The Beautiful and the Damned (5 page)

“No problem. Just be careful.”

Cyn paused, one hand on the door handle. “Be careful?”

“The first time we met, that kid was being an asshole to you, and now, the second
time, you were stranded on the side of a highway.”

Cyn forced a smile. “I guess it’s a good thing you’re here, then.” She got out of
the car before he could reply but returned his wave when he pulled away.

“Yup. It’s totally a good thing that a cop from Sleepy Hollow is here in Hampton Falls,”
she said under her breath as his taillights grew smaller and smaller in the distance.
“Nothing could make me happier.”

Y
ou look like shit. Get any sleep today?” Lenny tossed a pile of cold cigarette butts
from the bucket next to the back door and sat down on the stoop, wedging a phone book
under the door to keep it open.

“Yeah. Tons. Can’t you tell by my bloodshot eyes that I got more than my fair share
of beauty sleep?” Cyn tied her apron on and left the strings tangled. It was time
for her shift, and she was beyond tired. After Declan had left, she’d hung around
until the locker room opened at eight and then took a quick shower before heading
back to her apartment. She’d tried to get some sleep but had been too wired to actually
close her eyes for anything more than ten minutes at a time. “It was fucking great.
I slept like a queen.”

Lenny shook his head at her tone and held out one of his cigarettes in a peace offering.

“I’m trying to quit.”

But her hand was reaching for it even as she said those words.

“I’ve quit before too. Twice.” Lenny flicked open his lighter and she leaned in. “Sometimes
a good smoke is what you need to keep the nightmares at bay.”

His eyes shifted away from her, and Cyn realized that he might have some demons of
his own. They sat in silence until she finished puffing.

“Hey, I’m here if you ever want to . . . you know.” Lenny shrugged.

Cyn pretended she didn’t hear him.

“Thanks for the cigarette,” she said instead. “You’ve officially broken my quitting
streak.”

Lenny grinned as he held up both middle fingers and flipped her off, a fresh smoke
stuck between his lips. Cyn straightened her wig—brunette again tonight—and headed
in to greet the customers.

~  ~  ~

Three and a half hours later, only two customers had come in, and one of them ordered
a slice of pie. Not even coffee or a
soft drink to go with it. Just pie. And he was a cheapskate to boot.

Cyn didn’t bother to use her mind mojo on him. If she kept making the customers leave
five-dollar tips on two-dollar checks, someone was bound to start noticing. Lenny
had already made a point to mention all the green she was bringing home.

In between breaks, she snuck a couple more cigarettes and tried not to doze off. But
it was a fight she was losing, and Marv caught her using her coat as a pillow behind
the front counter.

“I’m not paying you to sleep here. That’s what you have a bed for. If you’re really
that tired, go home.”

She couldn’t go home to her bed even if she wanted to. She didn’t have one.

Stuffing her coat behind a box of extra napkins, she acted like she was counting them.
“I can’t hear you. I’m too busy working.”

“Working, my ass.” Marv grabbed a dust broom and pushed it across the floor. “I see
that again, and you’re done.”

Cyn poured on the charm. “Come on, Marv. Don’t be like that. You know I need the money.”
He liked it when she acted like he was doing her a huge favor, when in reality he
couldn’t
get any other waitress to work the night shift, because he was so cheap.

Lucky for him, she was desperate.

“
Work.
Don’t sleep.”

Cyn stuffed a handful of napkins into the front pocket of her uniform. Functioning
on autopilot, she checked the holder on each table and refilled the ones that were
almost empty. It was another hour before the bell over the door jingled again.

She didn’t bother looking up from the crossword puzzle she was halfheartedly filling
in as she said, “Sit wherever you like. The floor’s open.”

Then she saw it was the cop from Sleepy Hollow again.
Declan.

He had one finger on his menu like he was considering his choices, but he was watching
her instead. Sitting at table seven. Next to the back door.

Cyn’s throat went dry, and she had to cough to clear it. Why was he here? To ask her
out on a date?

Stay calm. Take his order. It’s no big deal.

She picked up the coffeepot and put on her brightest smile. “Would you like a cup?”

Her hand only trembled a little bit.

“Sure thing.” His grin was big and bright too. “So we meet again.”

“I guess that’s what happens when you come into the diner where I work.”
For the second time.
But she made sure to give him a flirtatious wink.

He glanced down at the menu. “I’m thinking about the soup. What’s the special of the
day?”

“Clam chowder.”

“What are your other soup choices?”

“Clam chowder or clam chowder.”

Marv liked to keep things simple. He was always spouting off about picking one thing
and doing it well. “I know, not very much of a choice.” Cyn gave him a sympathetic
eye roll. “But it’s the best clam chowder you’ll ever taste. I can promise you that.”

“If it’s even half as good as the crabs at Tom’s Crab Shack, then I’ll take it.”

“You went?”

He nodded.

“Glad to hear it.” She put on an I’m-so-happy-you-took-my-suggestion face. “So one
order of clam chowder. Will that be all? Or do you want some more time to look at
the menu and—”

“Have you been by the Crab Shack recently?”

Cyn’s grip on the coffeepot handle tightened. “I’m not really a big seafood person.”
The back of her wig itched, but she ignored it. “So I don’t remember exactly.”

“It’s just that I couldn’t get the all-you-can-eat special. I asked about it, and
Tom himself told me they haven’t had it since June. Stopped because it was costing
them too much money.”

The coffeepot almost slipped out of her hands.

Shit, she was screwed. She was so fucking screwed. That must have been an old takeout
menu she’d found on the floor of her building.

Suddenly, Cyn would have given just about anything for several of her buttons to spontaneously
start popping open. Hell, she wouldn’t be averse to flashing him
and
Marv and Lenny just to give him something else to think about.

The cop leaned back in his seat, legs stretched out in front of him, hands resting
on the table. “I mean, look, I understand,” he said. “When you’re local to these parts,
you don’t always go out to eat as often as someone just passing through.”

Cyn smoothed down the back of her wig and forced a smile as her brain worked feverishly,
trying to come up with an explanation. The sound of Lenny bringing out a tub full
of dishes came from behind her. But before she could say anything, Lenny spoke up.

“Cyn? She’s not a local. She’s only been here for, what, a couple of months now?”
He had a dirty towel slung over his left shoulder, and both hands gripped the plastic
tub. Cyn’s smile
turned to a grimace, and a bead of sweat rolled down between her shoulder blades.

“Only a couple of months?” The cop turned his sharp gaze toward Lenny. “You don’t
say.”

T
he second night that Avian was home, he sat staring into the fireplace long after
Father Montgomery had gone to bed. He could barely feel the heat it was giving off.
Thanks to his . . .
heritage
, hot and cold were things he had a hard time distinguishing. Made it a real bitch
if he wasn’t careful. More than once, he’d risked losing a finger to frostbite.

But the fire was a welcome distraction. He still couldn’t shake the underlying feeling
of danger, and he wondered if it had anything to do with that Echo.

I need a drink.

Avian stood up to go check the kitchen, knowing that he
wouldn’t find anything in there stronger than cooking sherry. Which worked in a pinch.
He’d admit to drinking worse. The liquor cooked up during the Prohibition-era days
was right up there on the “worse” list. A mix of rotten corn mash and back-alley gasoline,
it made paint thinner taste like fine bourbon.

Bourbon. That sounds good.

Cash would have some down at the Black Cadillac.

He passed a twenty-four-hour diner on the way to the bar, and then the alley where
he’d come upon a Grenabli demon/vampire fight late last night. Damn vampire had had
a bull head with horns. Must have been part of the Navarro coven from Spain. He’d
heard about their experimentations with drinking bull’s blood in order to make themselves
stronger and become truly immortal.

Guess they’d have to work a little harder at that whole immortality thing.

He parked his motorcycle and went into the bar, automatically taking in the fact that
there were eight people inside. All bikers. And all one hundred percent human.

Cash was drying off a glass when Avian entered but immediately came over to greet
him. “Thirteen! Always a pleasure to have you grace our presence.”

Cash
wasn’t
one hundred percent human. But he made sure
to let Avian know a long time ago where his loyalties were.

Avian took his outstretched hand. “Nice to be back home.”

Cash flipped the empty glass, and it landed neatly on the bar, upside down. Without
even asking, he reached for a bottle of Buffalo Trace bourbon.

Avian glanced around the room. The bar hadn’t changed much since the last time he’d
been here. Same Johnny Cash memorabilia plastering the walls, a couple of large-screen
TVs, and a jukebox that had seen better days. But there was a new addition hanging
above one of the pool tables: a framed pool stick splintered into two pieces.

“Arts-and-craft times, huh, Cash?” He gestured over at the hanging cue.

Cash placed an amber-colored bottle and a glass filled with ice in front of him. “Since
that was the thing that came between us, literally, when you saved my life, I figured
I should give it a place of honor. Still chaps my ass that I owe you one for that.”

“You could have handled that succubus without me.”

Cash laughed and shook his head. “Yeah, I don’t think so. At least not while she was
trying to eat my liver.”

“Still sore?”

Cash rubbed his side, and a pained expression came over
his face. “Damn doctor sewed me up with a fishhook and twine. Left one hell of a scar.”

Avian poured just enough bourbon to cover the bottom of his glass. “Chicks dig scars.
Didn’t anyone ever tell you that?”

“That’s what I keep telling myself. But so far, the ones I keep finding don’t.”

With a rueful grin, Cash headed back to his bartending duties, and Avian took a slow
sip of his bourbon. Savoring the taste as the liquor burned a straight shot through
him. This was exactly what he needed after a year spent on the road. Granted, a human
year was like a blink of an eye to him. But even he got tired of the daily grind of
chasing down baddies who didn’t want to play nice with humans day in and day out.

Then the door opened, and the girl who’d stopped by Father Montgomery’s house came
walking in. She was wearing some kind of waitress uniform and didn’t have a coat on.

“Whiskey. Jack Daniels,” she said from the far end of the counter. “Or whatever you’ve
got.” Her pupils dilated, and she stared at Cash with the obvious intent of trying
to make him give her what she wanted.

Cash took her in slowly, but shook his head. “Nope.”

Confusion crossed her face. Then she tried again. “I want some whiskey.
Now.
”

Avian took another sip of his bourbon and watched their interaction bemusedly. He’d
seen this before with Frank Rooney—another Echo—back in 1928. One of the souls inside
Rooney had come from a voodoo priestess who had a lot of power. Rooney was able to
tap into that power as well and compelled people to give him things. He used it on
bank tellers. Stole three million dollars before Avian found him and made him give
it back.