Elizabeth Miles - Eternity

“You mean, because Drea told you about the Furies?” She still wasn’t sure how much Crow knew.

Fortified by another sip of beer, Crow leaned forward and spoke to the floor. “Worse than that,” he said. “See, I knew you were going to do that, what you did today in gym. I saw the whole thing—I saw you running like a track star on speed. I saw you break that girl’s cheekbone. I’d already seen it all.”

It was like a valve had opened within Crow; the words were spilling out of him.

“Where?” she asked. “What do you mean, you saw it?”

“What do I mean . . . ? Just what I said. I’ve been having these . . . visions, I guess you’d call them,” he said. His knee was jangling up and down to its own rhythm. “I’ve been seeing things—like movies in my mind. Not memories, exactly. But things that have happened. Or will happen. Or . . . I don’t know.” When he looked at her again, his eyes were reddish. Tired.

She nodded, but couldn’t speak. Was this Crow’s drunken idea of a practical joke? Or was he just drunker than she’d even realized?

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said defiantly, “but I’m not just wasted. I mean, not that wasted. I saw you, Em . . . in my mind. There was so much blackness around you. Spilling out from inside of you. I knew you were going to hurt someone. And I don’t think it’s over. I think you’re going to keep hurting people. The damage isn’t done.” The last words came out in a slurred rush. He drained what was left in the beer can.

No. I don’t want to hurt anyone. His words tapped into her worst fears. “I didn’t mean to hurt Casey,” she said weakly. “I’m not . . . like them.” Not yet, at least.

He barely heard her. “But here’s the really bad thing,” Crow continued. “That darkness that I saw in you, in my vision? It follows me around. I’ll have another vision. Guarantee it,” he said, holding up his empty glass. “Refill?”

She glanced at the key chain dangling from his belt loop. “I’m worried about you driving home.”

“Don’t you worry about me, babe,” he said, leaning in close. “I can take care of myself. It’s you we should be worried about.” And with that he made his way back to the bar.

As she waited for him to return, her eyes were drawn to the church balcony. To the high stained-glass window that depicted a scraggly tree being split in two by a bolt of lightning. She stared at the oddly shaped cuts of glass, pieced together to form a whole image. An image of destruction. The window swam, a kaleidoscope of colors. Then there was a flash of white-blond hair.

She did a double take. There was someone up there.

Ali.

Ali was here. Spying.

She was being watched. Her stomach seized up and she considered running. Leaving this place, leaving Crow.

But when she narrowed her eyes and kept them trained to the spot where she’d seen movement, there was nothing. Nothing but dark corners and fleeting shadows.

“So here’s what I know,” Crow said, breaking her concentration. He’d come back with another glass of whiskey in his hand. “You and Drea were playing ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer,’ except not vampires but Furies. The goddesses of revenge. Evil.” His voice was rising; his tone was suddenly performative. It was as if he were trying to make a scene.

“Shhhhh,” she hissed. “They’ll hear you.”

“Who will?” He was mocking her, but she thought she saw a spark of fear in his eyes.

“Crow, how much do you know? What else have you seen in your . . . visions?”

“I know too much,” he said, sitting down heavily. “I knew about—I knew about Drea.”

Em felt the familiar wave of panic and hopelessness rush through her. “You knew that she was trying to get rid of them?”

“More than that,” he said dully. “I knew what was going to happen to her.”

“You knew about . . . the fire?” She shook her head. “But that’s impossible.”

“It’s not impossible ,” he said. His jarring tone made several nearby patrons turn their heads. “It’s not impossible just because you don’t understand it.”

“This is serious, Crow.” She tried to pull him back into their conversation, but his focus had shifted. He was looking at her through narrowed eyes, as if he were examining a specimen under a microscope.

“Sure, sure. Let’s be serious.” He scooted his chair toward her and leaned forward.

“Crow . . . don’t.”

“Don’t what, princess? I gotta ask a question, and I gotta get close to ask it.” He grabbed the underside of her chair and pulled it toward him, so close their faces were just inches apart. “If it’s impossible, why the hell do you think I showed up that night when I did?”

Em opened her mouth to speak, then realized she didn’t know how to answer that. Why was he there? The timing seemed suspicious. . . .

And then, all of a sudden, he was leaning in to kiss her. A piece of her wanted this—badly—but she couldn’t have everything. Em pulled away and felt the armrest jam awkwardly against her back.

“No,” she said shakily, placing her palm against his chest. “We—this isn’t right, Crow. You know that. We’re—we’re friends.”

He swayed backward a little. But not that far. His lips were still so close. . . . She could feel the heat from his body. “What’s the matter, angel?” he said. “I’m not good enough for you?”

“You know that’s not it,” she said quickly, softly—almost like she was pleading with him. “It’s just . . . ” She couldn’t finish. JD, she wanted to say. But she felt like an idiot speaking his name out loud, when he had barely even spoken to her in a month.

“You’re drunk, Crow. And I don’t want to mess up our friendship. . . . ” The bench dug into her shoulder blade.

“I don’t believe that’s all you want from me,” he said. His eyes were still on her. Burning. Sending a leap of warmth through her stomach, a spinning, dizzying heat through her head.

What did she want from him? Reassurance? Protection? Help? She didn’t know anymore.

He reached up and traced her face lightly with two fingers. Everywhere he touched was like fire. “Tell me,” he said in that low voice, like a song. “Tell me what you really want.”

What did she want? She wanted information. She wanted his secrets. To see his visions. To learn from them. To know the truth .

She wanted everything to be different.

Em tilted her face to his, trying to read his eyes, trying to understand what was happening—what his role in it was. And that one small gesture was all Crow needed. He reached out and grabbed the back of her head, pulling her slowly toward him. Their lips were so close that she could taste him—that smoke, that sweetness.

The booze.

“No,” she said, suddenly realizing how wrong it was. “Really.”

“Everything okay over here?” Suddenly a bouncer, big and thick-necked, was behind them, pulling Crow back by the collar of his plaid shirt. “I don’t think you’re wanted here, buddy.”

Every ounce of gentleness Crow had had just moments before was gone in an instant. “Get your hands off me.” He stood up, shrugging off the bouncer’s arm roughly.

Em put her hand on his arm. “Let’s just go, Crow.” Em needed to get him out of there in one piece.

“You hear that?” He ignored her, getting in the bouncer’s face. “She’s fine. Everything’s fine. So I suggest you stop acting like I’m some kind of criminal.” He punctuated the word with a nice, hard shove.

The bouncer was thrown off for less than a second, which was all the reason he needed. “You’re out of here!” he yelled, clipping Crow’s shoulder and herding him forcefully toward the door.