A Touch Menacing

by Leah Clifford

  Fury coursed through her veins. “A gift?” When she tried pulling away, Luke grabbed her wrist. Cocoa sloshed over the rim of her cup. “You wanted him Bound for your benefit. Don’t try to spin this.”

  Luke was near enough that his breath lent a bit of warmth to her cold lips. “And you used me to get well.”

  “So what is it this time?” she asked. “What happens when I’m of no use to you?”

  “I imagine the same thing that happened to me when Gabriel came for you.”

  I left him, she thought. As soon as Gabriel was back, I just walked away. Tentative, she tilted her head just enough to rest against Luke. “And if I say I should have stayed?” she asked. He jolted suddenly, his shoulder cracking against her chin.

  “What’s—” she started, but a knock interrupted her.

  “Go change,” he demanded. “Now.” He was already making his way to the door. He turned back to her, a finger raised for silence before he jabbed it toward his bedroom.

  She raced down the hall and through the bedroom door. Just before it slammed, she splayed her fingers against the jamb, blocked it from closing. She pressed to the crack, gritting her teeth against the sting in her hand.

  Luke had opened the door a few inches and then slid his boot up against it, double security for the thick chain lock. “. . . were supposed to report back, not bring me remains,” Luke was saying. She heard his soft curse at whoever was outside. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, is he alive?”

  She bit her lip. Whoever was outside had brought a Sider. Kristen was sure of it.

  The hinges creaked as her weight shifted, and Luke’s hand shot out behind him. She froze. He held up a single finger to keep her from moving. No other part of him acknowledged her in any way. For a few moments, his voice dropped too low for her to hear. “Take two others with you and go,” he said to the visitor through the three-inch gap. “Let me know who you see there.”

  A muffled reply.

  Satisfied, Luke closed the door and engaged the dead bolt. His other arm was still cocked back toward her, the finger held up. For a long moment he only stood, silent. Finally, he relaxed his stance. “You can come out,” he said, motioning to her as he took a seat on one of the bar stools.

  “Where’s the Sider? Is he hurt?” she asked, rushing toward the door.

  Luke grabbed her as she passed. “It wasn’t Sebastian.”

  “You say that like he’s the only one who matters.” She dug in with her bare heels, straining against his grip. It was then that she noticed the strange smell. Wet smolder. “Let me go! I can dose him! Help him heal!”

  “There’s no one out there anymore, Kristen.”

  She stopped fighting.

  “That Sider was burned terribly and suffering.” He met her eyes at the hurt sound that broke from her. “My demons took him away before you even made it out of the room.”

  “Took him where?” she asked.

  “To Eden. He’ll be out of his misery in minutes if she has an ounce of compassion in her.” Luke ran his fingertip around the rim of her abandoned mug.

  The piece of mercy wasn’t like him. She didn’t trust it. “Why would you do that?”

  “Eden’s Siders are still poisoning Upstairs. With the Bound so busy down here, maybe he’ll slip through, take out a few souls before they catch him.”

  She dropped back onto the chair. The night had been too much. “Madeline’s really dead?” she asked. Luke nodded. “Maybe you should have saved her, instead,” she said, struggling to hide how distraught she was. “After all, she was loyal to you. Feeding you information. Why save me and not her, Luke?”

  He went back to the mug, circling the rim. “Because you were enough,” he said. “And what I wanted.”

  She watched his finger, the slow, calculated turn. Whatever plot Luke had set into motion, she wasn’t naïve enough to believe she was the endgame.

  CHAPTER 20

  By the time they’d gotten back to the apartment, the fog in Jarrod’s head had dulled. Sullivan still helped him up the four flights of stairs. When Az opened the door, Jarrod plowed past him.

  “Eden!” he yelled. He turned back to Az, shaking with fury. “Where is she?”

  “Bedroom,” Az said, already making his way back there. “We got lucky. There was a kid waiting on the stairs. She’s still rough, though.”

  “And now she’s weak and in a place the Bound know. We need to leave. It’s not safe,” he said.

  “Nowhere is safe,” Az shot back.

  “You don’t get to just whisk in here and fuck everything up.” Jarrod strode forward, but Az didn’t back down.

  “I got her out of danger,” Az said. “I brought her here. Where were you when Eden and Sullivan were getting the shit beat out of them?”

  “Screw you,” Jarrod spat, inching closer. I can take him, Jarrod thought. Adrenaline pumped through him, all the helpless rage he’d felt. Just as he started to clench his hands into fists, fingers entwined with his. He looked at Sullivan in surprise.

  “Please,” she said quietly. “This doesn’t help anything. Az didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Az stepped back, his voice careful and apologetic. “She wouldn’t be able to kill any Siders if she stopped breathing, right? I was worried she wouldn’t make it.”

  Jarrod shifted from foot to foot, knowing Az was right. “At least agree with me that we need to get out of here,” Jarrod said.

  Az crossed his arms. “Look around the apartment. Is anything different? Out of place? A door open that you know you shut. Anything.”

  Jarrod glanced around. They’d left in a rush, but everything looked the same. “Not that I can see,” he answered.

  “I don’t think the Bound have been here,” Az said. “Which means they can’t get in without using the door.” He turned toward Eden in the bedroom, his back bare, his wings tucked tight into two hollows on either side of his spine. “Just give her a little time.”

  “But Gabe can get in,” Sullivan said. “He said we had to leave.”

  Az looked back over his shoulder, his irises ringed red. “The Bound just massacred his friends. I wouldn’t exactly be worried about Gabe right now.”

  The faint sound of Eden calling took Az back into the bedroom.

  Dropping into the armchair, Sullivan picked up the remote and turned on the television.

  “What’re you doing?” Jarrod asked.

  “I want to see what they say.” After flicking through a few channels, Sullivan stopped on the news. On the television, the reporter’s face was grim beneath the fur lining of her hood. The pillars of Kristen’s porch gleamed white against the blackened house in the background.

  Half of the second floor was entirely gone.

  Jarrod sunk onto the arm of the couch. “Oh my God,” he whispered.

  “Neighbors have stated a party was taking place at the time of the fire, Tom, and police are still searching,” the reporter went on, turning to give the camera an opportunity to get a dramatic sweep of the steaming wreckage, “but as of this time no bodies have been found.”

  “Fire’s the perfect cover for a hell of a lot of ashes,” Jarrod mumbled. He clicked over to the next channel. Another news crew, this one on the other side of the lawn. “. . . are now saying one body, that of a young woman, was found near a back entrance at the property. Police have stated the cause of death is being investigated but is not—again, is not—believed to be related to the fire.”

  In the armchair, Sullivan snapped to attention. “What’s that mean? How could they find someone?”

  Jarrod dropped his head, drove his forehead against the heels of his palms. “Does it matter?” he burst out, throwing down his hands. “We’ve got to get the fuck out of here! The Bound hit Milton’s. They hit Kristen’s. We have to get Eden and leave before—”

  The loud buzz of the intercom cut him off. Sullivan jumped out of the chair. Another buzz droned.

  Eden’s bedroom door opened. Az stood on the threshold. Jarr
od took a hesitant step toward the intercom and then broke for it. “Who is it?” he yelled into the box.

  Instead of a voice, there was a series of clicks.

  “Oh God, it’s the Bound,” Sullivan whispered.

  Jarrod hit the intercom again. “Who the fuck is this?”

  The clicks sounded. Tickticktick—a pause—and then three long shudders, almost as if someone had scratched over the slots of the speaker —tickticktick.

  “Code.” Eden’s rasp barely made it out of the room. “Morse code.”

  Sullivan ripped her coat from the hook beside the door and grabbed for the knob, but Jarrod blocked her.

  “No.”

  She stared up at him. “Eden’s right. Three short, three long, three short. It’s SOS. Someone’s hurt, Jarrod!”

  “You’re ready to just rush out there?” he asked. “You don’t think it could be a trap? Seriously, that never crossed your mind?”

  She met Jarrod’s glare. “And if it’s not?”

  Az had come back into the living room. “Then it’s a Sider. One more, and Eden will be strong enough to move. Maybe there are two.” When Jarrod glanced over at him, Az’s eyes flicked to Sullivan pointedly. Jarrod turned just in time to see her rubbing her palm. He grabbed her wrist, saw the black on her fingertips.

  “When did this start?” he asked in disbelief. Everything else faded away. He searched her face, her pallor, looking for signs he’d missed. She’s sick. She’s dying.

  “It’s not bad yet,” she said, as if it would be some consolation.

  “Damn it, that’s not the point.” Jarrod jammed on his shoes. He rushed down the flights of stairs, but stopped just before the bend that would let him see out the windows beside the security door.

  Sullivan and Az had followed right behind him. Together, they stepped around the corner. A scream tore out of Sullivan even as she tried to squelch it.

  Faces.

  They pressed against the glass, three of them, heads swiveling as if they rolled on broken necks. Across their cheeks, black smears stood out against pale skin. One tapped his finger against the glass and then curled it, calling them closer.

  The girl was the same demon they’d seen at Milton’s, but this time her features seemed to shimmer slightly in and out of focus. Her lips came closer to the glass. She blew an oval of steam. For, a claw of a finger squeaked out, Eden. The steam evaporated. She pointed down, below the window, where Jarrod couldn’t see. Come out, the thing mouthed.

  At the sight of Sullivan, the demon raised a hand and gave a slight wave, a smile cracking a horizontal split across its face. It faltered as it caught sight of Az.

  “They can’t be near me,” Az said, slowly taking a step down. “I’m only half Fallen, which means to them, I’m still half Bound.” For every step they retreated, Az moved forward one. Jarrod watched Az’s wings spread, slide up over the railing, and spill across the stairwell. Slowly, the demonic trio backed off the stairs and onto the sidewalk, retreating until they were down the street, out of sight. Only then did Az open the door.

  “Jarrod,” he called out. “Come on. I need your help.”

  On the stoop, leaned against the building, was a hulking mass of blackened . . . something. Oh God, that can’t be a person. Then the smell hit him. Smoke and meat. Cooked flesh. Jarrod gagged.

  It moaned.

  “Jesus Christ.” Sullivan pushed around him and dropped to her knees beside what was left of the Sider. When she looked up, Jarrod saw her horror, but her voice came out unwavering. “We have to get him upstairs.”

  “Az, get Eden. Bring her down.”

  “No.” Sullivan’s demand stopped Az before he could take off. “Help me. We’ve got to get him up.” The Sider screamed as she slipped her arms under his. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  Four flights of agony. Stifled moans, as if the Sider knew he had to keep quiet, couldn’t let the neighbors hear and come to investigate. The smell was awful. What the hell are we doing? he thought. Twice he stopped, but Sullivan urged him on. “Please, just help me,” she said.

  Finally, they got the Sider inside the apartment and set him on the couch.

  Sullivan lowered, worked slowly, pulling strips of what used to be a shirt off the shoulder. The cracks in his skin wept pink liquid. A mix of fluid and blood, it ran like tears over his bumpy skin and dripped off to soak into the cushions.

  “I need cold water,” she said. “Any towels you can find me. Fast.”

  Jarrod squeezed her shoulder. This was only drawing out the burned Sider’s agony. “Eden will take away his pain a lot faster than—”

  “Now!” she snapped.

  Jarrod gestured for Az to follow him. In the kitchen, the tinny splash of water filling the mixing bowl covered his words. “Get Eden,” Jarrod told him. “I don’t know what Sullivan’s doing. It would take a dozen Siders’ worth of Touch to heal him, and even then . . .” He couldn’t figure it out. Az took the bowl and a clean hand towel from the cabinet.

  When they came around the corner, Sullivan’s fingers hovered, shaking, just above the Sider’s blistered black skin. “Hang in there,” she said. “I’ll fix you.”

  Az set the bowl beside her. It sloshed over the edges onto the carpet. “We’re not torturing him anymore.”

  “You don’t recognize him? Jarrod.” Her head snapped up. “Please. It’s Vaughn.”

  The room was silent except for Vaughn’s cries as she laid the sopping cold towel on him, the steady plop of dripping water. Every drop, every touch seemed to drive him further into agony.

  Suddenly, Az stood.

  “Don’t make Eden kill him!” Sullivan begged, catching his hand before he could leave.

  Vaughn croaked out a whisper. She leaned closer, dabbing at his wrecked face. Blisters burst in her wake. His charred fingers rose suddenly, clamped around her wrist. She froze, staring down in horror. The touch dropped her glamour.

  Her skin molded over, sores opening on her arms. Her mouth opened wide in terror.

  “They killed us,” Vaughn rasped, oblivious. “They killed us all.”

  “Get him off me.” Sullivan’s words sped up as she spoke, slurring together. “Jarrod, get him off me. Get him off me now!”

  Before Jarrod could move, Vaughn let go, one split and crumbling finger snapping off.

  “Please,” Vaughn moaned. “Make it stop.”

  Sullivan staggered backward. Just before she bumped into Jarrod, she turned. Gray tears streamed down her cheeks. “I can’t help him. I can’t do this,” she whispered, her fingers gripping fistfuls of Jarrod’s shirt even as his arms came around her. “I have to get out of here.”

  He looked at Az helplessly, stroking her hair. Seconds ago she’d been strong, determined. Now she melted into his shoulder, barely holding herself up.

  “I’ll get Eden,” Az said, already heading in that direction.

  Sullivan ripped away, heading for Jarrod’s bedroom, leaving him behind, unsure what to do.

  “Come on,” he heard Az say to Eden. “I’ve got you.” Az came out, Eden hoisted in his arms, balled up tight. “Jarrod, go after Sullivan. Close your door,” he said as he passed.

  In his room, Sullivan sat on the bed with her back against the wall, her knees pulled up against her chest. Through the door, sounds came from the living room, Eden’s voice breaking and all the awful sounds Vaughn was making.

  Jarrod swallowed hard. “Even if you’d been able to pass to him, it wouldn’t have . . .” He trailed off when she looked up at him, tears trickling down her cheeks. He moved a foot closer, still keeping enough space between them that it was her choice if she wanted to come to him. He didn’t know whether to touch her or not, what would help. “This isn’t your fault. You know that, right?”

  Something in her gaze hardened. “Don’t patronize me.”

  “Patronize?” Jarrod cocked his head. “This was the Bound, Sullivan. They did this. They would have tried to kill us, too, if we were there.” />
  “But I . . .” Her shoulders shook, her eyes wide and confused and afraid. “I wished for it. I wished it so many times, for him to die. Even before I took off. I just never thought. . . .”

  He deserved that and more for what he did to you, Jarrod thought, his confusion slowly edging into anger. How could she be crying over Vaughn after everything he’d done to her?

  He remembered what it was like when James died and they’d found him in a doorway. Adam, killed by Libby on the roof. Neither death compared to waking up in the alley, his head screaming and Sullivan and Eden gone. He’d thought for sure they’d both been ash. He’d never lost anyone he’d loved. There was a knock on the door.

  “Yeah,” Jarrod said, his voice weak. Az’s head popped into the room.

  “It’s done,” he whispered, peeking at Sullivan’s back, his face clouded with worry. His fingers curled around the frame. “There’s something you need to know. About Gabe.”

  “Now?” Jarrod said.

  Az dropped his eyes to the floor. “You know how on the roof, when we were fighting Luke, Gabe couldn’t keep from confessing what he’d done to Eden? How it was just a compulsion?” Jarrod nodded. “Well, Upstairs it’s the same way for promises.” Az hesitated. “Gabe promised he would kill Eden.”

  Jarrod’s arms fell away from Sullivan as he stood in surprise. “What?”

  “It’s not what you think!” Az said quickly. “Gabe set up the Bound. Once he made the promise, he has to be the one to fulfill it. None of the Bound can kill her but him. It was all he could do to protect her.”

  Jarrod shook his head, trying to wrap his brain around the idea. “You angels are fucked up.”

  Az didn’t bother to deny it. “It would be better for him if he didn’t know where she was,” he said, his brow furrowed. “Eden told me how he came here. That he wants her to find out how the Siders started.”

  Jarrod nodded as he made his way to the doorway.

  “I think that’s a good idea,” Az said, stepping back into the hall. He glanced over to where Sullivan had curled up in the bed. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “She’s like Eden now, isn’t she?”