“I was at Gabriel’s house,” Scarlet said, because it was true and void of all details. The last thing Scarlet wanted to do was chit-chat about curses and immortality with Laura.
She would probably make Scarlet go to therapy. Or worse—put her into the foster system.
The idea shot icy panic through Scarlet.
If Laura thought Scarlet was crazy, she’d might want to renounce her custody and hand Scarlet over to the state.
And who knows what would happen to her then?
No, Scarlet thought. I definitely can’t tell Laura the truth.
Not yet, anyway.
“At Gabriel’s?” Laura smiled. “Did you meet his family?”
Scarlet nodded slowly. “Yes. He has a brother.”
A secret brother.
“Really?” Laura said, her voice raising in pitch slightly.
Scarlet kept nodding. “A twin brother.”
Scarlet thought for a moment.
Why had Gabriel kept Tristan a secret?
Yet another unanswered question.
Laura furrowed her brow. “You didn’t know about his twin? That’s weird.”
“Yeah, I don’t know. Gabriel’s really secretive about his family or something.” Scarlet needed to stop talking before she spilled her guts and Laura had her committed to an insane asylum.
Laura eyed her closely. “You look…tired. Are you okay?”
“Yeah….” Her voice sounded far away. “I just need to get some sleep.” Scarlet blinked and made her way upstairs.
“Good night,” Laura called after her.
Scarlet climbed until she reached her bedroom and collapsed on her large bed, hoping her life would be less crazy and confusing in the morning.
She closed her eyes, but sleep didn’t come.
Tears did.
29
Tristan stood in the damp back alley of an abandoned warehouse waiting quietly. Nearby, the orange haze of a streetlamp flickered in the black night. It had come to his attention, as of late, that people who were crazy enough to murder someone always wanted to meet in the creepiest of places.
Tristan tolerated this only because he was desperate.
A rat darted past his shoes. The eerie glow from the street lamp cast a wicked shadow of the rodent against the ground as it disappeared behind a dumpster.
Tristan really needed to find some villains with better taste in venues. The alley thing was getting old.
Tonight, he was supposed to meet a guy named Maniac. And ‘Maniac’ was late—which was no surprise. You can’t put feelers out for a psychopath and then expect punctuality.
Sirens echoed in the distance as Tristan began pacing along the crumbling brick wall next to him. He ran a hand through his shaggy hair and tried to calm down.
Scarlet knew now. She’d seen him, she’d heard the story. It was only a matter of time before she remembered everything.
He couldn’t risk having her—or his feelings for her—jeopardize what needed to be done.
Hopefully, tonight he’d be successful.
With any luck, the curse would be broken before sunrise, and Tristan’s heart would finally find peace.
As would Scarlet’s.
It was preposterous, the idea of Tristan having any kind of peace without Scarlet, but it was all he had to hope for.
He closed his eyes until he saw nothing but memories. Memories of long ago, when Tristan lived his life as if it were a precious hourglass of time.
Before he knew he was immortal.
Before life was no longer fragile.
Those were the days when life truly meant something.
When life was hard but worthwhile, and love was valuable because your days were numbered.
That was living.
He thought back over the years…when Scarlet was full of love and laughter…when she would lie next to him in the grass and splash around with him in the ocean…when she was full of happiness and her eyes always found his….
The memories flooded into him, filling him with longing and warmth. How could there ever be more perfect a life than the many he had lived?
Without warning, memories of pain, torment, and death bombarded him, washing away any warmth.
Sitting next to Scarlet in the forest today had been a mistake. A beautiful, hopeless mistake.
Tristan opened his eyes and stared purposefully at the ground, cursing the reality that always mocked his dreams.
That reality was why he was here, in the shadows, with a rat and a dumpster.
Scarlet had suffered too much, for too long. The ridiculous and unfair cycle of her life needed to be put to an end, and if things went well tonight—which was highly unlikely, but worth a shot—it would.
With renewed determination, Tristan straightened his back and waited for Maniac.
Eventually, a large silhouette approached him from the far end of the alley. Tristan casually walked in the man’s direction and, as he neared, he saw that Maniac was a large, muscular fellow with shifty eyes, a long mustache, and an evil vibe.
Just what Tristan had in mind.
“You Maniac?” Tristan’s voice echoed down the alleyway.
Yet another reason to hate back alleys. How was anyone supposed to be stealthy when voices carried half a mile?
“Yeah. You Brooker?”
No, but Maniac didn’t need to know that.
“Yes.”
“You got the money?” Maniac spit on the ground before glancing around the alley.
Was he nervous?
What Tristan needed here was a gung-ho criminal, ready to do just about anything. Not a mustached wanna-be who was kind of on the fence.
Maniac couldn’t let him down.
Tristan tossed an envelope filled with large bills at the man and waited while Maniac counted. Tristan was disgusted by what people were willing to do for money.
Tonight, however, he was grateful for such depravity.
Satisfied with the amount, Maniac looked at Tristan. “So, gimme the details. Who do you need me to hit?”
Tristan took a deep breath. This was the hard part. “First, I need to know if you are capable of committing murder.”
Maniac seemed to take offense to this. “’Course I am. I’ll knock off anyone for the right price. “
Tristan nodded. “More importantly, though, is the follow-through. I have to know that you’ll complete the job. It’s not an easy mark.”
Maniac scoffed. “I’ll finish him. What kinda hit man starts a kill job and quits halfway?”
You’d be surprised.
“Good enough,” Tristan said. “I brought your weapon.” Tristan reached behind his back to unsheathe the freshly-sharpened dagger he’d brought from home.
His last dagger hadn’t worked. Hopefully, this one would.
“Weapon?” Maniac raised his brow. “Why not just a gun? Guns are faster.”
“Nope. Guns won’t work.” Tristan held the blade out to Maniac and waited.
Maniac eyed the dagger a moment before saying, “That’s a wicked knife, there. But I’m much better with guns.”
Tristan clenched his jaw in frustration. “I’m sure you are. But I’m not paying you to shoot bullets. I need you to use this.” Tristan wiggled the long blade so it reflected the streetlight.
Maniac hesitated before reaching for the dagger.
Tristan inwardly sighed. If Maniac couldn’t tap into his ‘maniac’ side, this was going to be a long night.
Maniac handled the blade a few moments before saying, “Fine. This’ll work. Who’s the mark?”
Tristan yanked his shirt over his head, and felt the night air rush against his bare chest. He stood up straight, rolled his neck, and answered, “Me.”