Her brain hummed, the elevator groaning the way she remembered, metal scraping metal as it passed between the twelfth and fourteenth floor. The building skipped thirteen, but the elevator never let it pass by so easily. The chill from the chapel didn’t leave her, feelings of déjà vu clinging to her like spiderwebs, growing thicker as she approached Luke’s apartment. There was a seedy element she remembered so well, the gut feeling that getting caught wouldn’t be worth the indiscretion. The door opened before she had a chance to knock.
Luke cocked a hip against the doorframe. “It’s good to have you back,” he said.
She strode past, draping her coat over one of the bar stools tucked up against the island that split the living room and the kitchen. “I am not back. I’m here to barter,” she snapped.
Luke leaped over the back of the couch, the cushion creaking as he landed. “No, I’m afraid that won’t do. Come sit.”
Kristen assessed the room. She could sit on the floor, but that put her below him. The chair cowering in the corner would make it obvious how little she wanted to be near him. Luke’s eyes sparkled at her hesitation. He patted the couch. “You know I don’t bite.”
Kristen moved slowly. “You have an offer. I’d like to hear it. No commitment,” she said, sitting next to him. The leather of the couch was cold.
“Commitment. Committed.” He met her eyes. “Odd choice of phrasing.”
“Only odd that you’d be callous enough to call attention to it,” she scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Or perhaps not odd at all now that I think about it.”
He clucked his tongue as if taken aback, though she knew her words had no effect. She wished she could say the same about his. She knew what she must look like. Tangled and forgotten. She sighed, giving him what he wanted, her helplessness. “You know how I am, and how I will be, and why I have no other choice. Tell me the deal, Luke.”
He stood and pointed toward the kitchen. “I’m going to grab a drink before we get into things. Would you like something?” he asked. “Cola? Juice? I have anything you could want.”
“I’m sure you do,” Kristen mumbled, then raised her voice. “No, thank you.”
Luke clasped his hands and walked into the kitchen. Kristen took the opportunity to look around more closely.
The apartment hadn’t changed much. The soft leather of the furniture dulled the sharp lines of black trim. A flat-screen television took up most of one wall. A picture window looking out over the city took up a second.
Kristen meandered to the window. Below, headlights trailed through the early evening. The sun had dipped behind the buildings. She held her hand against the glass, a ghostly outline blooming around it. From behind her came a soft swish. Her fingers smeared through the fog as she turned, expecting Luke, finding nothing.
In the kitchen, ice clinked into a glass. And then, softer, nearer, she caught a rustling of faint whispers like bird wings.
“Ignore it. It’s not real.” Her heart sped up anyway.
Luke came back into the living room. Superb timing, she thought. He’d probably been waiting, caught the scent of her fear.
“I brought you something,” he said, raising one of the tumblers he carried. “You looked thirsty.”
She took the glass, the sides of it slippery with condensation. Inside was a yellowy pink fluid, speckled with misshapen clots of red trailing membranes. He raised his own glass to his lips, slurping down one of the clots with a wet smack.
She almost retched, swallowed a throatful of bile. He caught her expression and lowered the drink.
“Strawberry lemonade?” he said.
She glanced into the glass again. A piece of berry had made its way through the ice and floated on top. Crushed strawberries. Nothing more. Luke’s laughter echoed in the glass as he drank.
“Of course.” Her words were clipped. The lemonade was tart and cold. Her head seemed to clear as she swallowed. Stay calm, she told herself.
“So where were we?” Luke asked, plopping back down into the corner of the couch, an arm thrown over the armrest, dangling the glass comfortably. “Ah yes,” he said. “You were avoiding my question as to your mental well-being.”
“Which I intend to continue doing.” Kristen sat on the couch, careful to keep her distance.
Luke raised an eyebrow. “Well then, what shall we talk about to fill the awkward silences? How your precious Gabriel is faring? Or your new best friend, Eden?”
Kristen took a deep breath, held it. She kept her eyes on the floor, her voice sharp; the perfect mix of demure and obstinate. “What do you want me to say?”
“You found him, I take it. Did he tell you what he did?” When she didn’t answer, he went on. “It couldn’t have been easy to hear. How are you?”
Kristen shot him a glare, shaking her head slowly. “I found him. I don’t need your sympathy, so spare me the theatrics.”
“I deserve credit, especially since it’s so rarely due. You thought I was lying about him.” The ice clinked in his glass as he set it down. “I have never once been dishonest with you, have I?”
She hated the rush of blood to her cheeks.
“Have I?”
“No,” she whispered.
“You need me? I am there. You want me to back off? I back off.” His hand rested on the cushion between them, closer to hers. “I do everything to please you. Even now, you’ve come here only because I’m of use to you. You’re using me. We both know it and yet, I enjoy your company.”
Kristen held tight to her mask of nonchalance. “You make me insane.”
He laughed. “That is delightfully ironic.” He reached out and ran a fingertip across the rings gathered against her knuckles. “You know you need me, don’t you?”
She opened her mouth to respond, but a rustle caught her attention. The same one as before. She tilted her head, her ears tuning in to it. Birds?
“Kristen?”
The sound untwisted like a spiral; she could almost see the swirl of air. Darkness rose behind it. The wall started to crack, plaster crumbling from the corner, revealing exposed beams.
“What’s happening?” Kristen whispered. A tearing noise echoed through the room, like an animal ripping through the cracks. Panic rose in her throat. “Luke?” She jumped from the couch, her eyes darting around the room.
A wet, leathery wing slapped against her cheek. She shrieked and smacked it away.
Luke’s hands cupped her face. “Whatever’s scaring you, it’s not real.”
She couldn’t catch her breath, could almost see the things now, shadow bats, blurs of air. Something scraped her skin. She pressed against Luke, each word a separate gasp when she tried to speak. “They’re. Touching. Me. I can feel them.”
“What is?”
“Bats. They’re bats.” She could see them now, streaming from the hole in the corner, from the rafters.
“It’s winter,” Luke said softly. “Wouldn’t bats be in hibernation?”
She gulped.
“I can make them go away.” He stared at her, his eyes unnerving. She blinked hard and fast. Luke gripped her upper arms.
“You. You’re doing this?” she got out.
Luke sighed in frustration. “You’re having an episode.” His fingers wound gently around the back of her head, massaging into her hair. “I can help, but you have to let me.”
She focused tightly on his words, buoys keeping her afloat. “Don’t you see them? You can’t feel that?” she whimpered.
Luke pulled her in, his forehead dropping against hers. She had nowhere to look but his eyes, the deep brown melting into her like liquid ice, filling her. She blinked away a snowflake, felt it drip down her cheek. No, she thought. Tears. Only tears. Luke’s eyes muddied, a mix of emotions she couldn’t place, quickly darkening back to normal. “Kristen. Now,” he demanded. “Please.”
“Yes!” She choked it out, a final plea before she drowned in her fear.
“Don’t close your eyes,” he said.
He squeezed.
Screaming lines of sound rushed through her skull like a current toward Luke’s hands at the back of her neck. Her vision tunneled. The pitch rose, glass-shattering frequencies whizzing past the insides of her ears. Burning, sizzling sounds, dizzy tightness. Kristen gasped, the pressure turning to pain.
“Almost there.” Luke’s voice found her through the cacophony. “Hang on for me.”
She clutched his wrists. “Luke, it hurts.”
“Now,” he said.
His fingers dug a line up the back of her head, each fingertip feeling like a splash of frigid water. Her ears popped as the pressure released. The pain burst and broke open, faded.
Silence.
Blessed silence. Luke brushed her hair back, surprisingly gentle. His breaths came heavy. “Better?” he asked.
He gave her a moment to answer, took her elbow when she didn’t and helped her to the couch. She fell back against the cushions, suddenly exhausted.
“The pain is gone?” he tried again. She nodded, doing everything she could to keep the tremble from her lip.
“It was different with Gabe,” she said quietly. Gabriel had carefully untangled her mind as he slowly worked; she would have given anything to feel that care again. Luke jerked everything tight and sheared it loose. She didn’t want to think about damage.
“I hate this,” she whispered. She sounded like she hadn’t slept in days, but her brain felt sharp, clean. She felt untainted for the first time since Gabe had Fallen. Ironic, she thought bitterly.
Kristen closed her eyes. A moment later the faucet turned on in the kitchen. The sponge squeaked against the glasses Luke washed. She waited, but he didn’t speak. She couldn’t be sure, but part of her wondered if he’d given her the moment to recover.
The water shut off and she heard him coming back. “Why did you come that first night to see me play? You knew who I was.”
The memory of badass incarnate in leather and an electric guitar drifted over her. She wasn’t prepared for the light skip in her stomach.
“I’ve always known about you.” She opened her eyes, turned to look at Luke. “I came because he left me.” Gabriel’s reputation didn’t matter anymore, not that Luke would care anyway. “He wandered away like I thought he’d done this time. He always told me to call if I needed anything, but then sometimes he wouldn’t answer. Sometimes he made me feel like such a burden. I was feeling … spiteful, I suppose, and dangerous.” She gifted him a small grin as he sat beside her. “And you’re about as dangerous as they come, aren’t you?”
He laughed, pulled a knee up and balanced his chin on it. “That night.”
He shook his head, lost in the memory, every moment of their meeting etched in her own mind.
After the show, Luke had come toward her, his flock of groupies surrounding him like cliché imitations of harlots feeding grapes to a Roman god. Kristen alone hadn’t joined in on the worshipping. He snapped up the water bottle one offered, then cracked it open and drained it. Brushing away the girl’s hands with a smile, he had turned to Kristen.
“You,” he said, pointing the empty plastic in her direction. Kristen had raised an eyebrow at the possessive glares from the girls that clung to him. Luke strode forward, shaking them off like a cloud of gnats. “Who are you?”
“Me?” She’d slid off the stool, taking the first few steps toward the door. “I’m busy.”
The girls around him had gasped. Luke’s head had tilted, as if not quite believing what he’d heard. And then a slow grin had spread across his lips. Much to her chagrin, Kristen had returned it.
Now, though, in his apartment, the cheer faded from his face, his brow furrowing.
She couldn’t look at him, knew what he was going to ask and answered before he could. “Three months is a long time to keep a secret from Gabriel. I didn’t want him to know.”
“That’s what bothered you.” Luke sighed. “Gabriel knowing you chose me.”
She closed her eyes, but it only made things worse, memories playing like silent films on the backs of her eyelids. Kristen fluttered her eyes open, casting away her thoughts, but the truth haunted her whether she acknowledged it or not. Always had. In every memory of Luke, of the two of them together, she was smiling.
“I hid it from him.” He said it so quietly that she almost didn’t hear him. “So he wouldn’t see when he went into your mind.”
“I know,” she said. She didn’t ask why, wondering for the first time if maybe he did truly care for her.
His lips parted like he wanted to say more, but she shook her head. “Don’t.”
They watched each other in silence. Eventually, Kristen stood and made her way back to the window. Snowflakes tumbled past. A moment later, he joined her.
“It’s snowing again,” she said quietly.
He didn’t speak, simply ran his hands down her hair, lifted it off her back and over her shoulder. When she didn’t move away, Luke closed the last few inches separating them, his arms encircling her waist. His lips brushed her neck, rose to her ear. “I’m cashing in the favor you owe.”
Kristen tensed. “So soon?” she asked shakily. “You’re sure you don’t want to save it for a special occasion?”
He ignored her. “I want you.”
“Wait, want me?” He clearly wasn’t after a mere house-guest and it was a line Kristen wouldn’t cross, no matter what the payoff or the punishment. “Luke, you can’t ask for that.”
He turned her to face him as he caught her meaning. “Kristen, I want your favor. Your company,” he clarified before his grin grew cocky. “Though I don’t recall you finding my attentions distasteful.”
She raised an eyebrow, trying to look fierce, knowing she wasn’t pulling it off. He could have asked for anything, and he’d only asked for time with her?
“For how long?” she asked carefully, trying to think of any other loopholes he could exploit.
He winked at her catch. “One week, clever girl. You’ll stay here with me.”
She laughed. “You want to play house? You can’t be serious.”
“I’m offering you a life of freedom. No more bouts of delirium. Every wish granted.” Luke smiled. “You give me a week to show you how things can be. At the end of it, you’ll choose to stay.”
“One week.” Kristen licked her lips, let the thought of the life he offered simmer for a moment. “Done,” she said, holding out her hand. He shook it. She didn’t trust his smile. “So when do we start?”
“We already have,” Luke answered.
CHAPTER 20
Az pulled a single key out of the pocket of his coat by the tattered shoelace he used as a lanyard. Jarrod followed him into the apartment building, Sullivan beside him. It was a good distance from home, far enough to be discreet but close enough that if Eden called, Jarrod could get there by cab within ten minutes. He practically sighed in relief when Az headed them down the stairs. No balconies. Sullivan seemed serious about wanting to quit, but he didn’t know if it would be like other drugs. Withdrawal. It might get ugly. One less worry after last night.
Az paused at the door. “Fair warning, we left in a hurry. Might be a bit messy.” He shrugged. “Beggars can’t be choosers, right?”
He opened the door as he said it, but none of them were prepared for the sight. The apartment was trashed. A smashed television was overturned in the center of the living room, the couch slit alongside the back, material dangling loose in a wide arc.
“Messy’s a bit of an understatement, man.” Jarrod moved aside to let Az pass.
The apartment was frigid.
“Looks like this is how they got in,” Sullivan said, heading to the open window, sliding it shut. “Well, at least now we know we’ll be earning our keep cleaning up the place.”
“This sucks,” Az whispered, squatting down to survey the totaled television.
“Gabriel?”
Everyone froze. The voice came from down the hallway.
&n
bsp; Sullivan stood by the window, the cord to the blinds wrapped around her hand. Jarrod didn’t know whether to cross the room to her or stay where he was. Az didn’t look at him. He’d crouched a bit, his hands out and ready to fight.
“Who is it?” Jarrod whispered. Az gave his head a slight shake, his forehead furrowed.
Jarrod shifted enough to get a look down the hallway. One of the doors was open. A shadow fell over the white carpet, cast from the light spilling out of the room.
“Who comes?” the voice called. The words sounded slightly off, as though translated from another language. Something was wrong with the actual voice, too; the slightest echo of metal against metal ended each word.
Jarrod turned to Az, confused.
Az’s eyes blazed red. Not the subtle rusty color Jarrod had seen in them when Eden pissed him off, but freaky-ass, horror-movie demon red.
“Jesus Christ,” Jarrod whispered.
From behind them, Sullivan asked, “What? Who is it?”
She couldn’t see Az’s face. “Jarrod, take her and get out of here. Go,” Az said.
Jarrod opened his mouth to protest, but the shadow had already started down the hallway.
His movements weren’t quite steps, his legs lifting like they were pulled by puppet strings, like he’d never walked before.
Az turned to Jarrod. The red was gone from his eyes. They’d shifted to almost orange as the rusty anger mixed with the yellow color of fears. “Don’t let me go anywhere with him,” Az said desperately. “No matter what I say.”
“Who is it?”
“Michael,” Az whispered. “Bound. The one from the other night.”
As the figure moved closer, Jarrod could see the face had angel written all over it, that carved-marble look too perfect to belong to a real person. The same dark curly hair as Az. He could have passed for his brother.
“Arrogant enough to ignore a summons, Az? How dare you be so defiant?” Michael stopped a few feet in front of Az.
“Be easy,” Az said, his voice strange, copying that same weird diction. “I have no allegiance. I’ve made it clear I have no interest in such. You shouldn’t be here.”
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