She faced the wind again and put her head down. The slow squeak of a rolling wheel became her constant companion as she resumed her pace. And it was insanely annoying.
“I could do this all night,” he said. “But’s going to take a lot longer this way.”
“Nope.” Cyn shook her head. “I don’t do motorcycles.” She learned that the hard way when she stole one once and wiped out on a dirt road. The jagged scar zigzagging up her left knee didn’t let her forget it.
“I’m not asking.”
“Well, I’m not riding.” She pulled down on the back of her wig.
“Fine. Have it your way. But it’s a long walk.”
“How do you know? Maybe it’s only a short walk. Maybe I like the fresh air.”
“You like it so much, your lips are turning blue? And I know where you live because I took you home from the bar.”
Cyn turned to face him. “That was you?”
“Yeah. Now get on.”
Cyn glanced around. She hadn’t seen any cars yet, and it might be a while until one came by. And even then, in order for her to take it, the conditions had to be just right. She wasn’t going to leave kids standing out in the cold.
She was about to turn him down again, but then he did something that threw her for a loop—he smiled.
A really, really great smile.
It was actually more of a side grin, but it made Cyn feel a rush of nerves and sweaty palms and the sudden urge to check her teeth and make sure nothing was stuck in them.
Taking a step back, she tried not to notice how his dark hair brushed the edges of his jacket. Just how she liked it—long enough to run her fingers through. Shadows played up his angular jawline, giving him cheekbones to die for and lips that would make a model jealous.
Her gaze fell lower, taking in his long, lean body, and she took note of the fact that he had to be at least six foot four. The perfect height for her. If she moved close enough, she’d fall in line right with his chest. Her head would be able to tuck under his.
Keep walking by yourself out here in the cold, or get on the back of a hot guy’s bike and wrap your arms around him? No brainer, Cyn.
“Yeah, um . . . I . . . yeah.” She climbed behind him, holding tightly to his waist as soon as she was situated. His motorcycle was ancient. It looked like it could fall apart at the first pothole. “Is this thing safe?” she yelled into his ear as he cranked the engine. “It looks . . . old.”
“This is a Vincent Black Lightning. Of course it’s safe. Fast, too. Haven’t you heard of Rollie Free? Riding across the Bonneville Salt Flats in Utah on a Black Lightning?” His voice was incredulous. “He took the world land speed record in 1948.”
“Sorry. My neighbor keeps stealing my copy of Motorcycle Weekly.” They drove back onto the road and started picking up speed. “No helmets?” she yelled into his ear again.
“Sorry. My neighbor keeps stealing all my helmets.”
Cyn bit back a grin and buried her face in his jacket. The wind rushing past her ears was cold. The back of her wig started to take flight, and she freed up one hand, using it to clamp down on top of her head. After a while, her ears and cheeks grew numb, and she actually started to enjoy the feeling of freedom.
Not enough to make motorcycle riding in October a habit or anything—but she was glad when, twenty minutes later, they came to her building.
As they drove up to the door Cyn kept an eye out for Declan. She didn’t see him, but she wasn’t going to take any chances. “Could you hang around for, like, five minutes? Let me know if anyone comes?”
“Expecting company?”
“Something like that.”
“Five minutes.”
“Thanks.” She got off his bike and glanced around again before going inside.
Crossing over to her suitcase, Cyn began stuffing clothes into it. “Ready to find a new place, guys?” She talked to her plants as she worked. “I’m tired of the cold. What do you say we head south. Someplace warm. Maybe Mexico.”
She went into the bathroom to gather her toothbrush but stopped when she saw the toilet. The knife was still inside the water tank.
“Just leave it,” she said out loud. “Forget about it.”
What if someone finds it and connects you to it? Do you really want to give them evidence to pin something else on you? Take it. It might not be such a bad thing to have a weapon to protect yourself.
Cyn fished the knife out of the tank and then wrapped it in an old towel. Burying it in the very bottom of her suitcase, she zippered the bag up and hauled it over to her sleeping bag, which rolled up like a cinnamon bun and fit snugly on top.
The last thing she did was retrieve her battered copy of The Bell Jar from beneath the three-legged table. Not only was it an excellent stabilizer, but it also served the dual purpose of holding all the cash she’d managed to save up over the last two months. The inside pages had been hollowed out.
But when she opened it, there wasn’t a stack of tens and twenties waiting for her. There wasn’t any money at all. The only thing inside the book was another one of Declan’s business cards.
This time it had TRY TO RUN NOW written on the back of it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Shit, shit, shiiiiiiit!” Cyn yelled, ripping the card up and throwing the pieces onto the concrete floor. All of the money she’d so painstakingly saved up week after begrudging week was gone. Twelve hundred dollars. Completely gone. “You fucking asshole!” she screamed.
Declan had hit her where it hurt.
It wasn’t like she could go to the police. They’d lock her behind bars for what happened in Sleepy Hollow first, and ask questions later.
The door behind her opened, and Avian came in. “Everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah, everything’s fine.” She tugged at the back of her wig and paced. “My life is completely fucked, but hey, it’s fine.”
He glanced around the room. “Are you going to tell me what just made you lose your shit?”
Cyn continued to pace. “My money’s gone, Hunter’s brother is stalking me, and now . . .” She shook her head. “Forget it. Just forget I said anything.”
“Who’s Hunter? And why is his brother stalking you?”
“Hunter is my— He was my— Just someone I knew.”
“And money is the other problem?”
At her nod, Avian pulled out his wallet and took out a fifty-dollar bill. “Here. Take it.”
Cyn ignored him.
He came closer and jammed the money into the front of her jacket. “Don’t say I never gave you anything. Your five minutes is up—I’m out of here.”
Cyn glared at him as he walked away. She realized that if she didn’t take his money, she literally had nothing, but it annoyed the shit out of her that he could be so nonchalant about it.
“Thanks,” she said begrudgingly as he headed out the door.
He didn’t respond.
Cyn sighed, listening to his motorcycle start up. It wasn’t like she wanted him to stay, and be her knight in shining armor or anything. But damn. Just leaving her here like this?
She didn’t know what to do. Even if she managed to find another car to steal, between gas and food, fifty bucks wasn’t enough to get her very far. No matter how careful she was. Of course, there was the option of using her mind mojo to get her across the state. She could will someone else to pay for all the gas and food. Hell, maybe even get a hotel along the way. . . .
Cyn shook her head. Taking a car for a joyride and making people leave her big tips was as far as she was willing to go. She still had principles.
So, what do you do now, genius?
Cyn resumed her pacing. She thought up several new plans and discarded each one just as quickly as it came, for hours. The only thing she knew for sure was that in order to leave town she needed a way to come up with more money.
She also knew that it wasn’t safe to stay here anymore.
“I can get another wait job,” she m
used to herself. “Find a different diner, change my name, get a new wig. No . . . I’ll dye my hair this time. Maybe even cut it. . . .”
Right now, though, she needed another place to stay. And there was really only one option: Father Montgomery’s house. He had a spare bedroom, and as long as she steered clear of Thirteen there was no reason why she couldn’t stay there. Father Montgomery had told her that he was there to help if she needed anything.
She was just belatedly taking him up on that offer.
Cyn used the fifty bucks to call for a cab and crammed her suitcase and all of her plants into the backseat with her, then had the driver make a quick stop at the liquor store along the way.
If this was going to work, she was going to have to bribe the beast.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
When the doorbell at Father Montgomery’s house rang, Avian answered it with a scowl on his face and a sword in his hand. It was a shitty time for visitors. He’d been right in the middle of stripping the oil off his blade.
“Um, hi?” Cyn was standing there juggling her plants and a couple of brown bags. “What are you doing?”
“Cleaning my sword. What does it look like I’m doing?” He gestured to the cloth draped over his shoulder, and then behind him to the supplies spread across the kitchen table.
“It looks to me like you’re answering the door with a very sharp, probably very illegal weapon. Like a crazy person. Who does that?”
“Someone who was interrupted while cleaning their weapon does that. Why else would I—” He stopped and then lowered the sword. “Why am I arguing about this with you? Why are you here again?”
“I need ten bucks for the cab ride. The fifty wasn’t enough.”
He raised an eyebrow.
She dropped several of the plants and then held out one of the brown bags. “I brought you Buffalo Trace. That’s what you were drinking at the bar, right?” She glanced down. “Also Jack Daniels, Jim Beam, and Russian vodka.”
He still didn’t say anything. Maybe she’d go away if he just ignored her.
“Seriously, the cab driver needs ten bucks. And you know I don’t have it, so put down the sword and pay up. He’s not going anywhere, and I don’t think he’ll accept alcohol as payment.”
As if on cue, the cab driver angrily honked his horn.
Reluctantly propping his sword up by the door, Avian took the brown bag and sat it on the floor. Then he took a step outside and ran into Cyn’s suitcase.
“Sorry,” she called, moving into the house. “My bad.”
He never liked that phrase. My bad. Why did modern-day slang have to sound so stupid?
The cabbie gave another angry honk.
I should have brought the sword.
Shoving a hand into his back pocket, Avian reached for his wallet and fished out a twenty. At least this way he could make one of them go away. After he had some bourbon, he’d call for a different cab driver to come back for her.
Avian’s face was enough to make the driver’s hand shake as he rolled down the window just enough to take the money. “Change?” he mumbled.
“Keep it,” Avian growled.
The cab driver didn’t have to be told twice. He pulled away in such a hurry, he spewed gravel from the loose stone driveway.
When Avian turned back to the house, Cyn was rolling her suitcase up the steps. He took the stairs in two strides and found her putting her plants in the window over the sink. She was just making herself right at home.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I need a place to stay. Father Montgomery offered me his help if I ever needed it, and right now I need it.”
“Does this have anything to do with what happened earlier?”
“Yeah. I told you. My money’s all gone. I have nothing.”
“Why don’t you go to the cops? File a report and let them know you were robbed.”
Avian didn’t miss the brief flash of panic in her eyes at the word “cops.”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
“Either. Take your pick.” She turned around to face him but looked down at her feet as she spoke. It was obviously a struggle to admit she needed help. “I won’t stay long. Trust me, I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here. I just . . . don’t have anywhere else to go. Nowhere that’s safe.”
Avian crossed his arms. She could have used her influence as an Echo and made someone else give her a place to stay. She’d tried with Cash in the bar to get another drink, and with him in the church to tell her what happened to Father Montgomery. Clearly, she knew what she was capable of.
Yet she’d come here. And didn’t try to use her influence on him again.
A begrudging respect filled him. But she was still an Echo, and she could still prove to turn out as bad as the rest of them. He’d sworn never to get involved with any of them again, and that included helping them out. As far as he was concerned, Echos were on their own.
So why was he actually considering letting her stay?
To keep an eye on her. No telling what else Vincent has planned.
“Pick any room except for his,” he heard himself saying. “And you can stay.”
She gave him a look of disbelief. “What?”
“You heard me.” He rifled through the brown bags until he found the one that held the bourbon and pulled it out.
“No strings attached? You’re not going to do anything weird, are you? Like murder me in my sleep?”
“Of course not. I have rules when it comes to humans.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I stick strictly to the supernatural.” He left out the part about how technically this included her since she was an Echo. “I don’t mess with humans, and they don’t mess with me.”
Her skeptical look turned to relief. “Okay. Fine. Glad to hear it. I’m not going to argue with that.” She turned back to the sink and watered her plants, then grabbed two glasses. “What should we start with first?”
Avian brought the bottle of bourbon to his lips and took a swallow. “We? I thought this was payment for me letting you stay here.”
“You thought all of this was payment?” Cyn cleared a spot at the table and sat down. “Um, no.” Pouring some whiskey into her glass, she lifted it high. “To Father Montgomery.”
Avian clinked his bottle against her glass. “To Father Montgomery.”
She finished her drink in one shot and refilled it. “He told me about you, you know. Said he helped someone with a bad attitude. His church didn’t want him to, but he did anyway.”
“Bad attitude? He said that?”
“Okay, I’m paraphrasing. He didn’t exactly say the words “bad attitude.” I’m sure it was just something like you had trust issues. Which, hey, who doesn’t?” She drained her glass. “You have to admit, though, everything about you kind of screams ‘bad attitude.’ ”
Avian shrugged. “It usually works in my favor. People learn to stay away.”
“ ‘People,’ right. And by that you mean humans.”
He tipped his bottle at her in a you-got-it gesture.
“But not me.”
“Not you.” He gave her a long look. “Why is that?”
“I don’t know, actually. I think it’s because of whatever’s inside of me. I’m pretty messed up in a big way.”
Surprise hit Avian. So she knows she’s an Echo?
Cyn rubbed her thumb along the edge of her glass. “Ever since I was a little kid, I’ve had these, like . . . hallucinations or something. This feeling of darkness that comes over me. And then I see faces. Beneath my face. Only one at a time, and they come and go. It’s like people are living under my skin.” She gave a harsh laugh. “Do you have any idea what that’s like when you’re seven years old? To tell someone that when you look into a mirror, your face isn’t your own?”
She was lost in a memory. He could see it in the faraway look in her eyes.
&nbs
p; “None of them could ever see it,” Cyn said softly. “Only me.”
Her grip tightened on the glass, and then she suddenly shook her head. Glancing up with a dazed expression, she reached for the bottle of whiskey. “What was I saying?”
“That you don’t stay away from me because you’re messed up,” Avian supplied.
“Right.” She unscrewed the cap and covered the bottom of her tumbler with more amber liquid. “I’m messed up. What about you? You said you’re a Remnant. What’s that all about? See any weird visions or hallucinations, like me?”
He grimaced. “I’m a Revenant. Complicated story. Although it’s what I am, not who I am. And no. No visions or hallucinations.”
Cyn toasted him. “I like that. It’s not what you are, it’s who you are that counts. I’m Cyn, and you’re Thirteen.” Then she frowned. “What kind of a name is that?”
“The kind given to you by those who don’t think you deserve a real one.”
“Maybe they called you that because it’s tattooed on your neck.”
Avian’s fingers tightened around the bourbon bottle he still held. He hadn’t touched it beyond that first sip. “That’s just a reminder I’m a mistake that never should have happened.”
“I know a lot about mistakes.”
She was just about to pour herself another refill when he reached out and took the whiskey from her. “That’s enough for now. It won’t solve any of your problems.”
“I’ve only had one glass,” she protested. “Two at the most.”
“No, you haven’t.”
“Yes, I have.”
He held up the half-empty bottle. “This says you’ve had a lot more.”
“I did not drink all of that,” Cyn said indignantly. “You had some.”
He gave a pointed look at the still-full bottle of bourbon in his other hand.
“All right, all right.” She rolled her eyes and stood up. “I guess that’s enough for now.” Putting the cap back on the bottle of Jack, she placed it with the rest of the alcohol and then said, “But you’re a real buzz kill, you know that?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The Beautiful and the Damned Page 9
