Touch (Denazen #1)(35)

“What’s on green?”

“There are ten levels here at Denazen,” he said, adjusting his briefcase. “The fifth floor is where the new Sixes are brought in, received, and processed. It’s also where security is located—and my office.”

The elevator jerked to a stop and the doors opened to a short man wearing the same blue, pinstriped suit I’d seen the men at Curd’s wearing. He smiled, chipmunk-like cheeks scrunching his beady brown eyes to thin slits.

“Mr. Cross, they’ve brought 104 back. Things were a complete success.”

Dad nodded, and we stepped off the elevator. “Good. Make sure he’s brought back to level eight.”

“Eight, sir? Don’t we usually house him on seven?”

“We did—until he incinerated the person who brought him dinner two nights ago. He stays on eight until further notice.” Dad turned to me. “Follow and stay close.”

Chipmunk Cheeks paid me no mind as we passed, turning away from Dad to bark orders at a man approaching us.

“Someone got incinerated?” I balked. “Seriously?”

We stopped in front of a door at the end of the hall. Dad pulled the card he’d used in the elevator out, and passed it through the swiper on the door. It opened and we stepped inside.

“Have a seat.” He gestured across the room to a large mahogany desk. A cushy looking chair sat on either side.

“These Sixes are dangerous if left unchecked. But when trained and put to proper use, they can be quite handy. We bring them here, train the ones we can, and house them. In exchange for food, shelter, and protection, they work for us.”

He was so full of crap! Food, shelter, and protection? More like starvation, cages, and torture. “So the ones you have here are employees?”

“Some, yes. They’re given every comfort and convenience in exchange for their services. Due to the nature of our work, they live on site as they’re on call twenty-four hours a day. Others, the dangerous ones we can’t rehabilitate, are held here for their own good. That boy you helped escape was one of them.”

Helped escape. Not that boy who took you hostage. Not that boy who tried to kill you. Even now, I could do no right. He loved rubbing it in.

Just you wait. Payback’s a bitch, Daddy.

“What exactly is his deal?” I figured now was a good time to ask questions. “He touched someone and—” I shook my head, feigning fear. “He touched someone and they died. Shriveled up and turned to freaking dust!”

“98. His touch is devastating—as you had the unfortunate opportunity to witness. It brings instant death to anything organic. People, plants, any living thing. Destroyed with a simple brush of his skin.”

“Except for you.” He watched me with an odd kind of curiosity and hunger. It made my skin itch. It was the same look I’d seen on my high school English teacher, Mr. Parks, when he’d waved his winning lottery ticket at the class and skipped out.

“Why? Not that I’m not glad,” I said, kicking back and throwing my feet onto his desk. He glared at me but said nothing. “Why didn’t I shrivel up?”

“That’s a very good question.”

§

After some seriously uncomfortable probing—the verbal kind—Dad had taken me on a tour of the fifth and sixth floors. Training and Acquisition Research. I’d gotten to watch a young woman burn a hole through a concrete block by simply glaring at it, a man whose skin could turn to ice at will, and a small child transformed into a beautiful blue and gold parrot before my eyes. If I didn’t know what was really going on here, this place would have impressed me. I asked about the other floors, but he said anything involving containment and housing was off limits, and that had been the end of that conversation.

We were standing in front of the elevator doors when Dad pulled out his security card. The doors opened and we stepped in. He was about to swipe the card when I reached out and snagged it from his hands.

“Wow, that’s a really shitty picture, Dad,” I said, gripping the card tight between my fingers. The plastic was cold, smooth, and slightly flexible. Slipping my other hand into my back pocket, I fingered the yellow security badge I’d gotten at the desk when we came in. A knifelike jabbing assaulted my temples. It only lasted a few seconds, but stole my breath nonetheless.

Dad didn’t seem to notice. With a swift move, the card was back in his hand, through the swiper, and disappearing into the folds of his coat. I gave myself a mental pat on the back. Oh, yeah. I was smooth.

By the time we made it back to the fourth floor, it was almost two in the afternoon. Dad had something to tend to, so he deposited me in the cafeteria. I was about to hit the elevator when someone plopped into the seat beside me.

“Howdy!” said a cheerful voice.

I swiveled in my chair to see a guy about my age. He was looking at me with soulful eyes, a springy curl of his chestnut brown hair falling into his face. He extended his hand, smiling. “I’m Flip. Haven’t seen you before. New?”

“Um, Hi.”

“First day?” he asked, taking a bite from the thin end of a raw, unpeeled carrot.

“I’m actually here with my dad. Marshall Cross.”

“You’re Cross’ kid?” He beamed. “Your Dad is amazing.

Someone had a man-crush. “I take it you’re a fan.”