The Beautiful and the Damned

by Jessica Verday

A Revenant’s face.

  “Thirteen? Is it really you?” She grinned up at him.

  “Grifyth. It’s been a while.”

  Two hundred years, in fact. Avian kept his distance from the other Revenants most of the time—it wasn’t like they were inviting him over for dinner—but every now and then when he ran into someone like Uriel or Acacia, it wasn’t all bad. Whenever he ran into Grifyth, though, things went downhill. Fast.

  His fingers itched to go for his weapon, but he reminded himself that it wasn’t just Grifyth he was dealing with. It was still Cyn’s body, and her life on the line should the situation escalate.

  “I prefer Vincent, actually. You can never find the name Grifyth on any of those mini license plates at the mall.” Cyn stood and then grimaced. “Well, this is no fun. All I have is a headache. I thought I hit the ground hard enough to at least get a concussion out of the deal. Fuck.”

  Avian crossed his arms. “So you’re in a girl now. It’s a good look for you. You should think about keeping it for a while.”

  “You have no idea what it’s like to be trapped inside such a useless shell,” Vincent snarled. “Oh, wait, you do. You’re useless too. A Revenant who can’t even do his damn job.”

  “You know that’s not my thing. I don’t cross Shades over like the rest of you.”

  Shades were humans who were destined to become guardians of sacred places after their earthly deaths. Graveyards, burial grounds, sanctuaries. But all Shades had a partner they had to find before they could fulfill their duties. Revenants helped them find their other half and then transition to the other side.

  Vincent made a sound of disgust. “No, instead you decided to become a babysitter for demons gone rogue. What a waste. You know what I always thought was highly ironic? That the only child of two of the original Revenants turned out to be such a dud. We could have made a sweet team. Your father was pure demon! Imagine the power you could have had.” He laughed harshly. “I guess that whole ‘sins of the father will be revisited upon the son’ thing really bit you in the ass, didn’t it?”

  “Can’t say I have any complaints.” Avian gripped the edges of the chair in front of him to stop himself from doing anything stupid. He had rules when it came to humans.

  “Really. Because I heard the side effects of being only half demon are a bitch. Did you get a tail too? Because I’m pretty sure that’s a deal breaker for this one.” He pointed at Cyn’s body. “Just sayin’.”

  “Nope. No tail. But I did get the horns.”

  “Nice! I’ll have to find a female Revenant I can screw so maybe one day our bastard child will be as lucky as you.”

  Avian eased up on the chair and walked over to the fridge. Now he was just getting bored. “Speaking of Revenants . . .” He pulled out a bowl of leftover mashed potatoes and the bottle of ketchup. “You must have fucked something up. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a Revenant being banished inside an Echo.” He covered the potatoes with some ketchup. “Do you have to pee sitting down too?”

  “Wouldn’t know.” Vincent’s voice had a hard edge to it. “She doesn’t let me out that often. I have to fight for the little bit of time I do get.”

  “Bummer.”

  “Yeah, but I’m working on getting out permanently. Have you seen my latest artwork?” He rolled up the sleeves of Cyn’s shirt. “Fuck. She covered it up.”

  One by one he ripped the bandages off and then held Cyn’s arms out to Avian.

  “Used a piece of busted-up floor tile to do it. I aimed for the arteries, of course, but it didn’t turn out like I was hoping.”

  “So you’re trying to kill her?”

  “Ding, ding, ding! You win a prize. I’m the fifth soul that’s been in here. Which means, what, two more tops until this body wears out? Who knows how long I’ll be trapped until then. I want out, and I want it now.”

  Avian added more ketchup to his potatoes. “When did this happen? How did you get like this?”

  “At a Shade crossover in Sleepy Hollow a couple of months ago. There was supposed to be a new set of Revenants joining the team.”

  “New Revenants?” The news surprised him. “Uriel and Acacia didn’t move on, did they?”

  “Nah, those bitches are still here. And they go by Uri and Cacey now.” Vincent sat down at the table. “None of us knew who it was going to be until it was over. But I wasn’t ready to move on to my after afterlife, if you know what I mean. So I took care of it. Made sure I wasn’t the one being forced out of the Revenant gig.”

  “And I’m guessing that’s how this happened?” Avian gestured at Cyn’s body, and Vincent nodded.

  “The other Revenants got pissy with me for interfering and banished me. I ended up here.”

  “Doesn’t seem like their style to pick a human to pay the price for your mistake.”

  Vincent leaned back in the chair, and the front two legs lifted off the ground. “This body was there the night of the crossover. Guess they got lucky she was an Echo, the perfect place to get rid of me.”

  Suddenly, Cyn’s head jerked to the side.

  “Shit. She’s coming back,” Vincent said. “I’ll see you on the flip side, Thirteen. Good chat.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Cyn’s body jerked forward, and her head slumped onto the table. It took a minute before she came to. “I need some aspirin,” she finally said in a muffled voice. Her face was still planted against the table. “My head hurts.”

  “They’re in the—”

  But a loud snore suddenly cut him off. She was asleep. The episode with Vincent must have worn her out.

  Avian stood up to return the mashed potatoes and the ketchup to the fridge. Echos were usually stronger than most humans—they had to be, since they were being possessed all the time, but it was hell on their bodies.

  And that hell’s only going to get worse for her with Vincent in there.

  Father Montgomery was right. She needed help, even if she didn’t know it yet.

  At the thought of Father Montgomery, Avian’s chest constricted painfully. Even though all he wanted to do was take the priest’s body and go find someplace quiet to lay him to rest, he knew that wouldn’t be fair to people like Sister Serena. People who deserved a chance to mourn Father Montgomery’s death too.

  It was up to him to see that they were notified, so he went to the study to use the phone. An address book was in the top drawer of Father Montgomery’s desk, and Avian went right down the list. He kept the conversation brief—repeating only that Father Montgomery had been found deceased in the church.

  There was no need for everyone to know the final details of the priest’s agonizing death.

  When the calls to Father Montgomery’s parishioners were finished, he made two more calls. One to the funeral home to tell them he wanted the best casket they had. He didn’t care that it was eco-friendly Brazilian cherry wood that had been hand polished by blind monks in Tibet and flown in first class. He also didn’t care that it would cost an extra thirty grand to upgrade.

  Father Montgomery deserved the best.

  The second call he made was to a nearby florist. He bought everything they had in stock, and everything within a twenty-mile radius. The last memory that church would hold wouldn’t be of blood, it would be of beauty.

  It was almost midnight when he put the phone down, and that was when he found the note. Written in Father Montgomery’s familiar handwriting, it was on a sheet of paper that slid out from the back of the address book.

  Avian—

  I moved your cello from the church to the attic. I hope you don’t mind. It’s cleaner there, and safer. I know it’s been a while since you played, but the next time you come home I was hoping to

  The note wasn’t finished.

  Avian stared down at the words his friend had left behind. His gut churned as he thought about that sense of danger he’d kept experiencing. Why didn’t he warn the priest to be more careful? Why? The paper wrinkled as his fist closed around it, and
his knuckles turned white. Then he smoothed the paper back out and returned it to the address book.

  As he stalked out of the study, the attic beckoned him to go up there. Or more so, what was in the attic beckoned him. But Avian ignored the feeling. He hadn’t played the cello since Shelley died.

  He’d met Shelley because of that cello—she was the store clerk in a dusty little music store, and he was trying to find some replacement strings. They’d started up a conversation, and when it became something more than just friendship between them, he played for her on the nights she had bad dreams. When she couldn’t fall asleep.

  And when she’d died, he swore to never touch the thing again. Too many memories.

  Avian didn’t like memories. Avoided making them whenever he could.

  He also swore to never get involved with another human again and to keep his distance from Echos. Shelley had been the only good one he’d ever met. Father Montgomery was the exception to his rule about humans, since they’d met long ago. It just wasn’t worth the heartache and misery of knowing that, sooner or later, he’d have to watch the mortals he cared for die.

  In Shelley’s case, it had been sooner.

  Avian glanced around Father Montgomery’s empty living room. He didn’t want to stay here thinking about this anymore. Cash’s bar would serve as a good distraction, and if he got lucky, maybe he’d find an even better distraction—one that involved getting his hands dirty.

  ~ ~ ~

  The Black Cadillac was busy. Cash had several waitresses in skintight jeans and low-cut tank tops on duty, but as soon as Avian walked in and took a seat in a dark corner Cash could tell something was wrong. He brought over a glass of bourbon right away. “You look like you could use one of these, my friend.”

  Avian ran a hand over his face. “Is it that obvious?” The smoke-filled room pulsed with an undercurrent of danger that teased the edges of his dark side and forced him to be aware of the tight leash he usually kept it on.

  He took the glass, and Cash took a seat. “I found Father Montgomery’s body in the church last night.”

  Cash made the sign of the cross before he caught himself, but Avian waved it off. “What happened?”

  “He was murdered.” Avian stared down into the bottom of his drink. “It was . . . messy.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  The burn marks on Avian’s arms briefly rose up, then faded as his hand tightened on the glass. As much as he’d been hoping to find a good fight here, it was probably in the bar’s best interest that he didn’t. In this type of mood, there was no telling the amount of damage he could do.

  Cash stood. He knew when his friend needed to be alone. “If you need anything, give a shout. The bar, a bottle, anything.” He offered his hand and Avian took it.

  “Thanks.” Avian drained the last of his drink and then stood up too. “Think I’m just going to hit the road. Take a drive and clear my head.”

  Returning to the register, Cash watched him leave, knowing full well that he wasn’t just going for a drive. Thirteen was already on the hunt. He wouldn’t stop until he found whoever had killed that priest.

  And he would find out.

  He always did.

  ~ ~ ~

  On his way out of town, Avian passed Pete’s Salvage Yard and made a last-minute decision to stop. Letting the bike idle, he put two fingers to his lips and whistled.

  The hellhound that guarded the junkyard immediately came running and leapt straight up and over, clearing the ten-foot-tall gates with ease. His eyes burned red as he pranced from foot to foot with nervous energy, and a whine rose from his throat.

  Avian’s eyes turned red to match, and he felt his horns lengthen. “Ready to hunt?” he asked.

  The hellhound’s ears lay back, and his spine went rigid. Avian revved the motorcycle and then spun out, circling around the gravel driveway before pulling onto the main road. The hellhound kept up with him every step of the way.

  Avian buried the needle on the bike’s speedometer and roared down the highway. The hellhound was a blur beside him, all lean muscle and quivering flesh. He reached out a hand to touch the beast, and steam rose from the hellhound’s fur, curling around his fingertips.

  A flash of searing heat blasted through him. Misery and suffering melted holes in his brain so intense, it made his eyeballs ache in their sockets. The burn marks on his back and shoulders rose to the surface in response, breaking through the skin.

  It was a memory from hell. A flashback of what it felt like to be down there.

  Probably something the beast had already forgotten if he’d been topside long enough, but the demon side of Avian had memories from that place too—he’d been born there. Every day, he felt that pull to find a way to see just how much it really felt like home.

  He rode for another hour before he stopped for gas. As soon as he pulled into the empty station the hellhound went on high alert, heading for the back of the building. Avian followed him around to a dark parking lot and saw two people huddled over a body. Faint slurping sounds let him know that this was the kind of fight he was looking for—vampires.

  “Good dog,” he said, drawing the blade from his jacket.

  Since the hellhound’s purpose was to protect consecrated ground, he recognized the scent of death. And that included the undead.

  Avian moved his head from side to side, cracking his neck as he slowly advanced. Neither of the vampires looked up until he was practically on top of them. When they finally did raise their faces, they had bull-like heads and long, forked tongues. More members of the Navarro coven.

  Damn, these guys get around.

  Whistling again for the hellhound, Avian said, “Hey, pup, what do you say I take the ugly one, and you take the . . . Oh, hell, they’re both ugly fuckers. I’ll just take the one on the right and you get the one on the left.”

  Apparently the hellhound agreed, because his jaws were already wide open, and he leapt at the throat of the vampire on the left, tearing into him with a blood-spurting frenzy that Avian matched with his weapon slash for slash.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Cyn woke up to a stiff neck and a raging headache. The last thing she remembered was talking to Thirteen. She glanced down, realizing that she’d fallen asleep at Father Montgomery’s kitchen table. The weariness that came along whenever the darkness took over sucked all the energy out of her.

  A sound came from outside, and a light over the small shed in the backyard illuminated the outline of someone pushing a motorcycle into it. A couple of minutes later, Thirteen came inside the house. His hands were covered with little black spots, and a clump of something dark and brown stained his left cheek. He went directly to the sink and started washing up.

  Oil. It’s just oil from his bike.

  Finally, he said without looking up, “You’re still here?”

  “I guess I was just on my way out.”

  “Well, don’t let me stop you.” He dried his hands and then reached into the cabinet to his left and pulled out an empty glass.

  A glass of water and some headache medicine sounded heavenly right about now. So Cyn said, “Can I get one of those?”

  He left the cabinet door open instead of getting her a cup and walked away from it. Cyn gritted her teeth and moved slowly toward the sink, fighting the tiredness that threatened to consume her. Everything ached. Her back, her hips, even her knees.

  Her fingers trembled as she filled the glass, and when she looked down, she saw that her shirt sleeves were rolled up. Exposing her arms and exposing her wounds. The bandages were missing.

  Cyn stopped cold. “Did you do this to me?”

  “Cut you? No.”

  “I know you didn’t cut me. I meant, did you take off my bandages?”

  “That was all you.”

  “For some reason I decided to just take them off? Why the fuck would I do that?”

  “You had your reasons.” He walked over to the door and held it wide open. “Now, you
said something about leaving?”

  “Yeah. Right.” Cyn shook her head in disbelief and dropped her glass on the counter. She’d actually thought he might be able to help her. So much for that. Carefully rolling down the sleeves of her shirt, Cyn doubled back into the living room and found her coat lying on the floor beside the couch, then she met him at the door. Her breath fogged up, and the cold night air bit right through her. Damn, it’s cold out.

  “The funeral will be at the church,” he said.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  Cyn turned her back before she could say anything more. Before she could beg him to let her stay a little longer inside the warm house, before she could tell him how even sleeping on a lumpy couch was ten times better than sleeping on a concrete floor, before she could ask if he’d give her a ride back so she wouldn’t have to walk in the cold, before she could say that she didn’t know if Hunter’s brother would be waiting for her when she got back to her apartment and that she really, really, really just wanted someone to be there in case he was.

  He didn’t want to hear any of those things, and she didn’t want to have to say them.

  ~ ~ ~

  He caught up with her about ten minutes after she’d left.

  Cyn heard a motorcycle behind her as she walked away from Father Montgomery’s house, hands stuffed deep into her pockets to keep them warm. She grimaced when she saw the black-clad rider. “Keep driving, keep driving, keep driving.”

  He cut her off by stopping the bike right in front of her.

  Cyn tried to go around him, but he just straddled the bike and slowly followed her. She let it go on for a few minutes before coming to a halt. “What? Why are you here?”

  “To give you a ride back to your place.”

  “Now you suddenly want to give me a ride? Why not when I left the house?”

  He didn’t answer, and she started to walk again. “Okay, come on,” he said. “It’s nighttime and I felt bad, all right? Anything could happen to you out here, and I don’t need that on my conscience.”

  “I’m fine, and your conscience is clear. I absolve you. Now go away.”