A Touch Morbid (8 page)

“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.

J
arrod 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 D
ON’T
W
ALK
. 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 cell 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?”

Az’s legs went out. He slammed his hands over his ears, his fingers digging into the sides of his head as he dropped to his knees, rolled over onto his side.

“No, Az!” Eden dropped, grabbed Az’s fingers and pried them away. “He’s Falling.”

“Shit,” Jarrod whispered. He’d seen Az this way before, in the basement of the building with Luke. Adam had called him and he’d gone, thinking he could talk him down. Jarrod thought he’d been more shell-shocked than mad. And then Luke had shown up, and Adam’s eyes had glossed over. And the garden clippers. Jarrod forced away the memories, came back to the present. “What do you need, Eden. How do I help?”

“I don’t know.” She shook her head, panicked. “We shouldn’t have gone. He wasn’t this bad earlier.” Eden laid a hand on Az’s shoulder. “I thought he was better, that it would help him to get out.”

“Earlier
today
?” Jarrod scanned the apartment with a desperate hope that something would jump out at him, anything that could help. And then he had it. “This happened earlier and you talked him down, didn’t you?” She blinked hard, nodded once. He gestured to Az. “So talk to him!”

She grabbed Az’s face in her hands. “Az, look at me.” Her voice shook. “You open your eyes right now and you look at me, Az.”

Az’s head bobbed, almost as if he were drunk. “Get away,” Az whispered. “I can’t make it stop.”

“No!” She grabbed his hand and held their entwined fingers up in front of his face, even though his eyes were still shut tight. “This is me and you together. And I am
not
letting you go.” Her other hand grabbed his wrist.

Jarrod shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, not sure whether he should leave, whether she wanted him to hear her saying these things. On the floor, Az hitched a shallow breath.

The trembling stopped. And then a strange guttural chittering came from Az.

Jarrod launched forward and yanked on Eden’s shoulder. “Back up.” He tightened his grip. “Eden, back up now.”

She kept her hand in Az’s. “I’m not leaving him,” Eden said. Jarrod stayed next to her, ready to make a move if Az tried anything.

“Can you hear me?” she whispered. Az stayed silent and still. She let go of his wrist, touched his cheek. He tensed and leaned into her palm. She turned to Jarrod. “I think he’s—”

“So many sins.” Az’s voice, eerie and mechanical, startled both of them.

“Az?” Jarrod’s head cocked to the side.

His eyes snapped open. They weren’t covered in the black oily sheen Jarrod had expected. Instead, the colored centers of his eyes were gone. They had turned completely white. Eden dropped his hand, scrambling away.

Jarrod sucked in a sharp breath. “That can’t be good.”

“Petulant.” His smile wasn’t natural. It invaded his face, ripping its way onto his lips. He turned his head, and the dead white eyes seemed to train on Eden. “She’s a mortal flaw, a wicked taint upon your glory.” The smile stretched wider. “The penance is served. Choose. Rise.” He nodded twice and shuddered. “Azazel, you are wanted,” he screeched. Then the frightened words belonged to Az again. “I’ll never go back.” He ground clenched teeth. He slammed a hand against the ground, his fingers tightening into claws even as his face relaxed.

Az sucked in a sudden lungful of air as if resurfacing, then fell to the floor.

Jarrod put himself between Eden and Az before she could move. “Open your eyes,” he commanded.

Az raised his head, his face pale, eyes their normal blue. They found Eden. She crawled forward as Jarrod moved aside.

“Are you okay?” she asked, reaching for his hand. He latched on like it was a lifeline.

“You sure you’re cool now?” Jarrod asked. “What the hell just happened? Your eyes were completely white.”

Az sat up. “But that doesn’t make any sense,” he murmured. He looked up at Jarrod. “Not unless the Bound were…” He trailed off. “Sorry, I’m not thinking straight. My head’s killing me.”

Eden shifted closer to him, almost on his lap, as if he’d disappear at any second.

“You remember what you were saying?” Jarrod asked, not willing to let him get them off topic. Something was going on. “That was Upstairs stuff coming out of
your
mouth, man.”

Az shook his head. “I don’t know what it was. We saw Michael. He was looking for Gabe.”

“Who the hell is Michael?” Jarrod asked. “And Eden said you were bad earlier? What happened?”

Az moved gingerly at first, got his legs underneath him and stood. “I’m fine now. Can we let it go?”

Jarrod opened his mouth, but it was Eden who spoke.

“No.” She reached out and let him help her up. “These are things we need to know, Az. Who’s Michael?”

“He’s…” He shrugged his shoulders as if unable to explain. “He’s Gabe’s. They used to be together. For so long. But then Michael led the charges against me, got me kicked out of Upstairs. He wanted Gabriel to turn his back on me, to shun me. Gabe refused. Michael told me I would only drag Gabe down with me.” Az’s brow pinched. “I guess I did,” he mumbled.