Touch (A Denazen Novel, Book 1)

by Jus Accardo

  Alex stood to the side, staring from Kale to me, looking sick. After a moment, he cleared his throat. He was still pale, but his I-don’t-give-a-shit-about-anything mask had slipped back in place. Tone even, he said, “As interesting as this has been, do you mind if we hit the road now? Dez doesn’t need to see this and I have no desire to be baked alive.”

  Dad adjusted his grip on my arm and waved at the door. “You’re free to go, Alex.”

  Alex took a step closer to me, but Dad’s hand shot out.

  “Alone.”

  Alex’s eyes went wide for a moment before narrowing. “We had a deal.”

  Dad shook his head. “If you remember correctly, I never agreed to anything. You offered your aid in reacquiring 98. He hasn’t been ‘reacquired’. He’s dead.”

  At his sides, Alex’s fists clenched. Several chairs on either side of us started to rattle. The two suits left standing glanced at each other nervously.

  “It’s done, Cross,” Ginger said, coming up behind Alex.

  She and Dad eyed each other. Gesturing behind her, she said, “As you can see, I have an army at my back.”

  Dax flanked her on one side, bruised but still standing tall, and the bouncer from the party that I’d flirted with stood on the other. Sira was behind them, soaking wet, but with a satisfied smile on her face. I didn’t see Water Girl anywhere. Next to her, Panda growled quietly as Ginger rested a hand atop his head, scratching behind his ear. One of the men I didn’t know stood to the side, Barge in his arms. His fingers sparked, tiny currents of electricity skating up and down his body.

  Dax smiled. “All you have is a few firearms and a single human matchstick. I think it’s fair to say we have the upper hand.”

  Dad laughed and gave my arm a rough shake. “You won’t touch me as long as I have her.”

  “They don’t have to,” Alex’s voice came, cool and dangerous. The gun flew from Dad’s hand, shot into the air, then hovered for several seconds in front of us. “Let go of her and get out before I kill you with your own piece.” The gun shot forward, jamming itself into Dad’s forehead.

  Dad hesitated, but I could feel him tense. He knew he was screwed. Letting go of my arm, he backed away. The gun followed him. “This isn’t over.”

  “Lemme guess—you’ll be back? Fire whoever is writing your material,” I snapped, glancing over my shoulder. Kale still wasn’t moving, but that didn’t mean he was dead. He couldn’t be dead.

  Mom came up beside me. She was wearing her own skin now and looked a little worse for the wear, but she was alive.

  I expected Dad to put up a fight, but he only smiled. Not the expression you’d expect from a man who’d been one-upped and lost a few of his favorite toys. “Enjoy your freedom, Deznee. Because make no mistake, it’s temporary.”

  The two suits were out the door with Fin, Dad right behind them. He didn’t look back.

  Ginger stepped up to where Kale lay motionless. “Daun,” she called. A small-framed woman emerged from the crowd, barefoot and wearing a simple white shift. I’d seen her come in, but hadn’t seen her when the fighting started. I was relieved to see she appeared unharmed. She reached down and, to my amazement, lifted Kale into her arms as though he weighed nothing more than a sack of potatoes.

  She placed him on one of the remaining tables and turned to me. “I may be able to help him,” she said, tilting her head to the right. “But you must first understand something. I am a healer, but I do not give my gift easily. In one week’s time, I will be forty-two. In all my years, I have healed exactly three people.”

  An icy lump formed in the pit of my stomach. “Why?”

  “In order to heal someone, I must give them a part of myself.”

  “A part of yourself?”

  She nodded. “A side effect. An exchange. There is no telling what it will be. Something as simple as a memory, or”—she tapped her left ear—“my hearing.”

  She looked from me to Kale. “In this case however, things are a bit different.”

  “Different?”

  “To heal someone, I need to touch them. Contact with skin must be made.”

  The lump in my stomach exploded, numbing me from the inside out. “So then you can’t help him…”

  “I believe I can heal him through your touch.”

  “Then what’s the problem? Hurry, before it’s too late!”

  Her eyebrows raised, she frowned. “So it is acceptable?”

  “Huh?”

  “You can touch him, so the side effect, the exchange, will be with you, not me.”

  I fell to my knees beside them. I had no idea what I’d lose, but did it matter if I didn’t have Kale? There was no way I would let him die. Not if I could do something to prevent it. “I’ll give anything for him.”

  Daun nodded. “Place your hands on his skin. No matter what happens, do not let go.”

  I reached out and cupped the side of his face. Beside me, Daun took my hand. The sensation was instantaneous. Warmth. It felt nice at first. Tingly, like the summer sun kissing my skin on a day at the beach.

  Then it changed. Stifling and humid. Choking. Daun’s fingers tightened on mine as a spasm racked me to the core. “Just a bit more,” she said.

  The room began to spin. I leaned forward into Kale, trying to steady myself. As the heat started to ebb, I said a silent prayer, thanking God it was finally over.

  Only it wasn’t.

  The room began spinning again, this time so violently, everything mashed together. Daun, Kale, the charred remains of the party—all swirled together in one massive blob of color. Vomit rose in my throat as a loud keening sound filled my ears. Several times, I almost let go of Kale to shield myself from the sound.

  Then, as abruptly as it all started, it stopped. I collapsed on the floor, unable to open my eyes. In the distance, I heard a faint sound.

  Thump thump. Thump thump.

  Steadily, it grew louder. Stronger. My heart.

  Thump thump thump. Thump thump thump.

  I listened to it, still unable to open my eyes. Well, maybe not unable. Possibly unwilling. The rhythm sounded strange. Unnatural. Something in the back of my mind told me I should be concerned, but I wasn’t. Every bone in my body ached, and each one of my nerve endings vibrated like a guitar string ready to snap. Had it worked? Had I managed to save Kale in time? A sick feeling washed over me. Surely it hadn’t worked. The room was too quiet.

  Then I heard it. Not one beat, but two.

  Thumpthump thumpthump thumpthump.

  Something warm and soft slid over my hand. Kale. With a squeeze of his hand, I had the strength to open my eyes.

  “You did it again. You saved me.”

  33

  “It doesn’t look like anyone’s home,” Kale said. “We came all this way for nothing.”

  He rubbed his chest, below his heart. The wound had healed months ago, but he said it still tickled sometimes.

  I squeezed his hand. “It wasn’t for nothing. We’ve had an entire two days of peace and quiet. Besides, they’ll come home eventually.” I checked my watch. “They’re probably still at work.”

  We settled down on the steps of the bright yellow Victorian, Kale on the top step, me on the bottom, leaning back. The summer had been rough at first. Two weeks after the disaster at Sumrun, the Denazen law building burned to the ground. Dad had disappeared, along with Mercy and Fin and the other Sixes, but I had hope. We could still save them. Even if we had to do it one at a time.

  Ginger told us Denazen had seven major branches throughout the world, as well as forty-two smaller facilities in the US alone. It wouldn’t be long till they started snatching Sixes from the street again—there was no way Dad was letting me go. And eventually, if not already, he’d find out Kale was still alive. He wouldn’t stay un
derground forever.

  When I’d gone back to the house to get some of my things, I’d also retrieved the list Brandt had given me. The one with the names of all the Sixes on Denazen’s hit list. Most of the summer, Kale and I spent traveling from state to state, tracking them down. Out of a total of fifty-one, we’d found and warned—and in several cases recruited—twenty-one. The last stop on our summer tour of fun would be 8710 Fallow Street. Once we’d tracked down the owner, a Mr. Vincent Winstead, listed as a telepath, we’d be on our way back home.

  Home. That meant something different to me now. I had no idea what living with my mom would be like, and although I’d dreamed about it since I was a child, the idea scared me now. We had a lot of time to make up for, and a lot of things to work out.

  Like Kale, it was there in her eyes. She was just as damaged by her time with Denazen. Mom was living at Misha’s hotel, where I would go once we returned home. Kale would also be staying there too—in a different room. On a different floor, as I was very pointedly informed by my mom.

  Kale. He was slowly starting to get acclimated to the outside world. Seeing things through his eyes had been an eye-opening experience for me. His first sunset, the first time he’d tasted mint chocolate chip ice cream, his first trip to the movie theater, all these things breathed new life into me. Simple things, things the rest of us take for granted, they were all new and exciting to him. In turn, they felt new and exciting to me.

  There was still a lot he didn’t understand—the first day of our trip he’d tried to attack a man giving a woman choking on a scone the Heimlich. Kale thought he’d been trying to hurt her. And a few days later, he’d taken it literally when I got frustrated and said I wanted to jump off a bridge.

  He still wouldn’t use an elevator and would probably always insist on checking under the bed each night, but he was learning. He had nightmares from time to time, waking up in a cold sweat or with a scream ripping from his throat. He refused to tell me what they were about, but promised me someday he would. I believed him. He had to heal in his own way.

  No nasty side effects had surfaced as a result of Daun’s healing. For weeks after it happened, Kale panicked with each new day, terrified he’d find me missing a limb, or a memory—the memory of him was his biggest fear. But nothing had happened. Before we left to track down the Sixes, Daun had warned us that sometimes the exchange took a while to surface. We still weren’t out of the woods yet. It didn’t matter to me, though. I had Kale, and I had no regrets.

  “Look.” I pointed to the street, where a black Ford Explorer pulled into the driveway.

  The man behind the wheel hopped from the truck, light brown hair, bright green eyes, and a friendly smile. “Hello there.”

  We stood and made our way down the walkway to meet him.

  “Vincent Winstead?” I called, bringing my hand up to shield my eyes against the bright noon sun.

  “Call me Vince.” He smiled, friendly and welcoming, and extended his hand. “Can I help you?”

  I took his hand. “My name’s Dez, and this is Kale. Do you have a few minutes?”

  Vince fished into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. “I’m expecting company in a little while. Is there any way you could come back tomorrow? I have no problem supporting our local school—”

  “We’re not from the local school,” Kale said. “You’re in danger and we’ve come to warn you.”

  While Kale and Vince talked, I found myself distracted. The one thing that scared me more than Daun’s trade-off was the Supremacy project. No new, awe-inspiring abilities had surfaced, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t. I was six months away from eighteen. That meant eight months away from a possible, inescapable bout of the crazies. Ginger and the others had already begun searching, but without knowing what chemical Denazen had used to enhance us, we were pretty much sitting dead in the water.

  I was determined to find the others—they needed to know the truth—but I had no idea how. We didn’t have much to go on other than they’d all be about my age and have unusually strong gifts. Dad said most of them had been raised thinking Denazen was the good guy, so they were probably already working for them. I just had to find them, and convince them they’d been lied to. Yeah. No big there.

  Sighing, I glanced toward the street. Bright purple flowers with cool white swirls lining the driveway caught my eye. They’d make a killer nail polish color. Bringing my hand up to examine the peeling remnants of my two-week-old manicure, I gasped.

  The previous chipped red paint was now bright purple with cool white swirls.

  Shit.

  Acknowledgements

  There’s an African proverb that, until recently, I never gave much thought to. It takes a village to raise a child. This book is like my baby, and without my village it would still be a small, horrifically punctuated thing hidden in the deepest recesses of my hard drive.

  First, to my parents, who never once gave me the get a real job speech. You’ve been supportive and enthusiastic from day one, and there’s no way I’d be where I am—or who I am—without you. Some days you may not want to take credit for me, but really, ya did good!

  To my husband, Kevin, who insisted I chase this to the end. For all the dinnerless nights and hours spent alone in front of the TV while I hung out with people who didn’t really exist. I don’t know what I did to deserve your unending love and faith, but I thank God for it every day.

  And to my brother, James, who sat in front of the computer for hours to learn flash so I could have an awesome website. Thank you!

  To Heather Howland, my very first CP and a true friend. My sounding board, plotting partner, and savior of my sanity (what little there is). Your faith and encouragement were key in getting Touch off the ground. If this book was a child, you would be its Godmother.

  To Liz Pelletier, my editor—and friend. Your dedication and enthusiasm for this book got me through many moments of self-doubt. For loving Dez and Kale as much as I do, and helping me to share them with the world, thank you. For you, I would brave an entire army of commas.

  To Katy Upperman and Christa Desir. I consider myself unbelievably lucky to have your amazing talents in my life. For always making time for me, and for your constant faith and friendship, thank you. It means more than you’ll ever know.

  An unending thank you to my agent, Kevan Lyon. For seeing the potential and possibilities ahead. Here’s to many books in our future!

  A huge thank you to my publicist, Cathy Yardley. For insisting I just be myself, and doing all the dirty work so there was nothing left for me to do except write.

  To Lori Wilde, for making me more aware. I’m a better writer because of you. Thank you so much for your encouragement and moral support.

  And to my first readers, Mom, Aunt Nina, Leslie Dow, and Melissa Karvecky. Your suggestions and enthusiasm were invaluable.

  A heartfelt thank you to Jennifer Armentrout. For taking an interest and spreading lots of TOUCH (and Kale) love. Thank you so much for all your help.

  Last but so far from least, to my family at Entangled. Thank you for your support and friendship. You leave me truly honored to be a part of such an amazing community.

  About the Author

  Jus Accardo is the author of YA paranormal romance and urban fantasy fiction. A native New Yorker, she lives in the middle of nowhere with her husband, three dogs, and sometimes guard bear, Oswald. When not writing, Jus can be found volunteering at the local animal shelter or indulging her passion for food. After being accepted to the Culinary Institute of America, she passed on the spot to pursue a career in writing and has never looked back. As far as she’s concerned, she has the coolest job on earth—making stuff up for a living.

  Stay tuned for a free teaser of

  Shea Berkley’s action-packed Young Adult novel,

  THE MARKED SON…
>
  “Reading Shea Berkley is like watching magic unfold before your eyes. THE MARKED SON is written with such intrigue and depth, I could not get enough of this delicious tale. I’m hopelessly lost and can hardly wait to see what jewels Berkley has in store for us next.”

  - Darynda Jones, author of FIRST GRAVE ON THE RIGHT

  Available online and in stores everywhere!

  Dreaming

  I was eight the first time I saw the girl.

  Mom freaked when I told her, said I was letting a girl terrorize my dreams, but I didn’t get it. They were dreams, not nightmares. I don’t remember ever waking up afraid. Not back then. So when the dreams kept coming, year after year, each one more vivid than the last, I held onto them like a skydiver clutching his ripcord. No way would I let Mom take them away from me.

  It’s been years since she’s asked me about the girl, but lately Mom’s been curious. I tell her I haven’t had a dream in awhile. She eyes me like I’m lying.

  So what if I am? I may not remember everything about my dreams when I wake up, but I do know when I’m about to have one. My scalp tingles, like tiny bugs zap, zap, zapping along my skin. The darkness behind my lids turns smoky. I’ve tried to pull away at that point but it’s no use. I don’t fight it now. Instead I sink into the thick air and come out the other side into a world that is nothing like the one I know...

  Yet, it’s familiar.

  Tonight, the smoke fades, and the girl appears in a thin, white gown. I’m lying in a meadow surrounded by deep woods, one hand tucked behind my head—shirtless and shoeless and wearing a pair of old, ratty jeans. I can hear the TV I left on fading in the distance until only the sound of the meadow fills the air.

  She’s suddenly beside me, beautiful beyond words, her long, dark hair spilling over her shoulder as she bends to touch my hand. Her cool fingers rest more like mist than flesh in my palm. The rough corset she’s wearing cinches the fabric snug to her hips. She’s got a definite Victorian vibe going, but it suits her. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it.