Page 1 of Deadly Sins: Envy

CHAPTER 1

Envy (n.)A feeling of discontent or covetousness with regard to another’s advantages, success, possessions, etc.

It had been a long, tiresome few months for Willow Cooper, a twenty-six-year-old guitarist and lead singer for The Wild Honeybees. Over the last few weeks alone, her two-person band had toured twelve cities in three states, and they still had another month to go before the tour wrapped up. Tonight’s performance was in her hometown of New Orleans at the Crescent City Blues & Barbecue Festival held in Lafayette Park. Connecting with the excited, interactive crowd invigorated her, and for a time, she forgot all about the sleep she’d been lacking.

After her set concluded for the night, Willow invited a few family members and friends to join her for a celebratory drink at 3 O’clock Blues, her favorite local bar. She played catch up for a while and then decided to call it a night when her phone buzzed. She held it in front of her while reading a text message from Dean, her ex-boyfriend.

Saw you at the festival tonight.

You were amazing.

If you have time, come over.

Would love to see you before you go.

I’ve missed you.

Willow clicked the phone off and smiled. She hadn’t seen Dean in three months. The last time they were together, they’d argued about the same thing they always argued about—moving in together. He wanted to move forward in the relationship. She wanted to wait. He was tired of waiting. So, when he gave her an ultimatum of moving in or breaking up, she walked out of his apartment and his life for what she feared was forever.

Thinking back on the experience now, tears pooled in her eyes. She loved Dean. He was the reason she’d chosen not to date anyone since. But his ultimatum had stunned her, crushing the hopes she’d had for her own future. The way she saw it, if he loved her, he never would have forced her to choose in the first place. But now she’d had time to reflect, and she realized part of the blame for their fallout was hers. She hadn’t handled it well. She could have stayed that night. She could have agreed to think about what he was asking and discuss it further the following day. Instead, she did what she always did when faced with an uncomfortable confrontation—she ran.

Willow shoved the cell phone inside her purse, chugged a glass of water, and said her goodbyes to the group. Dean’s place was five blocks away, just far enough for her to gather her thoughts before she arrived.

She rounded the corner onto Dumaine Street, pausing a moment when she passed the home that Tennessee Williams had lived in for a time before his death in 1983. She breathed in the fragrant night air and thought about the first thing she’d say to Dean. Two words came to mind:I’m sorry.

Shewassorry.

If she could have wound the clock back to the minute before she’d stormed out of his place, she was certain they’d still be together now.

Maybe it wasn’t too late.

A breeze kicked up and, with it, a flicker of what appeared to be someone lurking in the shadows nearby, waiting and watching. Willow craned her head, peering into the darkness. The shadow didn’t move.

Stop being paranoid. It’s nothing.

She continued on, glancing over her shoulder from time to time as she walked. The shadowy figure was enough to put her on edge, and now she swore she heard footsteps. She looked back, walked a little more, and looked back again.

No one was there.

Two more blocks to go, and I’ll be at Dean’s place, and this nonsense will all be over.

No matter what she did to quell her feelings of unrest, there was a nervous tension she couldn’t shake tonight. It rattled her enough that she reached inside her handbag and removed her keyring. She slid a key between two of her fingers so it jutted out like a knife, a protection tactic she’d seen once on a self-defense video online. It wasn’t everything, but it was something, and for nowsomethingeased her nervousness a little.

She reached Dean’s block and saw him sitting beneath the light on his front porch, staring up the street, waiting. Heart pounding in her chest, the words she’d rehearsed before no longer seemed like enough. She didn’t just want to tell him how she felt—she wanted to show him.

Dean saw her coming and stood, and Willow sprinted in his direction. She spread her arms, planning to wrap him in an embrace, but stopped short when a woman stepped out of his house, bent down, and said something to Dean. The woman was unfamiliar, someone Willow had never seen before. Confused, Willow lowered her arms and greeted Dean with a stiff, awkward, “Hey.”

“Hey!” he said. “I’m just ... I can’t believe ... you’re here! It’s great to see you. I’m glad you came.”

Dean threw his arms around her and pulled her close. She gave him a few quick pats on the back and then stepped aside, her focus shifting to the mysterious woman.

“Hi, I’m Willow,” she said. “And you are ...?”

“Blake.”

Tall. Long, blond hair. Lanky. Perfect skin.

She looked like a Blake.

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