A Touch Mortal

Chapter 40





Eden didn’t have a chance to buy a bottle of water before the song ended. Libby didn’t release her hand, even when they’d been standing still at the bar. There were blacklights running throughout the club, the stamp the bouncer had placed on her hand alternating between bright white and invisible. They crept closer to the door separating the club from the backstage area. Every few seconds, Libby glanced back, eyes shining with excitement. Eden couldn’t help the nervous stirring in her stomach.

“Can you believe it?” Libby screamed, grabbing Eden’s arm. “Are you excited?”

“He’s just a singer,” Eden said, more to herself than Libby. “Don’t go all fangirl over him.” At least there would be less people backstage. Eden checked her phone. Still more than an hour until they were supposed to be on their way home.

The bouncer guarding the door ignored them, watching the stage. The jukebox drivel pumping through the speakers did nothing for her, and she wondered if she’d ever be able to listen to anything else again. The crowd milled listlessly as if counting down the minutes until the band returned.

The bouncer held a finger to his earpiece, and nodded almost imperceptibly to whatever instructions had been given. He stood suddenly, swinging his bulk to the left and pushed the door from its frame, but only an inch. Red light streamed out from behind, sending sharp lines through the last remnants of smoke from the show.

“Hold your hand up,” he said. He studied their marks in the cool light from the recessed blue bulb. Under the blacklight, the stamp glowed, a thick circle with three curves emanating from it. Satisfied, he moved aside to grant them access. Eden looked back once at the empty stage she could see through the speakers and passed over the threshold. The door closed solidly behind her.

Red bulbs flickered, driving them down the narrow hall. Eden tried trailing her fingers on the black-painted plywood as they walked, but splinters scraped into them. Without the distraction, the nervous energy built in her.

“I don’t know about this.” The sudden lack of people was oddly unsettling. Libby’s footsteps echoed through the tight space.

“Do you want to go back?”

“No,” Eden answered as she tried to stay close, somewhere between walking and running. “But could you at least slow down, Libby!”

A trickle of fear puddled in her stomach, but she managed to fight it off until they rounded the corner into a room.

The light from a wide circle of dozens of candles fought to cancel out the purple hazy glow from blacklights. The walls were painted in fading Day-Glo, neon mushrooms and ripped posters advertising shows from months ago. The musicians she’d seen on the stage occupied black beanbag chairs randomly thrown about the room.

One of the backup singers had tilted each of the candles near her, the different colors of wax splattering in front of her like a Jackson Pollock painting. Now she ran her fingers through it, smearing little peaks and valleys into the mess. Definitely in her own little world, Eden thought, wondering what the girl was on. The room looked like some kind of circus on an acid trip.

Eden’s eyes stopped short at the head of the circle. The singer. His head snapped up.

“I wondered if you’d make it back here!” he said, smiling as he rose to his feet. His tone was one part surprise, one part pride, like they’d just conquered some kind of labyrinth instead of a straight hallway. Beside her, she saw Libby shudder. “It’s a pleasure.”

He kept his eyes on Eden. “Now, she’s Libby, but I didn’t catch…”

“How did you know her name?” Eden asked, but he waved off the question with a flurry of his fingers.

“Sound carries in the hall. What’s your name?” he asked again, taking a step closer.

“And who are you?” she asked, denying him. The thought occurred to her too late to make something up.

“Me? I’m just a singer in a rock and roll band.” He laughed then, a sound like static feedback.

Eden couldn’t choke back her own snort at the melodrama. “This is all a bit…ridiculous, no?”

“Eden!” Libby mumbled. “Don’t be a bitch.” The singer gave her a smile, and then turned back to Eden, his face full of apology.

“You’ll just have to forgive me, Eden. If you can find it in your heart.” His voice was different than it had been the night she had first heard him or earlier, when he’d been onstage. The heavy smoothness had gone, leaving it sarcastic and pitchy. Condescending, Eden realized. He’s playing with me.

“Well, honestly, I don’t know what I was expecting, but I’m let down,” she said. “Let’s go.” She reached for Libby’s arm, but the singer slid between them, grabbing Eden’s wrist. She splayed her fingers away from him, yanking back.

“Eden doesn’t like games,” he said loudly.

It was a command; a cease and desist order.

The drummer set down his sticks and picked up a book that had been lying next to him. Wax girl scraped the last of her art from her fingers, looking embarrassed. Someone else turned on the lights, and suddenly the room lost its strange feel and became only a dingy backstage hideaway.

“Better?” The velvet undercurrent had flowed back into his words. “So no games?” He didn’t wait for her to answer before he released his grip. Eden’s cell phone trilled in her pocket.

“Silence is golden,” he said as she pulled it out.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” In her hand the last notes of her ring tone played out. She glanced at the caller ID. F*cking Adam.

“I think he means put it on silent,” Libby whispered. Eden shrugged, thumbing the volume down.

“Meanwhile,” he said, turning to Libby, “my drummer has taken a special interest in you, my dear.”

“Drummer?” Libby’s smile faltered. A flash of impatience clouded his dark eyes and then dispelled.

“He insisted on the chance to meet you.” He leaned in, close enough to not be overheard by the drummer, but Eden could still hear the exchange. “I’d consider it a personal favor,” he said, with an emphasis on the “personal” that nixed any chance Libby had to deny the request.

“Let’s give them some privacy?” the singer suggested, as Libby plopped down next to the drummer’s beanbag. He led Eden through a back door she hadn’t noticed before, grabbing a bottle of water on their way out.

Not until the door closed behind them did she realize how ludicrous his line had been. A half dozen other people were in the room with Libby. But Eden was alone. With him. I still don’t know his name, she realized.

She took a quick survey of the back lot, weighing her escape options. A tall wooden fence cut off the street. A green recycling Dumpster with glass scrawled across the front in fading permanent marker and another labeled cardboard were too far from the fence to climb and use to jump over it.

He leaned against the door, the only way in or out, casually running a hand through his long curls before letting out a heavy sigh.

“God, that club gets hot as Hell,” he said, twisting the cap off the water bottle and taking a long drink. Eden licked her lips. He held it out to her, but she shook her head. The last thing she needed was to pass him Touch. “You have to be thirsty.”

“No thanks,” Eden said thickly, but it took every ounce of her resolve not to reach for his offering. He rolled his eyes.

“It’s just water. Look,” he said, taking another drink. The bottle was half empty now. Her lips stuck together when she parted them. He adjusted his grip, holding it by the neck, offering her the base.

“Thanks,” she said, taking the bottle. She took a swig and tossed it back. He raised an eyebrow as he caught it. “Is this your attempt at luring me in with your ‘bad-ass rocker boy’ act?” she asked, leaning against the Dumpster. “Because I’m afraid it’s hopeless.”

“You think I’m after some groupie blow job?” Looking down, he wore a coy grin as he kicked the toe of his boot absently against the concrete. “Well, at least I know you swallow. Come off it, Eden. I know the crowd you hang with.” He spit out the sentence with disdain. The ball of tension in her chest bloomed into fear.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

He moved slowly, hands spread wide and low, the heels of his combat boots scraping across the asphalt with each step. When he reached for her hand, she pulled back instinctively, but he caught her, fingers tightening around her shirtsleeve. A cloud of breath hissed through her teeth.

“Easy,” he whispered gently, raising her struggling hand to his cheek. Eden froze as he laid her palm against his skin.

There was no glow.

“You’re one of the Fallen.” She whispered it. Somehow saying it out loud only made it more unsettling.

“I sure as Hell don’t have your boyfriend’s pretty wings.” His eyes danced playfully as she tensed. He leaned back against the door, pulling out a cigarette, lighting it with the Zippo he flicked across his hip. “So it’s true then. The rebellious Az is shacking up with the Rogue!” He sounded delighted.

“He is not my boyfriend,” she said, through gritted teeth.

“Even better,” he interrupted. “No loyalties.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t have loyalties. I only said I wasn’t with him.” She risked a glance at him. “What do you want? If you were going to kill me, you would have done it already.”

“Obviously, Az and Gabriel haven’t told you about my style.” He breathed, the end of the cigarette glowing red, then slowly fading to gray in the silence. A reminiscent smile crossed his lips. “Your boyfriend’s heartstrings make such a lovely melody when they snap.”

She flashed back to Az on the balcony. The girl, the reason he’d been cast out. Dead, he’d said. They’ll hurt you, Eden. There’d been so much fear in his eyes. What had they done to her? “Az and I are barely even friends,” she whispered.

The door opened suddenly, slamming into his back. The drummer leaned his head out.

“Luke, three minutes,” he said before the door fell closed again.

Luke. Lucifer. “Jesus Christ.” She slid back a step.

“Hardly.” He cocked his head, his smile twisting to a smirk. “Oh, come now. Don’t get judgmental. Tales of war are always told by the victors. Add a few translation errors and suddenly I have this horrible reputation. I mean, I’m Dawn’s Supernova. Where’s the darkness in that?”

Eden raised an eyebrow, trying to keep her terror hidden as she leaned against the cold metal of the Dumpster. “You’re Dawn’s Supernova? Bit of an ego. What about the rest of them?”

“Lesser demons. I’d love to get into it, but unfortunately, I’ve got a show to do. Perhaps we should get to it.” He hit the cigarette, blew out a quick exhale. “Holy wars have become so cliché these days. I approached Gabriel about a truce, hoping he’d be able to put aside our differences to figure out what’s going on with you Siders. I’d get my answers, he’d save you and Kristen. He was less than enthusiastic.”

“You know Kristen?” Eden’s stomach dropped.

He smirked. “Of course I do. I know quite a few Siders. Unfortunately, Kristen isn’t exactly my number one fan. She made it clear she’s a harps and hymns girl.” At his back the door opened an inch, but Luke knocked his shoulder back, shutting it. “Coming!” he yelled.

“Look. The Siders will get noticed by the Bound. And when they do, you’ll be their first victim. If I were you, I wouldn’t make any declarations of loyalty just yet.” He reached a hand behind him, feeling for the knob. “I was hoping we could work together? That you’d at least consider it.” He twisted the knob, but didn’t open the door. “Before we head back in…”

Here’s the trap, she thought.

He tapped a finger against his cheek as if considering something. “I’m wondering if I could ask a favor. In the spirit of future friendship and all.”

The door was right there, her escape blocked only by his broad shoulders. Eden nodded absently, stepping closer.

“Rumor is you’re on lockdown. If an opportunity presents itself, I’d like to be able to continue this conversation. There’s no reason for Gabriel to know we’ve spoken. Any objections?”

“I’ll have to think about it,” she said.

“My second request.” He pulled the metal door and held it open, his arm high, so that she’d have to duck under to go through. Eden waited for him to speak, but when he didn’t she moved forward, her last few steps a dash for the backstage room. He caught her shoulder as she went through, freezing her at the threshold. Eden kept her eyes ahead.

Inside, the lights were still on. Libby was on a beanbag chair, her hands moving in some conversation Eden was too far away to catch.

“I want you to be careful around Az,” he said. Eden’s attention snapped to him.

“Az? Why?”

“You of all people should know, Eden,” he said, his voice low and guttural. “Because he’s only half Fallen. Struggling constantly with violent urges.” He dropped his arm so she could pass. “How did you die?”