Touch (Denazen #1)(17)

Was it this hard for parents? “No, it’s a different kind of like. Like when two people want to be more than friends. Like, do more than just hold hands.”

“More? Like what?”

Oh. My. God. This was so not happening. “There’s like, as in you enjoy hanging out with someone, and then there’s like, as in they make you feel special. Happy. The kissing type of like.”

His eyes lit up. “Should I kiss you instead of holding your hand?”

My heart responded with a thumping, yes!

“I’m not explaining this right. People kiss when they’re attracted to each other. It makes them feel…nice.”

“Touching you makes me happy. It feels nice.” His grin widened. “The kiss last night was very nice.”

I sighed and gave him a small smile. This was a circular conversation and my brain was starting to overheat. All this talk of kissing and Kale looking at me with those amazing blue eyes… Focus! “I’m sure it does feel nice. But I think you like it because I’m the only person you can touch.”

He was quiet for a few minutes before answering. “Possibly.”

Something inside me twisted. I’d suggested it because it was logical, but still, I wanted him to insist I was wrong—which kind of bugged me. Now was not the time for crush obsession.

We walked the rest of the way in silence. Parkview was a pretty small place. I’d been to a party a few times in this general area. It was nice. Suburban. Mostly cute houses with well-manicured lawns and tacky plastic animals playing sentry.

As we approached Cole Oster’s address, the neighborhood darkened. The homes became dreary and run down. Cole lived in a dilapidated, blue Cape Cod at the end of a cul-de-sac called Last Chance Lane. The name, like the house, didn’t fill me with confidence. We made our way up the rickety steps and knocked on the door. After several moments, a short, balding man somewhere in his late forties popped his head out. “Yes?”

“Are you Cole Oster?”

“Who wants to know?” he snapped.

“Misha Vaugn gave us your name. We’re looking for the Reaper.”

“Go away.” He slammed the door in our faces.

I knocked again, this time harder. When he didn’t answer, I began kicking at the door with my right foot. “The longer we stand on your front step, the better the chance of Denazen finding us here. Do you really want Denazen dropping by for tea, Mr. Oster?”

That changed his mind. No more than a minute later, the locks on the door jiggled, and he pulled it open. “Hurry up and get inside.” As we stepped in, he mumbled something about having a very stern conversation with Misha in the near future. “I’m not inviting you to sit, so make it fast.”

I looked past the hallway and into the living room. Scattered takeout containers, beer cans, and plates—all with various stages of mold growth—greeted me. “Well, then let me thank you.” I waved at a fly. It was one of many buzzing over my head. Maybe I was wrong. There was a very real possibility that the smell emanating from Cole Oster’s home would be enough to keep Denazen at bay. “This place is disgusting.”

“Did you come here to insult me?”

“Where can we find the Reaper?” Kale asked.

“I haven’t seen him in years.” Cole wandered across the hall to the living room. Picking up a questionable-looking piece of cheese, he took a bite. I bit back a gag.

“But you have seen him?” I said, hope swelling inside my chest.

Cole gave me an offhanded wave and wandered back into the hall. “Of course I’ve seen him.” He hesitated. “Well, I’ve spoken to him, anyway.”

“Spoken to him?”

“More like written to him.”

He’d written to him? Like what, Santa Claus? “Let’s go, Kale. This is a waste of time.”

We turned to leave, but Cole called to us. “Wait. What do you want with him?”

“Denazen is holding my mom prisoner. Since he’s supposed to be the only one to get out alive, I need his help to save her.”

“I’ll tell you what I know, but don’t get too excited. It isn’t much.”

“Anything you have will be helpful since we’ve got zilch,” I said, looking for a clean spot on the wall to lean. There wasn’t one. I’d never rib Brandt about being a slob again.

“The last I heard, he—” Cole stopped mid-sentence. He looked from Kale to me, face going from confused to horrified. Eyes wide, he spread his arms to reveal a slowly spreading stain, bright red, in the middle of his chest. He sputtered something I couldn’t quite understand and fell to his knees. I dove to catch him, grabbing his shoulder right before he hit the ground. “Ale…”

“We need to go,” Kale said.

Cole gasped for air. “Alex Mo—”

Kale tried to wrestle me from the ground but I pulled away and gripped Cole’s stained Metallica T-shirt in my fists. “Alex who?”

A tremor shook him, ending in a body-wracking cough. He sucked in a shallow breath. “Alex Mojourn,” he rasped, eyes closing and chest falling still.

“Alex Mojourn?” I stammered, releasing his shirt. Kale yanked me to my feet and dragged me toward the exit, which was a good twelve feet away. “Did he say Alex Mojourn?”