Eamon was not a normal man. Not at all.
The woman he was watching, visible through the open sliding door of her apartment balcony, turned, sipping a glass of wine. Red wine.
It was me.
Pretty enough, he was thinking. She'd do, for a while. He liked fair skin. Fair skin showed bruises better.
It took me a breathless moment to realize that however sick I might feel about what he was thinking, Eamon didn't plan to carry out any of his fantasies. They were just entertainment for him, a cold way to amuse himself during a boring job.
"You're sure she's the one," he said, and I realized there was someone sitting in the passenger seat of the car next to him. A matronly woman, middle-aged, with a nice face and quick, friendly smile. "She's the one who killed Quinn in Las Vegas."
The woman shrugged. "That's what they say. Doesn't look too likely to me; just look at her. Not exactly Quinn's level, is she?"
"Looks can be deceptive," Eamon said, and lowered the glasses. "You're sure Quinn's dead."
"As sure as I can be," the woman said. "Cops found his SUV blown all to hell out in the middle of nowhere, no sign of Quinn's body, but they found a lot of blood. Too much for him to have survived. They figure coyotes scavenged his corpse, or else the flood got it. There was a storm around that time, a real gully-washer. Could have carried his body for miles if he fell into the arroyo. Anyway, he's dead for sure if he didn't contact me by now. I'm holding some stuff for him."
"Anything good?" Eamon asked, and looked through the field glasses again. Not-me looked polished and glossy, tanned and toned. Contemplative, as she gazed out over the horizon. She had an ocean view, apparently. Nice.
"A package from our friend Mr. Velez. Nothing too unusual this time. I was thinking of moving it through the East Coast channels, unless you had a better idea."
"No, Cynthia, that's fine. You do as you think best." Eamon stretched, sighed, and put the glasses down. "She's one of them, though. You're certain."
"She's one of them," the unknown Cynthia said. "I'd stake my life on it."
Eamon started the car. "You are staking your life on it, love."
Joanne Baldwin was, Eamon knew, the one Quinn had failed to kill all those years ago in the cave. How very interesting that it would come to this.
Blood would tell.
Blur.
Eamon with my sister. Eamon gaining my trust and betraying it in the most shocking way. I couldn't possibly have hated anyone more after I saw what he was up to, but the betrayals just kept on coming.
Mine, as well as his.
Eamon trading me Sarah for what he supposed was a Djinn bottle-which it was, just a booby-trapped one that let loose an insane Djinn who couldn't be controlled. Eamon fighting his way through a terrifying hurricane to cut me and Sarah loose from a tree, where the wind and debris would have killed us in a matter of minutes.
Eamon running away with my sister. And Sarah wanted to go.
Eamon coming back to me afterward, threatening Sarah again, but realizing that he'd lost his leverage. Not giving up, though. He was nothing if not persistent.
Imara was in the memories, too. Helping me. Guarding me. Terrified for me, as Eamon calculated how far he could push me-and her-to get what he wanted.
And David. That memory was crystal clear in Eamon's mind. David had come out of nowhere, nowhere, picked up a fallen knife, and-The second you disappoint me, little man, the instant I think that you're mocking me or even thinking about harm to my family, that ends. I watch you bleed your life away in less than a dozen heartbeats.
We'd left him, the three of us-mother, father, child. We'd been a family once. And David had loved us both with such intensity that it burned through to even a self-absorbed predator like Eamon.
Eamon respected him. And he liked me-in the same way he'd once liked Thomas Orenthal Quinn.
That turned my stomach.
What was worse, far worse, was that even as sick and horrifying as Eamon was, as far from human as I thought he was, when I looked at him with that dizzying rush of power, when his body dissolved into multilayered lights and networks of flowing energy, he was beautiful. Unique and beautiful and impossible not to somehow love for his damage and his brilliance and his fierce, unflinching intelligence...
I couldn't help but go back for more. So many memories, every color, every flavor filling my empty spaces. His memories weren't like Marion's; hers had been astringent, like dry white wine. Eamon's were red, bloodred, thick and salty and choking in their intensity. Horrors and wonders. Things that even in that state I tried not to see.
Venna yanked me out with her hand on the back of my neck, and her eyes were wide and very strange. The world lurched around me, tilted, and Eamon slid bonelessly off of the wall to collapse in a heap. Sarah cried out and knelt beside him.
"Oh," Venna whispered. She didn't spare any attention for Eamon, but she stared holes through me. "I didn't know you could do that. You shouldn't have, you know."
When Venna let me go I staggered off, fighting nausea, not fighting tears. I needed a shower, a wire scrub brush, and bleach to feel clean again. Oh, God.
I found myself sitting limply in the sand, tinted with flashing red and blue lights. Shaking.
"Jo?" It was Sarah, looking so much older and harder than in the memories. He'd had her for only a few months, right? And already she was destroying herself. "Eamon passed out. I think he's sick, but he's breathing, would you please-"
I reached out to her and grabbed hold and hugged her. Hard. I dragged her down to a kneeling position. "I had a daughter," I said. My voice didn't sound at all right. "I had a daughter and she's gone, Sarah, she's gone..." More than anything else in Eamon's memories, seeing Imara had hurt me. A sound welled up out of me, a helpless tearing sound, and I couldn't stop shaking. Sarah held on somehow. My sister. Selfish, shallow, willfully deluded...but deep inside, still my sister.
"Oh, Jo," she said, and kissed my hair. "I'm sorry. You mean Imara? Something happened to Imara?"
"Something..." I didn't even know the details. I hoped I wouldn't. "She's gone."
Sarah hugged me again, harder. "I'm so sorry. She wasn't...well, she wasn't human, but she was sweet. Like the best parts of you. She...she tried to keep me safe, like you told her, but I wasn't...I didn't want to be safe. I sent her away." I felt her hitch a damp, unsteady breath. "Oh, God. Was it because I did that? Did she get hurt because of that?"
"I...don't know," I said slowly. God. That couldn't be true, could it? That somehow my own sister had been a part of...No. I couldn't think that way.
"Sarah," I said, and pulled back to stare into her eyes. "You need to listen to me. Just this once. Promise?"
She nodded. I took in a deep breath.
"Eamon will hurt you," I said. "He's toxic. Maybe he doesn't mean to hurt you, I don't know, but he won't be able to help it. It's what he does. He can't do anything else. You need to walk away from him, and stay away. Get clean. Find out who you are without him or me or anyone else."
She tried to pull away, but I held her where she was. "Sarah," I said. "I'm not kidding. You have to leave."
Her eyes filled up with tears. "I know," she said. "I know all that's true. But I love him."
"He used you to get me to do this," I said, and nodded at the wrecked building. "Nobody got hurt this time. What happens next time? What happens when he has cash sunk into some hotel or resort or something, and he wants a nice big tsunami to wash it away? How many people do you think he'll kill who stand between him and a payday? You say you love him, Sarah, but do you love him that much?"
The tears spilled over.
"I want you to go," I said. "Get in the car and go. It doesn't matter where, just away, and don't call him. Don't contact him. Do you have any money?"
She nodded numbly. There were more tears where the first ones came from. "There's a suitcase in the trunk," she said. "It has cash in it. He doesn't think I know about it."
I'd expected that. Eamon wouldn't go anywhere without an emergency flight kit. He was too good a criminal. "Are there drugs in it?" She didn't answer, which was as good as a yes. "Sarah, I want you to promise me that you'll stop. Take the drugs and pills and flush them. Will you?" I played the only card I had, the guilt card. "For Imara, if you won't do it for yourself?"
She just stared at me, face gone blank and lifeless with fear and uncertainty. And then she said, "He'll come after me. Jo, I can't say no to him. I just can't."
"You'll have to learn."
"But-"
"Just go."
Venna turned and watched my sister staggering away. She put her hands primly behind her back and rocked back and forth. "Do you still want her memories?" she asked.
"No." An image of something from Eamon's filthy, diseased brain rose up in my head, and I almost gagged. I didn't want to live that nightmare from my sister's point of view, too. "You were right. I've seen enough for now."
Venna shrugged and turned toward Eamon, who was stirring where he sat slumped against the rock wall. He didn't look like a monster. He looked like a nice enough man, attractive if you went in for the lean and hungry look with a bit of scruff thrown in. He'd taken in my sister. He'd even taken me in, for a while, until he wanted me to know his real self.
He was waking up, and I didn't know if I could face him again.
"Venna," I said in a normal tone of voice, and set my feet in the sand. "Does he have the keys to the car?"
"Yes."
"Can you get them?"
She extended her hand, and a set of keys appeared in her tiny palm.
"Can you give them to Sarah?"
She didn't even have to move to do it, just shrugged and the keys faded out and disappeared. A few seconds later I heard the black car start up with a rumble.
I didn't turn to watch. I didn't take my eyes off of Eamon as he moaned, clutched his head, and staggered to his feet. He looked quite mad. His eyes were fiercely bloodshot, and there were trickles of blood coming from his nostrils. I'd done that to him.
The sound of the car faded into the distance before he managed to straighten up. Sarah was gone.
Now it was just the three of us.
Well, two of us, because without warning Venna skipped away, kicking at the sand in her patent-leather shoes, just like a regular kid. I wasn't dumb enough to think it made any difference in the amount of concentration she had on the situation.
Eamon sniffed, wiped at the blood on his face, and glared at me. "What the hell did you do to me?" he growled.
"You'll be all right." I had no idea if he would or not, actually, but right at the moment if his brain exploded like a pumpkin in a microwave, I couldn't really care. "Don't."
He took a couple of steps in my direction. His body language was attack-dog stiff.
"Stop."
"Where's Sarah?" he spit at me, all Cockney edges and sharp angles, and I held out my hand toward him, palm out.
A wall of wind hit him and shoved him back, hard. Knocked him on his ass.
He got up and lunged. I knocked him back again, and this time he took out a knife.
"Oh, come on, Eamon, look around!" I said, and jerked my head at the police cars, the firefighters, the onlookers all still staring at the wrecked building. The news crews. "You really want to do this? Here?"
"Where is she?" he yelled, and paced from side to side. His eyes were almost crimson from the burst blood vessels, and the expression in them was just one breath away from complete insanity. He held the knife concealed at his side, but he was clearly on the verge of violence. "You stupid, interfering bitch. Do you think you're saving her? She'll kill herself! She's already tried! I'm trying to save her!"
"You're the reason she's dying inside," I said. "And damned if I'm going to let you do that to her. Sarah's strong. She'll be fine."
"She won't! For Christ's sake, woman, who do you think your sister is, exactly? She's not some helpless, stupid waif! Her ex-husband didn't get wealthy by keeping his hands clean, and she was neck-deep in it, too. Taking up with me wasn't a sign of her weakness; it was a sign she recognized an opportunity, that's all. You think I don't know that's wrong? I know what I am!" I didn't want to buy it, but there was an undeniable desperation to what he was saying. "I did this for her!"
I blinked. "What?" I hadn't gotten that far in his memories before Venna had yanked me out. Eamon made a raw sound of frustration.
"The building, you twit! Sarah owns it! She'll be making a fortune from the insurance. This was her idea, you bloody fool."
I didn't believe him. I couldn't. Not...not that. "You're a lying, crazy bastard."
"No, I'm a fool. So are you. She used you."
"You're a liar. Sarah had nothing to do with any of it." I was shaking, I was so angry. "I told her to go ahead and spend your suitcase full of money. That's for being an asshole, Eamon."
Something flashed in his expression, and I braced myself. "Just one problem, love," he said. "I don't have a suitcase of money. Sarah does, and she got it by selling you far, far down the river. She's driving off with cash and a car, and leaving the two of us to finish each other. Not bad for a helpless little drug-addled waif, eh?"
