Page 44 of The Sin Eater

“What about the crime scene?”

The slow shake of her head tells me that I shouldn’t have asked and that she doesn’t give a fuck. “Pour me a double.”

Chapter Fifteen

Ezra

When I set myself goals, I’m very good at achieving them, and tonight I wanted to get past the point of caring. I was almost there, too, all cozy under a pile of blankets and pillows on my chaise, Jack within easy reach, music loud enough for the bass to ricochet off the walls, when my phone makes that weird chirpy buzz that counts as a ring tone.

Who the hell calls me at ten o’clock at night?

Not my ex—he’d send a text. Not my mom. Just... no. I have to close one eye in order to read the screen.Damon.Of course it’s Damon. I stare at my phone, letting it chirp. Buzz. Whatever. And answer because more than anything else, I want to hear his voice. Deep. Soothing. Hot.

At least until he tells me about the picture.

I need to see it. He tries to argue, and while there’s no way I can pretend I’m not drunk off my ass, I need to know if it’sher. I put away the Jack without even a final hit on the bottle, drag on some jeans, and tug a sweater over my head. Between the whiskey and the forty-eight-plus hours since I last showered, I smell a little funky. He’ll just have to deal. I call an Uber and within half an hour, I’m standing in front of Damon’s building.

Too little time for me to figure out how I’m going to explain things if the picture isher.

I buzz his unit and a woman’s voice says, “Come up.” The building’s about the same generation as mine, with a smaller lobby and the same bank of brass mailboxes on one wall and the same deep burgundy, slightly mildewy carpet on the stairs. Jogging up those stairs gets my heart rate up.

Knocking on his door makes it race.

He smiles when he answers, but it’s guarded, and his eyes are full of questions. “Come on in,” he says. “This is my sister Dorinda.”

I brush past him, resisting the urge to throw myself into his arms. Not that he’s offered, and it would be awkward as hell if he let me fall.Fuck, I am drunk.

His sister is noticeably shorter, darker, and has an air of authority that I don’t want to mess with. “Hey,” I say, and she nods, her arms crossed.

Damon stops right behind me and rests a hand on my shoulder. “The picture’s over there.”

I see it. Hell, that’s about all I can see. Itisher. I reach for the photo. Damon stops me.

“Don’t touch anything until after the cops get here.”

The whole of it lands on me, a weight heavy enough to make me bend from the waist. The murder I shouldn’t have seen and the woman I shouldn’t recognize. “Who is she? That asshole killed her and we don’t even know who she is.”

“Wait a minute.” Dorinda’s voice cuts through my self-inflicted drama. “How do you know she was murdered and that no one knows who she is?”

I squat down, head in my hands so I can keep it from swimming. I’d spent the afternoon with a dead woman screaming at me. This here is too much. Too fucking much. “Lucky guess?” I manage. I mean, I have to say something.

Damon’s laugh is cut off by something sharp his sister says. “Ezra?” He crouches down next to me. “Come on, dude. If you try and tell me nothing’s going on, I’m calling bullshit.”

I shouldn’t have come over here. They’re going to want some kind of explanation and then... fuck. There is no explanation. I could no more admit to being a sin eater than I could pretend to be straight. I jam my index fingers against my temples. Gotta come up with something fast.

Forcing myself to take a deep breath allows reality to filter into my drunken brain. A sin eater would not have been able to see a murder. Full stop. That means what happened to me wasn’t related to being a sin eater. My gift—fucking curse, more like—has changed, therefore I must be—”Psychic.”

“What?” Damon asks, while behind him his sister says something eloquent like “for fuck’s sake.”

More reality filters in, and I shift my weight so I’m sitting on the floor. “I’m psychic. A little.”

Damon offers me his hand. “Huh. And you, uh, saw the murder or something? In a vision?”

“Don’t put words in his mouth.” Dorinda’s tone makes it very clear she is not buying what I’m selling. I clasp Damon’s hand, surprised by how warm he is, or maybe by how cold my hands are. With a gentle tug, he gets me to my feet. The world swings a little, black spots flashing across my vision. It takes another deep breath for me to get my shit together.

Or mostly together. Fuck, I’m a mess.

Damon leads me by the hand further into the apartment. “Sit,” he says, pointing at the couch. I do as I’m told, fishing my wallet out of my pocket on my way down.