A Necessary Sin (The Sin Trilogy, #1)(57)

“Cara.”

“Cara’s dead.”

“Thus the reason I’m able to communicate with her.” Mary returns her pen to the paper. “It’s hard for me to catch my breath. This is my sign she died with something related to the lungs.” She stops drawing. “A terrible thing was done to that child but she wants you to know she did not suffer.”

“She was murdered—smothered. We’ve never found out who did it.” Sin appears to be growing more anxious. “I need to know who it was.”

“I see the shadow of a man in a dark room, her bedroom, I presume, but I can’t make out his face.”

“Can you tell me anything? Is he young? Old? Tattoos?” Oh my God. He’s actually feeding into this. This woman is damn good.

“Your sister’s moved on to a different image. That’s my sign telling me she doesn’t want you to dwell upon what happened to her.”

“What are you seeing now?”

“You—and you’re happy. She wants you to know you’ll find joy in a family of your own. You’ll have a wife and children, and soon, from the looks of what I’m seeing.”

What bullshit!

Mary turns the page of her book. “Are you ready, my dear?”

I nod but say nothing as Sin stands to switch places with me. “Your mother has passed?”

Sin knows this but I must be careful about what I admit to so nothing contradicts what I’ve told him. “Yes.”

“And a mother figure as well.”

Hmm … if this were real, I’d think she was referring to Julia, my adoptive mom. But because this is a fraud, I can pretend she must be referring to my faux aunt I just lost if need be.

“Yes.”

She writes a word and holds the pad for me to read. Bluebird. “Do you understand this?”

She spelled it wrong. It should be Bleubird, but how could she possibly know? “Yes.”

“It’s what your mother called you?” She couldn’t possibly know that—except she does.

“Yes.” I can see how easy it is to feed into this. I must be careful to give away nothing.

“This is your mother’s way of validating her presence and my ability to communicate with her. She says you’re cynical.”

I’ll give her that one. “That’s very true.”

She smiles, maybe as though she’s accepting the challenge, and returns to scribbling in her notebook. She holds the pad up when she’s finished. Chocolate chip cookies. “Do you understand this?”

“Yes.” My voice breaks and my eyes flood with tears. I feel the supportive touch of Sin’s hand on my shoulder.

I’m being reeled in because it’s nearly impossible for a random stranger to guess such specific things. I don’t want to believe in her, but I can’t stop myself. “My mom’s okay?”

“I couldn’t communicate with her if she weren’t.” Mary reaches across the folding table and takes my hands. “Listen carefully, because this is very important. This thing you’re planning to do isn’t going to make you happy. If you go through with it, it’ll eat at you and rob you of the joy you’re supposed to have with your husband and children.”

The fact that she just called me out on my plan to kill Thane briefly escapes me because I only hear two words. “Husband? Children?” I whisper.

“Nothing you do will change what happened.” She pats my hand and my body shudders from the chill. “Your mother doesn’t want you to put your future happiness in jeopardy by chasing an empty dream.”

A single tear rolls down my cheek as I search through my purse for a tip. I’m glad my head is down. I don’t want Sin to see me cry. “Thank you, Mary.”

We walk without talking for a while before Sin finally breaks the silence. “Could you stand that drink now instead of later?”

That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day. “Quite honestly, I think I could stand a few.”





Chapter Twenty





Sinclair Breckenridge




I hold up my empty glass so the bartender may see our need for refills. Two isn’t going to cut it. Bleu nods in agreement and a couple of more Black Labels are sitting in front of us within minutes.

Neither of us has mentioned what happened with the medium, but I know we’re both spooked.

I give up on Bleu being the first to broach the subject. “That wasn’t real, right? It had to be a hoax.”

“The logical side of my brain is trying to convince me it was a ruse but then I have this other side arguing against that. There’s no explanation for how she knew my mother called me Bleubird unless she was for real. And the chocolate chip cookies … how could she know that was something special I did with my mother?”

“I have no idea.”

Believing that she’s the real deal means accepting I’ll be married soon. Oddly, hearing that I’ll be happy with a wife and children doesn’t bring me joy—because that life doesn’t include Bleu. My time with her will be over much quicker than I’d like and I’m not excited by that prospect. “I don’t want to think about the things that woman said. All I want to do is drink a lot of whisky and then take you home to our bed.”