A Touch Morbid (2 page)

The kitten was gone.

K
risten knew the warning signs, knew to call Gabe when the thin whispers started. The static of white noise came next, when the shadows started to follow her instead of staying pinned down in the darkness. She’d called. Ninety-seven times she’d called Gabriel over the past month.

“Please,” she whispered, hope fluttering in her chest as the call connected. The ribbons of her red ballet flats wrapped around her legs, cutting into her calves. She bounced lightly anyway, waiting through the ring-back tone—some club mix that Gabe had set up ages ago.

When his voice mail picked up, she stretched impatiently onto her toes, relishing the tightening pinch before she dropped and the ribbons loosened.

Kristen closed her eyes, exhaustion dragging down her shoulders. At least there, on the recording, she could still hear him, could take comfort from his voice.

Soon his voice wouldn’t be enough.

You have other options
.

“None I’d ever consider,” she whispered to her reflection. “Stop overreacting.”

Why are you acting as if Gabriel’s the only one who can help you?

Part of her wondered if he was there, ignoring the calls.

There was silence on the line. Her mind had drifted.

“Hello, Ghost,” she said, wondering how much dead air the recording captured before she spoke, if her earlier words were trapped there for him to hear. Embarrassment washed over her, but if he heard her talking to herself, maybe he’d forgive her and come back. “This is…” She hesitated. “Life.” Sighing, she gave in and let the plea come, all she’d really needed or wanted to say. “Come back to me, Gabriel. I’m not doing well. You promised.”

She hung up, dropping into the chair in front of her vanity, met her own eyes in the mirror. She kept the cell in her hand. If he’d been close and only missed the call…

The phone stayed silent.

You should have apologized
. She rubbed a finger underneath her eyes, but the black smudges there had nothing to do with makeup, everything to do with Gabriel’s absence. He’d saved her two years ago when she’d been lost to the world and out of her mind, living in an abandoned shack of a chapel at the back of a cemetery. He’d culled the schizophrenia, brought her back to herself. But he could never get it all, could never stop the roots of what was left from spreading like ivy. And so she and Gabriel had traded—her knowledge of the Suiciders for his skills at stripping the disease from her brain every few weeks. They’d learned to trust each other. Kristen depended on him. He’d promised her he’d be there, never let her get so sick again.

And then came Eden
, Kristen thought bitterly.

Below her, across the lacquered surface, bottles of nail polish were lined up according to color. She put them in order from dark to light, then switched tactics, going by the level of polish left. The patterns were wrong. All of them.

He hates you; that’s why he’s gone
.

Her fingers shifted the bottles like notes on a musical staff. Was the pattern supposed to be a song? If so, she could find the right cadence and things would be better.

The tics, needing to find order, would only worsen. Usually she fought the urge; today though, she gave in to the indulgence. A few weeks ago, Eden and Gabriel had shown up on her doorstep. Lucifer had stolen Az away, was trying to sway him to Fall. They’d made plans for a rescue—she, Gabe, and Eden—but then Eden had gone early and alone. Kristen had let her go.

Gabe had been sleeping when Eden left before dawn, but Kristen had caught her, could have stopped her. Instead she’d dosed her up with Touch, given her all the strength she’d had and a head start.

And you said nothing. You know what Luke is capable of and you sent Eden to face him alone. Because of you, Gabriel could have lost her and Az to the Fallen. No wonder he won’t speak to you
, the voice berated.

When Gabe awoke, she’d expected anger, yelling, but the wrath in him, the fury blazing red in his eyes, had caught her off guard.

She lifted her eyes to the mirror and swore she caught a flash of exposed bone on her jaw. For a moment she almost felt as if her glamour shifted out of place, the dirty hidden side of herself showing. Despite being undead, she looked normal enough as long as the glamour stayed; only the touch of another Sider could drop it. Since she was alone in her room, that left two possibilities. Kristen studied herself. Had the vision been the first flicker of a hallucination or merely a trick of the light?

“It was the light,” she reassured herself. “Gabriel
will
come back.”

And if he doesn’t?

“He only needs time.”

You betrayed him. Betrayed the trust of the only person you dared call a friend. You took him for granted and now he’s gone
. Guilt dropped her eyes.

The last bottle of nail polish lay on its side. She spun it in a lazy circle, the maroon color a shade too dark to be the C minor she needed to finish the song. Kristen hummed the tune softly.

It was only then that she recognized the melody, the musician who’d written it.

“Luke,” she whispered.

He’d help you. Go to him
.

“Never,” she spat at the mirror. “Luke is not an option.”

Yet
. The lips of her reflection twisted up in a cruel smile.

“No!” Kristen thrust her hands out, the bottles slamming against the mirror and tumbling to the floor as she dropped her head onto her arms. “Damn it, Gabriel, where are you?”

She concentrated on the dull roar of her blood pounding through her eardrums, using the steady arterial rhythms to calm herself. She waited for voices caught in the white noise, but only heard her heartbeat.

Behind her, a throat cleared. She didn’t need to glance up to know Sebastian stood at the threshold. “Everything—”

“Everything is fine,” she insisted, cutting him off as she lifted her head. Sebastian regarded her, his brown eyes uncertain. Worry creased his forehead. He’d been her Second, at her side before her crew of Siders had grown to the twenty or so the house now held. Sebastian, who she knew would defend her to the death, who’d been her consort when she’d needed comfort. Her most trusted ally aside from Gabriel. Even he knew nothing of her illness. The thing Gabe had tried so hard to fix, but only managed to dull, wasn’t something she would ever speak of aloud to him, no matter what he suspected. She couldn’t bear the thought of him seeing her as weak. “Everything is fine.”

“You’re not.” Sebastian stood, arms crossed, waiting, as if she’d suddenly break and confide in him. “What happened?” he asked, gesturing to the mess. He moved closer, working a fingernail into a chip missing from the corner of the mirror.

“I bumped my knee and nearly tipped the damned thing over. It’s fine. I’ll clean it later.” She tried to work up a smile, but couldn’t.

“You seem rattled.” From the look on Sebastian’s face, he knew the thin line he tread. He’d mastered hovering between asking too much or too little, smart enough not to force explanations for her behavior. “Should I be concerned?”

“Currently? No.” She stood and pushed past him, out of the room and heading down the hall.

Sebastian followed wordlessly until she passed by the staircase and into the left wing. “Maybe it’d be better if you came straight downstairs today?”

Kristen didn’t slow her steps, and Sebastian hesitated. The left wing frightened him. Frightened everyone but her, because of what it held behind its locked doors. From behind her, she heard Sebastian’s hard sigh, his footsteps retreating down the staircase.

Everyone knew the rumor. The punishment for stepping out of line, standing against Kristen in any way.

Siders had to pass Touch to mortals. If they weren’t able to pass it, the Touch built in them until they became overwhelmed, buried under their most terrible thoughts.

Every Sider in her home, as well as most in the other boroughs, gossiped about how she kept misbehavers locked in darkened rooms, forced them to build Touch until they lost their minds, begged to pass it to her. She let them sometimes, loading up on Touch until her tolerance built. Until she could hold more than the other Siders. In the past, when Gabe had been tied up, she’d dumped the excess Touch to clear her mind. Losing a massive amount at once would help her hang on to her sanity for a few more days.

Kristen made her way down the hall. The first rooms were occupied by normal Siders, the doors closed. They no doubt heard her. They hid more and more lately.

Screamers. The name was whispered in dark corners.

A fine line separated “charismatic leader” from “violent psychopath.” Kristen kept herself somewhere in the gray area between the two—cruel when necessary, fair to the Siders under her roof who behaved. If they kept to the rules, a docile little flock, she gave them food and shelter, even the illusion of safety.

Kristen had done what she could to separate the territories, drum up hostilities that had no basis in reality. She’d banded her Siders together—threats kept them vigilant and loyal. Teaching her Siders to fear others made them more dependent on her. They thought the other leaders, Madeline in Queens, or even Eden in Manhattan, were plotting against them. Only the territory leaders knew the true danger was from the angels.

When she reached the last door, Kristen slipped the key from the pocket of her dress. On the bed sat a boy, his eyes glazed. She gave him a once-over. Frailty made him appear childish.

She closed the door behind her. Her insides hummed, eager for the release of the Touch built up inside her. Kristen sat beside him and leaned forward. The Screamer didn’t move.

Her lips tingled when they made contact with his. She felt Touch release from deep inside her, pulled up as if on a string. A sigh slipped out before she cut it off, rocked back, her lips still parted. A split second of confusion drifted across the boy’s face before the look sharpened to terror.

“No!” He shot off the bed, scrambling for the door, but Kristen snatched at his ankle, tumbling him to the floor. He wrapped his arm across his stomach, curling into a ball. “I have to get rid of it! You have to let me out of here!”

She stumbled past him, trembling.

“I’m sorry. There’s no other way.” Kristen closed the door, locked it. His high-pitched wail made her wince. She forced her eyes open, steadying herself with a hand on the wall.

She’d given every bit of her Touch to the boy, and her head felt clearer. The time he’d bought her wouldn’t be long. Soon there’d be nothing to stave off the madness.

The Screamers weren’t a rumor, but no one knew the truth. They were ballast.

For a sinking ship
, she thought miserably.

T
he rich coffee smell wasn’t enough to keep Jarrod alert. He tried to follow Zach’s orders, but already a customer had screamed at him when he used nonfat milk instead of regular. Another had walked out when he’d taken too long. Zach moved around him, splashing together concoctions for the Milton’s regulars before they even spit out their orders.

Jarrod rolled his shoulders.
Gotta do better
, he thought. He’d only started the job a few days ago. It’d taken him almost three weeks to heal from his fall. Rooftop swan dives were officially off his Things To Do list.