A Touch Morbid

by Leah Clifford

  “Don’t even ask her!” Az was in front of her before she could react. “She’s out of commission.”

  A tremor passed through Eden, phantom pains shooting up her arms, across her collarbones. A month ago she would have already been leading the three to the alley, ending them one by one and taking their Touch into herself. Saving them from an existence they couldn’t escape. But that was before. Now, death at her lips would send a soul Downstairs. To Luke. She hadn’t taken out a Sider since Gabe had Fallen.

  The pains in her arms sharpened. It’s happening again, she thought, trying not to panic, but the sensation faded.

  “We’re not leaving.” One guy came forward, his hand held out. In it was a fifty-dollar bill, the price she’d charged for her “talents.” “I have the money. She has to do it.”

  “No. She doesn’t.” Az’s voice rang with authority. “Spread the word. We’ll let you know when things change.”

  “I’m sorry.” Eden couldn’t keep the guilt from her voice. The ones who sought her out were desperate, but she wouldn’t send them Downstairs. Without her, no one was going anywhere. They’d have to learn to make the best of it.

  The guy reached in his pocket, digging frantically. “Look, take it all. I mean, I won’t need it, right?” Eden peeked over Az’s shoulder. The Sider’s eyes found hers. “Please?”

  “I can’t,” she managed, taking Az’s hand and pushing past.

  “Bitch!” one of them yelled out behind her.

  Az stiffened, but Eden kept walking. “They can call me whatever they want. It doesn’t matter.” She forced herself to smile. “And we’re not letting it ruin tonight.”

  They headed down the stairs to the subway station, swiping their MetroCards as they passed through the turnstiles. Eden was a step ahead, made it a few yards before she realized Az wasn’t following. Behind her, he walked slowly, looking intently at his hand. She watched as he lifted it to his nose and sniffed uncertainly.

  “Get something on you?”

  He glanced up and held out his hand. On his palm was a smear of black. “I think there was something on the turnstile. Was it on yours, too?”

  She turned her hand over. The entire center of her palm was covered in gray-black powder.

  “The turnstile,” she said absently, brushing her hands together. She scraped her nails against the powder. It flaked away, the skin underneath clean.

  Az shrugged, wiping his palms on the legs of his trouser pants, and started walking toward the train again.

  “Want to try to guess where we’re going yet?” Az asked.

  “No idea.” Eden forced a smile, trying to let herself get caught up in his excitement.

  Az grinned coyly, listing off on his fingers. “Someplace very public, where if anyone did see us, they wouldn’t dare make a scene. Free. Cheesy romantic.” He paused. “It’s December,” he prodded.

  She gave an amused shrug as they boarded the train.

  His smile widened. “Then you’ll have to wait.”

  She’d never seen anything so beautiful. The evergreen rose high above them, every branch twinkling with lights.

  Az stood behind her, snuggling close. “It’s your first Christmas in the city,” he said. “I wanted to be the one to show you the tree.”

  Eden laughed, giddy as she took in the nearly hundred-foot-tall Rockefeller Center tree. “I think you might have outdone yourself on the romance factor.”

  She turned into his arms, hugging him. Beside them, a busker played Christmas carols on a tattered violin, the soulful notes echoing through the still air. Eden dropped a dollar into the musician’s case as they passed.

  Az’s hand caught her waist suddenly, twirling her with the momentum. “Dance with me?” He smiled. “It’ll keep me out of trouble.”

  His hands flexed, pulling her closer to him, and everything else seemed to melt away. He spun her, whirled her out until the tips of their gloved fingers were the only thing connecting them. Then his fingers called her closer, leading her back to him. Something shifted in his eyes. At first she thought it was only a subtle change in color, but there was more to it, a calm contentedness. A perfect world, she thought suddenly. This is how we would be. One of her hands held his, the other on his shoulder as they fell into step, a delicate back and forth.

  Her breath caught as Az dropped her into a dip, swung her up again.

  He adjusted his grip on Eden’s waist, pulling her closer. “Told you everyone’d be watching you in that dress,” he whispered. She glanced around, self-consciously realizing the crowd had parted in a circle of smiling faces. She tried to ignore the eyes on her, tried to concentrate on Az, but a blush heated her neck and she lost her step. He gripped her hand, spun her away from him. Her dress billowed. She tightened her arm until his had wrapped back around her.

  The crowd clapped and folded in around them, going back to the normal strolling pedestrian traffic.

  “You look gorgeous.” Az kissed her forehead, her cheek, her earlobe. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispered, running his hands up and down her arms. “I know you’re worried about me. But no matter what happens, you and I are going to come out of this okay and together, all right? Just like last time.”

  She nodded, her arms circling him. Everything in her wanted to kiss him, lips against his, breathing his breath. But she couldn’t. Something in her breath could kill the other Siders. And her lips were poisonous to Az. She’d already passed him Touch once accidently, and he’d nearly Fallen. They’d never be able to kiss. She tried not to think about it, to be satisfied with his lips on her neck. It was the penance to pay for being with him. One she’d suffer through every day if it meant staying together. “I’m glad you convinced me to come out.”

  “I wouldn’t have let you miss—” Az stopped mid-sentence. Her head on his shoulder, Eden felt him tense. “Jesus Christ,” he whispered, his voice betraying a fear she’d never heard in him before.

  She didn’t dare move. “What? What is it?”

  “Go. Run.”

  Her hand slid down to his chest. “No. I’m not leaving you alone.”

  “Please!”

  She opened her mouth to protest and felt his heart speed up. Az kept his eyes over her shoulder, her hand still gripped in his.

  “Who is it? Luke?” She turned to scan the crowd behind her.

  “It’s not the Fallen,” Az said in terrified disbelief.

  The angel coming toward them looked almost human, but Eden picked him out of the crowd easily. He was too perfect to blend, his features too defined, his eyes all wrong, too fearless. His bowlegged gait carried him on a crooked path toward them, as if he had just learned to walk. He stayed silent until he was almost on top of them.

  “You tarnished lag!” he snarled at Az. “Where is Gabriel?”

  Eden jumped at the unchecked anger, her eyes widening. A few heads in the crowd turned their way and gave the three of them a once-over.

  Az kept his voice calm, but the hand in hers trembled. “He’s not here, Michael. I don’t know where Gabe—”

  “Call him proper!” Michael yelled. “Gab-ri-el.” He split the name in three, voice cracking on the last syllable with a sound like twisting steel. Eden couldn’t help her wince. “He’s blackmarked and forbidden Upstairs. You have knowledge.”

  “You’re forbidden from leaving Upstairs, or did you forget that little detail? Not unless it’s the end times.” Az lowered his voice to be sure they weren’t being overheard; his eyes darted across the crowd. The violinist played on as if to mask their words, aided by the happy chatter of the mortals around them. “And that would be mortal end times, Michael. Losing your lover doesn’t count.”

  Michael looked nauseated as Az spoke.

  “See,” Az went on, rotating slightly toward Eden, “Michael’s the one who got me thrown out. For love. And now he’s down here to save his own. Now that is irony.”

  Michael’s trying to save his own love? Gabe couldn’t be with this guy, she tho
ught in shock.

  “So covetous of revenge that you’d leave Gabriel even Unfeathered? You know it shouldn’t be so.”

  Az’s face fell. “It wasn’t my fault,” he whispered. Eden wrapped her arm around his. He’s goading Az, she thought, horrified. The Bound wouldn’t push him to Fall fully … would they?

  Michael’s head swiveled suddenly to the side, birdlike, as he shuffled a few inches closer to Eden. She froze under his cold gray eyes. His nostrils flared, scenting her out like an animal. “She’s one of those things, isn’t she?”

  That’s it, she thought. Pay attention to me. It would keep him from messing with Az. Eden dropped Az’s hand and stepped forward.

  Michael stifled a gag with the back of his hand. “Her flesh reeks of smolder. How do you stand the stench?”

  Eden balked. Az carefully annunciated each word he spoke. “She is not Damned.”

  “Nor are those the words I spoke. Shall I repeat? Her flesh … reeks … of smolder.”

  Even in the strange glow of the Christmas lights, Eden saw the color drain from Az’s face. His worried eyes darted to her, skipped back to Michael. In the crowd, people were starting to watch them. Some had taken out their cell phones. If she could get Michael to react, someone would help. She and Az could make a run for it.

  “Wow,” Eden said with false enthusiasm. “Those are some stellar interpersonal skills you’ve got there, Mikey.” He snarled at the nickname, his teeth clacking as he snapped his jaw shut. “You know, Gabriel was my best friend. And yet he never mentioned the whole reeking thing. Go figure.”

  “His heart was kind. He’s cursed now for the care he bestowed,” Michael said with a sneer, glancing past her to Az. “Was it not enough to discard glories for soiled doves? Now you sully yourself with this pestilence?”

  “I made my choice. If you want Eden, you’re going to have to go through me.”

  “Not her,” Michael said with a wicked lilt to his words. “It’s you I come for, Azazel.”

  A shoulder bumped Eden. “We have a problem here?”

  A gasp of relief burst from her as she caught the dark uniform out of the corner of her eye. Seriously, a cop when she actually wanted one around.

  “No, sir. This asshole is leaving,” Eden said quickly, and then shot him an apologetic smile for the swear and shrugged. “Boys!”

  Michael did his weird head tilt again. The police officer raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying Eden’s story, but unable to put together what was going on.

  “I don’t want to see you again, Michael. We’re over!” Eden huffed. She grabbed Az’s hand and stormed off into the crowd.

  “Hey, wait!” she heard the cop yell after her, but knew he wouldn’t chase them. And if Michael tried, he’d be stopped. At least held up. Eden looked to Az beside her, caught the dark swirl of his eyes in the twinkle of lights from the tree.

  “Faster,” she said, darting them in the direction of the subway. She had to get him away from the crowd, from the danger of Michael—whoever Michael was—before he lost control.

  CHAPTER 8

  Jarrod yanked up his hood but the air whisked inside anyway, down the back of his neck.

  Pulling the cords of his hoodie, he rebalanced the three coffee cups and worked his zipper with one hand as the door to Milton’s closed behind him. He fumbled one of the cups, almost dropping it.

  “Need some help?” someone asked. When he looked up, his smile faded. The girl who’d acted so strangely hours ago at the counter stood in front of him. She made a grab for one of the coffees nestled in the crook of his arm.

  He recovered in time to twist out of her reach, even though he’d put his gloves on before heading outside. “Thanks, I’m good.”

  “I’m sorry, I just wanted to say hi,” she said, following behind him down the sidewalk.

  He paused before the crosswalk, and her shoulders rose in an apologetic shrug.

  “I saw you inside?” she offered, as if the reason he was blowing her off had anything to do with not remembering her. She held out a hand. “I’m Sullivan.”

  “Sorry.” Jarrod took a subtle step back. “My hands are full.”

  “Well, I offered to help. Still stands.” The girl laughed when he shook his head. “I’m not freaking you out, am I? Honestly, I’m only trying to be friendly. Are you sure you don’t want some help?” Her words sped up the more she talked, until they sounded almost frantic. Her hand floated there between them, waiting, begging to be touched. “Do you live near here?” she asked.

  As her attempt at friendly banter failed, her body language changed. She seemed like she was coiled in on herself, ready to spring at him any second. Her eyes locked on him.

  Jarrod backed away from her. He’d never seen a mortal with that look. It reminded him of the look the Siders on the stairs had, driven dangerous with desperation. Her insistence on trying to shake his hand was a little too deliberate, a challenge, like he’d fail some test if he didn’t do it.

  “I’m actually busy. See ya,” he said, searching for a break in the traffic he could take advantage of instead of hoping for the crosswalk light to switch.

  “Wait,” she said. “Please.” He turned back, raising an eyebrow. She shifted uncomfortably. “Please, I need to talk to you for, like, a second, I promise.”

  “I don’t do talking.” He spoke slowly, his voice annoyed.

  “If you could just listen—”

  “I don’t do listening, either.”

  She seemed to deflate a bit. “Shit. You seemed a lot nicer before.”

  Jarrod broke out a laugh before he could help himself. “Maybe you’ve never worked before, but when the people behind the counter smile at you, it’s not because they’re nice. It’s because they’re being paid.” The sign had cycled back to the flashing DON’T WALK. Cars were already rolling through, holding him hostage to the sidewalk. To her.

  “Please, touch my hand.”

  “Why?” he demanded. “What do you want?”

  “It’s been two days since I got tipped,” she said in a rush. “I need it. Please.”

  An icy slither worked its way up his back. “Tipped?”

  “Fingertips. The girl you were talking to at the counter earlier, you’re her friend. You deal, too?” Her eyes searched Jarrod’s. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

  “Someone’s off her meds,” Jarrod managed, trying to keep his cool. A mortal after Touch. Impossible.

  “Look, I know I sound shady as hell....” She hesitated. “I lost my contact. I’ve been going by word of mouth, looking for a supplier.” She wrung her hands. Jarrod looked closer. The skin was raw, red.

  “I don’t have any fucking clue what you’re talking about. Good luck with that, though.” He turned his back to her and crossed the street in a jog.

  “No!” the girl yelled in frustration. “You were talking to the girl today, the one with the pink hair. I’ve been trying to find her.” Jarrod whirled around before he could stop himself, people brushing past him. “She can get it for me, then? If you won’t?”

  He shook his head. “We can’t help you,” he said.

  He could feel her stare until he was in the alley, out of her view, and he waited a few seconds to be sure she didn’t follow. The girl was jacked up. Maybe she was a Sider who hadn’t figured it out yet. But she’d had a supplier.

  What the hell, he thought, trying to put the pieces together in any way that made sense. Maybe she’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time too often. Gotten dosed a few times. Maybe someone had been lazy enough that they weren’t spreading Touch out over the city. Were there Siders who only passed to a certain mortal?

  He left the alley, made it up the stairs to the apartment before he remembered Eden and Az had said they were going out. Inside, he dropped the two extra cups off in the kitchen and then headed back to the living room with his own.

  Before he tossed his coat across the back of the couch, he checked the time on his c
ell phone. Az had said they wouldn’t be late. Jarrod sat on the couch. He’d run it by Eden when they got back.

  Sullivan. He tapped a rhythm on his knee. Could she have gotten addicted to Touch?

  When Eden had still been taking out the Siders, she’d gotten too caught up. Jarrod had accused her of being addicted. His fingers stalled on his knee. Maybe Sullivan was like Eden, able to kill other Siders. Maybe Luke—or Gabe—had found another mortal without a path, made another Sider loyal to the Fallen, the way Libby had been before Eden killed her.

  Sider or not, Fallen or not, Sullivan was on her own. You’re not going to help her, he thought, angry at himself. Last time he’d put his ass on the line it’d been for Libby, and she’d ended up luring them to Lucifer, almost taking them all out.

  He stood, pacing.

  The pain of his fall from the roof had stopped, but he hadn’t spread Touch since he’d taken Luke over the edge with him. Since it wasn’t storing up, that meant his body still used it to heal. Even now, he knew his guts weren’t right.

  He rubbed absently at his arm. But this girl, he was almost positive she wasn’t a Sider. That Sullivan was mortal, was—

  “Not your problem.” He’d let Eden decide. He sighed and rubbed his face. “Seriously need to lose the hero complex.”

  He thought he heard Eden’s voice and perked up. Heard her again, closer, but still in the stairwell. Every second she was less muffled. Is she running?

  He moved to the door as Eden and Az slammed through it, her eyes wild.

  She saw Jarrod, sighed his name. “Thank God you’re here.”

  “What’s wrong? Why is your hair green?”

  Her arms came up around Az. She reached past him and locked the door as if something would crash through at any moment. “Jarrod, help.”

  For the first time, he noticed how Az shook.

  “Eden, what the fuck is going on?” Jarrod demanded.

  She trembled, Az’s tremors running through her. “The Bound,” she managed.

  Jarrod’s mouth dropped open. They’d been a threat, but a nightmare one. Distant. “You saw them? Is he hurt?”