The Touchstone

By MC Lee

A Touchstone Novel

It’s no surprise teens Sam and Harry are inseparable. Harry’s ability to fly manifested at age ten—when he saved Sam’s life. Since then, Sam’s made it his mission to shield Harry from danger. They’re being watched by people with an unknown agenda, and their only chance is to run.

An encounter with Jonah Clayton and the group of gifted teens he’s training means a place for Harry and insight into his powers. But is there a place for an ordinary kid like Sam, or has he reached the end of his quest to help his best friend? Jonah’s group isn’t as benign as it seems, however, and the danger is far from over. Harry still needs Sam—who is far more than anyone can imagine.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harmony Ink Press
• Release date: Apr 2, 2019
• ISBN: 9781640807877

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Table of Contents

Blurb

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

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Copyright

The Touchstone

By MC Lee

A Touchstone Novel

The bond between Sam and Harry goes far beyond friendship. After all, Harry saved Sam’s life when he was ten years old—when Harry manifested the gift of flight. Since then, Sam’s devoted his life to protecting Harry from the shadowy government forces watching him.

Eventually, keeping Harry safe means running away from home and striking out on their own.

They meet Jonah Clayton, a man who is training a group of teens with supernatural powers. He claims he can help Harry, but as an ordinary kid with no special abilities, Sam is pushed to the sidelines. They discover Jonah is a man with secrets, as well as powerful enemies, and as those threats close in, they’ll all come to realize Harry needs Sam in ways no one could ever have predicted.

Chapter One

WHEN SAM Riley was nine years old, he fell out of the branches of the tallest tree in his neighborhood and discovered something that would change his life forever.

He had climbed up the towering tree inch by inch, stubbornly following his best friend, Harry Holden, even though the older boy had warned him it was too high, too slippery, too dangerous. Sam had considered the warnings carefully, as he considered everything Harry told him, but eventually he’d shrugged.

I think I can do it.

Harry inclined his head, as though weighing the risk, and then he nodded wordlessly. Challenging the tree was a rite of passage for all the neighborhood kids; in the end, it was Sam’s decision to make. Harry turned and started his own climb, seeming to fly up the tree with enviable ease. Sam followed, more slowly, but with a dogged determination that was every inch a match for Harry’s innate confidence.

He could still remember the feeling when he reached the top—a mixture of savage fear and triumphant exhilaration. Harry had looked over at him, a wide grin transforming his face and seeming to light him from the inside.

You did it, Sammy, he marveled.

Sam could scarcely breathe. His muscles were rigid with tension, even as he savored his achievement and the look of pride on Harry’s face.

And then he heard his mother’s terrified shriek, and his head jerked down sharply. He took a reflexive step back and froze as the slender branch on which he was precariously balanced cracked under his shifting weight.

In the split second before the branch broke, his gaze locked with Harry’s. It was easy to read horror on his friend’s face, and even at nine years old, Sam recognized the flash of bitter recrimination that followed.

It isn’t your fault, Harry.

He hadn’t said the words, of course. By that time, he’d been falling backward through cool air reverberating with his mother’s high-pitched screams.

He never knew exactly what happened next. One minute he was falling, the next he was cradled in his mother’s lap, dazed but unscathed. He’d had a fleeting image of Harry reaching out to him, of hands clasping his own, of his fall slowed by a tremendous force tugging against gravity. And then there was nothing but his mother’s face looming over him, and her tears dripping onto his cheeks.

He had looked around frantically until his eyes again found Harry’s.

You flew, he croaked.

Harry frowned and started backing away.

Sam’s mother stopped wailing long enough to raise her head, her eyes growing round with wonder. You saved him, she breathed. She didn’t stop to question how a ten-year-old who was standing at the top of the tallest tree in the neighborhood could have saved a boy hurtling to certain death. She simply crossed herself fervently and murmured, You are his guardian angel.

Though seven eventful years had passed since then, it was a memory that popped up now as Sam watched his best friend float gently to the ground after leaping from the top of an abandoned five-story building.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was better this time, Harry said, walking toward Sam with a satisfied look on his face. It was better, wasn’t it, Sammy? I did it exactly the way you said. Tell me I wasn’t imagining the improvement.

Sam smiled. It was better.

Harry’s face broke into a grin, and he slung his arm around Sam’s neck.

Aren’t you going to say ‘I told you so’?

That would be petty, Sam said. Although, let’s face it, I did tell you—

Screw you, Harry said cheerfully.

You’re still pulling up too quickly, Sam warned.

Harry grimaced and then sighed. One more time?

One more time, Sam agreed.

Harry nodded, and then he leaned over and planted a kiss on Sam’s lips. Sam reached to cup the back of Harry’s head as the kiss deepened, groaning when Harry pressed closer. He pulled back reluctantly, amused at Harry’s dazed expression.

Finish practicing first.

You’re kidding! Harry reached out, but Sam easily sidestepped his grasping hand.

C’mon, Angel, he chided. You know you have to.

He almost laughed out loud at the petulant look on Harry’s face.

Okay, okay. One more jump, Harry said. Then I want pizza and beer. Lots of beer.

He pressed another kiss against Sam’s cheek, and then he turned and trudged back toward the dilapidated building. Sam glanced around hastily, even though it was unlikely anybody was near the long-abandoned warehouse district.

When Harry shot into the air, Sam sucked in a sharp breath. He craned his neck, following Harry with his eyes as he rose up, hovered in place for a fraction of a second, and then stepped onto the building’s roof. After years of watching Harry fly, Sam was no longer slack-jawed with amazement, but his heart still leapt into his throat when Harry took a running jump and dived off the building’s edge headfirst. At the last minute, when bowstring tension stiffened Sam’s spine to breaking point, Harry pulled out of his dive and straightened, slowing his fall dramatically until he once again floated to earth.

Better? he called.

Sam gave him the thumbs-up, smiling when Harry threw his arms wide, grinning in triumph.

Beer o’clock, dude, Harry called. And make sure the pizza has anchovies.

Sam pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and hit one of the preset keys, then waited patiently while the automated voice read through the options. Harry started walking toward him, whistling tunelessly. His wavy hair straggled over his deep blue eyes, and he reached up absently to tuck loose strands behind his ear. He moved with easy grace, his lithe body honed by hours of training and daily practice. When he looked up, his smile was dazzling and assured and so beautiful, it sometimes made Sam’s heart hurt.

You flew, Angel. You really flew, Sam whispered.

Because though it might not be the miracle he had once thought, it was still freaking awesome.

THEY PICKED up their pizza at the take-out window of Sal’s Pizzeria. Harry flashed his fake ID at the teen behind the counter, who slid two bottles of beer toward them with a knowing smirk on his face.

I don’t know why they go through that performance every time, Sam grumbled. They know we’re both underage.

Harry slapped him on the back. They’re just playing the game, Sammy. No sweat.

As they approached their apartment building, Sam dug into the pocket of his jeans and located his keys, then unlocked the front door and gave it a shove. It opened with a loud creak. When Sam stepped over the threshold, he wrinkled his nose.

Why does it always smell like boiled cabbage?

Harry shrugged. It’ll smell like pepperoni and anchovy pizza soon.

He led the way up three flights of stairs and turned left into a gloomy corridor. No matter how many times Sam walked down this hallway, he never felt at ease. An itch crawled down his spine, as though the weight of a malevolent stare was following his every move. He was glad when they made it into the relative safety of their own place.

You want plates? Harry asked.

Sam raised an eyebrow. You expecting the Queen of England?

Harry threw the pizza box onto the tiny kitchen table and pulled out a slice. Just asking, man.

I’m good. Sam grabbed a slice of his own and pulled up a chair. He had only taken one bite before his phone pinged with an incoming text. He grimaced when he read the message. It’s Maia. She wants to meet tomorrow.

What for? Harry asked.

She doesn’t say. Some messed up shit no doubt…. He trailed off at Harry’s faintly reproving look. What? You know she hates my guts. Why shouldn’t I return the favor?

Harry reached out and dragged a thumb across Sam’s chin. It came away dripping tomato sauce. This is why we should use plates, he said, sucking the sauce off his thumb.

Sam knew he was trying to change the subject, and since he had no interest in another argument about Maia Kodama, he gladly took the hint. You want to go out tonight?

Harry shrugged and drained the last of the beer. Let me grab a shower first. He raised a speculative eyebrow. You coming?

I’m not the one who worked up a sweat.

Harry leaned forward and licked Sam’s lips. I could do something about that.

Sam smiled as Harry slipped a hand in his and tugged him to his feet. He followed Harry to the tiny bathroom and watched as he turned the taps and then stripped quickly out of his jeans and T-shirt before stepping under the showerhead.

Sam pulled his own clothes off and climbed in behind him. He lightly traced the outline of the jet-black tattoo covering Harry’s upper body—a pair of wings that spread across his back and hugged the contours of his shoulders. Harry lifted his face to the spray and raised his arms above his head, splaying his fingers on the cracked white tiles. The breath caught in Sam’s throat as Harry’s muscles flexed, the play of light and cascading water making the tattoo appear to move.

He took a step forward and pressed himself against Harry’s firm body, then kissed the back of his neck and slid an arm around his waist to hold him close. Harry murmured appreciatively and threw his head back, encouraging Sam’s gentle exploration.

The water was already cooling as Harry turned without dislodging Sam’s arm, and cupped the hardness between Sam’s legs. Sam briefly considered suggesting they move to the bed, but his words were stolen when Harry quickly established a rhythm that soon had Sam arching his back and trying to muffle a cry. The small part of him that wasn’t swamped by the rush of pleasure kicked in, and he reached for Harry and mirrored the pulsing pace he’d set, and seconds later Sam’s whole body clenched alongside Harry’s as release sped through them both.

It was impossible to linger and enjoy the moment because the hot water suddenly ran out, and the spray turned icy. Sam swore under his breath and grabbed a towel as Harry shut off the shower with a loud sigh.

You’d think the superhero business would pay better, Sam muttered. We should at least be able to afford a place with hot water.

Harry just laughed. It’s that whole ‘secret identity’ thing. It makes it hard to cash in. He paused for a minute before adding softly, It’ll get better, Sammy. I promise.

Sam was instantly flooded with remorse. I’m not blaming you. I chose to be here.

Harry reached up and gently traced a pattern on Sam’s chest, his fingers outlining a smaller version of the winged tattoo he wore on his back. It had taken months to create the intricate original, but only a day to copy the design in miniature over Sam’s heart.

You know I couldn’t do any of this without you, Harry murmured.

Sam had never believed that was true, but he kept the observation to himself. Come on, he said instead. I’m freezing my nuts off here.

LATER, CRAMMED together on the pullout couch and drifting toward sleep, Sam cast his mind back to the day he’d been inked. He hadn’t thought Harry remembered the significance of the August date, so he’d been surprised when his friend smiled down at him as the vibrating needle hovered above Sam’s heart.

It was a pretty special day for me too. The day I knew we’d always be together.

Sam flinched as the needle bit into his flesh. How did you know?

Harry’s smile grew softer. Because you were the first person who really saw who I was.

Sam had heard the story dozens of times over the years, so he knew his accident had triggered Harry’s special abilities. But Harry wasn’t talking about that, and they both knew it.

As he’d lain on the ground that day, clutched tightly between his mother’s trembling hands, Sam had raised his head and looked directly into Harry’s eyes. Harry had been backing away, but he stopped dead in his tracks as something electric passed between them that Sam felt right down to his core.

As the tattoo took shape, the inked wings spreading over his heart, Sam’s skin began to tingle. He reached for Harry’s hand and sucked in a sharp breath when that same jolt of electricity flowed through him, heating his whole body from the inside out.

Beside him, Harry shifted restlessly, bringing Sam back to the present. He reached out and placed a hand on Harry’s back, his fingers splaying across the great black wings. His own mark pulsed rhythmically, a constant reminder of their connection.

Sam leaned over and whispered, Love you, Angel, and Harry settled with a deep sigh.

When he was nine years old, Sam Riley fell out of the branches of the tallest tree in his neighborhood and learned something that would change his life forever.

And he’d never had a moment’s regret since.

Chapter Two

MAIA WAS already sitting in the corner booth of the coffee shop when Sam and Harry arrived early the next morning. As always, she was dressed from head to toe in black, from the liner that defined her dark eyes to the chipped polish on her bitten nails to the scuffed combat boots on her feet.

Harry leaned over and brushed a kiss against her cheek; Sam nodded coolly.

How’s it hanging, Boy Wonder? Maia said.

Sam slid into the booth, purposefully choosing the opposite side so he wouldn’t have to sit beside Maia, and pointedly ignoring her snarky comment.

How’s the sidekick business these days? she sneered. You figured out any more ways to hold Harry back?

Maia. Harry’s tone held a clear warning.

Maia threw her hands up. "What? I’m just saying, last time I looked, being the eye-candy boyfriend didn’t qualify you for shit."

Sam’s here because I asked him to come.

It was hard not to notice the way Harry’s voice changed, an undercurrent of steel replacing his usually genial manner.

Maia’s expression instantly transformed to innocence. Hey, you’re a package deal, I get it. She shrugged, and Sam braced himself for another dig. I just prefer to work with somebody who has more to offer than a pretty face.

Harry flinched, and Sam placed a steadying hand on his arm. We should hear her out, he said quietly.

Harry flashed him an outraged look, but when their gazes connected, he nodded sharply and subsided. He turned his head and glared at Maia.

One more crack like that and we’re gone.

Jesus, get a sense of humor, Maia muttered. She plastered on a conciliatory look, though she didn’t fool Sam for a second.

She had taken an instant dislike to him from the first day they met. Sam presumed it was because he was so ordinary with none of the abilities she and her friends possessed. She tolerated him—barely—for Harry’s sake, though she never missed an opportunity to make him feel insignificant and unwanted. She was convinced he held Harry back from fulfilling his full potential, and Sam was beginning to wonder whether she was right. There was no doubt Harry would be able to develop his powers with the right guidance, but he’d refused to listen to Maia’s pleas to train with her teacher, Jonah, when he found out he’d have to leave Sam behind.

So why are we here, Maia? Harry asked.

We’ve got a case, she replied.

Harry and Sam exchanged a look.

What kind of case?

Something we think you can help us with.

Though Sam had asked the question, Maia directed her answer to Harry. She didn’t even deign to look at Sam. Harry tensed, but Sam squeezed his arm in gentle warning.

We’ll need more details if you want Harry to get involved.

That brought Maia’s head around sharply, as Sam knew it would.

Who died and made you his babysitter? she spat. You have no right to stand in his way—

Sam jumped when Harry’s fist crashed onto the table with a loud thud. He has every right, Harry snapped. I’ve told you before. If you want me, you’d better want Sam too. Where I go, he goes.

You don’t need him! Maia snarled. He’s nothing—

That’s it. We’re out. Harry leapt to his feet, his face flushed with anger.

She’s just jealous.

Sam’s head swiveled toward the new voice. He was glad he’d decided to sit opposite Maia when a girl suddenly materialized on the seat beside her. It would have been awkward if he’d ended up sitting on an invisible girl’s lap.

Hi, Miranda, he said.

She smiled across the table at him and then turned to face Maia. Stop being such a bitch. Sam’s good people. We’re lucky to have him on our side.

Harry leaned forward and placed his hands flat on the table before looking Maia directly in the eye. "Do you want our help, or don’t you?" There was no way she could miss the emphasis.

Maia huffed out a breath and swallowed visibly. We could use your help, she said grudgingly.

"Our help," Harry insisted.

Whatever.

Harry stood his ground, until Maia finally waved a hand. Both of you. Okay?

Harry smiled sweetly. We’d love to help, wouldn’t we Sam? He sat back down and winked at Miranda, who barely bothered to hide a grin.

So, what’s the case? Sam asked.

When it became obvious Maia wasn’t going to answer the question, Miranda jumped in. It’s an extraction.

Who? And why? Sam asked.

Need to know, Maia snarled.

I need to know. That’s why I’m asking, Sam said.

Maia snorted loudly. That’s classified information. We don’t share our plans with civilians.

Then tell me, Harry said sharply. And if you want our help, you’d better start talking because I’m about ten seconds from walking out of that door.

It’s Jeremy Cohen, Miranda said.

Sam’s eyes widened. The son of Charles Cohen? The bazillionaire?

The boy who was kidnapped three weeks ago? Harry asked. The media reported that he was most likely dead.

Miranda shrugged. We needed to cool off the manhunt. The story that was leaked to the press was false. We had to buy some time to put a plan together.

So, what really happened? Sam asked.

All you have to know is that we need Harry for the rescue, Maia said.

Sam shook his head. I’m sorry. That’s not good enough. If you can’t tell us what you want Harry to do, you can count us out.

You’re already counted out, Boy Wonder, Maia said. You have nothing to add here.

Sam bit down on his lip to stop himself from snapping out a testy response. Though he was sick and tired of Maia’s sniping, he’d read the news and knew he couldn’t let hurt feelings get in the way of a possible rescue. Six-year-old Jeremy Cohen had disappeared from his home three weeks ago and had not been heard from since. His sweet, smiling face had stared out of the pages of every newspaper and off every screen, though as the days passed with no sign of him and no reports of a ransom note, the story had slipped further and further off the front page. Two days ago, the few words written about him had been headlined with a report of his probable death. Sam knew if they had even the smallest chance of finding the boy alive, he would have to swallow his pride and step out of Harry’s way.

He threw a glance in Harry’s direction and easily read both anger and reluctant acceptance. Harry had obviously reached the same conclusion.

I’ll do what I can to help, he said tightly.

Can you come by the Bunker in an hour? Jonah’s working out the final details, Miranda said.

Harry nodded abruptly and slid out of the booth.

You can leave Boy Wonder in his playpen, Maia muttered.

Girl, can’t you leave it alone for five minutes? Miranda sighed.

Sam grabbed hold of Harry’s arm. Harry will be there, he said quickly.

Harry shook him off but didn’t contradict him, even though his face flushed with suppressed anger. Sam followed him out of the door, unsurprised when Harry rounded on him as soon as they were a safe distance away.

You should have let me tell her to stick it, Sammy, he blurted. She has no right treating you like that. I’ve told her a hundred times….

Sam let his friend rant for another few minutes, though he tuned out the actual words and just watched as the anger slowly drained from Harry’s face. When it was obvious he’d finished his tirade, Sam reached out and patted Harry’s arm.

Jeremy Cohen is six years old, Angel.

The words had immediate impact, and Harry seemed to deflate in front of Sam’s eyes.

Why are you always the damned reasonable one, he grumbled.

Sam smiled. It’s part of the job of being a sidekick— He gasped when Harry grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him.

"You are not a sidekick. You know I couldn’t do any of this without you."

It was fast becoming Harry’s mantra, and Sam couldn’t help wondering whether he was trying to convince Sam—or himself.

I’m just saying you have other things to think of, Sam said gently. He glanced at his wristwatch. Including getting to the Bunker in the next forty-five minutes. And unless you plan to fly there….

Harry grimaced, but then he took a deep breath and blew it out noisily, letting all his frustration go. He