A Touch Mortal (3 page)

A
z opened the door to the hotel room. One glance at Eden as she entered and his expression shifted to sympathy.

“No license?”

“My mom forgot the fucking appointment.” She caught his hand as she passed, both of them plopping down on the bed. “Then we finally got there and I didn’t even get to take the test!” Eden’s shoulders slumped. “My Social Security number wasn’t in the system. They couldn’t pull up my file.”

She’s already disappearing
, he thought, trying to keep his emotions under control. So far it’d been easy to hide his eyes. He knew they’d be a paler blue today, but doubted she’d notice. He moved behind her on the bed just in case, rubbing her shoulders. “You can go back when they figure it out, right? That’s not so bad.”

She’d never get her license. It was such a small thing, yet meant so much to her. He leaned over her shoulder,
kissing her neck. So many things she’d be missing out on.
But she’ll have me
, he reminded himself. “And I’m within walking distance.”

“True.” She closed her eyes, leaning into him. “It’s just, I know you and Gabe are only here for the summer. I wanna be able to come see you in New York.”

He sensed her hesitation, draped his arms over her shoulders, and hugged her. They hadn’t talked about what would happen when summer ended. He murmured her name, ran a hand down her cheek. “We’ll get you to New York safe. I promise.”

He pressed his lips together before he gave away too much, but she only nodded, breaking into a smile. How many more did she have before the depression took over, stripped them away from her? Would she be the same when she became a Sider?

Would she still love him?

“You’re staring at me,” she said. He didn’t answer, pulling her with him as he leaned back on the bed. Everything about her felt numbered. He kissed her hard, his lips greedy. He wanted her, the need hitting him in a rush. Wanted her now, while she was mortal.

His lips wandered down her neck, across her collarbone, her breath coming faster as he followed the curve of her tank top down. Her fingers grabbed suddenly at the bottom of his shirt, lifting. He rolled onto his back,
stifling a groan, knowing he’d killed the moment. Again.

“Tease.” She smacked his chest. The playfulness dropped from her tone. “Why do you always pull away?” Eden asked.

He moved carefully, adjusting until he leaned against the headboard.

“You’re right,” he said. His fingers toyed with the hem of his shirt. He could tell her. Explain. “I do pull away.”

“Are we going too fast?” she asked.

He shook his head. “It’s not that at all, trust me.” The bed creaked as she crawled closer, laying her head on his chest. His arm curled around her.

“Then what is it?” she whispered.

He tipped her head up, stole another kiss. “It’s not you.”

“Jesus, I hate it when you pull this shit.” She made for the edge of the bed, but he grabbed her shoulder. She turned on him, her eyes blazing. “One minute you’re feeding me lines about seeing you in New York, and the next you act like you don’t even want me to touch you.”

Part of him wondered if it was just the depression, if this would be the moment it shifted, took over.
You’re going to lose her.
The thought dug in, even as he tried to push it away.

She yanked her hand away. “I need to know what’s going to happen when summer ends. I need to know if this is just a temporary thing for you.”

“Oh, God, Eden, no!” He reached for her hand again. This time she let him take it. “This isn’t ‘temporary’ for me. It never has been.”

Her eyes flicked away. “Because I love you,” she said. She swallowed hard. It was the first time she’d been so blatant. The same quicksilver happiness coated his insides, whisking away the dark thought, but his smile was because of her alone.

“I love you, too, Eden.” He wanted to say it again, loving the sound of her name paired with those words, knowing how true they were.

“Then what’s wrong? Tell me.” She squeezed his hand, leaning forward, tucking her head against his neck. He closed his eyes, knowing his fear would stain them yellow.

“Just…don’t freak out, okay?” He raised her from his shoulder, caught her gaze for a split second before he lifted his shirt over his head.

“What’s wrong with your eyes?” she asked quietly. He didn’t answer, couldn’t look at her as he began slowly unwinding the ace bandage around his chest. “Az?”

“So, usually I get one of two reactions,” he said, his voice quaking. He pulled off all but the last loop of material and glanced up. “I blame the corsets for the fainters. They wore them so tight…couldn’t breathe right. But they’ve been out of style for centuries, so I think we’re good on that one.”

“Centuries?” Her voice had gone up an octave. “What’s wrong with your eyes?” she demanded.

“They turn yellow when I’m scared,” he said, keeping his voice as calm as he could manage.

“Scared?” She was still talking. So far, so good. But he knew what he showed her next would be enough to send any mortal over the edge.
She’s different
, he promised himself.

He dropped the last of the bandages. His cramped muscles begged to stretch but he did his best to hold them tight.

“Yeah, scared.” He climbed off the bed, backing away to the middle of the room. “The screaming I can handle. Being called a devil, a witch, a freak. No big deal. But what will happen to me if you decide you don’t love me anymore?”

“Az, you better tell me what you’re talking about because you are freaking me out.” She’d risen onto her knees, her hands held in front of her, eyes darting to the door and back. He didn’t dare move. “Az?”

He heard the fear in her voice, knew every moment he drew this out would make it worse. His head dropped as he forced himself to roll his shoulders, the wings uncurling from their cavity behind his rib cage. When he flexed them out, all fourteen feet of the atrocious things spanned the room. Joints at odd angles, so they folded in like a
pterodactyl, feathers layered across the skin. Nothing about them was beautiful. They were a punishment.

“I’m a fucking angel, Eden.” A feathered tip brushed the TV stand, knocking an open can of soda to the carpet. Her silence was worse than any screaming.

He closed his eyes, trying to keep calm, keep under control. His cell phone was in his pocket. If things went bad, if he felt tempted to Fall, one phone call and Gabriel could get there in seconds.

An unsure giggle broke from the bed, building into a laugh. His eyes shot up, found her doubled over on the covers. His wings lifted, the feathers rustling quietly in his confusion.

“So lame!” She took a deep breath, wiping her eyes, trying to get her giggling under control. “And you owe me a Coke, too!” she said, pointing to the can, the liquid soaking into the carpet.

He opened his mouth, but when nothing came out she hopped off the bed, crossing the room to him. Az stared at her, not sure what to say.

“Did Gabe put you up to this?” she asked. She rolled her eyes as her fingers traced one of the feathers. “He’s
that
pissed that I kicked his ass in skeeball? I never figured you two for pranking types. Though this is beyond awesome.” She gave a joint of his left wing a hard squeeze. Az grimaced, knowing she felt the bones
grinding. “Jesus. These things are, like, movie prop worthy.”

She rounded his shoulder for a better look at his back and he knew it was over.

She sucked in a sharp breath. “You have holes in your back!”

He nodded slowly. “The wings tuck in. Most times a sweatshirt is enough to hide them.”

His anatomy had been rearranged, concave scoops on either side of a spine lined in muscles, where the wings attached inside. A thin layer of skin hid blood and bone along his rib cage.

“Wings?” She took a step away, her voice shaking. “You were hiding
wings
?”

“It’s not exactly something that goes in a personal ad, Eden. Enjoys long walks on the beach and sarcastic girls. Bird fetish a plus. Can I put them away now?” he whispered, his head hung low. When she didn’t answer, he contracted his shoulders, then folded the wings back in and grabbed for his shirt in a single motion. He put it on as he dropped onto the bed, and glanced up at her.

“This is seriously happening, isn’t it?” Her eyes were wide, her head cocked as it finally hit her. Her face paled when he moved toward her. “Don’t come any closer!” He froze, but she stepped back anyway.

“Eden, I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.”

“Is that, like, an angel rule or something?” she asked, her breaths coming faster.

Az winced. “No, it’s a boyfriend rule. Not all angels are good.”

“Neither are all boyfriends.”

“I used to be the good kind. Of angel,” he clarified. “Bound, like Gabriel. I got in trouble. The wings, they’re like probation.” He forced himself to stop the ramble and met her eyes.

“Gabe too?” She took a shuddering breath, shaking her head. “No. No, I’ve seen Gabe with his shirt off. I’ve gone
swimming
with him.”

Az nodded. “The Bound don’t have wings. Neither do the Fallen.”
So Fall. Lose the wings and you’ll look normal enough for her to love you.
Az squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the thoughts away, make them stop.
The Fallen aren’t punished for love.

He swallowed hard, lowering his hand to his pocket. “I understand. If you don’t love me anymore.”
Look how worthless you are.
He didn’t want to call Gabriel, not while he was at Kristen’s, but if it got any worse there would be no other choice.

“I didn’t say that,” she said. She hadn’t left, hadn’t lost it. He forced his eyes open, concentrated on Eden, trying to gauge her reaction. Her expression still hovered
somewhere between panic and disbelief, but she was holding her own. It didn’t guarantee she wouldn’t leave, but it was enough to push the darkest thoughts away.

She stared at him for a long moment. “What’s green mean?”

“Green?”

“They’ve always been blue.” She lifted a finger to the corner of her eye. “If they go yellow when you’re scared, what’s green?”

“Blue and yellow?” He tried out a smile. “Happy fear? Hope?”

He watched as she struggled with herself before she slowly crossed the room. She sat on the bed with him, against the headboard, closer but still keeping her distance.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Does this change things?”

She looked up at him, exasperated, drawing her knees to her chest. “Az, you’re telling me you’re an angel. This is either the most fucked-up day ever or I need to be locked in a psych ward. I’d say it changes things.”

He scooted closer to her. “I meant…does it change us.”

Her brow wrinkled. “You’ve had them the whole time, right?” He nodded, his heart in his throat as she seemed to consider. “Anything else you wanna get off your chest?”

Az dropped his hands to hers.
So much
, he thought. “How are you okay with this?” he asked. It didn’t feel real. Her still being there.

She pulled her hands away slowly. “I don’t know.” Her voice grew even quieter. “If I freak out and leave, I lose you. I don’t want that.” Her fingers found his again, entwining with them as their eyes met. “I want
you
. And if this is you, well…”

He pulled her into his arms, the tension in his shoulders releasing as her arms wrapped around him. “I love you so much.”

I
vy grew thick across the back of the house, the broken path across the yard lost under green tendrils. Gabriel didn’t bother hiding his presence, using his key to slip in the back door. It was an old servant’s entrance that opened to a narrow staircase. He didn’t turn on the light, his fingers finding the wall out of habit, using it to guide him.

There was no sound in the stairway, nothing from the hall. One fluid movement took him into Kristen’s room. The door swung on well-oiled hinges, clicking quietly shut behind him.

She didn’t look up when he entered, though he knew she was aware he’d arrived. He watched her for a moment, a long leg balanced on the edge of her vanity table as she painted her toenails a shade close to black. Finally, with a breath across the polish, she glanced up at the mirror, meeting his eyes through the reflection.

“You haven’t been answering your phone,” she said,
not turning to him. She capped the polish and dropped it into a drawer.

“I came as soon as I could.”

Kristen swiveled the chair toward him finally, her face indifferent. The quiver in her lip was so slight, he almost missed it.

“Oh, Kristen,” he said quietly. He didn’t have to read her mind to guess her thoughts. “I should have called. Did you think I wasn’t coming?” She seemed to give in suddenly, forgetting the pedicure and hurrying across the floor to throw herself into his arms. He hugged her tight.

“How’s my little black rain cloud?” he asked, pulling her back. The dress she wore was dirty, the antique fabric tattered and torn, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary for Kristen. He’d half hoped that she’d been holding her own, even with her appearance. The room gave her away.

On the top of the dresser were ten writing utensils. Lined up in a row, the pattern was simple enough, a pencil higher than the blue felt tip beside it, the marker after rising again, even with the pencil. Up, down, up, down across the polished wood. Iambic pentameter in pens. On her nightstand, the hair clips seemed random until he counted them. A row of five, of seven, of five again.

“Kristen, haikus?” He cupped her chin in his hand. She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “You should have left a message! I would have come!” She started to speak but he
shushed her, closing his eyes. He bowed his head, concentrating until he picked up her thoughts.

At first, he only heard her fears….
came back this time but what if I’m too much of a burden and are the pencils straight think of something else so he doesn’t see how bad
…A rush of poetry assaulted him, the lines and couplets screaming past his ears in stereo. He raised his hands to her shoulders, his eyes still shut tight.

“Kristen,” he chided, then softened his tone. “You’re not a burden. Now let me fix it, okay?” He squeezed her shoulders. Under his fingers, she relaxed a bit, giving in. Every few weeks since he and Az found her, he wiped her mind clear. Saned her back to herself. It never held long; the roots of the disease had dug deep while she had been human. The residue of her schizophrenia slowly reclaimed her brain if left alone. He could only clean so much.

A jumble of words and thoughts coated her brain like plaque, flaring knots of insanity wrapping tighter the longer he left the schizophrenia alone. He narrowed his focus, untangling the damaged threads of thought. He’d nearly finished when he came across the patch of static. They’d appeared suddenly last year, strands of white noise he couldn’t get rid of, as if they were operating on a different frequency. He’d thought at first that she was getting worse and the disease was progressing anyway, but they never spread.

I should have been here
, he thought. He swallowed, guilt tightening his throat, and pushed his own thoughts away. The volume skyrocketed, her mind opening to him, playing out like a song, the lines of static humming dully in the background.

Steam poured from the crack of the door, though the shower had been off for ten minutes. Gabriel flipped though a magazine, the glossy pages sliding past unread.

“You okay in there?” he called out. The door swung open in answer, the handle bouncing lightly against the wall. Kristen looked almost normal, save her sense of what passed for fashion. He eyed the black ball gown with distaste. “Look, I know you like to be different and all, but do you have to be so nineteen-forty-six debutante?”

She ignored him, opening one of the dresser drawers, sweeping away the pens and markers. “Silly, really,” she said, turning to him. “Anyone with their wits about them would know Sharpies make for bad inspiration. No wonder I hardly wrote anything this week.”

Gabriel tossed the magazine aside, pulling a pillow under his chin as he shifted to lie down on the bed. He ran the words through his head before saying them, trying to find the cadence to make them sound nonchalant. Of course, when he opened his mouth, they came out clipped and too quick. “I need to talk to you about where I was.
Why you couldn’t get a hold of me.” The pause after was long enough to be theatrical. Kristen set the hairbrush down.

She said his name, her voice unsure and faltering. Hidden between the syllables were the questions her pride wouldn’t allow her to ask. When she answered, though, all insecurities had dropped away.

“Something serious?” The flash in her eyes dared him to attempt an excuse.

“Az has a girl.” Kristen twisted to the mirror, pulling the brush through the tangled wreck of her hair.

“Huh,” she mused to her reflection. “All this time I thought him celibate.” Gabriel shot her an impatient glare. “I hardly see how this is relevant to me.”

“She’s Pathless,” he finished. “She’s one of your kind. Or will be.”

She silently brushed blush over her cheekbones. “So Az thinks, what? She’ll go Sider and they’ll skip off into the sunset for fuck’s sake?” Kristen’s jaw tightened. She went back to the mirror, pulling her eyelid taut, smearing kohl liner with an expert hand.

“This girl, Eden, she’s good for him. He’s doing better than he has in centuries. He’s hardly struggled against the Fall since he met her.” Gabriel closed his eyes, blotting out the distraction of the room, the collection of top hats shelved above the mirror. “I want you to take her in after
she changes. Keep her safe until we figure things out.” He opened his eyes. A slow crescent chiseled its way onto Kristen’s lips.

“We’re nearly immortal, Gabriel. You know that.” Her brown eyes already glittered from his unintentional slip. “Keep her safe from what, exactly?”

Gabriel glanced away. “Luke.”

“I do recall you mentioning how he enjoys ripping apart Az’s love life.” She lined her other eye and tossed the pencil back into the drawer. “Last one was straight down the middle, right?”

“Really, Kristen?” Gabriel’s eyes flashed maroon and Kristen dropped her gaze, rummaging through her makeup drawer. “When she does go Sider, I want her in the best hands. Ones on the right side. You are the best hands, Kristen.”

“Of course I am.” Kicking a foot up, she shoved off the vanity. The chair hurdled across the floor, past her wall of filing cabinets, carrying Kristen to where it collided against the bed. She leaned closer. “And the best,” she said, her words humming against his ear, “do not babysit.”

She pulled back, giving the chair a lazy spin. The black taffeta of her dress bloomed around her, made her look almost innocent until she opened her mouth. “Dump her in Queens.”

“With
Madeline
?” Gabriel’s jaw dropped. “Now you’re just being cruel.”

Kristen’s hands plunged down into the folds of the dress, her head cocking incredulously. “And you’re being selfish. You’re asking me to put myself and every Sider in this house at risk in exchange for what, flattery?”

“What risk?” Gabriel argued. “It’s not like he’ll be searching her out. Luke won’t even know she’s a Sider. All I’m asking is that you give her a place to stay, teach her what she needs to know.”

Kristen tapped her finger against her lips.

“Just as long as it takes for her to get a handle on how things work for your kind. Come on, Kristen. We both know Madeline’s loyalties tend toward the Fallen. I don’t know the others well enough to trust them with something this important to me. You’re the
only
one I trust.”

She sighed dramatically, but a glint of satisfaction found its way to her eyes.

Gabriel slid around her, standing, his head dipped in apology. “Maybe you’re right. I was wrong to think you’d be up to the challenge, what with all your Bronx minions to keep watch over.” It was all he could do to keep the smirk off his lips. Twisting the babysitting comment against her had her face nearly purple. “I know how much you hate doing things out of the kindness of your heart….” He trailed off, waiting.

“It’s not that I don’t like to. It’s just there’s not much kindness in there. I save it for special occasions.” She dropped her foot over one of the armrests, letting it swing for a moment. “And what if the Fallen figure out she’s with Az? If they come after her here—”

“Luke doesn’t know she’s going to be a Sider. Hopefully, he never will. Right now, he’s looking for a mortal, but Eden won’t be one much longer.”

Kristen dropped her head back, staring at the ceiling. “This would be
such
an inconvenience.”

Gabriel held his breath.

Finally she lifted her head. “Well then, I suppose we have quite a bit of work ahead of us.” She smiled at his confusion. “Special occasions require a party.”