Chapter 21
The bar is nearly empty at this hour. Rain streaks the windows, and the few remaining customers are paying us no mind.
I nurse a glass of wine. I know I shouldn’t have ordered it, need to keep my wits about me, but the alcohol is easing some of my anxiety.
Paul scrolls through articles on his laptop. I told him what Dominik told me and that sent him down another rabbit hole. His newest obsession: the history of familiars.
Inherited.
The word sits in my chest like a stone.
Paul glances up and reads my face. "Cheer up. I hope you're not seriously buying into the story of some crazy priest. You really think the Devil gave your grandmother a pet gargoyle?"
"It's not a gargoyle." It comes out sharper than I intend. "It's Eleanor's familiar."
Paul studies me carefully.
"I thought familiars were evil spirits in animal form," he says. His eyes go to the photo of the grotesque on his laptop. "Guess grandma wasn't a cat person."
The joke falls flat. The rain keeps up its steady drumbeat against the glass.
"Okay," he says, shifting gears. "Say this thing exists. Why these people? Why target the last two people to see Eleanor alive? Why not go after the killer?"
I think about it. I'm trying to understand it myself, assembling the answer as I say it.
"The familiar was bound to Eleanor. Shared some kind of bond with her. I think it saw what she saw that night. Knew what she knew."
Paul's expression changes. His reporter brain drawing fast conclusions.
"The mugger wore a mask. Shit, it's lashing out because?—"
"It can't identify Eleanor's killer."
"Okay. But why turn on Marian?"
I look down at my drink. This is the part I've been avoiding since the church.
"After I moved into Eleanor's place, it shifted its focus to me. I think it feels what I feel." I make myself say the rest. "Marian frightened me."
"So it turned on Marian. The thing is protecting you."
"Maybe."
"Remind me not to piss you off."
The joke can't quite cover his unease. He takes a sip of his beer to bury it.
I don't elaborate on the theory that has been forming in the back of my mind. If the familiar feels what I feel, if Marian died because she frightened me, then it isn't just my fear that's dangerous. It's everything I feel.
About anyone.
I look at Paul across the table. Rain-damp hair, handsome in the bar's blue light.
The familiar feels what I feel.
What happens when it figures out that I’m developing feelings for the young citizen journalist?