The Beautiful and the Damned (17 page)

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The sound of music woke her. She must have fallen asleep while waiting in the attic,
because the sun had gone down. It was pitch black. Cyn listened for any sign of movement
downstairs as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. But the house was
still and silent.

Except for that faint drift of music.

It was a string instrument—
violin?
—and she recognized Beethoven’s
Moonlight
Sonata. A low note was drawn out, and then it turned into a rapid rise and fall as
the strings danced with an audible shiver. It was haunting. The most beautiful thing
she’d ever heard.

Cyn followed the sounds outside.

The opening strains of “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” filled the air, rich and deep with
their aching simplicity, and chills washed over her. The musician was a master. She
could feel his instrument weeping with sadness. It was there in the hum and quiver
of every note.

Closing her eyes, Cyn listened as the music poured through her, invisible notes snaring
her in a silken web. The piece was almost unbearable to listen to with all of that
passion behind it. When it ended, she was undone. That feeling of being so connected
to something outside her body, to something bigger than herself, was something she’d
never known she wanted.

And that scared her more than anything.

The last few notes still clung to the air when Cyn glanced up. Thirteen was perched
on the edge of the church roof with a cello tucked between his knees. The curve of
mahogany vivid in the moonlight, strings the color of faded bone.

Tucking the instrument safely beneath one arm, he jumped to the ground easily. He
didn’t seem to see her, until she said, “I didn’t know you played.”

“I don’t.”

He carried the cello over to a large black case sitting on the ground. It was the
one she’d seen in the attic. He put the bow inside, but his fingers lingered on the
neck scroll for just a second before he put the cello away too and snapped the locks
on the case shut. “That’s the last time I’ll ever play. I should just get rid of the
damn thing.”

But he left it there and came to join her.

“Why did you play a Christmas song?” Cyn asked softly.

He took a long time to answer.

“It was Father Montgomery’s favorite song. When I found him at the church, he said
it was what the angels were singing. I wanted to play it for him one last time.”

“You sound like you really loved him.”

“I guess I did.”

Cyn glanced away and stared down at her feet. “I lost someone I loved too. A couple
of months ago, right before I came here. I met this guy after I graduated high school
and we moved in together. It was great.
He
was great.” She smiled. “His name was Hunter.”

Avian paid close attention. Did this have anything to do with the blood and the police
sirens he’d seen in her head?

“We met because I tried to steal his car. Well, not
tried
to. I didn’t actually steal it. See, when I really want to take someone’s car, I
just make them give it to me. It’s this mind-mojo thing I have. But Hunter had this
great Mustang. Rebuilt hemi engine, dual exhaust, and the most amazing red-leather
interior you’ve ever seen. Reminded me a lot of this other car that I boosted in Boston.”

Shelley had had a thing for fast cars too. Liked to take them for joy rides. Got in
trouble for it a couple of times. But she always managed to sweet talk her way out
of anything serious, and then she would be right back at it as soon as another one
caught her eye.

Cyn kept talking. “So I was going to take his car, but as soon as I looked at him
I just lost it. You know? One look and I was head over heels. Completely gone for
this guy. We got together right after that. And then . . . he died. So that’s my very
long way of saying I know how you feel.”

Sticking her hands in her pockets, she turned away from him but then turned back again.
Almost hesitantly. “Hey . . . I have something for you. I’m going to go get it, okay?”

She went into the house and returned a couple of minutes later. “Father Montgomery
gave me this. But I think you should have it.”

Avian stared down at the string of rosary beads lying in the palm of her hand. The
sight was like an open wound and a healing balm all at the same time. Father Montgomery
had carried them with him every day.

His demon side reacted strongly to the religious artifact—he could feel the burns
beneath his skin surfacing, but he
kept it in check. Reaching for the beads, he wrapped them around his fist. Ignoring
the pain when they touched his skin.

“Thank you,” he said, glancing at her. “I don’t have anything else to remember him
by.”

C
yn knew she was in trouble as soon as he looked at her. His brown eyes desperately
searching hers.
Oh, no. No. This isn’t good.

He wrapped the beads around his fist like he was a drowning man and they were the
only thing that could possibly save him. When he ducked his head and she heard him
whisper, “I miss you, Father,” she was lost.

There was something so seductive about suddenly seeing this big, broody guy showing
a vulnerable side that Cyn sucked in a sharp breath. God, it was like watching him
nuzzle a puppy. It made her want to hold on and never let go.

“Yeah, so . . . I have to go. . . .” She stuttered and took a step
back. “Um, to the diner on Twenty-fifth. I have to pick up my paycheck.”

Why was she lying to him? She wasn’t going to the diner, she was running away again.

“You can use the car,” he offered.

“Great, thanks.”

“What about that guy who was harassing you?” he said. “I can follow you if you want
me to, make sure that he’s—”

Hastily, Cyn shook her head. He couldn’t follow her. Then he’d know that she was leaving.
“I’ll be fine. Keys on the kitchen table?”

He nodded, and she had to remind herself not to look back as she walked away from
him. Keeping her stride even, she went inside and quickly grabbed the keys.

Her hands were jittery when she started up the car, and she drummed her fingers on
the steering wheel, trying to calm down.
Everything’s fine. Just go pick up your last paycheck from Marv like you said. Might
as well get a couple more bucks before you leave town.

Cyn made her way to the diner, trying not to think about him holding on to those rosary
beads.

The parking lot was full, which meant that inside was going to be a madhouse. Hopefully,
she could just slip in, find Marv, get her check, and get out.

Margaret was on duty and so was Dougie Ray. He looked tired. Not used to the shift
change from days to nights to cover for her. As soon as he saw her, he perked right
up. “Oh, good, now I don’t have to work a double—”

Cyn cut him off. “Sorry, Dougie Ray. I’m just here to pick up my check. Family emergency.”

He muttered something under his breath about inconsiderate people, but Cyn ignored
him and headed straight for the kitchen. That’s where she found Marv.

He was working the fryer and yelling at Lenny, but he stopped long enough to give
her an angry look. “Mmmmhmm.”

“Hey, Marv,” she said. “Busy night. That means good things for the register, right?”

“It would mean even better things if I was fully staffed,” he barked. “But since you’re
not in uniform, I’m guessing that ain’t gonna happen.”

She made her lower lip go all pouty and started blinking rapidly, trying to look like
she was holding back tears. “I just got word that my mom is sick. I hate to leave
you short handed, but I have to go back home to Ohio. Tonight.”

Marv picked up the fry basket from the bubbling grease pit it was submerged in and
dumped a dozen golden-brown onion rings onto a waiting plate. “For real?”

“Yeah, for real. Why would I make something like that up?”

He stared at her for a long moment, then said, “Okay.”

Cyn felt oddly insulted that he would doubt her. Even though she
was
lying. “I have to take the bus, so that put a serious dent in my savings. I hate
to even ask this, but is there any way I could get an advance? I know it’s early,
but it would really help.”

He looked like he was going to say no, so she started blinking faster. “Please, Marv?
You’d be doing me a
huge
favor.” She had no problem shedding a couple of real tears if she had to.

Marv nodded, a queasy look coming over his face.

Classic. Doesn’t know what to do when a girl’s going to cry.

Cyn’s fake tears turned to a smile. “Thanks. I’ll wait right here.”

Wiping his hands on his apron, Marv dinged the bell sitting on the pass-through counter
and sat the plate of onion rings on it. “Need ya back here, Lenny,” he called out.

A minute later, Lenny came and took Marv’s place at the fryer, shifting back and forth
between it and the griddle as Marv went to get the payroll binder.

“Your mom’s sick, huh?” Lenny said, dumping a bag of french fries into the grease.

Cyn crossed the room and opened the industrial-size refrigerator.
Last time she checked, there were a couple of Yoo-Hoo bottles in the back. “You heard
what I said to Marv?”

“Kind of hard not to. Not exactly private back here, ya know?”

“Tell me about it.”

“So, how long are you going to—”

But Lenny didn’t finish his question.

“Going to what?” Her back was to him, and she dug deeper in the fridge, moving a carton
of eggs to clear a path to the Yoo-Hoo. “Going to be missing you? You know I’ll miss
you the whole time I’m gone, Lenny.” Her fingers finally touched cold glass, and she
pulled one of the bottles out. “No, seriously. Going to what?”

When Cyn turned back around again, she saw the reason Lenny didn’t answer. Because
Declan was there, holding a gun to the side of his head.

A
s soon as Cyn left, Avian went into the house and poured himself a glass of bourbon.
He carried it to the living room and sat in front of the fireplace.

Father Montgomery’s rosary was warm against his skin. Already a faint outline etched
into his wrist from where the cross pressed against his flesh. But he wasn’t going
to take it off. It was the only way to keep some part of Father Montgomery alive.

A nagging feeling tugged at Avian, and he took a sip. Hoping to chase the feeling
away with the sting of alcohol. But something wasn’t right, and he couldn’t figure
out what it was.

Is it Cyn? Is she okay?

She said she just had to go pick up her paycheck at the diner on Twenty-fifth. He
knew where that one was—it was the one he’d followed the cop into.

The same cop who had a rental car and was staying in a motel. Who had a memory of
Cyn taking up space inside his head.

He gripped the glass so tightly it shattered in his hand.

Avian shot to his feet and ignored the blood dripping from his fingers. Reaching for
the cell phone inside his pocket, he dialed Mint’s number as he slammed the front
door shut behind him and strode across the yard to the shed.

“Yeeeeellow?” Mint’s normal greeting grated on his nerves, and Avian resisted the
urge to curse at him.

“Mint, it’s me.”

“Thirteen! We haven’t talked since—”

“Yeah, I know.” Avian cut him off. “Listen, I need you to look up a license plate
for me.”

Mint’s tone immediately turned professional. “What do you have?”

“Rental. Out of state.”

Avian rattled off the plate from memory, and sixty seconds later Mint had a hit from
the database he’d hacked into.

“The car’s registered to a Declan Thomas. He has a New
York address. Paid cash, so no credit card to track. But we’re not done with Mr. Thomas
yet.”

Mint was punching something else into the computer. Avian could hear him clicking.