Red bulbs flickered, driving them down the narrow hall. Eden tried trailing her fingers on the black-painted plywood as they walked, but splinters scraped into them. Without the distraction, the nervous energy built in her.
“I don’t know about this.” The sudden lack of people was oddly unsettling. Libby’s footsteps echoed through the tight space.
“Do you want to go back?”
“No,” Eden answered as she tried to stay close, somewhere between walking and running. “But could you at least slow down, Libby!”
A trickle of fear puddled in her stomach, but she managed to fight it off until they rounded the corner into a room.
The light from a wide circle of dozens of candles fought to cancel out the purple hazy glow from blacklights. The walls were painted in fading Day-Glo, neon mushrooms and ripped posters advertising shows from months ago. The musicians she’d seen on the stage occupied black beanbag chairs randomly thrown about the room.
One of the backup singers had tilted each of the candles near her, the different colors of wax splattering in front of her like a Jackson Pollock painting. Now she ran her fingers through it, smearing little peaks and valleys into the mess. Definitely in her own little world, Eden thought, wondering what the girl was on. The room looked like some kind of circus on an acid trip.
Eden’s eyes stopped short at the head of the circle. The singer. His head snapped up.
“I wondered if you’d make it back here!” he said, smiling as he rose to his feet. His tone was one part surprise, one part pride, like they’d just conquered some kind of labyrinth instead of a straight hallway. Beside her, she saw Libby shudder. “It’s a pleasure.”
He kept his eyes on Eden. “Now, she’s Libby, but I didn’t catch…”
“How did you know her name?” Eden asked, but he waved off the question with a flurry of his fingers.
“Sound carries in the hall. What’s your name?” he asked again, taking a step closer.
“And who are you?” she asked, denying him. The thought occurred to her too late to make something up.
“Me? I’m just a singer in a rock and roll band.” He laughed then, a sound like static feedback.
Eden couldn’t choke back her own snort at the melodrama. “This is all a bit…ridiculous, no?”
“Eden!” Libby mumbled. “Don’t be a bitch.” The singer gave her a smile, and then turned back to Eden, his face full of apology.
“You’ll just have to forgive me, Eden. If you can find it in your heart.” His voice was different than it had been the night she had first heard him or earlier, when he’d been onstage. The heavy smoothness had gone, leaving it sarcastic and pitchy. Condescending, Eden realized. He’s playing with me.
“Well, honestly, I don’t know what I was expecting, but I’m let down,” she said. “Let’s go.” She reached for Libby’s arm, but the singer slid between them, grabbing Eden’s wrist. She splayed her fingers away from him, yanking back.
“Eden doesn’t like games,” he said loudly.
It was a command; a cease and desist order.
The drummer set down his sticks and picked up a book that had been lying next to him. Wax girl scraped the last of her art from her fingers, looking embarrassed. Someone else turned on the lights, and suddenly the room lost its strange feel and became only a dingy backstage hideaway.
“Better?” The velvet undercurrent had flowed back into his words. “So no games?” He didn’t wait for her to answer before he released his grip. Eden’s cell phone trilled in her pocket.
“Silence is golden,” he said as she pulled it out.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” In her hand the last notes of her ring tone played out. She glanced at the caller ID. Fucking Adam.
“I think he means put it on silent,” Libby whispered. Eden shrugged, thumbing the volume down.
“Meanwhile,” he said, turning to Libby, “my drummer has taken a special interest in you, my dear.”
“Drummer?” Libby’s smile faltered. A flash of impatience clouded his dark eyes and then dispelled.
“He insisted on the chance to meet you.” He leaned in, close enough to not be overheard by the drummer, but Eden could still hear the exchange. “I’d consider it a personal favor,” he said, with an emphasis on the “personal” that nixed any chance Libby had to deny the request.
“Let’s give them some privacy?” the singer suggested, as Libby plopped down next to the drummer’s beanbag. He led Eden through a back door she hadn’t noticed before, grabbing a bottle of water on their way out.
Not until the door closed behind them did she realize how ludicrous his line had been. A half dozen other people were in the room with Libby. But Eden was alone. With him. I still don’t know his name, she realized.
She took a quick survey of the back lot, weighing her escape options. A tall wooden fence cut off the street. A green recycling Dumpster with glass scrawled across the front in fading permanent marker and another labeled cardboard were too far from the fence to climb and use to jump over it.
He leaned against the door, the only way in or out, casually running a hand through his long curls before letting out a heavy sigh.
“God, that club gets hot as Hell,” he said, twisting the cap off the water bottle and taking a long drink. Eden licked her lips. He held it out to her, but she shook her head. The last thing she needed was to pass him Touch. “You have to be thirsty.”
“No thanks,” Eden said thickly, but it took every ounce of her resolve not to reach for his offering. He rolled his eyes.
“It’s just water. Look,” he said, taking another drink. The bottle was half empty now. Her lips stuck together when she parted them. He adjusted his grip, holding it by the neck, offering her the base.
“Thanks,” she said, taking the bottle. She took a swig and tossed it back. He raised an eyebrow as he caught it. “Is this your attempt at luring me in with your ‘bad-ass rocker boy’ act?” she asked, leaning against the Dumpster. “Because I’m afraid it’s hopeless.”
“You think I’m after some groupie blow job?” Looking down, he wore a coy grin as he kicked the toe of his boot absently against the concrete. “Well, at least I know you swallow. Come off it, Eden. I know the crowd you hang with.” He spit out the sentence with disdain. The ball of tension in her chest bloomed into fear.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
He moved slowly, hands spread wide and low, the heels of his combat boots scraping across the asphalt with each step. When he reached for her hand, she pulled back instinctively, but he caught her, fingers tightening around her shirtsleeve. A cloud of breath hissed through her teeth.
“Easy,” he whispered gently, raising her struggling hand to his cheek. Eden froze as he laid her palm against his skin.
There was no glow.
“You’re one of the Fallen.” She whispered it. Somehow saying it out loud only made it more unsettling.
“I sure as Hell don’t have your boyfriend’s pretty wings.” His eyes danced playfully as she tensed. He leaned back against the door, pulling out a cigarette, lighting it with the Zippo he flicked across his hip. “So it’s true then. The rebellious Az is shacking up with the Rogue!” He sounded delighted.
“He is not my boyfriend,” she said, through gritted teeth.
“Even better,” he interrupted. “No loyalties.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t have loyalties. I only said I wasn’t with him.” She risked a glance at him. “What do you want? If you were going to kill me, you would have done it already.”
“Obviously, Az and Gabriel haven’t told you about my style.” He breathed, the end of the cigarette glowing red, then slowly fading to gray in the silence. A reminiscent smile crossed his lips. “Your boyfriend’s heartstrings make such a lovely melody when they snap.”
She flashed back to Az on the balcony. The girl, the reason he’d been cast out. Dead, he’d said. They’ll hurt you, Eden. There’d been so much fear in his eyes. What
had they done to her? “Az and I are barely even friends,” she whispered.
The door opened suddenly, slamming into his back. The drummer leaned his head out.
“Luke, three minutes,” he said before the door fell closed again.
Luke. Lucifer. “Jesus Christ.” She slid back a step.
“Hardly.” He cocked his head, his smile twisting to a smirk. “Oh, come now. Don’t get judgmental. Tales of war are always told by the victors. Add a few translation errors and suddenly I have this horrible reputation. I mean, I’m Dawn’s Supernova. Where’s the darkness in that?”
Eden raised an eyebrow, trying to keep her terror hidden as she leaned against the cold metal of the Dumpster. “You’re Dawn’s Supernova? Bit of an ego. What about the rest of them?”
“Lesser demons. I’d love to get into it, but unfortunately, I’ve got a show to do. Perhaps we should get to it.” He hit the cigarette, blew out a quick exhale. “Holy wars have become so cliché these days. I approached Gabriel about a truce, hoping he’d be able to put aside our differences to figure out what’s going on with you Siders. I’d get my answers, he’d save you and Kristen. He was less than enthusiastic.”
“You know Kristen?” Eden’s stomach dropped.
He smirked. “Of course I do. I know quite a few Siders. Unfortunately, Kristen isn’t exactly my number one fan. She made it clear she’s a harps and hymns girl.” At his back the door opened an inch, but Luke knocked his shoulder back, shutting it. “Coming!” he yelled.
“Look. The Siders will get noticed by the Bound. And when they do, you’ll be their first victim. If I were you, I wouldn’t make any declarations of loyalty just yet.” He reached a hand behind him, feeling for the knob. “I was hoping we could work together? That you’d at least consider it.” He twisted the knob, but didn’t open the door. “Before we head back in…”
Here’s the trap, she thought.
He tapped a finger against his cheek as if considering something. “I’m wondering if I could ask a favor. In the spirit of future friendship and all.”
The door was right there, her escape blocked only by his broad shoulders. Eden nodded absently, stepping closer.
“Rumor is you’re on lockdown. If an opportunity presents itself, I’d like to be able to continue this conversation. There’s no reason for Gabriel to know we’ve spoken. Any objections?”
“I’ll have to think about it,” she said.
“My second request.” He pulled the metal door and held it open, his arm high, so that she’d have to duck under to go through. Eden waited for him to speak, but when he didn’t she moved forward, her last few steps a dash for the backstage room. He caught her shoulder as she went through, freezing her at the threshold. Eden kept her eyes ahead.
Inside, the lights were still on. Libby was on a beanbag chair, her hands moving in some conversation Eden was too far away to catch.
“I want you to be careful around Az,” he said. Eden’s attention snapped to him.
“Az? Why?”
“You of all people should know, Eden,” he said, his voice low and guttural. “Because he’s only half Fallen. Struggling constantly with violent urges.” He dropped his arm so she could pass. “How did you die?”
CHAPTER 41
Snowflakes melted on the window of the cab, headlights flicked kaleidoscopes of shadows and glare, but Eden didn’t see any of it.
She heard Libby’s voice change, but only as a distant hum of confusion.
For a block, she leaned against the window, but the cold leeched through the glass. She dropped back onto the worn vinyl, tried to push Luke’s last line out of her mind.
How did you die? The cocky insistence in it. Her mind drifted back to the night in the hotel. Luke had been implying something. What if I didn’t do it? she thought. What if Az did? He’d faked the fall or faked being hurt. But how would Az have known she’d run to the beach? If he wanted her dead, why didn’t he just do it in the room? It couldn’t be true. Only manipulation. Az had gone through with his elaborate plan because she had to do it herself. Suicide was her fate.
He was scared, though. Worried about the Fallen hurting her.
When the cab stopped she exited, then moved up the stairs. She didn’t wait for Libby to pay the driver.
A voice called as she slid her key into the door, and she fell out of the trance enough to know to wait.
“Jesus, Eden. You almost blew it!” Libby hissed. Eden stared at her blankly. “Clothes?” she reminded her, sweeping a hand over the short skirt she most certainly hadn’t been seen leaving the apartment in. “What happened? What’s wrong with you?” Libby asked when they’d made their way to the alley. Eden blinked slowly, sliding her jeans over the skirt, tucking it into the legs so it didn’t bunch.
“Nothing,” Eden said quickly, leading the way around the corner and through the entrance. In the stairwell their footfalls echoed, collapsing over one another, complicating with each flight.
At the apartment door, Libby slid her hand over the keyhole before Eden had a chance to unlock it. Eden didn’t speak, just stared at the door. Her fingers held the key, waiting.
Eden forced herself to look at her.
“God, you’re like a zombie.” Libby searched her face. “You better at least fake something. If you go in like this…What’s going on, Eden?”
“I’m fine,” she said. Libby hesitated and then finally stepped back toward the door.
Eden twisted the key and opened it.
Adam sat stiffly at one end of the couch. On the other end, as far from him as possible, Az turned, a bowl of popcorn balanced on his knees. Even she could feel the tension between the two.
“You’re back,” Adam sighed in relief, getting to his feet. “How was the movie?”
There was a second of silence before Libby covered for her, bubbling out some current box office plot she’d Googled earlier. Hours ago she’d made Eden memorize the details. Now there was nothing.
“Eden?” Adam asked, waving a hand in front of her face.
“Yeah?” she said, trying to force herself to smile.
“So you had a good time, then?” Adam asked. The way he said it, she knew it hadn’t been the first time. Maybe not even the second.
“Was the movie any good?” The voice was calm and strong, reassuring, until she realized Adam’s lips hadn’t moved. He was talking to her.
She looked around the room. Az was on the couch, and the light burning under Jarrod’s door gave away his location. “Is Gabe here?” she asked.
Az laughed. “No, we’re totally in the clear. No worries.” He smiled at her. Eden cringed before she could flick the veil of a smile back into place.
“No worries,” she echoed. The two words hummed darkly. She could taste them, coppery and bitter, when she opened her mouth to speak.
She hesitated, trying not to look at him, knowing it made her look guilty. He’d twisted to face her, the bowl of popcorn settling in a tilt on his thigh. A few of the kernels drifted into the crack between the cushions. Az letting her go through with her death, doing what would happen anyway…. It was wrong, but it wasn’t murder. When she’d woken up at Kristen’s, her clothes had been damp. He lied, screwed up, Eden thought. He wouldn’t kill me. I drowned. She imagined Az, holding her under the water, swallowed hard at the thought of his hands around her throat. In her mind, he laughed as she fought underneath him. Enjoyed it. No, Eden demanded, forcing the image away.
“Thanks, Libby. I really needed it,” she said, keeping her tone light and grateful. “But I’m gonna let her fill you guys in. I’m beat.” She pulled her hands into the sleeves of her sweatshirt. Her imagination clicked into overdrive, visions of Az pummeling her in a rage. He’s never been violent with me. Never. Luke was just trying to fuck with my head.
The girl was babbling before Eden had even closed her bedroom door. The heavy wood cut her voice off mid-tangent, something about pasta and chocolate cake.
Her blood hissed agains
t her temples, empty static. The room was too quiet. She opened the window just a crack to let the far-off sounds of the traffic in, but it hardly helped.
Standing in front of her nightstand, she opened the drawer. Inside, the portrait of her and Az sat on top of receipts and loose change. She thought about throwing it out the window, even craved the sound the shattering glass would make as it hit the asphalt. Instead, she tossed it into the closet, telling herself she hadn’t deliberately aimed for the pile of clothes in the corner, and stretched out on top of the covers.
Could it have been him? She stared up at the canopy above her, counting the holes in the lacy material. Think it through. Prove it to yourself. What happened that night? Me and Az were on the balcony. He went over. Hit. Even now, knowing it was an act, she felt sick. And then what? Running down the stairwell. Lobby. Boardwalk. Everything after was hazy, darker the further past sunset her mind reached. I was on the beach. I told Gabe to leave. I was alone on the beach.
Cold air drafted through the screen and past her. She held her muscles taut, not allowing herself to shiver. She made each inhale a sharp sip, let the air out far too slow.
Her temples ached from the concentration. I was alone on the beach. And then… Eden gasped. Her eyes shot open. The sound of a footstep. Muffled by the sand, but loud enough to be heard, loud enough that she’d turned. Someone had been there.
Stars prickled her vision. She sucked a shaky breath, looped the memory, and played it over again in her head. The footstep—she started to turn and then, nothing. Had it been Gabe coming back to check on her?
No. Her heart ached. Please be wrong, she thought. Az couldn’t hurt me like that.
Another image fought its way up. Az here, in the kitchen. She remembered the way he’d gripped the spatula, his knuckles white. Sometimes your brain shuts out the bad stuff. She’d thought he was talking about her nightmare.
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