“I’m scared.” She said it without thinking. Her gaze 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 to reign in her anger. “How many?”
“Eden, they don’t mean any—”
“Az,” she said, her voice sharp. “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 mine and Gabe’s 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 out of nowhere? Why send a warning?”
She tried to keep the tremor from her hand as he filled her cup. She looked up at him. “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 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 down 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 up 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 darkened. 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 pockets 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 ducked into 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.” He fought to keep his voice neutral. “Want me to get her out of here?”
“Mortal?” he asked.
Jarrod nodded. “Far as I can tell.”
Zach tapped the counter and then he nodded. “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.
His instinct had him turn right, but then he corrected himself and headed left, farther from the apartment. When he looked 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 out toward him, skittish, like she couldn’t quite decide whether she wanted to run away or grab him.
“You eat yet today?” he asked 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.
“Come on,” he mumbled.
She followed him to the next block. He turned the corner, and asked, “You got a preference? There’s Mexican or Cantonese,” over his shoulder.
“Whichever one you—”
He cut her off. “Choose. 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 and slid onto the seat.
“Eat,” he said, leaning against the wall, pulling his feet up. He folded his arms over his knees, rested his forehead on 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 and crossed his arms on the tabletop.
“Alright, I want your story. Details. I’m not going to treat you like I did yesterday,” he said. “You know things. I want to 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.”
Jarrod stared at her. “Wait, so your friends got drugged and you went back for more?”
“It was something new.” 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 did.
“He stopped me outside the bathroom,” Sullivan said. “I don't know if he overheard us, or I lucked out. Twenty bucks for a dose.”
She'd lifted her head, focused on the space over his shoulder. Ja
rrod pushed the second meal toward her. “Keep talking.”
“I got closer to Vaughn after that first night.” She dug into the next plate, took a few mouthfuls and chewed, stalling. Jarrod waited. “He was the one who had it. Who I met by the bathroom. What he gave us helped me forget for a while.”
He knew what was coming. “Who did you lose?” Jarrod 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 sat 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?”
She looked up, confused. “What do you mean?”
He hesitated, not sure how much he wanted to tell her. “Well, I mean, getting fucked up while your head's messed up. Dangerous combination. Especially with Touch.”
Sullivan folded her arms over her chest and slumped back with a glare. “Listen. I appreciate the dinner. Well, dinners. I just want to get tipped. Preferably without your pathetic attempt at hitting on me. I'm not for sale.”
Jarrod balked. He felt his face flush. “I wasn’t hitting on you. Enchiladas aren’t exactly an aphrodisiac.” He thought he saw amusement in her eyes, the start of a smile on her lips, but then her scowl deepened. “Trust me, Sullivan,” he said earnestly. “You don’t want the Touch.”
“No? It's not exactly my first time, you know. I was with him for three months.”
“With who for three months?”
“Vaughn,” she spat, exasperated. “You want info? Fine. He ran all the clubs. The parties. Had people under him. They talked about your friend. Her name's Eden, right?”
Jarrod nodded, stunned silent by her rant.
“They heard what happened at the rave. If you could get me a meeting with her, I know I could help you guys out.” She dropped her hands absently to the table, her fingers circling her wrists like handcuffs, the skin reddening as she wrung them. “Vaughn had me spreading the word. Marketing. That sort of thing. I could help.” Her desperation inched her forward. “I’ll work off what you give me. Front me this one time.”
“Jesus Christ.” He shook his head. “You’re addicted.”
Across the table, Sullivan's glare hardened. He expected her to deny it, pull the “I can quit anytime” thing. Instead, she held out a hand, the slight shake in her fingers almost imperceptible. “Now, do you have it or not?”
“I don't think it's a good idea,” he said.
She jumped up out of the booth. “Forget it. I heard someone's got a stash in Queens now.”
“No!” Jarrod yelled before he could stop himself. “Um, no, that's an even worse idea.” No way could he let her try to track down Madeline. “Wait, who's telling you where to get it?”
She turned for the door.
“Sullivan, stop.” He pulled out his wallet. “Twenty bucks to tell me how you knew to find me.”
At the mention of money, her hand paused on the handle, but she shook her head slightly.
“Hey,” he said, getting up and grabbing her arm. The momentum spun her. One hand went for the cash. The other slithered up to his wrist, her thumb deliberately catching the cuff of his glove. Her fingers wormed inside, slipping across his sweaty palm.
Touch passed, leaving him in a rush, his breath catching, brain panicking. He ripped his hand away, but it was too late. Far too late.
Sullivan laughed.
“You don’t know how fucking stupid that was,” he said in disbelief.
“Jesus, relax. I’m good for it thanks to you.” She winked and tried to hand him back the twenty as she slipped out the door. He followed her to the sidewalk.
He tightened his fists, the muscles of his arm screaming for action. He used every bit of his restraint not to punch the brick wall beside them. “It’s not a drug, okay?”
“No shit, Sherlock. So much for not treating me like an idiot.” She threw a hand on her hip, slinking a few steps back. “Right. Guess we’re done here then.”
Her feet kept moving, slow at first like she thought he’d give chase. He stared after her with no idea what to do. He hadn’t spread in weeks, but he was still using the Touch to heal. Would that make it more concentrated? Less? Whoever had been passing to her had tossed her, and she’d mentioned at least one dead friend. She knew about the Siders, and obviously more than she’d told him. And now she was halfway down the block, fading into the crowd.
“Shit,” Jarrod mumbled, and then broke into a run. “Wait! Sullivan. Hold up.”
She tensed, crouched, like the thought crossed her mind to break for it. She looked like she might. “What do you want?”
Jarrod stared her dead in the eyes. “I haven’t passed any out in a long time. I don’t know if it’ll be too strong, or work at all. It could be bad.”
“I'm fine. I have a hotel room. I’ll ride it out.”
“You won't make it through alone.” He moved closer. “I could help you.”
“Why?”
He didn’t bother sugar coating. “Nothing more than personal gain. You shouldn't be addicted like this. I want to figure out why you are. That's it. No catch. I need you alive to get my info and you won’t be if I don’t help.”
She stared at him for a long moment. “What's your name?” she asked.
He paused, realized he'd never told her, that she'd never asked. “Jarrod.”
She nodded once. “Jarrod, you are bizarre.”
Chapter 13
Kristen closed an eye and dusted from lashes to brow bone with a deep maroon shadow. It didn’t do much to slow her hammering heart. Luke’s show at Aerie would be over by now. She recited half a dozen poems from memory, the cadence of the words soothing her.
After a second layer of mascara, she studied herself in the mirror.
The image was striking. She’d grown used to her thrown together look, the lack of makeup. Of effort. The fact that she was making the effort for Luke didn’t raise any feelings of guilt. This was about false promises of things he couldn’t have. Simply playing a game. And if brushing her hair and wearing a tight top gave her an advantage, Kristen would work the angle. Luke didn’t have many weaknesses to prey upon.
Already her mind had started to crumble again. She hadn’t let Luke in enough to gift herself more than a day or two of sanity. There were no other options without Gabriel.
And she and Luke both knew it.
“If Gabriel would answer his damnable phone,” Kristen mumbled to her reflection, one finger stretching her eyelid, applying liner with a heavy hand. It’s been three weeks. He knows you’re struggling. He must. He doesn’t care. She ignored the voice. “When he finds out how bad he let things get, he’ll never leave again.” She knew she sounded like a petulant child, didn’t care.
Luke however, had answered her earlier phone call on the first ring.
She stared at herself for another long second.
“Keep yourself together,” she whispered to the girl in the mirror. The lips moved along with hers, but Kristen wasn’t sure if the girl in the reflection was acquiescing or mocking.
She lifted her phone from the vanity with a shaking hand and texted Sebastian: ‘Not to be bothered tonight’.
She stabbed Gabriel’s name on her recent calls list in one last Hail Mary chance.
“Please,” she whispered. It rang twice and went to voicemail.
“You’re angry,” she pleaded into the phone after the beep. “Want me punished? I promise, I’m punished. I’m sorrier than you could ever dream.” Her stomach felt too hollow, empty. She softened her tone. “Gabriel. Where are you?”
She hung up, tossed the pho
ne aside. Eden would have gone after Az anyway that morning. So Kristen had given her every bit of Touch she’d had. And not only for Eden. Because Kristen’s first thought had been Gabriel. How much it would hurt him to lose Az to the Fallen. For a bitter moment she wondered what he’d do if he lost her to the Fallen.
Kristen pulled her knees up, hugging them to her chest. Deep inside her, things were breaking. He is losing me to the Fallen, she realized.
The floorboards creaked softly outside her door.
She slipped off the bed and crossed the room. At least Luke had done her the favor of using the back entrance. She lifted her hand, pressed it against the wood without opening it. From the other side there was only silence.
She turned the knob.
Luke stood in the dark hall, his guitar case by his side. She’d been right in guessing that he’d come straight from the show. She could smell the club on him—sweat and smoke and sex—the scents of the crowd.
She staggered back, giving him a stiff nod. He stepped further into the room and set the black case near the door, then stooped down to unlace his heavy hobnail boots. He lifted his head as he slipped out of them.
They stood, staring at each other. Luke’s smile flared and then faded, a gift he offered only to take away. Everything about him was at ease. Except for his eyes.
Those drank her in with a thirst she wasn’t prepared for. “How’s it been, my little oubliette?”
“Oubliette? A dungeon? You’re losing your touch, Luke.” She let out a condescending laugh, ignored the flutter in her stomach. “A one-night stand doesn’t exactly qualify as imprisonment.”
“A one-night stand doesn’t typically last three months,” he shot back. “You’re right though. The word is all wrong.” His fingers, calloused from playing, brushed her hair back, tucking the waves behind her ear. She meant to throw a hand up on his chest, enough to push him back a pace. Instead, her fingers gripped his shoulder. “See, an oubliette is something meant to be forgotten.” His fingers wound across the back of her neck and he teased her closer. “But I remember every delicious detail of you,” he murmured.
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