Jarrod’s mouth fell open. Eden could almost taste his bitter retort. It was…right…there. After another second of silence, Eden glanced up at him. Jarrod looked from Eden to the girl, his eyes unreadable before he dipped his head, giving the mailbox a weak kick.
The girl spun away. Eden didn’t miss the satisfied “so much better than you” mask plastered across her face, the superior air. Bitch, please, Eden fumed silently. You’re here too.
“No one fucks with my boys,” she whispered. Anger sent her ungloved finger forward, headed for the cliché flower tramp stamp. No, she thought, but the need was too strong, the draw of her fingers to the bare skin like a magnet. James caught Eden’s wrist just before she made contact. She blinked in surprise.
“What are you doing? You’ll kill her!” James stared at her in disbelief, disappointment in his voice. Already her anger was dissipating to guilt. She forced a deep breath, trying to calm herself as the girl walked off through the crowd.
A sudden scream ripped her eyes upward.
The ledge was empty. A whoosh of air sent Eden stumbling backward as the body hit the ground at her feet. Az, the balcony, the bent leg. The mental snapshot superimposed itself over the body. Inside her, a wail built. It’s not Az. That never happened. She turned away, swallowing down her retch in silence, grief and embarrassment swirling through her. I can’t mourn him anymore. He’s not dead.
“Skin and concrete. Do…not…mix,” Jarrod said, a look of amazement on his face that didn’t reach his eyes. He slid off the mailbox, the soles of his feet hitting the ground just as the screams started. From beside her, she heard James groan, some mixture of devastation and acceptance. He took a step to the left, leaning closer to the mostly undamaged face of the jumper. He backed away suddenly, looking to Eden, his eyes full of surprise.
“James, I’m sorry he took it bad, but…”
“No! Eden, look at him!” His hands shook. “That’s not my guy! I promise!”
She leaned in to the pile of limbs on the concrete. James was right. Somewhere in the city, Brighton Daniels was still alive. In theory.
They left the chaos behind, the sidewalk traffic thinning down to the normal New York rush of strangers. Eden tossed a glance back over her shoulder, taking in a panoramic of the shattered crowd.
“So I won the bet.” Jarrod didn’t seem particularly thrilled to bring it up, more like mentioning it was a necessary evil. Eden let another block pass beneath their feet before she answered.
“What exactly do you expect me to…?” She trailed off. Jarrod stared, waiting for her to finish the thought. Instead, she tucked the tips of her fingers into the back of the waist of her skirt, turning to cross the street. The boys followed without comment.
“What are you thinking?” Jarrod asked after a full minute had passed.
She swept him with her icy blue eyes. “I’m thinking you’re not paying attention. Getting sidetracked by something meaningless.” Eden whirled to the busy sidewalk behind them.
Only steps away, too close, was a blond girl. Her ponytail held the strands high, a delicate swoop of curls decorating the last few inches. She looked every bit the all-American cheerleader type. Not the kind of girl that would have descended from her pedestal to talk to them had they been alive and in the halls of some suburban high school. The girl froze, staring.
Eden pointed a jeweled finger into the startled face. “She’s been following us for two blocks,” she said, keeping her eyes on the boys. “You didn’t even notice her, did you?”
Adam and Jarrod didn’t dare speak, unsure of the next move. But James was still new enough to let out an attempt at an apology before she silenced him with a glare.
Eden brushed a finger across the girl’s shoulder.
James gasped, but just as Eden suspected, there was no glow. Instead, the glamour fell away, dark circles smudging the eyes. The first signs of grave rot blushed the girl’s cheeks as oblivious pedestrians cut around them.
Great, she thought. Now it wasn’t Siders just on the stairs in the morning. They were following her around like paparazzi. Disgusted, Eden spun toward the neon open sign of Milton’s, the girl gasping in shock behind her.
“I am off fucking duty,” Eden said over her shoulder, her voice cold. “Macchiatos and mercy kills don’t go well together. Come back in the morning.”
No more threat should have been needed, but the girl didn’t