The Beautiful and the Damned (2 page)

“S’okay, Marv. I got it.” Scraping the plate clean into the trash, Cyn grabbed a new
one from the stack on the prep counter. Then she put two pieces of bread into the
toaster and went to the fridge to get a fresh pack of tuna, some mayonnaise and relish,
and the jar of sliced pickles. When the toaster popped, Cyn carefully inspected the
bread to make sure it was
lightly toasted
before putting it all together. New sandwich in hand, she walked out of the kitchen
to deliver it to her customer.

The guzzler at table three was frantically trying to wave her down again as she passed,
but she just smiled at him and held up one finger. He could wait another minute or
two. It wasn’t like her tip would suffer for it.

“Here you go.” Cyn plunked the plate down in front of
Stephen. “One freshly made tuna on rye,
lightly toasted
, with pickles on the side.”

He looked up from his phone, feigning surprise at her arrival, and inspected the sandwich.
Cyn waited for him to deem it good enough, but he didn’t say a word.

Until she walked away again.

“Um, miss?”

Oh, he’s going to leave me a
huge
tip for this.

Cyn pivoted back around to face him. “What is it now?”

“I’ve decided I don’t want the pickles.”

“That’s what you have a napkin for. Use it.”

His face cracked a little bit. That smooth, fake smile dissolved into a sneer. “I
don’t want them sitting on the napkin
next
to me. I don’t want them sitting anywhere
near
me.”

This was moving beyond big-tip territory into straight-up petition-for-sainthood territory.

“Fine.” Cyn picked up one of the pickles. In two crunches, it was gone. She picked
up the second one and devoured it just as quickly. Taking a moment to lick her lips,
she ran her tongue over her teeth and smiled widely. “Problem solved.”

Stephen looked down at his plate and then back to her. “What about the juice?”

Reaching down, she slowly ran her finger over the left-behind
pickle juice and brought it to her lips. He watched her with wide eyes, never taking
them off her mouth as she sucked her finger clean.

Cyn
knew
she shouldn’t be baiting him like this—it was only going to give him the wrong idea.

And she was right.

With one smooth motion, Stephen gripped her wrist. Jerking her toward him.

Cyn had to consciously unclench her teeth to spit out the words “Let go of me.
Now.
”

Stephen let go all right. But only because the hipster from table seven was suddenly
there, introducing Stephen’s face to the counter.

“Be nice,” Hipster said.

Stephen made a choking noise as his fingers fell away from Cyn’s wrist. “What the
fuck, man? Let me up.”

All eyes in the diner were on them now. Even with her ever-rotating assortment of
wigs, Cyn tried to stick to normal hair colors and bland clothes. The idea was
not
to get noticed.
So much for not making a scene.

“Thanks,” Cyn said quietly as the guy let up on Stephen’s face. “Just a misunderstanding.”

Stephen stood up and kicked the nearest stool out of his
way. “I’m
not
paying for that,” he sneered, gesturing to the plate. “And
you
can expect a call from my dad’s lawyer. Maybe even the cops,” he said to the hipster.

Cyn froze when she saw him size Stephen up and then reach inside his jacket, exposing
the gun that was tucked into a side holster there.

“No need.” He pulled out a badge and flashed it. “Officer Declan Thomas. I’m with
the Sleepy Hollow Police Department.”

A
vian Alexander pushed his motorcycle up to the entrance of Pete’s Salvage Yard and
put the kickstand down, taking in the heavily padlocked gates that stood before him.
The radiator hose on his bike had been patched one time too many, and today was the
day it gave up the ghost.

The day the damned junkyard was closed.

He was considering breaking in when his cell phone rang. “Father Montgomery?”

“Ah, I’m glad I could reach you.”

Avian smiled. “Finally decided to get a cell phone and join the—what century are we
in now?”

“Twenty-first. And no, I fear I have not fully embraced
technology yet. I’m using the phone at the rectory. Are you on your way home?”

“I’m going to be later than expected. A part blew on my bike.”

“Are you all right?” Father Montgomery asked. Then he chuckled. “What am I thinking?
Of course you are. But this bike of yours, it’s older than I am. When are you going
to replace it?”

Avian glanced down at the motorcycle. It would have been a hell of a lot easier to
just go and buy a brand-new Harley. It wasn’t like he couldn’t afford to. He just
didn’t want to.

“You know I like my toys old and with a little dirt on them. Like me.”

“My boy, you may be indestructible, but the humans sharing the road with you aren’t.”
The years of familiarity that spanned between them was evident in the gentle chiding.

Father Montgomery was the
only
one who got away with that.

“You worry too much.”

“You’re probably right. But just the same, I’ll leave the outside light on for you.
Let me know when you get in.”

“I will.”

“Hey, we’re closed,” a man on the other side of the gates called. “You’ll have to
come back tomorrow.”

Avian pocketed his phone and looked up. The man’s blue
work shirt had the name
PETE
embroidered on it. Before Avian could respond, Pete’s eyes opened wide. “Holy shit.
Is that a Vincent Black Lightning? I’ve never seen one in person before.”

“Vintage 1948. Only thirty were ever made.” Avian leaned against the bike and crossed
his arms. “So, what was that you said about being closed?”

Pete unlocked the gate. “Nothin’. We’re open now.”

~  ~  ~

As Avian checked the new radiator hose he and Pete had just put on, something from
the far side of the junkyard caught his attention. Something he hadn’t seen in a long
time. He put two fingers to his mouth and whistled. The large black animal came straight
to him.

“Nice dog,” Avian said.

Pete’s face grew nervous.

Anyone else looking at the beast would see something that resembled a cross between
a rottweiler and a pit bull. Broad shoulders, massive paws, and oddly colored eyes.
There was nothing on the surface to reveal its true nature. But Avian saw what was
behind the veil.

Steam rising from its fur. The scent of sulfur on its breath. And eyes that burned
hellfire. One bite from this animal, and you would not be long for this world.

Pete’s Salvage Yard was being guarded by a hellhound.

“Is this land consecrated?” Avian asked. Hellhounds only protected sacred ground.

Pete glanced around and then nodded. “Used to be an old German church back in the
fifties. Sat right over there.” He pointed off to the left. “The congregation grew
old, and they all passed on. Their heirs sold it to my pops, and he bulldozed everything.
With their permission, of course.” Pete crossed himself, and Avian fought back an
automatic response to recoil at the gesture. “The graveyard is on the other side of
the lot. I don’t put any cars over there unless it gets really full and I have to.”

The hellhound came closer and pushed his head into Avian’s outstretched hand, causing
dark curls of steam to weave through his fingers. Wrapping around them like smoke-laden
tattoos. The scars on Avian’s back burned in response, and the dog whined.

“I know, boy,” he said softly. “Sometimes I miss it too.”

Pete looked on in awe. “He
never
lets anyone touch him. I just inherited him along with the junkyard when my pops
died. Doesn’t even have a name.”

Avian gestured for the dog to return to his post. Slinging one leg over his bike,
he started the engine. “I can relate. Everyone I know just calls me Thirteen.”

C
yn tried to ignore the cop after he escorted Stephen to the door and then went back
to his table and his coffee. But every minute felt like it stretched into an eternity
of waiting. Waiting for him to say the words that began with “You’re under arrest”
and ended with her being hauled off to jail.

She tried to play it cool as she cleared away dishes and refilled drinks. Resisted
every screaming impulse inside her brain that told her to steal the closest car and
run away as fast as she could. But then she noticed the cigarette. It was resting
on an overturned jelly holder.

Figures.
Just when she was trying to quit.

Face carefully blank, Cyn grabbed the coffeepot and carried it over to him. “More
coffee?” Then she said, “You can’t smoke in here.”

Declan glanced over at the cigarette casually. “I’m not smoking it.”

“You can’t have it lit, either.”

“Right.” He picked it up and ground it into the jelly container. “I’ll have some more
coffee, then.”

Cyn smiled at him as she poured. “That was really nice of you to help me out with
Stephen. But where’s your uniform?” One hand went to her hip. Straining the buttons
across her top that weren’t already open.

“I’m off duty,” he replied. “Just up here for a little R & R.”

She’d already turned to take the coffeepot back when his voice stopped her. “Any recommendations?”

“Hmmm?” Cyn played dumb long enough to buy her some time to think about the places
she’d heard some of the locals mention.
Downtown. The harbor. Tom’s Crab Shack. Just say any one of those.

“Any recommendations for what I should do. Things to see? You’re a native . . . aren’t
you?”

“You should try Tom’s Crab Shack. But go on a Wednesday night. That’s when they offer
the all-you-can-eat special. Biggest
crabs around.” Her hands were getting sweaty, the coffeepot was slipping. “Here’s
your check.”

Cyn placed the check facedown on the table and then retreated to the kitchen. The
silver bell dinged for her attention again, and by the time she delivered her last
order of the night, the cop was gone. It took every ounce of self-control she had
to walk calmly over to his table.

I bet he didn’t even leave me a tip.

But when she reached for his check, she saw the $1.24 he owed for the coffee . . .
right on top of a crisp fifty-dollar bill. Then she saw what else he’d left behind
too.

His card, with the words
CALL ME
written on it.

~  ~  ~

The sky was inky black with a haze of gray around the edges when Cyn started walking
home from the diner. Marv had said he’d only need her for a couple of hours tonight,
and for once, he’d been right.

Sunrise was a long way off, though, and Cyn didn’t like to sleep at night. The dark
brought bad things. Nightmares, with claws. And teeth. She liked to sleep during the
day, in the brightest puddle of sunshine she could find.

Two blocks away from her apartment, Cyn took a shortcut through an alley. Passing
by an old brick hotel, she stuffed
her hands into her pockets and walked faster. When the back of her neck suddenly tingled,
she spun around. A second later the windows ten stories up exploded as two men fell
from the building, locked in a spiraling death grip.

Giant shards of glass preceded the falling shadows and shattered into a million pieces
when they hit the ground. Less than a foot away from it all, Cyn took cover behind
a stack of empty boxes sitting next to a Dumpster and covered her face with her hands,
waiting for the cacophony to end.

But it was only just beginning.

They landed with a sickening crunch. Flesh and bone meeting hard pavement and freshly
ground glass. The fall should have killed them. But they only seemed momentarily stunned
before getting to their feet. Cyn peeked out from beneath her wig, which was hanging
lopsided and obscuring one eye.