A Touch Mortal

EPILOGUE


Hovering behind them, Gabe let his gaze wander to Az. Az he knew.

Az he could count on, even if he was only half Fallen. Gabe stepped forward. The black-haired girl, pink strands twisting wild. The boy who’d swan dived off the roof.

The girl was next to Az. Did she belong to him? He held a hand out, but stopped when he caught the look of caged fear in Az’s wary glance back, the way he moved to put himself between Gabe and the girl.

Gabe tensed. Something was wrong. Why was Az protecting a mortal? They were such dispensable, delicate toys.

Gabe stepped back from them slowly.

The girl was…Vague, foggy memories rose like bubbles in a tar pit, never quite reaching the surface, caught under a layer of sticky darkness. The memory of her was trapped in there somewhere. She felt safe, harmless but…not. He inhaled, searching the air for clues, thoughts. An old habit? Either way it didn’t work.

But the girl? His head pounded as he tried to put it together. Eden. Her name. It had to be. Whenever she spoke, it rang through him like a melody. She, Eden, was sitting up now, getting to her feet. Az reached out, grabbed her hand. There was kindness on her face when she glanced at Az, a blatant weakness that dulled the curves of cheekbones with such potential for cruelty. So wasteful.

Gabe stood back from their little group. He had no reason to stay any longer.

The others didn’t notice his absence. They were not his kind. He wandered off toward the street. He could sense wicked beings, dark like him, huddled in the dim recesses of the dilapidated buildings flanking the blacktop. The possibility of wicked things was crisp on his tongue, begging to be tasted.

Squinting through the dim shades of morning, Gabe followed the cracked sidewalk alone.





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks go out to my made-of-awesome agent, Rosemary Stimola, who believed in this book even when it was missing rather important pieces (like…the first hundred or so pages) and for finding it the perfect home at Greenwillow. And to my editor, Martha Mihalick, and her mighty Editorial Pencil of Doom for pushing me harder and farther than I ever thought I could go. Both my book and I thank you for it.

Thanks to my mom and dad, my sister Marley, and my brother John, who’ve shown me crazy amounts of support, and to Heather Aslaksen who (somehow) kept me sane(-ish) by knowing the exact moment to smile and to nod when I started talking about plot holes. To Erin, Anna, and Devyn, for always being up for adventure, and to Jacinda, for giving Luke a song to sing. To Tracy Corso, who kept my secrets in the vault and who I’m sure is the only boss to let an employee stay home and write if the words were flowing. To the whole crew at QueryTracker, especially Patrick, Jason, Mary, and Jess, who kept me going, and to Chris McDonald for being one of my first readers. To the YA Rebels, past, present, and future, for being awesome.

And to Scott Tracey, who uttered the words, “At least he made an impact” to start our friendship, the line “Skin and concrete do not mix” to start this book, and who more times than I can count has picked up my pieces and set me back on the ledge. Thanks.





About the Author


LEAH CLIFFORD has been an extreme-cave-tour guide, a camp counselor, a flight attendant, a pizza delivery girl, a waitress, and a grocery store clerk. Now she adds author to that list. She lives near Cleveland, Ohio. This is her first book.