The scars on his back burned a bit less now, but he knew it was still too dangerous to go near her. “Cash!” he yelled. “Get out here.”
Cash appeared an instant later and took in Bryn’s mangled body with the same nonchalance he would have if there was some trash ready to be taken out. “I’ll take care of it,” he said. “Don’t worry.”
“Not him. Her.” He gestured to the girl lying inelegantly next to a pile of puke. “Can you put her up for a couple of hours? I just need some time to cool down.”
“Want me to take her home?”
“No. I’ll do it. She’s an Echo.”
Cash gazed at her. “Shiiiit. I’ve only met one of those before. I didn’t see it.”
“The last one I came across was Shelley. It’s been a while for me, too.”
The ache in Thirteen’s voice was a wound that still hadn’t healed, even after all this time. And Cash knew better than to bring up old memories.
“I’ll put her in the supply room. I’ve got an extra blanket in there. She’ll be fine.”
“Thanks. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
~ ~ ~
He went to the roof of the church. Just like he always did when the fire inside got to be too much. Father Montgomery had invited him to come inside more than once, but the demon part of him really didn’t like that idea. The other side of him yearned for a higher connection. This was as close to a compromise as he was willing to make.
Perched among the roof eaves, Avian watched the clouds change and the sky lighten. He knew what he looked like fresh after a fight. More monster than man, it was enough to scare anyone away. A fact he often used to his advantage.
Eventually, the scars on his back would recede and his horns would retract. But the nubs never fully went away. Concentrating on the color of his eyes, he changed them so that any remaining red would be hidden by a glamour. He always chose brown to blend in. His skin repaired itself—the tiny rips and tears stitching back together. But he left the scar under his left ear.
It was the only thing he had to remember Shelley by.
When he was sure that everything was under control again, he made his way back to the Black Cadillac. It was closed, but Cash let him inside and gestured to the back room. “Sleeping like a baby. Never woke up.”
Avian leaned over the girl and touched her forehead. Like the other Revenants, he could read memories. He traced back through her day to see where she lived and recognized a building that used to be a printing place. She weighed nothing in his arms, so he left his motorcycle at the bar and carried her the couple of blocks there.
The building had a vacant look to it, and there wasn’t a lock on the door. Which wasn’t strictly necessary in this part of town but was stupid any way you looked at it. A string brushed the side of his face as he entered the empty room, and he pulled on it. A single bulb flared to life.
A sleeping bag in the corner, a rusty heater, and an open suitcase were obvious signs that someone was living there, but at best it could only be described as spartan. There was no bed, no kitchen. Not even a shower, from what he could see. The only thing she did seem to have an abundance of was plants. There were a bunch of dead ones lined up against the windows.
“You better hope one of those souls inside of you has a green thumb that you just haven’t tapped into yet, because it looks like you’re going to need it,” he said out loud.
She didn’t stir.
Dumping her onto the sleeping bag, he took another look around the grim space. Even the most basic room Mint had to offer at his hotel looked luxurious compared with this. Was this why she was at the bar? Trying to drown her sorrows over a troubled home life?
He almost felt a moment of pity for her, but then it passed. She was an Echo. She’d find someone else to manipulate into setting her up with something new. Echoes didn’t seem to have any trouble with things like that.
~ ~ ~
The sun was almost up, and Father Montgomery was waiting for him when Avian got back to the rectory, so they sat down for an early-morning cup of coffee.
“Were you out all night?” Father Montgomery asked. “I have your old cello in the church. Perhaps that might help?”
The priest could always tell when he’d had a busy evening.
“You know I haven’t played in years. I just went to a bar and ended up taking out some garbage.”
“Sounds like a normal evening for you, then.”
Father Montgomery knew what Avian did, was well aware of what was out there. But they never talked about the side of him that flared up at the end of the fight. The demon part Avian had struggled with for so long.
It had been. Except there was something that still bothered Avian. That nagging feeling in his gut. He glanced over at the priest. “A girl came by here the other night. She wanted to see you. It was late, though, and she left.”
“What did she look like?”
“I don’t know. You humans all look alike to me. She was younger, with brown hair. Lives in an abandoned building a couple of blocks from the bar. Has a bunch of plants.”
“Ah, yes.” Father Montgomery shook his head. “Her name is Cyn. She’s stopped by to see me a couple of times at the church. Likes to talk about her plants.”
“She came into the bar tonight too. Seems to be running from something.” Avian’s large hands wrapped around his coffee cup, overlapping each other. “You need to be careful, Father. She’s an Echo.”
Avian rarely called him that. It was usually Father Montgomery, or “priest.” But in that small, simple word his true feelings were revealed.
“Maybe she’s running from that and doesn’t realize it. Did you have the chance to . . . ?” Father Montgomery gestured to his forehead.
“Read her memories? Nothing beyond where she lives. She was incapacitated, so I just dropped her off.”
Father Montgomery frowned and gazed down into his drink. “I think she needs help. She hasn’t come right out and asked for it, but it’s there nonetheless.”
“I’m sure she’ll find someone else to give her what she wants. But it’s not going to be you.”
“You know my door is always open to those in need, Avian. As long as—”
“That doesn’t apply to Echos. I’ve told you before what they’re capable of.”
“Shelley was an Echo, and she didn’t take advantage.”
Avian’s grip tightened. “Shelley wasn’t like the others.”
Father Montgomery glanced up at the subtle shift in Avian’s tone. “You’re right, of course. But my vows require me to help my fellow man, and that’s something I take quite seriously.”
“Then let me put your mind at ease, Father.” Avian stood up. “This time I’ll take care of it.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
When Cyn woke up, she had no idea how she’d gotten home from the bar and why she was lying on top of the sleeping bag instead of in it. Sunlight was streaming through the windows, but the room was freezing. She flipped the switch for the heater, and it started making a ticking sound. She didn’t know how much longer it would last, but the front coils slowly began to turn orange.
Her mouth tasted terrible, and she grabbed a second pair of socks before padding into the bathroom. The tap wasn’t usable, but she kept a bottle of water by the sink to brush her teeth. A small mirror hung on the wall, and she glanced at it as she passed by.
That face was there beneath hers again.
Cyn gripped the edges of the sink. “Go away,” she said. “I don’t want you here. This is my body, and you can’t have it!”
But that smug bastard used her own face against her—the blackened teeth projected like a ghostly image beneath her skin and split into a parody of a smile. She felt that sudden pull of darkness begin to wash over her, and she gripped the sink even harder. “No!”
Cyn fought him with everything she had. She didn’t want to black out and wake up to find herself on the edge of a cliff again.
Or surrounded by
someone else’s blood.
Her head felt like it was splitting open, and she screamed at the intensity. The edges of her vision started to blur, and a feeling like cotton balls being wedged inside her ears made every sound go mute. Her grip loosened, and then she was gone.
~ ~ ~
The darkness was all wrong in the room when she opened her eyes. It felt more like early morning than late evening. But the alarm hadn’t gone off. Cyn remembered that she wasn’t scheduled to work tonight, though, so it wasn’t like she was missing her shift if she’d overslept.
Groping for the clock next to her bed, Cyn’s fingers bumped the edge of something hard. And cold.
Come to think of it, she was lying on something hard and cold.
There was an odd smell around her. Like old metal. And what should have been the warm fleece lining of a sleeping bag beneath her fingertips was instead cracked tile. She opened her eyes all the way and saw streaks of dried blood in front of her.
Oh God. Oh my God. Did it happen again? Where am I? Who did I hurt this time?
Slowly, recognition dawned, and she realized that she was lying in the single-stall bathroom of her building. A permanently stained sink and a dirty toilet were the only fixtures, along with a faded black and white tiled floor.
Raising shaking hands to touch her face, Cyn held a jagged piece of tile in her left palm. She dropped it, and it bounced on the floor before coming to a stop.
Glancing down at her arms, Cyn saw right away where the blood had come from. Clotted streaks and crude gashes made a macabre road map of connect-the-dots up and down the translucent veins that pulsed beneath her skin. Dried blood covered the wall and the base of the sink she was lying in front of.
Apparently, in her sleep she’d somehow managed to come into the bathroom, pry up a piece of loose floor tile, and use its rough edge to try to slit her wrists.
“No, no, no, no, no . . .” Hysteria bubbled up, and all she could see in her mind was the blood all over Hunter. “This can’t happen again!”
Cyn got to her feet, and the room dipped sideways. She was light headed. But she couldn’t tell if that was due to blood loss or because she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had something to eat.
She turned on the faucet, and it spewed dark and dirty water. She didn’t like the idea of washing up with it, but she didn’t have any choice. There wasn’t enough bottled water left.
Gingerly wiping the open edges of the cuts with a wad of tissue, Cyn used as little of the dirty water as she could. Wincing at the sight more than the pain, she dried her arms and took in her injuries. There were so many of them. Mostly shallow cuts. Although two were deep enough to be worried about.
Even though her next shift at the diner wasn’t until tomorrow night, Cyn knew she couldn’t wait that long. She needed a first-aid kit and some bandages. Remembering that she’d left her coat at work too—another reason to go there—Cyn slowly eased her way over to her suitcase to grab a sweater and headed out.
~ ~ ~
Cyn walked to the diner, battling her thoughts every step of the way.
You deserved this, you know. Something inside you is trying to see that you are punished. Which is only fair. You killed your boyfriend in his sleep.
She put both hands over her ears as if to block out her thoughts, but it didn’t work. They just kept coming.
His poor family. They’ll never know what happened. How could you just leave him there like that? And you claim you loved him?
Maybe it was time to run again. With the cop here now, and the blackouts starting again. Maybe it was time to just get out. A couple more days of working at the diner, and then she would take her money and leave this town behind.
God, I hope I can last that long.
The kitchen was empty as Cyn snuck in the back door, and she pocketed a pack of Lenny’s cigarettes left out on the prep table. “Sorry, big guy,” she said to the empty room. “But I need these more than you do right now. I’ll get you another pack. I swear.”
The first-aid kit was in the employee bathroom, and she made sure to lock the door behind her before carefully rolling up her sleeves. She didn’t see the tube of ointment that was supposed to prevent scar tissue until she’d already bandaged half a dozen of the cuts. That’s okay. Maybe I deserve a couple of scars.
Cyn washed her hands and looked into the mirror. An uneasiness still hung about her. She could see it in the haunted look in her eyes. “I’m not going to let you win, you bastard,” she whispered to her reflection. “You hear me? Whoever you are in there, I’m not going to let you win.”
She didn’t realize then that it was already too late.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Cyn reached for a paper towel to dry off her hands and saw her fingers were covered in mud. Headlights from an empty car sitting nearby provided illumination, revealing that she wasn’t in the employee bathroom at the diner anymore, she was in the woods.
Her jeans were slimy and wet, and she was sitting next to a half-dug muddy hole. An empty bottle of Jack was at her feet.
Surprisingly, Cyn took everything in with a sense of extreme calm. She must have had another blackout. Since no one else was in the car, she’d obviously stolen it. Then she . . . what? Had some sort of accident?
Getting to her feet, she took a quick walk around the car. There was a small dent in the bumper. Okay. Accident it was. But if it was just an accident, what did she hit? And why was she so dirty?
Then she saw something submerged in the muddy hole. It looked like some sort of stick.
With a sick twisting in her gut, Cyn knew then that she’d hit someone. She’d blacked out again, stolen a car, and hit someone. Then she’d tried to cover it up by digging a hole and burying him.
Dropping to the ground, Cyn crawled on her hands and knees. Paying no attention to the mud that splashed her face, all she could think about was saving him. Saving this man that she’d hit who must have a wife and a family and a pet golden retriever who was patiently waiting by the front door for his master to come home.
“Please be okay. I’ll do anything. Just please . . . be okay.”
The stick was positioned at an odd angle, and as she reached for it some part of her registered that it wasn’t a stick at all. It was covered in fur and had a hoof attached to it. She had to stand in order to gain some leverage to hoist it out of the hole.
The mud made a sucking sound when she pulled, and Cyn grunted, feeling her balance start to shift as the mud gave way and whatever it was in that hole slowly started to move toward her. She pulled as hard as she could and almost lost her grip before falling to her knees.
The mud held on for a second longer, then finally relented, and a dead baby deer slid out of the hole.
It’s not a person! I didn’t hit anyone!
But her joy was short lived. The little deer was so tiny. The poor thing’s leg hung crookedly, obviously this was how she’d dented the bumper. There didn’t seem to be any damage to the rest of its body, though, and a broken leg certainly shouldn’t have been enough to kill it. Punctured lung, maybe? Broken neck?
Then she saw the battered head.
Oh, God. She’d killed it. She was a monster.
Cyn began trembling violently, then leaned over and vomited what small amount of liquid was left in her stomach. She heaved again and again, desperately trying to purge itself. The strength in her arms finally gave out, and she collapsed into the hole.
Covered in wet, slimy mud, Cyn willed herself to give up. To go ahead and die right there. Hopefully she’d freeze to death before she starved, but either way, it was no worse than what she deserved. She’d gone from killing Hunter to killing innocent animals.
But as hard as she tried, she couldn’t envision any bright light to walk into. Or a pit of fire and brimstone, for that matter. Life was refusing to let go, and the only thing she could think of was that she had to get to Father Montgomery.
Maybe he would know what was happening to her.
>
Cyn rolled over and pulled herself out of the mud inch by painful inch. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to the baby deer as she got to her feet. “I’m so, so sorry. Forgive me.”
Her sense of direction was skewed, but she started walking anyway. Leaving the car behind. She didn’t know who it belonged to, and she didn’t want to get caught up in another mess. Eventually she recognized the road she was on and made her way to Father Montgomery’s church.
She was filthy when she staggered up to the door of the rectory. Her fingernails ragged and caked with mud. The single act of lifting a shaking hand to ring the bell took all of her remaining strength, and she slid against the door frame, crumpling into a ball.
When he opened the door and glanced down at her in concern, all Cyn could say was, “I killed it. God help me, Father, I killed it. There’s something wrong with me. I think I’m possessed.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Avian was on his way to Pete’s junkyard to see about replacing the muffler on his bike when he noticed the car that had been following him the entire way suddenly turned off. Glancing in his side mirror, he saw a young-looking guy get out and immediately survey his surroundings. Shoulders straight, head held high, he had an air of authority about him. And he was packing. Avian could see the bulge of a holster under his arm.
Law enforcement.
The cop went into a diner, but something didn’t feel right about him, so Avian parked and went into the diner too. He watched as the cop sat near the back, which had a full view of the place, and flashed his badge to an overeager waitress who came to take his order.
“Hey, I was wondering if you could do me a favor?” the cop asked.
“Sure. Name it.” The waitress licked her lips and then blushed.
“I was in here a couple of nights ago, and there was another cute little waitress. You two could have been sisters. Do you happen to know her name?”
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