Taking Back Sunday (32 page)

“This chick, man,” he said, “she doesn’t ring a bell. I tell ya, I don’t think I’ve seen her around here. I think I’d remember if it wasn’t too long ago.”

Angel clapped his hand over Cyrus’ shoulder. The ink on his knuckle tattoos was as fresh as it had been when he’d turned for the first time fifty years earlier.
HELL.
The bartender’s gaze fell over them, and he audibly gulped. These guys weren’t the type he wanted to piss off. By the looks of them, they were pissed off enough already. The way the big bearded one’s eye narrowed and nostrils flared when he told them that he didn’t recognize her, though, it was clear that his answer hadn’t gone over well.

“She your girl?” the bartender stammered as he handed back the photo of Sunday.

“Nope.”

Cyrus took a final swig of the whiskey the bartender poured in his glass not two minutes earlier. He hissed at the sting of liquor, and tapped the glass to gesture for another. Angel whistled beside Cyrus as a buxom blonde walked into the bar. Petite but nonetheless voluptuous, Angel flew to attention the minute she’d crossed the threshold. Cyrus hadn’t bothered to look. There was only one woman in the world who mattered, and she sure as shit wasn’t in this bar. Likely, she never had been.

“This girl,” the bartender started as he poured Cyrus another drink. “She know you’re looking for her?”

Sunday smiled in that photograph. She looked over Cyrus’ shoulder. Long, brown tresses catching in the wind, a riot of vibrant flowers painted on her shoulder, and honey eyes that sparkled…
that
girl knew she was being sought. She’d never known any different to be sure, but now, she knew who was doing the looking.

“She’s counting on it.”

He only hoped he’d find her soon enough for
both
their sakes.

PLAYLIST

Rebel Girl
- Bikini Kill

Little Lies
- Fleetwood Mac

Midnight Creeper
- Eagles of Death Metal

Devon
- Grimes

Burn the Witch
– Queens of the Stone Age

It's a Curse
- Wolf Parade

Wolf Like Me
- TV on the Radio

Soon
- My Bloody Valentine

If the World Ends
- Guillemots

The Queen of all Returns
- Dead Meadow

Demons
- Sleigh Bells

Witchcraft
– Wolfmother

The Lucid Dream
- The Life and Times

Gold Dust Woman
- Fleetwood Mac

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I am absolutely the luckiest girl in the whole world, and I’m not just saying that. The Incarnate started over ten years ago, back when supernatural quasi-romance and self-publishing were pipe dreams with no hope of making it to the surface. You are reading this book because Crystal Walbert encouraged me to make it so you could. There is no amount of thanks that would be too much for her. Along with Crystal, Andrea Vivas read chapters as I wrote them and, because of both women’s unyielding passion for Sunday’s and Cyrus’ stories, I was able to complete the book in record time and, most importantly, believe I had something worth sharing.

Thanks to Erin Fitzpatrick Mihlek for getting so excited about Sunday and Cyrus that she’s spread the word even before second drafts were ready to go. You’re my first fan and my favorite fan.
4evar
your grrl.
In no small way, thanks to Kai Ruiz, Roy Ugarte, and Anibel Saenz. I seriously don’t know how anyone can function without them. You all don’t know what you’re missing.

At the very last leg of Sunday’s long journey, author Trudy Stiles introduced me to Katie Mac and her team at Indie Express. I went from doing this totally DIY with a cursory knowledge of self-publishing to having an experienced, supportive team at my side. Thanks to my wonderful new beta readers, Lesley and Jennifer, and to my incredible editor, Katie.

None of this would be possible without my parents who besides, you know, giving me life, won’t rest until they see one of my books published. Silvia and Luis Moran hold the parenting playbook. They also watch
Sons of Anarchy
. I’m just saying. They’re the coolest.

Last and certainly not least, my partner, my other, my boo, Adrian, who makes me coffee, buys me cigarettes, and lets me ignore him for days on end while I write non-stop until the wee hours of the morning. You really are the best…but don’t let it get to your head. You’re still not posing as Cyrus for the book covers.
Not. Gonna. Happen.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Indie writer. Reader. Knitter. Giraffe. Short hair enthusiast. Fairy godmother. Coffee addict. Pet parent. TV show marathoner.

Cristy Rey lives in Miami, FL. She is a reader and writer all of the time, and a knitter much less of the time than she was six months before she took up writing again. She lives with her other half, Adrian, and her dog, Henry Holmes, and her cat, Lenore. If you met Cristy, you’d probably inform her that she’s tall since people seem to think that, before anything else, they should make sure she’s aware of that fact. She and her friends get together to drink tea, eat scones, and talk about
Sherlock
. They sometimes pretend they’re a book club but that’s just their excuse to get together. Cristy has already written the follow-up to this book of the
Incarnate Series,
and she wants to know what happens in the end just as badly as you do.

You can find me:

Website:
http://www.cristyrey.com

Facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/cristywrites

Email:
[email protected]