The Siders Box Set

by Leah Clifford

  Eden shook her head, balancing the to-go tray in one hand and opening the door with the other, the bag of extras tucked between the cups. “Thanks, Zach. See you tomorrow.”

  James wasn’t waiting for her. She didn’t bother removing her coat as she made her way across the living room.

  “One of those for me?” Jarrod didn’t give her enough time to answer before jumping up to take the tray. “Adam! Coffee’s here!” he called toward the kitchen, before fully turning his attention her way. “How many were out there today?”

  “Just two,” she lied. Both he and Adam had been worried, wondering how much Touch she could take in before it became too much. So far, aside from the brief pain after, she’d managed. She’d also gotten better at hiding it when she didn’t.

  “Thanks for the coffee.” His face held no expression, his voice monotone.

  “If there’s a problem, I’ll let you know.” She’d been dosing Adam and Jarrod, sure she was too potent to pass to the mortals with any chance of them making it through. She held his gaze as she crossed the room to give the door of the boys’ room a cursory knock.

  “He’s in the bathroom,” Jarrod said.

  James didn’t notice when the door opened. Eden watched him, crumpled against the tub and drawing a razor blade down the length of his left wrist. Brow furrowed in concentration and pain, his trembling hands only managed to gash a few shallow lines down the right. The doorframe creaked when she leaned against it, loud enough that James finally looked up, his expression guilty.

  “We’re back to the wrists again?” she asked. A long moment stretched out before he bowed his head, the blade falling from his weakened hand.

  “It helps sometimes,” he whispered, his voice breaking. Eden had never heard him sound so tired.

  She reached into the medicine cabinet, moved aside a few random bottles and snagged a roll of gauze. She’d stocked up. “I don’t get this,” she said quietly. “This funk you’re in. This cutting thing.”

  “I don’t need you making me feel even more like shit,” he whispered, defeat in his voice.

  She looked beyond him, to the dozen spots of plaster standing out from the yellow paint.

  “You know what makes me feel like shit?” she snapped. “Watching you bleed out all over the tiles. Again.” He hid his eyes. She took his hand and turned it over to study the gaping wound, the starburst of scars he’d cut through to open his veins. Eden softened. “This is Touch, kiddo. Nothing more.” A fresh ribbon of red slid from his wrist and fell to lance an accusatory path across her own. “You can’t not spread it, understand? I’m done playing around.”

  James leaned back against the edge of the tub, a pool of red spreading across the tiles as he met her eyes. “I’m not killing them. I can’t do it.”

  “If you’d spread it out, you wouldn’t be lethal.” She wanted to reach out, shake some sense into him. If she could just convince him to pass the Touch, she was sure he’d even out. When he’d moved in with them, he’d been half frozen, near delusional from not passing, but too new to be harmful. He’d gotten better, but the last week he’d been apathetic, hardly getting out of bed. She wasn’t sure if it just was the buildup.

  “James, if you want me to—”

  “No. I won’t kill them and I’m not gonna make you kill me,” he said, his voice full of determination.

  Her eyes fell to the dark maroon stain around the base of the sink as she gently wrapped his wounds; the blood from the past cuts had slipped into the crack in the tile there. She’d scrubbed a dozen times, just part of the ordinary regiment of cleaning now, but it hadn’t so much as faded. Eden stayed silent for a moment, watching the gore seep into his jeans.

  “You’re not solving anything, James.” Taping the gauze down, she dropped his hand. He’d stored enough that the wound would heal quickly. “Clean up,” she added, trying for that cold edge she knew she couldn’t muster. She couldn’t tear her eyes from the blood. “You’re not getting out of going with me.”

  Eden shut the door behind her, padding across the tan carpet. She notched the thermostat up another few degrees, lifting her face to the vent as the heater kicked on. Jarrod was still on the couch.

  “He’s not cut out for this,” he said, keeping his voice low.

  “He’ll be fine. What am I supposed to do? Kick him out? Send him to Kristen? Because he’s too young to survive on his own. He needs us.”

  “Eden, he’s had time. The kid’s suffering. Maybe it’s time you put him out of his misery.” From the kitchen, the sound of dishes clanking as Adam made breakfast fell silent as he, too, waited on her response.

  “He doesn’t want that,” she said, quickly, tucking a pink lock behind the multiple studs piercing her ear. Beside them, James slammed the bedroom door, cutting off their conversation.

  “Let’s get this over with,” he grumbled, grabbing his coat off the hook. His blond hair was still tangled with sleep, a rat nest of a snarl poking out from the crown. He untied his shoes instead of yanking them on, his wrists barely strong enough to handle the movement.

  She headed out the door, satisfied he would follow.

  On the sidewalk, she turned toward the cluster of shops down the street, James trailing behind. She was buttoning her coat the last few inches in a desperate attempt to keep out the cold when he spoke.

  “It’s not fair. They’re people, Eden.” When she turned, he stared at her; unmoving. “I’m going home.”

  She called his bluff, waiting him out. Sure enough, he hesitated, not quite brave enough to act on his words.

  He made an effort to meet her gaze. His pale hair lusterless, the skin under his eyes a clouded violet, he looked more than just tired. He looked dead. Or at least not alive. Whatever category Siders fell into, today, James looked the part.

  “You have to spread Touch.” A rough wind rippled her skirt, whipping it against her legs. She could see the effects of the buildup in his facial expressions, permeating his body language. From how Jarrod and Adam explained, it was horrible—desperation and broken thoughts spinning out of control. Of course, Eden knew little of the feeling, a rare perk of whatever was messed up with her. Not that she’d gotten completely off the hook.

  Eden checked her watch. Despite their late start, they were still right on time, coming closer to the corner where they would run into her gift to James.

  And then there he was.

  Brighton Daniels. Twenty-four years old. No children. Single. Some kind of corporate something or other. Eden shifted their course, following as Brighton took a left, his briefcase swinging by his side.

  She’d found the details out easily enough, following him on his commute from work the past three days, listening in on his phone conversations. It was amazing what one could overhear if they only paid attention.

  James hadn’t noticed they were shadowing anyone yet.

  “See him,” she said, giving her chin a jerk in the man’s direction. Ahead of them, Brighton paused at a crosswalk, idly glancing at his watch, waiting for the stick figure to grant him permission to move.

  Even as he nodded, James was tucking his hands into his pockets.

  “He’s your mark.” She pulled her gloves tighter, straining her fingertips against the fabric. “He got promoted yesterday. Big raise. He’s happy about it, James. Ecstatic.”

  Slightly ahead of them, the crosswalk sign cycled from orange to white and Brighton Daniels strode on with confidence. James on the other hand, didn’t look so good.

  “What?” Eden groaned. “I did all the work for you. He’ll probably just go on a celebratory bender. Sure, he’ll be out of control for a bit, but he’ll live through it. Even with a dose your size.”

  “You don’t know that,” he said.

  “Trust me.” She started walking again, determined not to let Brighton get away. Another gust of winter air rushed past. She’d given James enough time to make the right choice. “Do it,” she said.

  His lips pressed together, and
she knew he’d gotten the message, the shift from request to order. James swore under his breath. He jogged a few steps, tapped Brighton’s wrist with his fingertip.

  “Time?” he asked innocently.

  Eden watched the bare skin James had swiped. In the daylight it was hard to make out, but there was no denying the brief glow. Oblivious as he yanked his arm up, Brighton smiled. It was a good sign, though it would be a few hours before the Touch took hold. Before they knew for sure. “Almost noon.”

  “Thanks.” James stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, thrusting his hands back into his pockets, ignoring the glares of the other pedestrians. Brighton Daniels, whose future held either a blissed-out night without fear of consequences, or a spiral into his darkest thoughts, turned the corner and vanished from sight.

  “Happy?” James mumbled as he pivoted, heading back in the direction of the apartment.

  “Nope.” Eden stepped in front of him to block his path. “You need to get rid of more.”

  James rolled his eyes.

  “I’ll deal with the buildup.”

  “Because that’s gone so great for you, right?” she said.

  The sooner they got this over with the better. It was freezing out. Winters in New York weren’t pleasant. Her leggings weren’t enough to keep her warm under her skirt.

  “You don’t have to do this. You take it from the Siders, and then instead of spreading yourself, you get to dose Adam and Jarrod!”

  She couldn’t help her bitter smile. “I have to dose Adam and Jarrod. With all the Touch I take in, they give the mortals better odds of making it through. Would you rather I spread it myself? Kill them?” She yanked her hands into her sleeves. “And I’m genociding our kind. I deal with enough death.”

  He fell silent as a group of teenagers burst out of a corner drug store, ripping open a pack of Oreos while they laughed. James watched them as they stumbled off down the street, one girl yanking the cookies above her head, taunting the others.

  “I miss that,” James said, staring after them.

  Eden snorted. “Oreos?”

  “No. Fun. Normalcy. None of this bullshit.”

  “You killed yourself, James.” Eden shivered, giving up and leading the way back to the apartment. “Doesn’t seem like you were exactly striving for fun. Now all you do is bitch about having a second chance.”

  She’d only gone a half a block before she realized he wasn’t following, stopped so he could catch up. He hesitated before slowly making his way to her. As he drew closer she could make out a deep hurt radiating from his eyes.

  Eden’s anger faltered. “I’m sorry, James. I’m tired and pissy, and I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.”

  “No,” he said, keeping his eyes on the ground. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I screwed up the first time around.”

  “I just want you to try.” She licked her lips, tucking her hands into her pockets. She waited, but he didn’t answer. “For me?”

  He glanced up. “I’ll give it a chance.”

  Her phone rang, interrupting them. Eden pulled it from her pocket. She hit ignore and shoved it back.

  “Who was that?”

  “No one,” she answered, trying to keep her voice even. If Az left a message, she would delete it without listening. Just like she had all the others.

  Chapter 20

  Gabe stalked past the corrugated metal covering the storefronts, his finger tracing vibrant bubble-lettered graffiti. He gauged the honey sky, the smog already fading to amber. The sun would set soon.

  Jamming his hands into his pockets, he slowed his pace. He’d cut out of the apartment early, but even the long walk hadn’t done much to rebound his mood. Az’s snippy little comments had damaged his usual cheer. Sure, Az had reason to be all angst and issues, but the constant drama was getting to be a bit much. He seemed to forget, he wasn’t the only one who missed Eden.

  A memory from summer flared, a smile tugging the edges of his lips. All he’d asked was for her to rub sunscreen on his back. Of course, she’d feigned innocence when the ‘missed’ spots formed a perfect smiley face. It had taken him a week to get revenge, polka dotting her arm after she’d fallen asleep in the sun.

  Gabe sighed, pulling the heavy coat around him. Now everything was a mess. All because of him.

  He dropped onto a set of concrete stairs, pulling the hood of the parka over his golden curls. Heat filled every crevice, steaming into the sleeves. A drop of sweat trickled between the last curls near his hairline before it slipped down his neck. But instead of taking the jacket off, he yanked the cords on either side of the hood, drawing the fur lining closer.

  He wondered again if he should tell Az about the other guy in Eden’s life. He didn’t know if she’d noticed the way the brown-haired guy looked at her yet. Kristen had said she’d kept Eden away from the others as much as possible, but he’d left with her.

  From where Gabe sat, he could make out just enough of the steps of her apartment complex to know if she left. The city was lighting up, even here in the interesting part, before the ghetto really took hold.

  He tucked his head down, playing the part of just another loitering degenerate, albeit one with a damn nice coat, and took in a few breaths of frigid air. The hood masked his eyes, but still let him see out. He focused on the steps across the way and down the street, ignoring the cars that fractured his view every few seconds.

  Stilettos clicked behind him, someone leaving the building at the top of the steps he’d hunkered down on. He kept his eyes low, staring down the street until a voice spoke.

  “You got a cigarette?”

  He peered sideways. The red stilettos were connected to a pair of legs in torn fishnets. “Don’t smoke,” he said, going back to his watch.

  “A light then?”

  “Why would I have a lighter if I don’t smoke?” he asked, distracted. A figure had turned the corner. On the stairs, Gabe tensed. In the deepening twilight, he couldn’t see the face. Every few feet the figure stopped, head cocked as if listening at each alcove and alley.

  One of the shoes kicked lightly at his side. “You cute under that shit? You sound cute.”

  Gabe didn’t answer, distractedly slipping the hood off to get a better look down the street. Next to him, he heard the girl take a surprised gasp.

  “Damn. Looking for some company, Angel?”

  Gabe startled, turning to give her a good once over. She was painfully mortal. It hadn’t been an observation. Only a pet name, probably something she whispered to a dozen guys a night.

  “We don’t play for the same team,” he said, keeping an eye on the shadowed figure making its way closer.

  The hooker dug through her purse, probably looking for the misplaced lighter. “Ain’t that just my fucking luck,” she mumbled. He heard the swish of leather against nylon; the swinging of her purse back onto her shoulder. On the sidewalk, the shadowy figure was almost in front of him. Close enough to see the boots.

  The hooker finally noticed the newcomer. “How ‘bout you, Gorgeous? You up for some company?” The face turned toward the catcall, enough light catching for Gabe to get an eyeful. Luke’s shoulders pulled up in surprise, long dark curls bunching and falling into place again as he relaxed.

  “Gabriel,” Luke tsked, recovering. “And what would the Upstairs say if they knew their golden boy was consorting with a lady of the night? I believe they’d be crestfallen.”

  Gabe didn’t miss the emphasis. Luke knew damn well the sex worker was of no interest, slipped in the comment just to be obnoxious.

  “Luke.” What Gabe wanted to follow up with was I hadn’t heard you were back in town. It sounded so much cooler, so much more collected; but the lie fizzled, leaving the taste of sulfur on his tongue. He knew better than to voice the untruth, even without the not-so-subtle reminder.

  “Where’s the girl, Gabriel?” Luke asked.

  Next to Gabe, the woman scoffed angrily. As she clunked down the stairs in her too high heels she snap
ped, “If you weren’t interested you coulda just said so,” behind her.

  Luke leaned against the railing of the stairs. “The rogue must be close if you’re out here playing watchdog.” His black curls swung as he swiveled to take in the empty street. “Care to share who you’re protecting her from?”

  Gabe’s lips turned in as he pressed them even tighter. He glared silence.

  “You’re not protecting her from me are you?” Luke’s jaw dropped in a false show of shock. He chuckled softly, his breath darting out in clouds with each chuff. “We could always share her. Half for me, half for you?”

  “Fuck you,” Gabe spat, the anger boiling over. It felt good, the heat of it bubbling inside of him. His hands curled into fists, but he tugged them up into the sleeves of the parka. Now isn’t the time, he cautioned himself.

  Luke smiled. “Look at you! Using big boy words.” When he spoke again, his voice had gone hard. “We all know about her existence, Gabriel. Siders can’t be killed anyway. There’s no reason to be so secretive.”

  “I’m just here tonight to watch,” Gabe said.

  “Does He know you prefer it down here?” Luke paused. “You tell me what you know about the Siders, and I can arrange for a permanent vacation from that stuffy Attic.”

  Gabe’s face twisted into a sour mask. “It’ll never happen, Luke.”

  “All the trips you’ve taken down here to gather information for Them, and you expect me to believe you’ve never once had a tryst, told a lie? We both know there must be something in that past of yours worth a Fall. All you have to do is say it aloud. We’ll play confession.” Luke lowered his voice, moving closer. “Whisper me your wickedness, Gabriel, and pretend all it will cost is a few Our Fathers like the mortals.”

  “Never,” Gabe snapped. Nothing would’ve cemented the cocky sneer more permanently onto Luke’s lips than Gabriel falling out of favor Upstairs. Let alone being the cause for it. He hadn’t told the Upstairs about the Siders. It was technically an omission, not enough for a full Fall, but enough to get him wings. Secrets rose up his throat, bubbled against the back of his closed lips. He pressed them tighter, focusing his attention on the stairs beneath him, the cold. Anything to distract his mind, keep it from latching on to what he hid. The thoughts faded. Az had taught him well.