The Beautiful and the Damned (14 page)

“It looks to me like you’re answering the door with a very sharp, probably very illegal
weapon. Like a crazy person. Who does that?”

“Someone who was interrupted while cleaning their weapon does that. Why else would
I—” He stopped and then lowered the sword. “Why am I arguing about this with you?
Why are you here again?”

“I need ten bucks for the cab ride. The fifty wasn’t enough.”

He raised an eyebrow.

She dropped several of the plants and then held out one of the brown bags. “I brought
you Buffalo Trace. That’s what you were drinking at the bar, right?” She glanced down.
“Also Jack Daniels, Jim Beam, and Russian vodka.”

He still didn’t say anything. Maybe she’d go away if he just ignored her.

“Seriously, the cab driver needs ten bucks. And you know I don’t have it, so put down
the sword and pay up. He’s not going anywhere, and I don’t think he’ll accept alcohol
as payment.”

As if on cue, the cab driver angrily honked his horn.

Reluctantly propping his sword up by the door, Avian took the brown bag and sat it
on the floor. Then he took a step outside and ran into Cyn’s suitcase.

“Sorry,” she called, moving into the house. “My bad.”

He never liked that phrase.
My bad.
Why did modern-day slang have to sound so stupid?

The cabbie gave another angry honk.

I should have brought the sword.

Shoving a hand into his back pocket, Avian reached for his wallet and fished out a
twenty. At least this way he could make one of them go away. After he had some bourbon,
he’d call for a different cab driver to come back for
her
.

Avian’s face was enough to make the driver’s hand shake as he rolled down the window
just enough to take the money. “Change?” he mumbled.

“Keep it,” Avian growled.

The cab driver didn’t have to be told twice. He pulled away in such a hurry, he spewed
gravel from the loose stone driveway.

When Avian turned back to the house, Cyn was rolling her suitcase up the steps. He
took the stairs in two strides and found her putting her plants in the window over
the sink. She was just making herself right at home.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I need a place to stay. Father Montgomery offered me his help if I ever needed it,
and right now I need it.”

“Does this have anything to do with what happened earlier?”

“Yeah. I told you. My money’s all gone. I have nothing.”

“Why don’t you go to the cops? File a report and let them know you were robbed.”

Avian didn’t miss the brief flash of panic in her eyes at the word “cops.”

“I can’t.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

“Either. Take your pick.” She turned around to face him but looked down at her feet
as she spoke. It was obviously a struggle to admit she needed help. “I won’t stay
long. Trust me, I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here. I just . . .
don’t have anywhere else to go. Nowhere that’s safe.”

Avian crossed his arms. She could have used her influence as an Echo and made someone
else give her a place to stay. She’d tried with Cash in the bar to get another drink,
and with him in the church to tell her what happened to Father Montgomery. Clearly,
she knew what she was capable of.

Yet she’d come here. And didn’t try to use her influence on him again.

A begrudging respect filled him. But she was still an Echo, and she could still prove
to turn out as bad as the rest of them. He’d sworn never to get involved with any
of them again, and that included helping them out. As far as he was concerned, Echos
were on their own.

So why was he actually considering letting her stay?

To keep an eye on her. No telling what else Vincent has planned.

“Pick any room except for his,” he heard himself saying. “And you can stay.”

She gave him a look of disbelief. “What?”

“You heard me.” He rifled through the brown bags until he found the one that held
the bourbon and pulled it out.

“No strings attached? You’re not going to do anything weird, are you? Like murder
me in my sleep?”

“Of course not. I have rules when it comes to humans.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I stick strictly to the supernatural.” He left out the part about how technically
this included her since she was an Echo. “I don’t mess with humans, and they don’t
mess with me.”

Her skeptical look turned to relief. “Okay. Fine. Glad to hear it. I’m not going to
argue with that.” She turned back to the sink and watered her plants, then grabbed
two glasses. “What should we start with first?”

Avian brought the bottle of bourbon to his lips and took a swallow. “
We?
I thought this was payment for me letting you stay here.”

“You thought
all
of this was payment?” Cyn cleared a spot at the table and sat down. “Um, no.” Pouring
some whiskey
into her glass, she lifted it high. “To Father Montgomery.”

Avian clinked his bottle against her glass. “To Father Montgomery.”

She finished her drink in one shot and refilled it. “He told me about you, you know.
Said he helped someone with a bad attitude. His church didn’t want him to, but he
did anyway.”

“
Bad attitude?
He said that?”

“Okay, I’m paraphrasing. He didn’t exactly say the words “bad attitude.” I’m sure
it was just something like you had trust issues. Which, hey, who doesn’t?” She drained
her glass. “You have to admit, though, everything about you kind of screams ‘bad attitude.’ ”

Avian shrugged. “It usually works in my favor. People learn to stay away.”

“ ‘People,’ right. And by that you mean humans.”

He tipped his bottle at her in a you-got-it gesture.

“But not me.”

“Not you.” He gave her a long look. “Why is that?”

“I don’t know, actually. I think it’s because of whatever’s inside of me. I’m pretty
messed up in a big way.”

Surprise hit Avian.
So she knows she’s an Echo?

Cyn rubbed her thumb along the edge of her glass. “Ever since I was a little kid,
I’ve had these, like . . . hallucinations or
something. This feeling of darkness that comes over me. And then I see faces. Beneath
my face. Only one at a time, and they come and go. It’s like people are living under
my skin.” She gave a harsh laugh. “Do you have any idea what that’s like when you’re
seven years old? To tell someone that when you look into a mirror, your face isn’t
your own?”

She was lost in a memory. He could see it in the faraway look in her eyes.

“None of them could ever see it,” Cyn said softly. “Only me.”

Her grip tightened on the glass, and then she suddenly shook her head. Glancing up
with a dazed expression, she reached for the bottle of whiskey. “What was I saying?”

“That you don’t stay away from me because you’re messed up,” Avian supplied.

“Right.” She unscrewed the cap and covered the bottom of her tumbler with more amber
liquid. “I’m messed up. What about you? You said you’re a Remnant. What’s that all
about? See any weird visions or hallucinations, like me?”

He grimaced. “I’m a Revenant. Complicated story. Although it’s what I am, not who
I am. And no. No visions or hallucinations.”

Cyn toasted him. “I like that. It’s not
what
you are, it’s
who
you are that counts. I’m Cyn, and you’re Thirteen.” Then she frowned. “What kind of
a name is that?”

“The kind given to you by those who don’t think you deserve a real one.”

“Maybe they called you that because it’s tattooed on your neck.”

Avian’s fingers tightened around the bourbon bottle he still held. He hadn’t touched
it beyond that first sip. “That’s just a reminder I’m a mistake that never should
have happened.”

“I know a lot about mistakes.”

She was just about to pour herself another refill when he reached out and took the
whiskey from her. “That’s enough for now. It won’t solve any of your problems.”

“I’ve only had one glass,” she protested. “Two at the most.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“Yes, I have.”

He held up the half-empty bottle. “This says you’ve had a lot more.”

“I did
not
drink all of that,” Cyn said indignantly. “You had some.”

He gave a pointed look at the still-full bottle of bourbon in his other hand.

“All right, all right.” She rolled her eyes and stood up. “I guess that’s enough for
now.” Putting the cap back on the bottle of Jack, she placed it with the rest of the
alcohol and then said, “But you’re a real buzz kill, you know that?”

A
n urgent craving for nicotine hit Cyn around three a.m. She was on Father Montgomery’s
couch again, flipping through late-night infomercials on an old TV that looked like
it had been there since the sixties. She tried to ignore the feeling, but the need
for a cigarette was killer and she finally gave in.

She didn’t see Avian as she tiptoed through the house, and assumed he was sleeping.
After he’d cut her off, he’d gone back to cleaning his sword and she’d claimed the
couch. That was where the only TV in the house was. She didn’t see the keys to Father
Montgomery’s twenty-year-old sedan either but got lucky when she rummaged through
the coat pocket of the jacket he still had hanging by the front door and found them
there.

Twenty minutes down the road, an open gas station came into sight, and she pulled
in, leaving the car idling. Cyn didn’t like what she was about to do, but she was
desperate.

Strolling casually into the store, she took in the lay of the land. The night clerk
was bent down beneath the counter, and she couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman.
Hopefully, it would be a man. For some reason, her mind mojo always worked better
on men.

Cyn glanced bemusedly at a motorcycle magazine on the rack to her left and even briefly
flipped through it while keeping an eye on the counter. When the clerk finally stood
up again, Cyn saw that he was a tall man in his thirties, wearing a green and yellow
uniform. His face lit up when he saw her.

Jackpot.

She put the magazine down and made her way over to him. Eyes wide, pupils dilating,
she leaned across the counter. “I need you to get me a pack of Virginia Slims.” Her
stomach growled loudly, and she glanced down at the snacks. “And these”—she reached
for the first thing there—“pistachios, please.”

He grinned happily and turned around to get the cigarettes. When he turned back to
give them to her, he said something, but no sound came out of his mouth.

“What’s that?” Cyn leaned in closer.

He spoke again—she
saw
his mouth move—but there wasn’t any sound. And then Cyn realized that she couldn’t
hear anything else around her either. Not the radio that had been blaring, not the
buzz of beer coolers, and not the idling engine of the car outside.

Everything was completely muffled, and then her vision went black.

~  ~  ~

Cyn woke up behind the counter. A lit cigarette in one hand and a loaded gun in the
other.

Pure terror came over her, and she carefully set the gun down on the floor and moved
away from it. She threw the cigarette onto the floor too and crushed it beneath the
palm of her hand. Not even registering the sting as it burned into her flesh.

Cyn’s entire body shook as she thought about what might have happened while she blacked
out. Did she hurt someone else? Or was she just going to hurt herself?

Getting to her feet, Cyn walked the empty store, looking for the night clerk. “Hello?”
she called. “Anyone here?” The cash register appeared to be untouched, and nothing
was broken or obviously missing. But he was nowhere to be found.

Then she glanced outside and saw that Father Montgomery’s car was gone.
Did he take it? Did I tell him to take it?

She didn’t trust herself. She needed help.

Her gaze fell on a phonebook sitting on top of the counter, and she flipped through
it, praying that the number for Father Montgomery’s church would be listed there.

It was. And so was the rectory.

She dialed the rectory number and waited anxiously as every ring went by. It took
ten tries, but she kept calling, and eventually a male voice picked up.

“What?”

“It’s Cyn. I need your help. I’m at the gas station right down the road. Something . . .
bad happened.”

“I’ll be right there.”

He hung up before she had a chance to say anything else. As she waited, she sat on
the floor and lit up another cigarette. Staring at the gun the whole time.

He came stalking through the door five minutes later and found her there.

“Are you okay? What happened?” His eyes were brown with a hint of red around the edges.

“I don’t know. I borrowed Father Montgomery’s car because I needed a pack of cigarettes.
But the car’s gone now, and so is the clerk. I don’t know what happened. There’s a
gun, and I don’t know how I got it or where it came from.”