The Beautiful and the Damned (11 page)

She shouldn’t have believed him. Not coming across such a strange scene like this.
But something deep inside told her he was telling the truth.

The look in his eyes was sorrow.

“What are you going to do with him? I want to help.”

“I don’t need your help.” He gave her a scowl. “Just stay out of my way.”

T
hey kept vigil in the church for the rest of the night. Cyn retreated to a pew in
the front row and curled up against the hard surface, while Thirteen stayed near the
pulpit. She was far enough away from him to stay out of his way, but still close enough
to keep watch over Father Montgomery.

She should have been using this time to recite whatever prayers she could remember
so that his immortal soul would find comfort in the arms of God. Or something like
that. But all she could think about was what he’d said about that squirrel.

I hope there are squirrels in heaven for you, Father Montgomery.
I hope you have a nice window with a big backyard and lots of squirrels.

It wasn’t a prayer in the traditional sense, but as she closed her eyes and softly
said those words, it felt like one to her.

When sunlight started filtering through the windows, Father Montgomery’s protector
finally rose and left the church. Cyn followed him to the rectory. Her brain felt
sluggish. She really needed to get a couple of hours of sleep before she went back
for her stuff.

“Can I crash on the couch? I’m beat.”

He turned to face her, and she was stunned by his appearance. A slant of sunlight
angled across his face and revealed his chiseled cheekbones, a sharp chin, and dark,
shoulder-length hair. His eyes were the color of melted chocolate.

Cyn’s voice faltered.

He shrugged off the robe and hung it on a coat rack. He was wearing tight black leather
pants and a black T-shirt. “And why would you be crashing on the couch?”

“Because I’m tired. I need to get some sleep.”

“So go home. Sleep there.”

“I can’t.”

He cocked his head at her, clearly waiting for an explanation. But Cyn wasn’t in the
mood to give him one.

“Look, I won’t bother you, and I won’t get in your way. You won’t even know I’m here.”

“If I want to sit on the couch, you’ll be in my way.”

Cyn tugged on the back of her wig, and it pulled up high on her forehead. Quickly
readjusting it, she said, “Fine. Then I’ll sleep in one of the bedrooms, and you can
have the couch.”

“Not his.”

She was
this
close to telling him to go fuck himself. “Are you serious? I just spent the last
three hours staring at the body of the only person in this stupid town who’s ever
tried to help me, and you think I want to
sleep
in
his
bed
while he’s growing cold out there? Jesus Christ. I’d rather sleep on the floor.”

“Suit yourself.” He turned his back to her and went into the kitchen.

Cyn didn’t know what to make of that, but she wasn’t going to stand here and argue
with him about it. The couch it was, then.

At least until he came and forcibly moved her off of it.

~  ~  ~

The sound of police sirens woke her up, and Cyn panicked. She’d forgotten where she
was. Her leg was tangled in a crocheted blanket, and she couldn’t get free. When the
fog finally lifted and her brain really woke up, she recognized Father Montgomery’s
house.

Shoving the blanket all the way off, Cyn went to go look
out one of the windows. A bunch of cops were standing around outside the church. Then
a stretcher was rolled out and loaded into a nearby van. It was covered with a white
sheet.

One of the police officers gestured to the house, and she pulled back from the window.
She couldn’t go outside while they were there, but she couldn’t stay here if any of
them decided to come check things out. Cyn glanced at the stairs. There had to be
somewhere up there she could hang out while she waited for them to leave.

She went to the attic. It was filled with boxes marked
CHURCH CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS
and a couple of old pieces of furniture. A large black box shaped like an oversize
figure eight was the only thing not covered in dust, and Cyn realized it was some
type of musical-instrument case. Obviously well taken care of.

Pulling one of the Christmas boxes over to a small window that overlooked part of
the church parking lot, Cyn took a seat. It was a long wait, and she kept dozing off.
When she finally heard a door open downstairs and saw that the lot was clear, she
went down to the kitchen.

Thirteen was sitting at the table with a cup of coffee in front of him.

“I can make a fresh pot if you want,” she offered.

“Do whatever you want. I’m done anyway.”

He stood up like he was going to leave. Because of course he was. It wasn’t like they
were both trying to deal with a murder or anything that just happened.

“Can you just sit with me for, like, five minutes?” Cyn exploded. “I’ve had a really
bad night. Actually, a week of bad nights, and I need—” She stopped and rubbed her
temples. A monster headache was forming behind her eyes. “I think I need a drink.”

“There’s nothing here but cooking sherry. Father Montgomery was old fashioned that
way.”

“I should have known you would have checked.” She moved to a bread keeper on the counter
and lifted the lid. Maybe some toast would make her headache go away. “And how can
you talk about him so . . . matter of fact like that?”

“Death is pretty matter of fact. You get used to it.”

Cyn found the toaster under a cross-stitched appliance cozy and pushed down two pieces
of bread. “Death isn’t something I ever want to get used to. Death isn’t something
most
normal people want to get used to.”

She gave him a pointed look so he would know what she was referring to.

“You already know I’m not human, so what is this?”

“What exactly
are
you?” she said bluntly. “With the smoke and the red eyes. Not to mention the horns. . . .
Are you the devil?”

He smirked. “The devil. How original. I haven’t heard that one in two centuries. I
thought this was supposed to be a politically correct day and age.”

“Politically correct?” Cyn stared at him in disbelief. “Since when do devil guys worry
about being
politically correct
?”

“Since I’m technically a Revenant and
not
the devil, I’d say that falls under the politically correct category. The horns come
from my father’s side of the family.” He crossed his arms, and the action made his
T-shirt stretch tightly across his biceps. He saw her gaze shift down. “The burns
are another gift from dear old dad. To remember where I came from.”

She should have been asking why the burn marks were there before but weren’t there
now, and why his eyes turned red but didn’t stay that way, and if he’d really been
around for two centuries, but the word “Revenant” made something twitch in the back
of Cyn’s brain.

It was familiar. Like she’d heard it before.

Abruptly pushing that thought to the side, Cyn realized that she’d never met someone
like him before. Someone who was like her—different. Granted, his case was pretty
extreme with the
horns and all that, but maybe she could tell him about the faces she’d seen beneath
hers.

Maybe he could even help her.

Suddenly, darkness rimmed the edges of her vision and her hearing started to fade.
Right before she blacked out, Cyn heard herself groan, “Not now, you son of a bitch.”

S
he went down hard and hit the floor with a thud.

“Jesus Christ. She. Just. Won’t. Shut. Up.”

The voice came out of Cyn, but it wasn’t hers. It was a voice Avian hadn’t heard in
a long time. She pushed herself to a sitting position, her features shifting to reveal
another soul trapped inside her body. Just beneath the surface were hints of another
face.

A Revenant’s face.

“Thirteen? Is it really you?” She grinned up at him.

“Grifyth. It’s been a while.”

Two hundred years, in fact. Avian kept his distance from the other Revenants most
of the time—it wasn’t like they were
inviting him over for dinner—but every now and then when he ran into someone like
Uriel or Acacia, it wasn’t all bad. Whenever he ran into Grifyth, though, things went
downhill.
Fast
.

His fingers itched to go for his weapon, but he reminded himself that it wasn’t just
Grifyth he was dealing with. It was still Cyn’s body, and her life on the line should
the situation escalate.

“I prefer Vincent, actually. You can never find the name Grifyth on any of those mini
license plates at the mall.” Cyn stood and then grimaced. “Well, this is no fun. All
I have is a headache. I thought I hit the ground hard enough to at least get a concussion
out of the deal. Fuck.”

Avian crossed his arms. “So you’re in a girl now. It’s a good look for you. You should
think about keeping it for a while.”

“You have no idea what it’s like to be trapped inside such a useless shell,” Vincent
snarled. “Oh, wait, you do. You’re useless too. A Revenant who can’t even do his damn
job.”

“You know that’s not my thing. I don’t cross Shades over like the rest of you.”

Shades were humans who were destined to become guardians of sacred places after their
earthly deaths. Graveyards, burial grounds, sanctuaries. But all Shades had a partner
they had to find before they could fulfill their duties. Revenants helped them find
their other half and then transition to the other side.

Vincent made a sound of disgust. “No, instead you decided to become a babysitter for
demons gone rogue. What a waste. You know what I always thought was highly ironic?
That the only child of two of the original Revenants turned out to be such a dud.
We could have made a sweet team. Your father was pure demon! Imagine the power you
could have had.” He laughed harshly. “I guess that whole ‘sins of the father will
be revisited upon the son’ thing really bit you in the ass, didn’t it?”

“Can’t say I have any complaints.” Avian gripped the edges of the chair in front of
him to stop himself from doing anything stupid. He had rules when it came to humans.

“
Really.
Because I heard the side effects of being only half demon are a bitch. Did you get
a tail too? Because I’m pretty sure that’s a deal breaker for this one.” He pointed
at Cyn’s body. “Just sayin’.”

“Nope. No tail. But I did get the horns.”

“Nice! I’ll have to find a female Revenant I can screw so maybe one day our bastard
child will be as lucky as you.”

Avian eased up on the chair and walked over to the fridge. Now he was just getting
bored. “Speaking of Revenants . . .” He pulled out a bowl of leftover mashed potatoes
and the bottle of ketchup. “You must have fucked something up. I don’t think I’ve
ever
heard of a Revenant being banished inside an Echo.” He
covered the potatoes with some ketchup. “Do you have to pee sitting down too?”

“Wouldn’t know.” Vincent’s voice had a hard edge to it. “She doesn’t let me out that
often. I have to fight for the little bit of time I do get.”

“Bummer.”

“Yeah, but I’m working on getting out permanently. Have you seen my latest artwork?”
He rolled up the sleeves of Cyn’s shirt. “Fuck. She covered it up.”

One by one he ripped the bandages off and then held Cyn’s arms out to Avian.

“Used a piece of busted-up floor tile to do it. I aimed for the arteries, of course,
but it didn’t turn out like I was hoping.”

“So you’re trying to kill her?”

“Ding, ding, ding! You win a prize. I’m the fifth soul that’s been in here. Which
means, what, two more
tops
until this body wears out? Who knows how long I’ll be trapped until then. I want
out, and I want it now.”