A Touch Morbid (10 page)

That she was fine. In control.

Kristen slipped a finger behind the tiny lever, knocking it forward to snap the vent shut.

I heard she used to live in a cemetery. What a freak
.

Kristen froze. They couldn’t know that. Couldn’t.

She stood on her tiptoes, bringing her ear closer to the vent. Only Gabe knew about her past. Or so she’d thought.

I heard she has worse secrets
. Kristen startled, confused as the voice dropped, darker and breathless.
Ones about the bad angels
.

Her foot slid back in reflex. For a second her toes caught on the edge of the seat, and pain seared through her foot. She slammed onto the ground, her elbows striking the hardwood. No. No. They couldn’t know about Luke.

She hobbled to the door, jerking it open. She’d burn confessions from their lips. The door to the next room was closed. She turned the knob.

“You wicked little gossips!” she shrieked, her eyes flashing left to right. “You know
nothing
.”

Silence slumped in every corner as if to mock her. The room held a bed, a dresser, a closet, opened and empty. Unoccupied.

Or so it seemed. They were there, had to be there. She’d heard them.

“You want to play games? We can play games.” She dropped to the floor, eyes sweeping under the bed. Nothing.

She’ll never find us
. Her gaze snapped up. They were still in there.
Shhh shhh!
a girl’s voice hissed, and the quiet fell thick as wet snow. Kristen could feel the heavy weight, building on her shoulders.

“You will be so very sorry when I find you,” she promised. The pressure lifted a bit with her words. “Do you know what I do all day alone in my room? I plot your punishments. You’re all so weak and disorganized. There’s no order unless I give it to you.”

A giggle erupted around her.

Look at her. She looks like a crazy person
.

“I am
not
crazy.” Tears burned her eyes and the laugh sounded again, this time from the hall. She glided out the door, cautious and silent. She needed to hear where they were. Find them. Break them into tiny pieces. Her eyes roamed over the walls, trying to pinpoint a location.

Where are we, Kristen? Why can’t you find us? Don’t you delight in a good game of hide-and-seek?
the voice lilted, the teasing tone mocking her in an impression of her own.

“You stop this. You stop this
now
!” They had to be in the ducts. Down the hall a door opened. Her hand shot up, pointing though she kept her eyes glued to the vents. “Get back into your room. This is none of your business.” The door closed quickly. “You see?” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper so they wouldn’t be overheard. “
That’s
control. I’m admired. I’m strong. I keep you all safe. Safe and free from all the chaos, and this is how you treat me?”

Do you think we should tell her?
one voice asked the other. She was closing in on them.
She has to know
. Kristen took a tentative step, her head cocked.

Could she really be that far gone?

Well
, the other voice answered.
She lost her guardian angel. He carried her mind with him
.

“Don’t listen,” Kristen whispered to herself. “Concentrate.”

Look at her. She’s ranting at the walls
. Kristen’s foot faltered, frozen midair. They were right. If Sebastian found her like this, he’d think something was wrong.
She thinks there are people in the vents
. When the voice spoke again, it didn’t come from the vent. Not from the walls. Not down the hall.

I think she figured out where we are
, it whispered. Directly in her ear.

Kristen ran.

E
den stared, bleary-eyed, down at the package sitting in the hall, over the threshold of the open door to the apartment. Her name and address were scrawled across the top of plain brown paper, which couldn’t be right. She blinked hard, trying to cast away the fog in her brain. She’d made it in without waking Az or Jarrod last night, but the buzz of sneaking out and then back in had robbed her of any hope of sleep. When she focused again, the package was still there.

She shot a quick glance over her shoulder. Az was in the kitchen. She could hear Jarrod’s shower running.

A foot-square box wasn’t the oddest thing to show up in her doorway, but it made the least sense. Eden and Jarrod didn’t normally
get
mail outside of the occasional junk pamphlets for Occupant, and the only personally addressed mail went to the name on the lease—Adam.

Eden’s eyes were on the package, but her thoughts stayed on Adam. He’d been her partner even before Jarrod had joined their group, been more than that before Az had come back into her life.

“What’re you doing?” Az grabbed her shoulder, startling her. When she didn’t answer, he moved forward, leaning against her, his presence bringing her comfort. She wasn’t prepared for the edge in his voice. “When did that get here?”

“I heard a knock,” she said finally. “It was sitting here when I opened the door.”

“Well,” Az teased, “that is typically how the mail gets delivered. Next step is to bring it inside. Advanced lessons include opening.”

If she hadn’t known him better, the sarcasm would have been enough to have her discounting what seemed to be a tinge of fear in his tone. After last night with the Bound, though, his overly carefree act wasn’t working. Something was off.
Why’s he sketched out?
He kissed her neck and made a move to grab the box, but she beat him to it.

“And who exactly would be mailing us anything?” she asked pointedly.

“Kristen?” Az offered, but another name took root in Eden’s mind.

“Gabe.” Eden ripped off the brown paper and slit the tape with her fingernail. With a deep breath, she lifted the cardboard flap.

Bits of shredded paper fell out. She thought about digging through, but wasn’t exactly eager about sticking her hand into a mysterious box, contents unknown. Instead, she walked it to the couch and sat down.

Az crossed his arms, standing beside her.

Carefully, she overturned the container onto the coffee table. She poked the tangled strands of newsprint aside. Her fingernail tinked against something. Nestled in the center of the mess of paper was a glass vial, capped at the top.

She looked at Az, uncertain.

“Weird,” she said, lifting it to the light. “Is that dirt?” Inside were chalky-looking gray flakes, most of them disintegrated down to a fine powder that filled the tube halfway. Eden’s heart sped up. “Oh God, it’s ashes.”

Az snatched the vial from her. He flipped over the dangling piece of brown paper with the address on it. “No return, but it’s not like we need it.” Eden raised an eyebrow, not following. “Luke’s way of saying hello. Making sure you remember him.”

When Eden had taken out Siders, her breath had left them nothing more than ashes. Whoever had sent it knew what Eden could do. The question was intent. Was the package sent to taunt her, because she wouldn’t kill the Siders anymore? Was it some sort of threat?

She took the tube from him, staring at it for a moment before she set it down on the table and wandered to the window. Her eyes fell to the street below, the bit of the front steps that she could make out. “What if he made another like me? What if he’s proving he has someone killing Siders?”

“Let him.”

She sighed, going back to watching the Siders below. The one who’d confronted her when she and Az had left last night paced the sidewalk in front of her building. “I’m not helping the Fallen. If Luke made someone who will, they need to be stopped.”

“So you’ll find this Sider and kill them? All you’d be doing is sending them to the Basement. Instead of being tortured, the Fallen will reward them. Like a martyr. A saint.”

At the window, Eden went still. “Is that what happened to Libby, then?” she asked quietly. She’d never thought about the Siders she’d killed still existing in any real sense, not with personalities or thoughts. Always pictured Upstairs as a place that absorbed you, took you in. The whole “white light” and all. Now that she actually visualized it, the theory seemed childish, unreal.

“What’s it like? Upstairs?”

In the long pause before Az answered, the Sider below crossed the street in front of their apartment complex. Was he giving up on waiting for her? Going back to wherever he came from?

“Complicated,” Az said. “I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

She raised an eyebrow, waiting him out, and after another silence, he finally spoke. “It’s a figment of your imagination. Upstairs. I can’t describe it to you.”

“You can’t say it doesn’t exist. I mean, you’ve been there.” Her attention drifted back to the Sider. He leaned against the brick, one shoe kicked up behind him. Someone had joined him. They stood, too nonchalant to not be up to something.

She heard Az cross the room. He joined her at the window. “Think about what makes you happy.”

You
, she thought first, and then a dozen things sprang into her head. Stupid things like coffee and simple things like summer and laughing. The smell the kicked-up ocean gave off after a storm.

“Now what would make Kristen happy?”

The words stopped her thoughts. Her brain struggled to switch gears, flashing back to the crypts Kristen raided for her dresses and jewelry, the strange knickknacks, dried roses, and small monkey in a jar of formaldehyde she displayed on her mantle. The sadistic way she ruled her Siders. Power made her happy. Power and…

“Poetry?” Eden offered.

“An eternity of poetry,” he said. Eden frowned at the thought. “That. Right there.” Az’s eyes sparkled. “You’d hate having to read poetry forever, but to Kristen it’d be paradise. Upstairs is the same place, but tailored to each person. Slightly different.”

“What was it like there for you?”

She watched outside as the Sider’s hand shot out, but it was gloved. He snagged something from the person standing beside him. His glove came off. Eden’s own hand touched the glass. She strained to see. The Sider slid his fingers against his companion’s as they passed, each heading off in opposite directions. Were they Vaughn’s Siders?

“Empty.” Az’s voice startled her. She’d forgotten her question until he went on. “We were never told we could dream.” She turned in his arms. His gaze pierced her, drew her in. “Until I got down here, I never knew there could be more. And now that I know, I can never go back. That place is Hell to me.”

“I’m scared.” She said it without thinking. Her eyes drifted to the vial, on the table where Az had left it. “Luke’s going to keep coming for us. It’s never going to end.”

His brow furrowed, before the creases faded and he smiled. “You and Jarrod had him crawling away last time. He’s afraid of you. How badass can he be, threatening you with a few boxes?”

“A
few
boxes?”

The smile dropped from his lips.

“This isn’t the first?” She closed her eyes, trying desperately to reign in her anger. “How many?”

“Eden, they don’t mean any—”

“Az,” she said, her voice shaking. “You already lied to me. Don’t make it worse.”

He swore under his breath. “Five, okay? All the same. Nothing but a pathetic attempt to freak you out. I didn’t want you to get upset.” He tried to hug her but she raised her shoulder, jerking away.

“I don’t need to be coddled!”

A ghost of a cocky grin crossed his lips. “Don’t I know it.”

“Who’s
really
sending them? Michael? Is that what he meant about the smoldering?” She snatched up the vial, rolling it between her fingertips. “He knows the Siders turn to ash when I send them on, so he’s what, teasing me? Tempting me?”

“Eden, Michael doesn’t know where we live. He doesn’t even know where Gabe’s and my apartment is.” Az crossed the room to the kitchen. The scent of fresh-brewed coffee hung strong in the air. “It’s gotta be Luke.”

“You should have told me about the boxes, Az,” she muttered. It wasn’t worth fighting with him over. Not to mention what
she’d
been doing last night. “Luke’s going to make a move.”

Az took two cups down from the cupboard, then slipped the coffee pot free. She held her cup out to him. “Eden, he’s not. And if he was, why wouldn’t he wait until we let our guard down?” he went on. “Come outta nowhere?”