Page 54 of Stone Cold Touch

This should be real fun.

From the moment Roth climbed into the back of the Impala, I knew that this little impromptu trip would end badly. Even if the two of them could agree that we all needed to work together, no one was going to make it easy.

It wasn’t as if they were expected to join hands and sing “Kumbaya” together.

It was already awkward between Zayne and me. Adding Roth into the mix just made it about ten times more painful. If Zayne thought I’d been ignoring him on Saturday, there was no doubt that I had been Sunday. I didn’t know how to even look at him without every square inch of my body blushing.

“We have about three more blocks to go. He lives in one of those old brownstones,” Roth said, an arm resting on the back of each of our seats. “But that is if you could, I don’t know, drive at a speed that doesn’t take us the rest of theyearto get there.”

“Shut up,” Zayne replied.

“Just saying,” he went on. “I’m pretty sure the kid Dean pile-drived into the floor with a punch can walk faster than we’re driving.”

“Shut up,” I said.

I caught his narrowed gaze in the rearview mirror and smiled widely at him. He sat back, a petulant pinch taking over his features. Roth remained quiet the rest of the trip. Zayne found the brownstone and we were able to squeeze into a parking space a few doors down.

Brown and golden leaves swayed softly in the breeze as we made our way down the sidewalk. The steps leading up to the stoop were weathered and cracked, as was the facade of the brownstone.

Zayne stepped around Roth and picked up the iron knocker, ignoring the disgruntled look the prince sent his way.

“Knock it off,” I murmured to Roth as the door opened.

An older woman appeared. Her thick red hair was pulled back, but several shorter curls were sticking up all around the crown of her head. Fine lines surrounded her brown eyes and pale pink lips. She looked tired, haggard really, and as her gaze moved between Zayne to Roth and then back again, she smoothed a hand over her gray cable-knit sweater.

“Can...can I help you?” she asked, finally settling weary eyes on me.

“Yes. We’re...um, friends of Dean’s and we wanted to see if we could talk to him for a few moments,” I told her.

She folded her hands over the edges of the sweater, tugging them close to her body. “Dean is not able to see anyone right now. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to come back when he’s not grounded for life.”

“See, that’s problematic for us,” Roth replied smoothly as he edged Zayne out of the way. The moment Mrs. McDaniel locked eyes with Roth, the strained lines of her face relaxed. When he spoke again, his voice was as smooth as chocolate syrup. “We need to talk to Dean. Now.”

Zayne stiffened as he glanced at Roth, but he didn’t say anything, because unless we were planning on bum-rushing the house, a little demonic persuasion was needed.

And it worked.

Nodding slowly, she stepped aside and when she spoke, her voice was soft and reedy. “He’s upstairs. The second bedroom to the left. Would you like something to drink? Cookies?”

Roth opened his mouth, but I stepped forward. “No. That won’t be necessary.”

His face fell.

Mrs. McDaniel nodded once more and then turned, drifting off through a doorway, humming “Paradise City” under her breath.

My stomach landed somewhere near my knees at the familiar tune. I hadn’t heard Roth humming since he’d been back, and for a moment, all I could do was stare at him.

“I really would’ve liked a cookie,” Roth muttered, taking the stairs two at a time.

Zayne rolled his eyes. “Too bad.”

Snapping out of it, I followed the boys up the stairs. The hall was narrow and dimly lit. Old beige wallpaper peeled along the white molding. As we neared the second door on the left, a feeling of unease curled along my spine and an odd pressure circled my neck, choking. There was a heaviness to the air, like a suffocating wool blanket on a steamy summer day. I glanced over at Zayne and saw that by his tense shoulders, he was feeling it, too.

The feeling was that of evil, pure evil. There was no other way to describe it.

When Roth opened the door without even bothering to knock, the feeling increased. The Warden part of me was itchy to get away from this stink or to eliminate it, but the demon part? It was curious.

Both guys stopped in front of me, blocking my view of the room. I had to peer around Zayne to see anything. The room was one giant contradiction. Half of it was tidy. Books stacked neatly, papers tucked away in binders that looked as though someone had gone a little crazy with a label maker. A small stool sat before a telescope pointed toward the window. The other side of the room looked as if a hurricane had whipped through. Clothing was strewn across the floor. Half-eaten cartons of Chinese were thrown haphazardly in a moon chair. A pile of Mountain Dew bottles nearly reached the edges of the bed.

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