Touch (Denazen #1)(13)

That was Brandt. Always had my back. I pulled him into a quick hug, then turned back to Kale. “We should get moving. See if you can find anything else out about that place—but be careful.”

He nodded and took a step back.

We made it halfway to the edge of the lot before Brandt cursed. “Crap. Wait, I’ll go with—”

Shouting rose in the distance.

We scattered. No time. We were on our own.





5


Kale and I made it into town safely. For all we knew, it wasn’t Denazen back at the Graveyard, but no sense in taking chances. This thing was getting bigger by the minute, and the more I found out, the more I wondered how far Dad would go to get Kale back. And what he’d do to me.

The address Brandt gave me was an old hotel about five blocks from the Graveyard. By the time we got there, it was coming up on four p.m. and I was ready to drop. Usually, functioning on little to no sleep wasn’t an issue, but the last twenty-four hours had been hell. The woman at the front desk, an overweight brunette wearing way too much perfume, greeted us with a weary smile.

“I’m sorry, but we don’t rent rooms to minors.” Her eyes traveled over us once, then twice. She gave a curt, dismissive nod and went back to her magazine.

“We’re not here to rent a room.” I stepped up to the desk, leaning over. “We’re looking for Misha Vaugn.”

“Have you washed your socks?” the woman asked, standing. She smoothed her pleated skirt and straightened her dark purple blouse, waiting for our answer.

Confused, I could only stare. Kale answered for me.

“I’m not wearing any.” He looked down at his borrowed Timberlands, a worried look on his face. “Is that going to be a problem?”

The woman stammered, obviously not expecting the answer he gave. Huh. Maybe she was one of those people creeped out by bare feet. Or possibly a germaphobe. Either way, the sock thing seemed to be important. “Wait here.” She disappeared through a door behind the desk.

Kale watched her go, curiosity evident in his eyes. “What is this place?”

“It’s a hotel. People come here to sleep.”

“Sleep? But it’s so quiet.” Confused, he turned and walked away from the desk, inspecting the magazines fanned out across the nearest coffee table. He picked one up and began flipping through it.

I wandered away from the desk, settling down on the couch beside him. “It’s not quiet at Denazen?”

“Quiet,” he repeated, and tugged at the hem of his borrowed green T-shirt. After a moment, he shook his head. “No it’s hardly ever quiet.”

There was no elaboration, and I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know. What my dad had done to these people—my mom, Kale—was criminal. Locked away from the real world and brainwashed to think it was for his safety, Kale had lived his entire life in captivity. Like an animal. Watching him sit across from me, alternating between flipping through a magazine and glancing at the door every few minutes, caused an ache in my chest.

My mental roller coaster was interrupted by the slamming of a door. Tired and on edge, I jumped to my feet. Kale was up and standing, ready before I could blink. With his arms crossed and his legs braced apart, he looked ready to take on the world. It was actually kind of impressive. If the situation were reversed, I wasn’t sure I’d be handling things as smoothly.

A woman with an obviously fake smile approached from behind the desk. She wore no makeup, blonde hair twisted in a tight bun atop her head. Her crisp white, button-down blouse was tucked neatly into her dark blue jeans. Oh, yeah. This chick was wound tight.

Kale stayed where he was. “You are Misha Vaugn?”

The woman rounded the desk, hand extended toward him. “I’m—”

He backpedaled, tripping over the small coffee table and landing across the couch.

The woman watched in confusion, hand hanging in mid-air. She wasn’t smiling anymore. “Is something wrong?”

I stepped up and took her hand. “I’m Dez, and that’s Kale. We’re looking for Misha Vaugn.”

“So I’ve heard.” Her gaze lingered on me for a moment before returning to Kale, who was getting to his feet. “What’s wrong with him?”

Kale scanned the room, and after a moment, found what he’d been searching for. He approached a small potted tree in the corner of the room. A single finger to the tip of one of the leaves was all it took.

After several seconds, the leaf dried and disintegrated. The dryness spread like a disease—down the trunk, and out to the rest of the leaves. They browned and shriveled, falling away one by one, and collecting in piles of dust at the bottom.

The woman gave a sharp nod. “I must thank you for your quick reflexes.” She turned and nodded to the door. “If you’ll both come with me.”

We followed her around the desk and through the door to an elevator. She stepped in, motioning for us to follow, but Kale stopped short. He glared at her and took a step back. “Are there stairs?”

The woman balked. “Of course there are, but we’re going—”

“I’ll take the stairs.”

She looked to me for help, but I only shrugged, stepping off the elevator. Ten minutes later the woman, who introduced herself as Sira by floor four, stopped in front of one of the rooms and pulled out a set of keys. “If you’ll wait in here, someone will be along shortly.”