Quinn could only nod.
'And I assume he has already informed you of why you are of such an... importance... To us?' Drake looked at Quinn coolly, and as if it were the most natural thing in the world, snapped out a pair of grey wings.