The Beautiful and the Damned (4 page)

Pretending they were normal.

The priest bowed his head and silently mouthed a prayer before lifting his fork. Then
he paused, glancing at Avian over the top of his glasses. “Your coat?”

Avian stood back up and removed the leather duster, turning around to drape it on
the back of his chair and revealing the wicked-looking sword still strapped on his
back.

“Weapons at the table.” The priest tsked.

But Avian just ignored this instruction and sat down again. Father Montgomery knew
when he was fighting a losing battle, so he returned to his meal. When Avian had doused
his meat loaf in ketchup and taken a bite, the priest finally spoke about the thing
weighing heavily on his heart.

“I’m not sure how much longer the church will be able to remain open,” he confessed.
“Our numbers have been dwindling and our coffers . . . well, they have seen better
days.”

“Tell me how much you need and I’ll get you the money.”

Father Montgomery shook his head. “It’s not just the money, Avian. Although, I did
have to tell Sister Serena that her hours will be completely cut after Christmas.
We don’t have
the funds to pay her even now, but I couldn’t let her go right before the holidays.”

Avian waited for the priest to continue.

“Even if I were to accept your donation, without a congregation it would simply delay
the inevitable. I fear many of our members have started families of their own and
moved on.” He glanced down at his plate forlornly. “It seems I am a shepherd without
a flock.”

“That might not be such a bad thing. Don’t most humans retire at your age?”

Father Montgomery looked at Avian fondly. “My boy, perhaps you are right. Retirement
might be something that I should look at with a fresh perspective.”

“I can get a sidecar for the motorcycle,” Avian said. “You can travel the world with
me.”

“Ride in the sidecar? What if I want to drive?”

“You’ll have to get your own bike for that. I don’t do shotgun.”

The priest laughed, and the tension in Avian’s gut eased up. Maybe he was wrong. This
would be just like every other visit he’d made home, and everything would be fine.

~  ~  ~

They finished dinner and then had some coffee before Father Montgomery finally shuffled
off to his bedroom. Avian was just
about to go lock the front door when someone knocked.

Striding across the room, he threw the door open. “Yeah?”

A skinny, bundled-up girl with brown hair stood outside on the front step. Her cheeks
were red, a fresh scratch covering one of them. The shadow of an occupying soul flared
to life briefly beneath the surface of her face.

She took a step back, startled to see him. “I’m looking for Father Montgomery. I know
it’s late, but I was hoping he was still up.”

“He’s not. Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“But the light’s on.”

“I had to turn a light on because someone felt the need to bang on the door at three
thirty in the morning.” Avian crossed his arms and scowled. “Do you always stop by
for late-night calls?”

“No, I . . . I needed someone to talk to and I figured that he would be . . .” She
looked down at the ground and then took a step away. “Just forget it.”

“Already forgotten.” Avian closed the door behind him hard as that gut feeling of
danger hit him again, deep and fast. People like her were trouble. Manipulative, greedy,
controlling. Looking to bleed more and more out of people like
Father Montgomery until there would be nothing left. Then she’d move on to find another
fix. They always did.

That was the problem with humans who were conduits for the dead.

They were called Echos. And she was one of them.

C
yn turned away from the tall, angry-looking guy at the rectory door and put her hands
into her pockets. When she saw the face beneath hers reflected in the window at the
apartment, she hadn’t thought, she’d just reacted. And found herself coming to the
church for help. It wasn’t like she could really explain to Father Montgomery what
was going on, though—she didn’t even know herself. She’d learned the hard way when
she was seven years old and saw someone else’s face looking out from beneath hers
for the first time not to tell anyone else exactly what she was seeing.

No one would believe her anyway.

Something brushed against her fingers, and Cyn realized the cop’s card was still in
her pocket. Unconsciously, she rubbed the sharp corner into a bent nub.

What’s he doing here? Does it have anything to do with Hunter’s murder?

Her fingers moved from the business card to the gold ring at the thought of Hunter’s
name, and panic coursed through her. She didn’t want to go back to the apartment.
It was too dark there. Too cold. Too much room for her thoughts and her headspace
and whatever else was taking up real estate inside her body.

She needed a distraction. Something shiny and fast.

Route 202 led out of town, and it was there that Cyn found herself. Thumb raised,
looking for a car to steal. A black Mustang came around a curve, and she threw one
hip out, cocking her body at an angle.

The car came to a stop, and the middle-aged driver rolled down his window. “Helloooo,
midlife crisis,” she muttered.

“Need a ride?” he called out.

Cyn walked around to the driver’s side and leaned in, pupils dilating. “Sounds like
a good idea. How about you give me your keys and get out?”

The man looked up at her, wide-eyed. “Sure.” And got out of the car.

“Are you from around here?”

Cyn tried to keep the chances of running into the car owners again at a minimum.

“I live two hours upstate. Just dropping my kids off at their mother’s house.”

Cyn climbed into the driver’s seat and glanced over at the side of the road. The man’s
breath was showing in frozen puffs of air. It would have to be a short ride tonight.
Too cold to leave him out here for long.

“Okay, here’s what you’re going to do,” she said. “Keep following this road, and I’ll
be back to pick you up in twenty—no, forty minutes, tops.”

He turned and started walking down the highway, and Cyn thought she just might be
able to make it this time. As long as she drove fast enough, she might be able to
chase away her demons for good.

But it was only a couple of minutes later when sounds went dead, her sight grew dim,
and her fingers clamped down onto the steering wheel.

Even though she fought it, there was nothing she could do.
He
was taking control.

Suddenly jerking back to awareness, Cyn found herself driving straight toward the
edge of a cliff at sixty miles an hour.

She slammed on her brakes, the car fishtailed, and she hooked the wheel sharply to
the left. Trying not to panic, she rode it out, letting gravity dictate the direction.
Tires skidded on the loose gravel, and her heart stopped as momentum carried her closer
and closer to the edge. Finally, with just inches to spare, the car came to a screeching
halt.

Her fingers went numb.
Where am I?

She couldn’t remember anything. Couldn’t remember where the car had come from or why
she’d been careening straight toward certain death.

The door squeaked loudly as she opened it and got out. Leaning her forehead against
the cold metal frame, Cyn inhaled slowly.
God, I need a cigarette.
Her hands suddenly started shaking, and she glanced down at them in surprise. A sob
clawed its way out of her throat, and she shoved it back down.
Don’t cry. Don’t start crying now.

To distract herself, she stepped closer to the edge of the cliff. Stared down into
the abyss below. It was so dark and so deep, it reminded her of the night sky when
there weren’t any stars.

They climbed up onto the bed of the pickup truck. The view was wide and clear, but
there weren’t any stars. They were still too close
to the city. Hunter wrapped his arms around her and leaned in from behind. “I love
coming out here like this.”

Cyn grinned. “You know what they say. You can take the boy out of the country, but
you can’t take the country out of the boy.”

“Pennsylvania isn’t country.”

“Since you grew up on a fifty-acre farm there, I’d say that’s country.”

“Farmette,” Hunter corrected. “A hobby farm used on the weekends for overflow crops.”

“Did it have a barn?” Cyn leaned in closer to him and felt his head bob up and down.
“Did it have a tractor? A truck? A rooster? A cow?”

He nodded his agreement again.

“Then I rest my case. Barn, tractor, cow. F-A-R-M. You are country, country boy.”

He lowered his head and spoke softly into her ear. Lips humming against her skin.
“You know what they say about country boys, right?”

“What?” Cyn whispered.

“That we have tough hands . . . but soft hearts.”

The laughter that suddenly erupted out of Cyn shook both of them. “Oh my God, that
was the cheesiest line
ever,
Hunter.” She turned to face him. “Tough hands and soft hearts . . .” She shook her
head and he laughed with her.

But their laughter faded as he reached out. Cupping the back of her head, he gently
pulled her closer. “Did it work?”

“Yeah.” Cyn breathed the words across his lips before she closed the distance between
them. “It worked.”

Shaking the memory of Hunter off, Cyn stepped back from the edge of the cliff and
returned to the car.
Don’t think about him now. It’s easier not to remember.

Turning the heater up to full blast, she held her cold fingers up to the vents. She
still couldn’t remember where she’d been going or who the car belonged to. Reaching
for the glove box, She pulled out an insurance card, and everything came rushing back
at the sight of James Donnely’s name and address.

He was still out there.

She almost stalled out the engine in her haste to back up from the cliff. She didn’t
want to look at the dashboard clock, but her eyes betrayed her. Almost two hours had
passed.

Cyn forgot to breathe as she looked for any sign of James, scanning the edges of the
trees bordering the highway. It wasn’t until she’d gone six exits down that she finally
spotted him. His cheeks and ears were red, but he didn’t seem to be any worse for
wear.

You got lucky.

“Thanks for letting me borrow your car,” Cyn said, coming
to a stop beside him. “Why don’t you get in and we’ll go grab a cup of coffee before
you get on your way back home?”

He nodded absentmindedly, and she let him climb behind the wheel. Once he seemed coherent
enough to drive, Cyn directed him to the nearest gas station and pumped him full of
hot coffee and stale doughnuts. Then she told him to forget about their little diversion
and not stop again until he made it safely home.

As she started to walk the four miles back to her apartment and the sky turned the
color of pink ash, the lonely highway stretching out in front of her was a reminder
of just how long the trek back was going to be.
Maybe I should flag down another ride.

But before she could do anything, a car came up behind her.

“Hey,” the cop from Sleepy Hollow said, sticking his head out the window. “Need a
ride?”

~  ~  ~

“You didn’t call me.”

He had to repeat himself because Cyn was concentrating so hard on trying to breathe
normally that she didn’t hear him the first time.

“Huh? Oh . . . yeah.” She forced her fingers to relax their death grip on the door
handle. “Sorry. I don’t have a cell phone.”

She made her shoulders move up and down in what she hoped was a convincing shrug.

He guided the car toward the Hampton Falls exit ramp, and Cyn silently counted down
the seconds until she could make her escape.
Just hold it together a little bit longer.

“Why would you want me to call you anyway?” Only two more stoplights to make it through.
Time to stop letting him ask all the questions.

She even managed a grin.

“Since I’m here on vacation, I thought you could show me around.”

Is he trying to ask me out on a date?

Cyn pulled down the back of her wig and looked out the window. The diner was straight
ahead. “You can just drop me off up here.”

“At the diner?”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t I take you home?”

Cyn wasn’t about to lead him straight to where she lived. He might be just a harmless
guy asking her for a date, but he was still a cop. “I’m meeting a friend for breakfast.
So . . . thanks . . .”

“Declan,” he reminded her.

“
Right.
Declan.” He pulled into the parking lot, and Cyn
had to remind herself
not
to go running from the car the instant he stopped.