A Touch Morbid

by Leah Clifford

  She’ll never find us. Her gaze snapped up. They were still in there. Shhh shhh! a girl’s voice hissed, and the quiet fell thick as wet snow. Kristen could feel the heavy weight, building on her shoulders.

  “You will be so very sorry when I find you,” she promised. The pressure lifted a bit with her words. “Do you know what I do all day alone in my room? I plot your punishments. You’re all so weak and disorganized. There’s no order unless I give it to you.”

  A giggle erupted around her.

  Look at her. She looks like a crazy person.

  “I am not crazy.” Tears burned her eyes and the laugh sounded again, this time from the hall. She glided out the door, cautious and silent. She needed to hear where they were. Find them. Break them into tiny pieces. Her eyes roamed over the walls, trying to pinpoint a location.

  Where are we, Kristen? Why can’t you find us? Don’t you delight in a good game of hide-and-seek? the voice lilted, the teasing tone mocking her in an impression of her own.

  “You stop this. You stop this now!” They had to be in the ducts. Down the hall a door opened. Her hand shot up, pointing though she kept her eyes glued to the vents. “Get back into your room. This is none of your business.” The door closed quickly. “You see?” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper so they wouldn’t be overheard. “That’s control. I’m admired. I’m strong. I keep you all safe. Safe and free from all the chaos, and this is how you treat me?”

  Do you think we should tell her? one voice asked the other. She was closing in on them. She has to know. Kristen took a tentative step, her head cocked.

  Could she really be that far gone?

  Well, the other voice answered. She lost her guardian angel. He carried her mind with him.

  “Don’t listen,” Kristen whispered to herself. “Concentrate.”

  Look at her. She’s ranting at the walls. Kristen’s foot faltered, frozen midair. They were right. If Sebastian found her like this, he’d think something was wrong. She thinks there are people in the vents. When the voice spoke again, it didn’t come from the vent. Not from the walls. Not down the hall.

  I think she figured out where we are, it whispered. Directly in her ear.

  Kristen ran.

  CHAPTER 11

  Eden stared, bleary-eyed, down at the package sitting in the hall, over the threshold of the open door to the apartment. Her name and address were scrawled across the top of plain brown paper, which couldn’t be right. She blinked hard, trying to cast away the fog in her brain. She’d made it in without waking Az or Jarrod last night, but the buzz of sneaking out and then back in had robbed her of any hope of sleep. When she focused again, the package was still there.

  She shot a quick glance over her shoulder. Az was in the kitchen. She could hear Jarrod’s shower running.

  A foot-square box wasn’t the oddest thing to show up in her doorway, but it made the least sense. Eden and Jarrod didn’t normally get mail outside of the occasional junk pamphlets for Occupant, and the only personally addressed mail went to the name on the lease—Adam.

  Eden’s eyes were on the package, but her thoughts stayed on Adam. He’d been her partner even before Jarrod had joined their group, been more than that before Az had come back into her life.

  “What’re you doing?” Az grabbed her shoulder, startling her. When she didn’t answer, he moved forward, leaning against her, his presence bringing her comfort. She wasn’t prepared for the edge in his voice. “When did that get here?”

  “I heard a knock,” she said finally. “It was sitting here when I opened the door.”

  “Well,” Az teased, “that is typically how the mail gets delivered. Next step is to bring it inside. Advanced lessons include opening.”

  If she hadn’t known him better, the sarcasm would have been enough to have her discounting what seemed to be a tinge of fear in his tone. After last night with the Bound, though, his overly carefree act wasn’t working. Something was off. Why’s he sketched out? He kissed her neck and made a move to grab the box, but she beat him to it.

  “And who exactly would be mailing us anything?” she asked pointedly.

  “Kristen?” Az offered, but another name took root in Eden’s mind.

  “Gabe.” Eden ripped off the brown paper and slit the tape with her fingernail. With a deep breath, she lifted the cardboard flap.

  Bits of shredded paper fell out. She thought about digging through, but wasn’t exactly eager about sticking her hand into a mysterious box, contents unknown. Instead, she walked it to the couch and sat down.

  Az crossed his arms, standing beside her.

  Carefully, she overturned the container onto the coffee table. She poked the tangled strands of newsprint aside. Her fingernail tinked against something. Nestled in the center of the mess of paper was a glass vial, capped at the top.

  She looked at Az, uncertain.

  “Weird,” she said, lifting it to the light. “Is that dirt?” Inside were chalky-looking gray flakes, most of them disintegrated down to a fine powder that filled the tube halfway. Eden’s heart sped up. “Oh God, it’s ashes.”

  Az snatched the vial from her. He flipped over the dangling piece of brown paper with the address on it. “No return, but it’s not like we need it.” Eden raised an eyebrow, not following. “Luke’s way of saying hello. Making sure you remember him.”

  When Eden had taken out Siders, her breath had left them nothing more than ashes. Whoever had sent it knew what Eden could do. The question was intent. Was the package sent to taunt her, because she wouldn’t kill the Siders anymore? Was it some sort of threat?

  She took the tube from him, staring at it for a moment before she set it down on the table and wandered to the window. Her eyes fell to the street below, the bit of the front steps that she could make out. “What if he made another like me? What if he’s proving he has someone killing Siders?”

  “Let him.”

  She sighed, going back to watching the Siders below. The one who’d confronted her when she and Az had left last night paced the sidewalk in front of her building. “I’m not helping the Fallen. If Luke made someone who will, they need to be stopped.”

  “So you’ll find this Sider and kill them? All you’d be doing is sending them to the Basement. Instead of being tortured, the Fallen will reward them. Like a martyr. A saint.”

  At the window, Eden went still. “Is that what happened to Libby, then?” she asked quietly. She’d never thought about the Siders she’d killed still existing in any real sense, not with personalities or thoughts. Always pictured Upstairs as a place that absorbed you, took you in. The whole “white light” and all. Now that she actually visualized it, the theory seemed childish, unreal.

  “What’s it like? Upstairs?”

  In the long pause before Az answered, the Sider below crossed the street in front of their apartment complex. Was he giving up on waiting for her? Going back to wherever he came from?

  “Complicated,” Az said. “I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

  She raised an eyebrow, waiting him out, and after another silence, he finally spoke. “It’s a figment of your imagination. Upstairs. I can’t describe it to you.”

  “You can’t say it doesn’t exist. I mean, you’ve been there.” Her attention drifted back to the Sider. He leaned against the brick, one shoe kicked up behind him. Someone had joined him. They stood, too nonchalant to not be up to something.

  She heard Az cross the room. He joined her at the window. “Think about what makes you happy.”

  You, she thought first, and then a dozen things sprang into her head. Stupid things like coffee and simple things like summer and laughing. The smell the kicked-up ocean gave off after a storm.

  “Now what would make Kristen happy?”

  The words stopped her thoughts. Her brain struggled to switch gears, flashing back to the crypts Kristen raided for her dresses and jewelry, the strange knickknacks, dried roses, and small monkey in a jar of formaldehyde
she displayed on her mantle. The sadistic way she ruled her Siders. Power made her happy. Power and…

  “Poetry?” Eden offered.

  “An eternity of poetry,” he said. Eden frowned at the thought. “That. Right there.” Az’s eyes sparkled. “You’d hate having to read poetry forever, but to Kristen it’d be paradise. Upstairs is the same place, but tailored to each person. Slightly different.”

  “What was it like there for you?”

  She watched outside as the Sider’s hand shot out, but it was gloved. He snagged something from the person standing beside him. His glove came off. Eden’s own hand touched the glass. She strained to see. The Sider slid his fingers against his companion’s as they passed, each heading off in opposite directions. Were they Vaughn’s Siders?

  “Empty.” Az’s voice startled her. She’d forgotten her question until he went on. “We were never told we could dream.” She turned in his arms. His gaze pierced her, drew her in. “Until I got down here, I never knew there could be more. And now that I know, I can never go back. That place is Hell to me.”

  “I’m scared.” She said it without thinking. Her eyes drifted to the vial, on the table where Az had left it. “Luke’s going to keep coming for us. It’s never going to end.”

  His brow furrowed, before the creases faded and he smiled. “You and Jarrod had him crawling away last time. He’s afraid of you. How badass can he be, threatening you with a few boxes?”

  “A few boxes?”

  The smile dropped from his lips.

  “This isn’t the first?” She closed her eyes, trying desperately to reign in her anger. “How many?”

  “Eden, they don’t mean any—”

  “Az,” she said, her voice shaking. “You already lied to me. Don’t make it worse.”

  He swore under his breath. “Five, okay? All the same. Nothing but a pathetic attempt to freak you out. I didn’t want you to get upset.” He tried to hug her but she raised her shoulder, jerking away.

  “I don’t need to be coddled!”

  A ghost of a cocky grin crossed his lips. “Don’t I know it.”

  “Who’s really sending them? Michael? Is that what he meant about the smoldering?” She snatched up the vial, rolling it between her fingertips. “He knows the Siders turn to ash when I send them on, so he’s what, teasing me? Tempting me?”

  “Eden, Michael doesn’t know where we live. He doesn’t even know where Gabe’s and my apartment is.” Az crossed the room to the kitchen. The scent of fresh-brewed coffee hung strong in the air. “It’s gotta be Luke.”

  “You should have told me about the boxes, Az,” she muttered. It wasn’t worth fighting with him over. Not to mention what she’d been doing last night. “Luke’s going to make a move.”

  Az took two cups down from the cupboard, then slipped the coffee pot free. She held her cup out to him. “Eden, he’s not. And if he was, why wouldn’t he wait until we let our guard down?” he went on. “Come outta nowhere?”

  She tried to keep the tremor from her hand as he filled her cup. She looked up at him, met his eyes. “Because he wants us to know he’s coming,” she said. “He wants us afraid.”

  “Of what?” Az said, trying to reason with her. “What’s so scary about ashes?”

  Eden sipped her coffee. She crossed back into the living room, heard Jarrod getting ready for work in his room. “Because to a Sider, ashes only mean one thing, Az.” She thought of Adam, of Libby, and her stomach tightened in a cramp. “Death.”

  CHAPTER 12

  “Visitor. Counter,” Zach said as he passed.

  Jarrod tipped back to get a glimpse around a display. He only had to catch a fraction of her hood and black hair to know it was the girl. Sullivan. He pivoted, almost ducking behind the counter before he realized how stupid he’d look. Not to mention it was kind of pointless. Eden and Az seeing the Bound, Az’s freak-out—it had him wound up. Paranoid. He looked down at the macchiato he’d finished making and strode to the counter, completely ignoring her as he rang out the customer.

  Sullivan wasn’t smiling, her face dour. He was pretty sure the black under her eyes had gotten darker. Maybe she wasn’t sleeping. Maybe something had happened. She knew about Touch. Did she know about the angels, too? He shot a glance at Zach and caught him looking.

  Jarrod leaned over the counter, close enough that only the girl could hear him. “Look, you can’t bother me at work.”

  “Please talk to me.” She sounded totally spent. Looked it, too. She dropped her hands onto the counter between them. Jarrod tensed, thankful Zach was so adamant about wearing gloves. He’d wanted to talk to Eden about Sullivan after work, but it looked like that wasn’t going to happen. He glanced back at the clock. Almost six.

  “Okay, here’s the deal,” he said. “You keep your hands in your pocket and wait for me, there.” He pointed to the booth at the very back of the coffee shop. “I’m supposed to be off in half an hour. Don’t stare. Don’t watch me. When I leave, follow me and head left. I’ll wait for you a block down.”

  She nodded and headed to the booth he’d pointed out without another word. He tried not to watch her as he took the next order.

  Zach’s pretty much permanent smile had taken one of its rare vacations. He glanced down to Sullivan in the booth. “Who is she?”

  “Showed up here yesterday, followed me after work,” Jarrod answered. “Last night, she asked about Eden and tried to get me to touch her. Want me to get her out of here?” He tried to keep his voice neutral.

  “Mortal?” Zach asked.

  Jarrod nodded. “Far as I can tell.”

  Zach’s hand tapped against the counter and then he held it up. “You’re off early. Make sure she doesn’t come back here. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Jarrod snapped off the disposable gloves and whipped the apron over his head. He grabbed his coat from the break room and clocked out. When he got to the entrance, he turned back. Sullivan slid from the booth.

  He pulled his gloves out of his coat pocket and put them on. “Later, Zach!” he yelled, and pushed open the door, the little bell trilling.

  He turned right out of instinct, but then headed left, further from the apartment. When he looked back over his shoulder, she was hauling down the sidewalk, no more than ten feet behind him now. He stopped and leaned against the brick wall of the building.

  She took him in, not saying anything, staring at him. He shifted, and she jumped even as her arm shot toward him, skittish, like she couldn’t quite decide whether she wanted to run away or grab him.

  “You eat today?” he said quietly.

  She shook her head. He rolled his eyes, already pissed at himself as he pushed off the wall. It was pretty obvious he’d be the one buying dinner.

  “Come on,” he mumbled.

  She followed him to the next block. He turned the corner and asked, “You got a preference? We’ve got Mexican or Cantonese,” over his shoulder.

  “I’m—”

  “Choose,” he cut her off. “This isn’t charity. I’m buying information off you, and your currency seems to be the edible kind.”

  She bit her lip. “You’re buying, so it should be your call.”

  “Tacos it is,” he said, throwing the door open, holding the part closest to the hinges to give her time to get through. The dinner crowd was in full swing, most of the tables taken, the chatter loud enough that they wouldn’t be overheard if they kept it down.

  Sullivan went with the cheapest combo on the menu.

  “Make it two,” he said, slapping his money on the counter. Her eyes locked on his fingers even though they were gloved up. He carried the tray to a table in the back corner, slid onto the seat.

  “Eat,” he said, leaning back against the wall, pulling his feet up. He folded his arms over his knees, dropped his forehead onto them as she sat opposite him. He waited while she inhaled her enchiladas, not bothering with his own food. When she was done, he dropped his feet back to the floor, crossed his arms on the
tabletop.

  “All right, I want your story. Details. I’m not going to treat you like I did yesterday,” he said. “You know things. I wanna know what.”

  “But you can get me some Touch, right?”

  He watched her silently for a moment before he asked, “Where’d you hear about it?”

  “A club with my friends. On Staten Island.” She picked at a piece of cheese left on her plate. “I wasn’t there the first time, but my friends were,” she continued. “We thought someone slipped something into their drinks. They were out of it all night. We went back to try to figure out what they’d gotten.”

  “Wait, so your friends got drugged and you went back for more?”

  She didn’t look up from the plate. “I never said I was an angel.”

  Jarrod raised an eyebrow but the girl didn’t see it, and wouldn’t have gotten it if she had.

  “I got stopped outside the bathroom. I don’t know if he overheard us, or I got lucky. Twenty bucks for a dose.”

  She’d lifted her head, focused on the space over his shoulder. Jarrod pushed the second meal toward her. “Keep talking.”

  “I got closer to Vaughn after that.” She dug into the next plate, took a few mouthfuls, and chewed slowly. She was stalling. Jarrod waited. “He was the one who had it. Who I met the first night. It helped to forget for a while.”

  He knew what was coming. “Who did you lose?” he asked slowly.

  Her attention flicked back to him. “No one to Touch.” She wouldn’t look at him, set her fork down on the plate. “Kallie’d had some stuff going on. I don’t think any of us knew how bad things were. She never let on.”

  He didn’t know whether he should tell her it was Touch gone bad that took her friend. She hadn’t made the connection. A Sider’s Touch had cost her friend her life, and here Sullivan was practically begging for it.

  “And you took more after?” Jarrod swore, unable to keep the shock from his face. “Jesus. How the hell did you manage to get through it with that in your head?”