The Beautiful and the Damned (6 page)

The girl stared down Cash.

Won’t take,
Avian thought.
That only works on humans.

“I’ve got an ID,” she finally said, digging in her pocket. “Here. See?”

Cash leaned in to get a closer look. “Uh-huh. So you’re twenty-nine?”

“I’m whatever age you need me to be to get some of that whiskey,” she said in a low
voice.

Avian picked up his glass. Cash glanced at him as he moved closer, and Avian gave
him a brief nod. Cash reached for the square Jack Daniels bottle and poured her a
shot.

The girl finally noticed him and glared as she took the glass. “Oh, nice. The guy
who wouldn’t let me see Father Montgomery. Are you stalking me now? Back off, asshole.
I’m not in the mood.”

Avian grinned at her attitude. “You know I’m the only reason you’re going to be drinking
at all tonight, right?”

She gulped down the whiskey in one smooth motion and slammed the glass down on the
counter. “Yeah. Okay. Go right on ahead and keep thinking that, douche bag.” Then
she turned back to Cash. “I’ll have another.”

I
t took four shots of whiskey before Cyn was able to relax and stop thinking about
Declan and wondering why he was here. After Lenny had let it slip that she was new
in town, she’d told Marv she wasn’t feeling well and wanted to go home. Then she slipped
out the door in the kitchen, leaving her coat out on the floor. She wasn’t about to
go back and get it.

She slid the empty shot glass down the bar counter and giggled a little when it bumped
the wall then fell off. It didn’t break, though, because the asshole from Father Montgomery’s
house reached out and caught it.

“Hey, that’s a nice catch,” she said in spite of herself. He palmed the shot glass
and then made it reappear on the bar.
Cyn blinked once and squinted at him. “How’d you do that?”

He didn’t answer but shook his head when she opened her mouth to call for another
round. For some reason, this really irritated her—who was
he
to stop her from getting another drink?—and she gave him her dirtiest look. “I’ll
have one more,” she said loudly.

“No you won’t,” he replied. “You’ve had enough.”

“Excuse me?” She tried again. Louder this time. “
One more, please.
Over here.”

The guy exchanged looks with the bartender, and then the bartender ignored her.

“It’s not gonna happen.” Annoying Tall Guy crossed his arms. “But you can keep trying.
It’s amusing.”

Cyn marched over until she was standing directly in front of the bartender. She didn’t
know why her mind-mojo powers weren’t working. All she wanted to do was keep drinking.
It made everything nice and hazy, so she didn’t have to think all the time.

Cyn willed the bartender to give her another shot, but it was a useless act. He kept
ignoring her.

“Fine,” Cyn said. If the asshole was somehow responsible for this, then he owed her.
And she was going to take that almost-full bottle of Buffalo Trace sitting next to
him as payment.

Cyn shot past him and grabbed for the bottle. Two full swigs of it were down the hatch
before she felt his hand on her arm. Stopping her.

“Why don’t we find a quiet table,” he said. “Come with me.”

She didn’t know why, but for some reason she found herself following him.

Maybe it was because he let her hold on to the bottle of bourbon.

They headed for the far corner, where the people sitting at a table suddenly seemed
interested in playing a game of pool on the opposite side of the bar and cleared out.
Cyn picked at the peeling label on the front of the bottle as they took the recently
vacated seats.

“So, what do you want to talk about?” she asked.

“Why don’t you start with what’s going on.”

“What do you mean, what’s going on? Haven’t you ever seen someone get drunk before?”

“Yeah, but that’s not what this is. And that’s not who you are.” He tilted his head
to the side and studied her. Cyn realized that his eyes were the darkest shade of
brown she’d ever seen.

“You don’t know me. So how can you think you know what ‘this is’?” Cyn lifted the
bottle to her lips. “I’m just a drunk teenager with a fake ID in a crappy bar. That’s
it.”

“Don’t let Cash hear you talking shit about his place, or it’s the last time you’ll
ever see the inside of it.”

She paused before taking a sip. “Seriously?” Then she laughed at him. “You think I’m
afraid of being thrown out of
here
?” She glanced around. “The floor is covered in stains that look like they’re either
vomit or . . . or . . . some kind of bile or something, and—”

“It’s blood.”

“Oh,
excuse me
.” She waved the bottle around. “How nice. The floor is covered in
bloodstains
. That totally makes it authentic. And what’s with all of these pictures of the same
guy on the wall? Shouldn’t there be
Sports Illustrated
swimsuit models, or Victoria’s Secret posters? This is a biker bar, isn’t it?”

“It’s a Johnny Cash–themed bar. Hence the Johnny Cash memorabilia.”

“Gotcha.” Cyn cocked her finger at him like she was taking aim and then pulled the
trigger. “I guess that’s where the name Cash comes from too.”

“No, that’s his real name. Warren Cash.”

“Riiiight. Okay, well I think that’s enough talking for now. This is a ridiculous
conversation, and I just want to get wasted in peace, okay? I’m not looking for anything
more than that.”

“Why?”

“Why do I want to get wasted? Or why do I want to do it in peace? Because both questions
have the same answer: It’s been a shitty couple of days.”

Cyn wasn’t paying attention to the other people in the room until there was the distinct
sound of footsteps coming to a stop behind her. She turned around to see who it was.

A squat guy with a blond crew cut and no neck, whose muscles rippled up beneath both
arms of his Ed Hardy T-shirt, stared at her table companion. “Thirteen,” he said.
“It’s been a while.”

One of his arms suddenly split wide open, revealing a moving maw beneath the gaping
flesh. It was lined with little suckers—like a miniature octopus tentacle—and it was
hideous.

Cyn recoiled for an instant before regaining her composure.

“Bryn,” her table companion replied, “I thought we had an agreement. You don’t come
back in here again, and I don’t kill you.”

“I’ve worked out some new terms.” No-neck’s arm made a squealing noise, like a hungry
baby piglet waiting to be fed.

“Too bad for you I don’t renegotiate my contracts.” He looked down at No-neck’s moving
arm. “You should think about feeding that thing, though. Looks cranky.”

Cyn felt her jaw hit the floor as she turned back to the guy who had been so calmly
sitting next to her. “You can
see
that?!”

“Of course I can,” he replied. “And now I’m going to get rid of it.”

T
he rest of the bar patrons seemed oblivious to what was about to happen right in front
of them, but Cash wasn’t. “You know the rules,” he said. “Take it outside.”

Within the blink of an eye, the two guys in front of her were heading for the alley
out back, and Cyn scrambled to follow.

“Don’t make too much of a mess out there,” Cash called.

“No promises,” Avian called back.

No-neck made it to the alley first. He put up his fists in a classic fighting stance
and bounced back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“Old school,” Avian said. “You know I like it that way.”

“Whatever it takes to kick your ass. That’s the way
I
 like it.”

Avian didn’t assume a fighting stance but started taking off his leather jacket. Cyn
was momentarily distracted by the sleeve of ink covering his right arm. She could
also see something strapped between his shoulder blades. Taking his time to neatly
fold the jacket, he set it off to the side, then simply walked up and punched No-neck
in the head.

No-neck returned the jab, only lower, and hit Avian’s stomach.

Avian didn’t even flinch. “Is that it? You’ll have to hit harder than that if you
want to leave a mark.” His tone was long and drawn out, taunting just by its even
keel.

No-neck reacted with a flurry of punches to Avian’s head and shoulders, his head bent
low.

With No-neck’s head left unguarded, Avian drove his elbow into the back of his skull
so hard, Cyn could hear bone crack. No-neck fell back, stunned.

Avian moved fast, striking again, and No-neck fell to his knees. “Damn it,” he panted,
hands flat against the pavement, arm muscles tensing. “I’m tired of playing this game
with you, Thirteen.” His biceps split open, and gaping tentacles at least three feet
long uncoiled from each one. He flung them like
whips and they hurtled with blinding speed, rushing for Avian’s face.

One of the tentacle arms shot past Avian, but the other wrapped around his head. The
wet suction noise it made turned Cyn’s stomach. As soon as the arm had gotten a hold,
its little suckers opened wide and produced rows of shiny teeth. Gnashing and biting,
they immediately stripped away anything they came in contact with. Little hunks of
skin the size of fleshy Band-Aids were pulled from Avian’s cheek as the tiny carnivores
started devouring him inch by inch.

The second tentacle tried to wrap around his waist, but Avian moved out of the way.
With his free hand, he reached behind him and pulled out a wicked-looking double-edged
sword from the strap between his shoulder blades. The sword sliced through the tentacle
arm, but it didn’t lose its suction grip on his face.

Suddenly, Avian threw his sword straight up into the air as hard as he could.

With both hands now free, he ripped off the tentacle arm and tossed it at No-neck.
No-neck screamed as the gaping mouths latched onto his head and immediately started
slurping.

But No-neck wasn’t finished yet, and even half-blinded by
his own appendage, he pulled back and lashed out again with his remaining tentacle.
This time he went for Avian’s feet.

Cyn couldn’t help herself. “Watch out!” she screamed. “He’s going for your—”

A whistling noise split the air as the sword came crashing back down to earth.

In that split second, Avian glanced over at Cyn and the sword fell blade down, just
out of his reach.

The look he gave her was so full of rage that she almost saw smoke come out of his
nose.

As the tentacle fell short of Avian’s feet, he dropped to the ground. When he lifted
his head again, the sword was in his hand and his eyes were red. Even in the shadows,
Cyn could see that. And the smoke? It was coming from his
skin
.

She could see his arms more clearly now, and they were covered in scars that stood
out in sharp contrast against the black ink of his tattoos. Rigid and bumpy, they
were milky white in color. Although they weren’t scars, exactly. They were more like
burns.

His back muscles strained against his dark T-shirt as he lifted the sword, and she
could see the raised outline of burn tissue there, too.

With a final heave, Avian lunged toward No-neck, who
was still struggling against his own tentacle, and swung the blade down. The sword
slid through No-neck’s body like butter, and Avian followed the trajectory by falling
to one knee.

No-neck wavered for an instant, then split into two pieces.

The tentacle arm that was attached to No-neck immediately pulled back as all of the
life left its host, while the arm on his head shriveled up like a piece of puckered
skin jerky.

Cyn briefly wondered if any of the people in the bar were going to come see what had
just happened. But even if they did, she knew they wouldn’t see anything beyond two
guys engaged in a bar fight.

They wouldn’t see a weird octopus-arm man. Or a guy who had red eyes and smoke coming
off of him, like she did.