A Touch Mortal

Chapter 19





The bell on the coffee shop’s door sounded when she walked through, but the guy behind the counter didn’t look at her. He looked at the clock.

Pulling a tray out from some shelf she couldn’t see, he set it next to the register and handed her a bag. She already knew what it would contain—two dozen packets of Equal, creamers, and a few stir sticks thrown in for good measure. “You’re late today.”

Eden looked up at the clock. Two minutes past eleven.

“I had something,” she said, not bothering to elaborate. “How goes it, Zach?” she asked, squinting as she dropped the bill onto the counter. She rubbed her wrist absently, pain lingering in the joints.

Behind the counter, Zach shrugged. “It goes,” he said. He swiped the money from the counter, entering the numbers into the cash register. As always, his hands were gloved, the latex enough to keep him from spreading Touch to customers.

“Money tight?” she asked pointedly. She’d offered to put Zach up, have him join them and let her worry about the bills. So far he hadn’t taken her up on the offer.

As usual, he only smiled, replied with the same lines he always did. “I’ll consider it, Eden. No promises, though.”

Other Siders lived in the area too, though they feared her enough to maintain some distance. They’d heard the rumor. If a Sider sought Eden out, it was for one reason. She didn’t mind their nearness, did her best to stay just another face in the crowd.

She sighed. “It’s tight, but we could upgrade to a bigger apartment if you moved in.”

“So you’ve mentioned,” he said, amused.

She’d kept her group small to stay under the radar. Clearly that plan was failing. If she needed backup, there was only Jarrod and Adam. The fact was, she needed to start building her numbers. Just because word of her hadn’t gotten to the Fallen didn’t mean it wouldn’t. She’d taken in James out of pity. The kid had been scared and alone. Living on the streets. Zack, however, would be able to handle it if she needed to pass him Touch to get rid of what she took from the other Siders. She slipped an extra ten into the tip jar. Half full of coins and bills, the chipped cup had a new sign taped around it.

Eden angled it away from her as she read. “‘Thanks a latte’? Are you f*cking serious?”

Behind the counter, Zach only laughed.

“No way am I claiming that one. New guy. He’s taking over the opening shift on Monday and Thursday. I trained him, so he knows the routine. Told him you were VIP…that Carol-Anne chick’s dark, twisty sister.” He grinned at Eden’s confusion. “Theeeeyyy’re hhhheeeeeeeeeere.” She groaned, trying to kill her smile. “Poltergeist!” Zach laughed. “Come on, that’s classic!”

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 taking off 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, gave 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 weak 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 hand.

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

“You can’t kill yourself. It doesn’t work.” She reached into the medicine cabinet, moved aside a few random bottles, and pulled out a roll of gauze.

“I know that. I’m not stupid,” he whispered, defeat in his voice. “But the dark thoughts, they just build, Eden. This makes them stop. It gives me a few hours of feeling okay.” She looked beyond him, to the dozen spots of plaster standing out from the yellow paint.

“Why can’t you just pass, James?” 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. “This is Touch.” 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. And you wouldn’t be bleeding on the f*cking tiles.”

She wanted to reach out to him, 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 don’t want to die. 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 the 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 regimen of cleaning now, but it hadn’t so much as faded. Eden stayed silent for a moment, watching the gore seeping 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.” She stopped. 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 and yanking it on. His blond hair was still tangled with sleep, a rat’s 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 up 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.” He spun back toward the apartment.

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. Sheep, Eden thought, knowing he couldn’t be blamed.

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 some kind of 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.

He frowned 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 have better odds than the mortals 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 drugstore, 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.

“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 tucked her hands into her pockets, waiting. He didn’t answer. “For me?” she added.

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.