“The other Revenants are reapers. When the earth was first formed, there were originally six teams to help with reaping human souls. Each team was made up of one angel and one demon. To make sure heaven and hell were equally represented.”
“Originally?”
The coffeemaker beeped, and he stood up. “Over time, humans started multiplying like rabbits, and the six teams of reapers weren’t enough. So they started working exclusively with Shades. Shades are the only humans allowed to stay on earth after they’ve died. They’re keepers of sacred burial grounds, cemeteries, sanctuaries.”
He pulled down two mugs from the cabinet and poured steaming black liquid into each one. “Shades have to find their other half during their lifetime in order to do their job as guardians. After they find their partner, Revenants help them cross over after death to become these gatekeepers.”
Cyn reached for her cup, shrugging away his offer of milk and sugar, and wrapped her hands around it. “But you said ‘originally.’ Does that mean there are more than six teams of Revenants now? Are there different Revenants?”
“When the original teams got tired of doing their job, they recruited Shades to take their place. So there are more than six teams of Revenants now, but none of them are the original angels and demons.”
“And you were never part of these teams. That’s why you’re Thirteen. You were the odd one out.”
His grip tightened on the handle of his cup. “I was just a mistake made when a demon seduced an angel. Two Revenants fucked up, and I was the end result.”
“So that makes you . . .”
“Very old.”
“Wow.” Cyn took a sip of her coffee. Then she said, “So why don’t you do the Revenant job too? Help these Shades cross over?”
“I stay out of their way, and they stay out of mine. To say there’s no love lost between me and the other Revenants would be an understatement.”
“Why?”
“Because they don’t like that I do my own thing. But if they’re not going to neuter the vamps, tramps, and demons that are out there, then I will. Someone has to.”
“So you hunt monsters? Judge, jury, and executioner style?”
“You could say that.”
“Anything that’s supernatural you just . . . get rid of?”
“Not everything. I make exceptions.”
“I guess that’s why you wear black all the time, then.” She grinned at him. “To match your soul.”
“I wear black because it hides bloodstains better.”
“Ah, I should have known.” Cyn went to set her cup down on the table, but it slipped out of her hands.
Thirteen caught it before it fell.
“Thanks.” She glanced down at his outstretched arm. It was the one covered in ink. A small “13” was tattooed near his wrist. The word treize was above it, tredici below it. Other words and symbols crisscrossed his arm: Tretten, dreizehn, tizenhárom, treisprezece, treze . . .
“Do these all mean ‘thirteen’?” Cyn asked. She knew some French and Italian from the eight high schools she’d bounced around between while her mom chased boyfriends.
He nodded. “One for every language that I know.” Her eyebrows shot up in surprise as she looked at his completely covered arm again. “I know a lot of languages.”
Cyn snorted and took the coffee cup back from him. Standing, she took it over to the sink and rinsed it out. “So, since you know so much about languages and Revenants, do you know anything else about Echos? More specifically, what I have to look forward to? Is it just going to be one soul popping in after another and frequent blackouts for the rest of my life?”
She turned to face him. “Declan said something to me about following me the night I went to the gas station and seeing the gun. He said I had it to my temple. Like I was going to pull the trigger. Did you know about that? Did you see that in my memories when you read me?”
He gave her a hard look. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to.”
“Oh, I want to know. Believe me, I want to know. So, is that a yes? Do I have a death wish or something? Did I try to commit suicide?”
“It was the soul inside you. He wants out.”
“He? Do you know who it is?”
“His name is Grifyth, but he likes to call himself Vincent now.”
Something twitched in the back of Cyn’s brain, and she tried to place it. “I know that name,” she mumbled. “I know that name from somewhere. I know that name. . . .”
“He said a Shade crossover in Sleepy Hollow went wrong, and that’s when he found himself inside you.”
Sleepy Hollow. Where my fucked-up memories include a bridge and a dead girl named Abbey. “How do you know all of this?”
“He told me.”
Cyn almost dropped her cup. “He told you?” Her voice rose. “When was this? And why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“It happened when you blacked out in the kitchen. And I’m telling you now.”
She glared at him. “So you’ve known all along who this soul inside of me is and that he wants to escape so badly, he’s willing to get rid of me to do it, yet you figured you’d just wait until now to tell me.”
He shrugged.
“Why does he want out?”
“Because no Echo has ever been able to withstand more than seven souls passing through them. It’s too hard on the mortal body. You’ve had four souls inside you. He’s number five.”
“Seven? And I’m already on number five?” Cyn started to pace. “What can we do? I don’t want him to just keep taking over and making me try to hurt myself.”
He was quiet for a moment, and Cyn felt her desperation growing. Finally, he said, “There is one thing I could try. But it involves going back to the last place he was corporeal.”
Cyn bit her lip. Go back to Sleepy Hollow? Where the cops might still be looking for me? I could end up in jail. . . . Then again, if I don’t at least try, I’ll be stuck with him until the next soul comes along. Or until he finally manages to finish the job. . . .
“What would you have to do?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Cyn tried to take in what Thirteen was saying, but she couldn’t wrap her head around it. “Okay, so wait, tell me again how this would work?”
He leaned forward. “I could force him out. Make him give up his space and move on to the afterlife.”
“Have you ever done that before?”
“No.”
“So, what if it doesn’t work?”
“You end up right back where you are now.”
Except I could piss off this Vincent soul inside me. If he’s angry and wants out now, what happens when this doesn’t work and we’re stuck with each other? What will he try to do then?
“I need to think about it,” Cyn heard herself saying. Her head was starting to hurt, and she just wanted someplace quiet to think. “I’m going to take a shower.”
Heading upstairs, she grabbed some clean clothes from her suitcase. But she couldn’t find a pair of socks. “I know I have, like, eight pairs in here,” Cyn muttered, searching through the suitcase. She dug all the way to the bottom but stopped when her hand hit something hard.
It was the knife she’d hidden in the back of the toilet, wrapped up in an old towel.
I forgot all about this.
As soon as she touched it, a flashback hit her.
Bloody handle. Bloody blade. There’s so much blood everywhere. Where did it come from? Crying, moaning, pleading. No, it’s a whisper. A prayer. Have to hide the knife. Don’t let anyone know you have it—
Cyn jerked back and dropped the blade. Not again. Please, not again.
The blood. The prayer. The tears . . .
It was Father Montgomery.
She was the one who’d killed Father Montgomery.
~ ~ ~
The whole time she was showering, Cyn tried to rationalize herself through the situation. Did she really kill him? Was the knife t
he murder weapon? And if so, why? Why?
It just didn’t make any sense.
After the shower, Cyn hid the knife back in her suitcase and then quickly got dressed. When she went downstairs, Thirteen was standing in front of her plants by the window. He had a small cup in one hand and was watering the ficus tree. Her stomach somersaulted.
She had to tell him.
Cyn stepped forward, but he shifted to the side and she could see a phone next to his ear.
“Yeah, thanks,” she heard him say. “Get back to me if anything comes up.”
After he gets Vincent out. I’ll tell him after he gets Vincent out of me. I can’t afford any distractions right now, and telling him that I was the one who killed his surrogate father is a big fucking distraction.
He snapped the phone shut and glanced back at her. Cyn awkwardly crossed and uncrossed her arms. Trying to affect a casual stance. “Who was that?”
“The police investigating Father Montgomery’s murder.” He said it with a slight change in his tone, and Cyn got the feeling that he wasn’t being completely truthful with her.
“Do they, uh, have any leads?” She had to fight to keep her own voice steady. “Any ideas who did it?”
“Nothing that they’re willing to talk about with me.” He moved over to the stove, and Cyn realized then that something was cooking. “I think they’re under the impression that I’d take matters into my own hands if I knew who did it. They’re not wrong.”
“Oh.” Cyn twisted her ring nervously.
The tantalizing smell of cheddar cheese, apples, and bacon filled the room, and Thirteen flipped something up out of a frying pan and caught it in midair.
“How did he die?” she said suddenly. “I mean, I was there right afterward, and it looked like his face was bruised. Was he beaten? Strangled?”
Thirteen cast her a quick glance. “Stabbed.”
Oh, God. Her stomach completely sank to the floor.
She reached up to tug on the back of her wig, and he saw her.
“No need for that. Your wig came off when you were sleeping on the couch. Secret’s out: You’re a ginger.”
“I don’t want to advertise that fact, so let’s keep it under wraps, okay?”
She glanced at the table, and it took her a second to realize an empty plate was sitting there. He brought the pan over and slid a golden brown grilled cheese onto it. Tender apple wedges peeked out of its crispy edges, melted cheddar oozed from the sides, and the bacon was the exact shade of burnt she liked.
“Eat,” he said, holding the plate up to her. She almost wavered.
But then everything came crashing back to her. “What are you doing?” Cyn asked.
“Making you food. I thought you might be hungry. Something wrong with that?”
“Yes, there’s something wrong with that.”
She didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve him doing something nice when she was purposely hiding something terrible from him just so she could use him. “I didn’t ask you to make me food. I didn’t ask you to—”
“Calm down. It’s just a damn sandwich.”
“I can’t have you making me grilled cheese!” Cyn exploded. Turning her back on the sandwich, she went over to the kitchen door. “I want to go back to Sleepy Hollow. Now. I want this thing done and over with.”
~ ~ ~
Before they could go, Cyn had to say good-bye to her plants. Avian waited as she whispered something to each one of them.
“Where did you learn that?” he asked when they were finally on their way out of the house.
“Learn what?”
“What you just said. It was a Gaelic blessing of growth and peace.”
Cyn shrugged. “I don’t know. Ever since I was young, I’ve had this special bond with plants. The words are just things that I see in my head.”
“It probably came from one of your souls. Maybe someone was a botanist. Or a witch.”
She climbed on the motorcycle behind him but sat too far back.
“I know you don’t want to touch my wings, but you’re going to have to sit closer than that,” Avian said. “I don’t want to have to stop to pick you up if you fall off.”
“Me not want to touch your wings? I thought you didn’t want me to touch your wings. I thought it was an etiquette thing. I was just trying to be nice.”
“Stop trying to be nice and just move closer, okay?”
She scooted forward a couple of inches and wrapped her arms around him as he made a quick call to a guy named Joe. Joe owed him one. Avian had helped his sister and her boyfriend find a safe place to live. Which wasn’t easy to do since they were both Orthos demons who needed dank water and lots of moss.
They made good time on the road to New York, and four hours later Avian pulled into the driveway of the address Joe had given him and turned off his bike. Cyn stayed quiet.
Joe came out of the house a couple of minutes later, wearing a scowl and an oversize coat. “I can’t believe you’re going to make me do this,” he said. “This is definitely illegal.”
“Yeah, well, we’re also going to need to find a car,” Avian replied. “Can’t fit all of us on my bike.” He tapped the headlight.
“A car?” Cyn perked up. “I can get us a car.”
Avian turned around to glance at her, and the excited look in her eyes was the same one Shelley always had when she used to talk about stealing cars. It was like seeing a ghost. And while that usually didn’t do anything for him, this time it made him feel like his head was screwed on wrong.
“We can use his,” Avian said with a harsher tone than he intended. He jerked his head at Joe. “Right?”
“Uh, yeah. Yeah. It’s in the carport. I’ll get the keys.”
He returned a minute later with the keys and an orange toolbox. They followed him around the side of the house, and Avian didn’t miss Cyn’s snort of disgust when a battered brown sedan came into view.
“Where do we go now?” Joe asked as they crammed into the front bench seat alongside him.
“The cemetery,” Avian replied.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Cyn grew more and more anxious the closer they got to the cemetery. They were going to pass the house where she and Hunter had lived after high school graduation. Where Hunter died . . .
She couldn’t look when it finally came into view. And long after it was blocks behind them, she could have sworn she still heard police sirens.
Curved wrought-iron gates marked with an elaborate S on top of one and an Hon top of the other greeted them when they pulled up to the sprawling Sleepy Hollow Cemetery. The gates were padlocked shut, but a low stone border with a section of trees and bushes cleared back was obviously used as a way to get around them.
Thirteen led the way into the cemetery, and Cyn and Joe followed. But Cyn kept stopping to look over her shoulder. It felt like someone else was behind them.
Finally, Thirteen stopped and turned around too. “If you’re going to keep following us, then you might as well help us. Where did the crossover happen?”
Cyn and Joe both stared into the darkness.
“Who are you talking to?” Cyn said.
Thirteen snapped his fingers, and suddenly her vision blurred and then returned. Everything around her became sharper and more defined. Like she’d been wearing the wrong glasses but now had the right prescription. “I’m talking to him.”
He pointed at a mausoleum to their left. Or more accurately, to the young guy leaning against the mausoleum. He had white-blond hair and the greenest eyes Cyn had ever seen.
“Whoa, man,” Joe said. “Where did you come from?” Then he mumbled, “I don’t like ghosts.”
“I don’t like people who step on graves,” the guy said. Joe looked down and saw he was standing on top of a cracked tombstone buried in the ground. Swearing, he took a step back. The guy smirked, then nodded at Cyn. “Hey, Cyn. Abbey will be happy to see you again.”
A brief image of black curly hair and
blue eyes flashed through Cyn’s mind.
“He’s one of the Shades that guard the cemetery,” Thirteen said to Joe.
Suddenly, a female voice drifted over from the iron-gated plot behind them. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Irving. Caspian? Where are you? I have an idea for this new perfume I want to make, but I need some—”
A girl holding a basket of flowers stepped through the gate and onto the path. She was wearing an old-fashioned lacy black dress and had a red ribbon in her dark, curly hair. Her blue eyes grew huge when she saw them standing there. “Cyn! What are you doing here?”
Dropping the flowers, the girl ran to hug Cyn.
Cyn was almost knocked over by the force of her excitement, but as soon as they touched, memories started flooding back. “Abbey? I don’t understand. . . . I have all of these memories of you, but it’s like . . . two different things happened. You were alive, and we went to school together. But then everyone thought you were dead. That can’t be right.”
Abbey pulled back and smiled. Then Caspian came over, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her closer to him. Abbey tilted her head back to glance up at him. The look that passed between them spoke of a love that was stronger than time.
Cyn had to glance away. It reminded her too much of Hunter.
“Both memories are right,” Abbey said. “We became friends at school because my best friend, Kristen, died. Vincent Drake was the one responsible for her death.” A dark look crossed her face, and she scowled. “The other Revenants helped me cross over and reversed time so that Kristen could come back and I could take her place. On the night that Caspian and I completed each other, Vincent tried to use you to stop me. But it didn’t work. Caspian and I ended up together. Here.”
“The other Revenants . . .,” Thirteen said. “Let me guess, Acacia and Uriel?”
Caspian nodded. “And Kame and Sophiel. Even Vincent’s partner was here, Monty.”
“Actually, I think I remember seeing you before,” Abbey said to Thirteen. “When Cacey and Uri took me with them to go find Monty at the insane asylum, Gray’s Folly. I remember thinking it was strange because you were acting like you worked there, but you wore black leather pants.”
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