“That would have been great to know.” Eden sat down at the table. “Especially when you were setting me up to get ambushed by Vaughn.”
“Jarrod’s a tough cookie. I delayed you enough for him to kick Vaughn’s ass and give you an easy target. And how did you reward all my perfect strategizing?” She lifted the can, flicking her hand and sloshing the liquid inside. “Strolled right on by him, didn’t you? He wasn’t even conscious!”
“I won’t send Siders to Luke,” Eden said.
Madeline slammed the can to the table. “You’re dead in days if you don’t kill a Sider.”
“I’m the only one of us like this. How would you have any clue what’s happening to me?”
Madeline sipped her soda. “Because, Eden, it’s how Luke is killing Libby.”
“I sent her Downstairs.” The pieces weren’t coming together in Eden’s mind.
“Exactly. And Luke realized all the Siders she had sent Downstairs were still spreading Touch. Only the Touch they spread killed off everything it infected. And what’s Hell with no one to torture? He freaked. Locked up every Sider he could find, including Libby.”
“How do you know this?” Eden demanded.
“Gabe. He’s seen her. She’s wasting away while all the others build up Touch and go mad. Libby’s dying, Eden. For real, this time. But she can’t kill the Siders, while you’re just being a fucking martyr.” Madeline set her can down on the counter. “Az knew how to save Gabe, but I thought the chance of him using the wings was miniscule. Turns out, you tell the boy his girlfriend’s going Cinderella and he tunes out the important stuff.”
Sorrow bubbled into Eden’s chest, clouding her eyes. She waited to see if the pain would flare back. “He wanted to save me. Gabe, too.”
“Az makes a terrible hero.” Madeline snorted, the sound dying in her throat at the black tracks on Eden’s cheeks. “You’re tied to Gabriel. If he’s Bound, your Siders will be infecting Upstairs. I imagine they won’t find that idea too heartwarming. And the thing is, the Bound, well…” Her calculated breath made the wait even worse. “Now they know how to kill you.”
CHAPTER 35
Snow crunched under Jarrod’s feet. For hours they’d been canvassing Manhattan, though Jarrod knew it was only aimless wandering.
They’d ended up in Central Park, taking one path, then another, Sullivan’s hand finding his as they walked. The woods around them were silent save for the snapping of frozen branches and soft patter of snow falling from the trees.
“What if we can’t find him?” Sullivan asked.
Jarrod shrugged.
From the corner of his eye, he saw her studying him. “You don’t think we’re going to find him, do you?”
He shook his head. “No. I think Az is gone.”
“So what are we doing in the park?”
He gave Sullivan a small smile. “You like to walk, and it’s snowing. I figured we could both use some beautiful things.”
She stopped, kissing him soft and slow. Her lips lingered and he deepened the kiss, raised his hands to cup her face. Even through his gloves he could feel the heat radiating from her skin, though they’d been outside in the snow for hours. Her cheeks were mottled, splotched fiery red and white, her eyes glassy. Her fever was back and raging. “We should go back. You need to rest.”
“I’m fine,” she said, kissing him again. “It’s only a fever.”
He moved to turn them back around. Suddenly, she broke away. He thought she’d tripped, but when he looked over, he saw the arm wrapped around her neck.
“What a lovely night for a lovers’ stroll,” Luke said.
Jarrod froze, filled with fear. Sullivan clawed at the arm around her neck. Luke didn’t seem to feel it.
“She’s so pretty, Jarrod!” Luke ran his fingertips down Sullivan’s cheek as he slammed a boot heel into the ground. The frozen puddle beneath him shattered. Wrapping Sullivan’s hair around his hand, Luke reached down, grabbed an icy shard. “Has Eden told you about my style?” he asked with a smile. “How about Az? Did he ever tell you the stories of his past lovers? How I sliced off bits of them.”
Sullivan gave a sharp cry.
Her voice jolted Jarrod into action.
“Let her go.” He took a step forward, searching for anything that would pass for a weapon.
“Now where’s the fun in that?” Luke raised the ice to her forehead and drew it across her hairline. Sullivan screamed. “Shall I carve off her face for you? A keepsake?”
“I’ll do anything. Name it. Let her go.”
“Anything?” Luke skimmed the knifelike shard of ice lower, past her temple, slicing slightly deeper.
She whimpered, blood running down her face.
“Here’s the problem, Jarrod,” he said. “We all saw what happened on the roof. I had your hand, if you’ll recall, ready to snip off your fingers. But I hesitated, and things got messy.” He looked down at Sullivan. “I learn from my mistakes.”
The edge of the ice slid across her neck with a soft slish. Sullivan’s eyes went wide. A split second passed, one fairy tale moment before the blood came. She parted her lips, a thick bubble of red rising from her. Her head rocked back a fraction of an inch, opening the split across her throat.
Luke dropped her and tossed the already melting ice.
“No!” Jarrod leaped, caught her in his arms before she hit the snow. “No, no,” he moaned, ripping off his coat, trying to press it against the wound.
“No more hesitations,” Luke said as he walked away, brushing his hands together. “Send Gabriel and Eden my fucking regards.”
Sullivan choked. For a horrible second Jarrod thought she was trying to say his name, but it was only the blood. So much blood. Running off her, down his legs, seeping into the snow, soaking his gloves.
“Don’t die!” He yanked the gloves off, not caring about passing her Touch. His hands fluttered over her cheeks, her hair, and finally grabbed her hand, the fingers slick in his. He met her eyes, didn’t look away even as life faded from her, her eyelids falling to half-mast.
“Sullivan,” he whispered. He shifted her onto his lap, pulled her against him. In the dark night, the snow fell. Jarrod dropped his face against her coat, his cheek coated in the sticky gore that covered them both. Far off, he heard Luke laughing in the empty park.
He felt nothing. The sun was rising. His hand was frozen in hers somewhere under the foot of new-fallen snow, deep enough that it had hidden the blood. His breaths were slow, even. A shadow crossed in front of him, but Jarrod didn’t look up. Let them find him—angel, mortal, Sider. He didn’t care.
The shadow moved again. No one was yelling, no frantic phone calls to the police.
“Don’t touch her,” Jarrod said.
“I won’t.”
Jarrod raised his head slowly, his neck creaking. “Gabe,” he said. Jarrod stared down at Sullivan’s face, the only part of her he’d kept free of snow. “Luke. Luke, he … we were walking and he came out of nowhere and he…”
Gabe gripped his shoulder. “Jarrod, you have to let go of her, okay?”
He shook his head fiercely. “No. She’s… I just…”
“It’s been hours, Jarrod. I brought a blanket, and we’re going to wrap her up in it and I’m going to carry her for you. We’re going to take care of her together, okay?”
Gabe knelt and began to brush the snow away.
“I said don’t touch her,” Jarrod snapped, twisting away from him.
“We need to get her warm.” Gabe moved down to uncover her legs. “Before she wakes up.”
Jarrod’s mouth opened, his breath stalling. “Wakes up?” he finally forced out.
Gabe nodded.
“No, that’s impossible.” Jarrod threw the snow off her, his fingers finding her neck, the skin there firm beneath his hands. He turned back to Gabe. “How?”
“Touch.” Gabe dropped beside them, the snow blooming red where his knees pressed down into the frozen layer of blood. “
She did too much. It ate her path away.”
Pathless. But that would mean… Jarrod gave a half cry, grabbed for Sullivan’s hand. “Is she one of us?”
The fingers in his squeezed.
Sullivan took a breath.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing this book is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. These are the people who got me through.
To Devyn Burton, whose phone calls and Just Because emails were the sanity I needed to get through some very dark days.
To Courtney Allison Moulton, for amazingness and laughs and road-trips and the company that every Misery needs.
To Victoria Schwab, for baked goods and uttering the exact words I needed to hear at the exact moment I needed to hear them. I’m not sure where this book would be if you hadn’t been here that day, bb.
To Martha Mihalick, Virginia Duncan, Marisa Russell, and everyone else at Greenwillow and HarperCollins for their infinite patience and guidance. You guys make my life.
To Rosemary Stimola, who is my champion and the reason I got to put the last check on my List of Writing Dreams.
To Chelsea Swiggett and Emili Hofer, who never wavered in their excitement when I read them early chapters (out loud … often … before I would let them leave…). I promise no spoilers on the next one!
To Kulsuma Begum who gave Vaughn his name and saved my butt!
For being awesome from the start: Chas Lilly, Kayla Beck, Amber Sweeney, Kari Olson, Rachel Clarke, and so many bloggers and friends who have spread the word about my characters and loved and hated them as much as I do.
So many scenes and feelings in this novel would not exist without the songs that played while I wrote them. A huge thank you to Amanda Palmer, Nine Inch Nails, Fever Ray, Digital Daggers, The Kills, HIM, The Birthday Massacre, Florence and the Machine, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Rasputina, Puscifer, Menomena, Lissie, Laura Marling, and The Pretty Reckless. You guys rock my imaginary world.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
LEAH CLIFFORD is the author of A Touch Mortal. She was also an extreme-cave-tour guide, a pizza delivery girl, a waitress, and a grocery store clerk before becoming a full-time writer. She lives near Cleveland, Ohio.
www.leahclifford.com
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.
CREDITS
COVER ART © 2012 BY ALI SMITH PHOTOGRAPHY
COVER DESIGN BY PAUL ZAKRIS
COPYRIGHT
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used to advance the fictional narrative. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
A Touch Morbid
Copyright © 2012 by Leah Clifford
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Clifford, Leah.
A touch morbid / Leah Clifford.
p. cm.
“Greenwillow Books.”
Summary: Eden, a powerful Sider caught between life and death, has difficult choices to make as the war between Heaven and Hell rages on, endangering Gabriel, Kristen, and Az, and the poison Eden refuses to spread to mortals slowly builds inside her.
ISBN 978-0-06-200502-1 (trade bdg.)
EPub Edition © FEBRUARY 2012 ISBN 9780062102119
[1. Future life—Fiction. 2. Angels—Fiction. 3. Demonology—Fiction.
4. Dead—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.C622148Tom 2012 [Fic]—dc23 2011029231
12 13 14 15 16 LP/RRDH 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First Edition
Greenwillow Books
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