hush, hush 04 - Finale Read online

  “Dante is drinking it daily.” If he was okay, I’d be okay too. Wouldn’t I? I wanted to believe it.

  Patch said nothing, but I had a good idea where his thoughts were going. Like me, he knew there had to be side effects to ingesting devilcraft.

  “Where’s Marcie?” I asked.

  “I altered her memory so she won’t remember seeing me tonight, then had Dabria take her home. Don’t look at me like that. I was low on options, and I had Dabria’s phone number.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about!” I instantly winced when my strong reaction caused my wound to throb.

  Patch bent down to kiss my forehead, rolling his eyes as he did. “Don’t make me tell you again there’s nothing between me and Dabria.”

  “She’s not over you.”

  “She’s pretending to feel something for me to antagonize you. Don’t make it easy for her.”

  “Don’t call her up for favors like she’s part of the team,” I countered. “She tried to kill me, and she’d steal you back in a heartbeat, if you’d let her. I don’t care how many times you deny it. I’ve seen the way she looks at you.”

  Patch looked like he had a comeback, but he forced it down and rolled agilely out of bed. His black T-shirt was rumpled, his hair mussed, giving him the appearance of a perfect pirate. “Can I get you something to eat? Drink? I feel useless, and it’s driving me crazy.”

  “You could go after Blakely, if you’re looking for something to do,” I said crisply. What would it take to get rid of Dabria, once and for all?

  A smile that was equally devious and truly sinister crept over Patch’s expression. “We don’t have to find him. He’ll come to us. To get away, he had to leave his knife behind. He knows we have it, and he knows it’s evidence I can take to the archangels to prove he’s using devilcraft. He’s going to come looking for that knife. Soon.”

  “Let’s turn him over to the archangels now. Let them worry about eradicating devilcraft.”

  Patch breathed a laugh, but it held an edge. “I no longer trust the archangels. Pepper Friberg isn’t the only bad egg. If I turn this over to them, I have no guarantee they’ll take care of this mess. I used to think the archangels were incorruptible, but they’ve done a good job of convincing me otherwise. I’ve seen them tamper with death, look the other way on serious offenses of the law, and punish me for crimes I haven’t committed. I’ve made mistakes, and I’ve paid for those mistakes, but I suspect they won’t give up until they’ve locked me away in hell. They don’t like opposition, and that’s the first word that comes to mind when they think of me. This time I’m taking matters into my own hands. Blakely is going to come for his knife, and when he does, I’ll be ready.”

  “I want to help,” I said immediately. I wanted to take down the Nephil who’d been foolish enough to stab me. Blakely was aiding the Nephilim army, but I was leading it. While I considered his actions gravely disrespectful, there were some who’d consider them treasonous. And I knew for a fact that Nephilim as a race don’t look kindly on traitors.

  Patch locked eyes with me, studying me wordlessly as though judging my ability to go up against Blakely. To my deep satisfaction, he gave a nod. “All right, Angel. But first things first. The football game ended two hours ago, and your mom is going to wonder where you are. Time to get you home.”

  • • •

  The lights were off at the farmhouse, but I knew my mom wouldn’t fall asleep until I’d made it home. I knocked softly on her bedroom door, nudged it open, and whispered into the darkness, “I’m home.”

  “Did you have a good time?” she asked, yawning.

  “The team played really well,” I said evasively.

  “Marcie came home a few hours ago. She didn’t say much, just went straight to her room and shut the door. She seemed . . . quiet. Upset, maybe.” There was a hint of inquiry in her tone.

  “Probably PMS.” Probably she was doing everything in her power not to launch into a full-fledged panic attack. I’d been possessed before, and words couldn’t describe how violating it felt. But I wasn’t feeling especially sympathetic. If Marcie had done what I’d asked, none of this would have happened.

  In my bedroom, I shucked out of my clothes and examined my stab wound once more. The electric blue tint was fading. Slowly, but fading nonetheless. It had to be a good sign.

  I’d just crawled into bed when there was a tap at the door. Marcie opened it and stood in the entrance. “I’m freaking out,” she said, and she genuinely looked like she meant it.

  I motioned for her to come in and shut the door.

  “What happened back there?” she demanded, her voice cracking. Tears brimmed in her eyes. “How did he take over my body like that?”

  “Blakely possessed you.”

  “How can you be calm about this?” she shrieked in an undertone. “He was living inside me. Like some kind of . . . parasite!”

  “If you had let me take down Blakely like we agreed, this wouldn’t have happened.” As soon as I said it, I regretted sounding so harsh. Marcie had done a stupid thing, but who was I to judge? I’d made my fair share of impulsive decisions. Caught up in the moment, she’d reacted. She wanted to know who killed her father, and who could blame her? Certainly not me.

  I sighed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

  But it was too late. She gave me a wounded look, and left.

  CHAPTER

  15

  I AWOKE WITH A JOLT. DANTE WAS LEANING OVER MY bed, his hands straddling my shoulders. “Good morning, sunshine.”

  I tried to roll away, but his arms had me pinned in place. “It’s Saturday,” I protested wearily. Training was all fine and good, but I deserved one day off.

  “I’ve got a surprise for you. A good one.”

  “The only surprise I want is another two hours of sleep.” The window showed that the sky was still full dark, and I doubted it was much later than five thirty.

  He flung off my covers and I squealed, grabbing blindly for them. “Do you mind!”

  “Cute pj’s.”

  I was wearing a black T-shirt I’d swiped from Patch’s closet, and it barely reached mid-thigh.

  I simultaneously tugged the shirt down and the sheets higher. “Fine,” I relented with a huff. “I’ll meet you outside.”

  After dragging on my running clothes and lacing up my shoes, I trudged outside. Dante wasn’t in the driveway, but I sensed him nearby, most likely in the woods across the street. Oddly, I thought I sensed another Nephil with him. Frowning, I walked in that direction.

  Sure enough, Dante had brought a friend. Only, by the look of the friend—two black eyes, a cut lip, a swollen jaw, and one painful-looking goose egg on his forehead—the two were on anything but good terms.

  “Recognize him?” Dante asked cheerfully, holding the injured Nephil up by the scruff of his neck for my appraisal.

  I stepped closer, unsure what kind of game Dante was playing. “No. He’s too beat up. Did you do this to him?”

  “Sure this handsome mug doesn’t ring a bell?” Dante asked again, jerking the Nephil’s jaw side to side, clearly enjoying himself. “He was shooting his mouth off last night about you. He bragged about giving you a serious beating. Of course, that’s when he caught my interest. I told him he’d never done such a thing. And if he had, well, let’s just say I don’t take kindly to Nephil underlings disrespecting their leaders, especially the commander of the Black Hand’s army.” All lightheartedness had faded from Dante’s tone, and he eyed the injured Nephil with open contempt.

  “It was a prank,” the Nephil said sullenly. “Thought we’d see how sincere she is about following through with the Black Hand’s vision. She wasn’t even born a Nephil. Thought we’d give her a taste of what she’s up against—”

  “Cowboy Hat?” I blurted aloud. His face was too disfigured to bear any resemblance to the Nephil who’d hauled me to a cabin, tied me to a post, and threatened me, but his voice rang true. He was definitel
y Cowboy Hat. Shaun Corbridge.

  “Prank?” Dante chuckled with venom. “If that’s what constitutes a prank in your mind, maybe you’ll find something to laugh about in what we’re going to do to you.” He slugged Cowboy Hat in the head so viciously he collapsed to his knees.

  “Can I talk to you?” I asked Dante. “Privately?”

  “Of course.” He pointed a warning finger at Cowboy Hat. “You budge, you bleed.”

  After I was sure we had walked out of Cowboy Hat’s hearing range, I said, “What’s going on?”

  “I was at the Devil’s Handbag last night, and that numskull buffoon over there was bragging about using you as his personal punching bag. At first I thought I was hearing wrong. But the louder he talked, the more I realized he wasn’t, in any way, shape, or form, making up his story. Why didn’t you tell me some of our soldiers attacked you?” Dante demanded. His tone wasn’t angry. Hurt, maybe, but not angry.

  “Are you asking because you’re concerned about what this means for my ratings, or are you concerned about me?”

  Dante shook his head. “Don’t say that. You know I’m not thinking about your numbers. Truth is, I stopped caring about them almost instantly. This is about you. That punk over there laid his hands on you, and I don’t like it. Not one bit. Yes, he should show you respect as commander of an army he claims to belong to, but it’s more than that. He should respect you because you’re a good person, and you’re giving this your best shot. I see it, and I want him to see it too.”

  I was uncomfortable with his honesty and intimacy. Especially after the kiss he’d almost mind-tricked me into. His words seemed to stray beyond professional, and that was what our relationship was. That was what I wanted it to remain.

  I said, “I appreciate everything you just said, but exacting revenge isn’t going to change his mind. He hates me. Lots of Nephilim do. This might be a good opportunity to show them they just might be wrong about me. I think we should let him go and get on with training.”

  Dante didn’t look swayed. If anything, his face bore disappointment and maybe even impatience. “Compassion isn’t the way to go. Not this time. That punk over there is only going to make his case stronger if you let him off easy. He’s trying to convince people you aren’t fit to lead this army, and if you go easy on him, it only proves his point. Rattle him up a bit. Make him think twice about shooting off his mouth again or touching you.”

  “Let him go,” I said more firmly. I didn’t believe violence trumped violence. Not now, not ever.

  Dante opened his mouth, going a little red in the face, but I cut him off. “I’m not backing down on this. He didn’t hurt me. He took me up to the cabin because he’s scared and he didn’t know what else to do. Everyone’s scared. Cheshvan is here, and our future hangs in the balance. What he did was wrong, but I can’t hold it against him for trying to do something to alleviate his fears. Put down your pitchfork and let him go. I mean it, Dante.”

  Dante exhaled a long, disapproving sigh. I knew he wasn’t happy, but I also believed I was making the right decision. I didn’t want to fuel the fires of contention any more than I already had. If the Nephilim as a whole were going to get through this, we had to be unified. We had to be willing to display compassion, respect, and civility, even when we didn’t see eye to eye.

  “So that’s it?” Dante asked, clearly not satisfied.

  I cupped my hands over my mouth to amplify my voice. “You’re free to go,” I called to Cowboy Hat. “I apologize for any inconvenience.”

  Cowboy Hat stared at us, his mouth parted in disbelief, but not wanting to press his luck, he scrabbled out of the woods as if being pursued by bears.

  “So,” I said to Dante. “What cruel machinations do you have planned for me today? Sprint a marathon? Move mountains? Part the seas?”

  • • •

  An hour later my arm and leg muscles quivered from exhaustion. Dante had pushed me through grueling intervals of calisthenics: push-ups, pull-ups, sit-ups, and flutter kicks. We were on our way out of the woods, when I brought my arm up suddenly, catching Dante across the chest. I held a finger to my lips, gesturing for him not to make a sound.

  In the distance, I could just make out the soft crunch of footsteps.

  Dante must have heard it too. Deer? he asked me.

  I squinted into the darkness. The woods were still unlit, and the densely packed trees only added to my decreased visibility.

  No. The rhythm’s not right.

  Dante tapped my shoulder and pointed toward the sky. At first I didn’t understand. Then his meaning became clear. He wanted us to climb the trees, giving us an eagle-eye view of trouble, if that was indeed what was headed our way.

  Despite my exhaustion, I scaled a white cedar noiselessly with a few expert leaps and quick foot placement. Dante perched in a neighboring tree.

  We didn’t wait long. Moments after climbing to safety, six fallen angels crept stealthily into the clearing below. Three males and three females. Their bare torsos were marked with strange hieroglyphics that bore a distant resemblance to the paint splatter on Patch’s wrist, and their faces were painted a deep bloodred. The effect was chilling, and I couldn’t help but think of Pawnee warriors.

  I fastened my gaze on one in particular. A lanky boy with black-ringed eyes. His familiar face froze my blood. I remembered his savage march through the Devil’s Handbag, and the way his hand had flashed out. I remembered his victim. I remembered how she’d looked just like me.

  A vicious snarl hardened his expression, and he stalked through the trees with purpose. His chest bore a recent wound, small and circular, as if a knife had been used to crudely cut out a piece of flesh. Something cold and unforgiving gleamed in his eyes, and I shuddered.

  Dante and I stayed in the trees until the party moved on. When we were back on solid ground, I said, “How did they find us?”

  His eyes turned on mine, hooded and cold. “They made a big mistake coming after you like this.”

  “Do you think they’ve been spying on us?”

  “I think someone tipped them off.”

  “The lanky one. I’ve seen him before, at the Devil’s Handbag. He attacked a Nephilim girl who looked a lot like me. Do you know him?”

  “No.” But it seemed to me he paused a half moment before answering.

  • • •

  Five hours later I was showered and dressed, I’d eaten a healthy breakfast of Egg Beaters with mushrooms and spinach, and as a bonus, I’d finished all my homework. Not bad, considering it wasn’t even noon.

  Down the hall, Marcie’s bedroom door opened and she emerged. Her hair stuck up all over the place, and there were dark circles under her eyes. I could almost smell her morning breath from here.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey.”

  “My mom wants us to rake leaves in the yard, so you might want to hold off showering until after we finish.”

  Marcie’s eyebrows pulled together. “Come again?”

  “Saturday chores,” I explained. I understood that this was probably a new term for Marcie. And I thoroughly enjoyed being the one to teach it to her.

  “I don’t do chores.”

  “You do when you live here.”

  “All right,” Marcie said reluctantly. “Let me get breakfast and make a few calls.”

  On a normal day I didn’t think Marcie would be so agreeable, but I was beginning to think her willingness could be an apology for her big screwup last night. Hey, I’d take it any way I could get it.

  While Marcie poured cereal for breakfast, I went to the garage to find rakes. I was halfway done raking the front yard when a car rumbled up the street. Scott parked his Barracuda in the driveway and swung out. His T-shirt hugged every bulge of muscle, and for Vee’s sake, I wished I had a camera.

  “What’s up, Grey?” he said. He pulled leather work gloves out of his back pocket and tugged them on. “I’m here to help. Put me to work. I’m your slave for the day. Never mind your b
oy Dante should be here, not me.” He kept teasing me about Dante, but I couldn’t tell if he believed in the relationship. I always detected a slight note of mockery. Of course, I detected that same mockery underscoring one out of every ten words he spoke.

  I leaned on my rake. “I don’t understand. How did you know I was raking the yard?”

  “Your new best friend told me.”

  I didn’t have a new best friend, but I had a perennial archenemy. I narrowed my eyes. “Marcie recruited you?” I guessed.

  “Said she needed help with chores. She has allergies and can’t work outdoors.”

  “Total lie!” And I’d been naive enough to think she was actually going to help.

  Scott grabbed the extra rake I’d propped against the front porch and came over to help. “Let’s make a really big pile and toss you in.”

  “That defeats the point.”

  Scott grinned and nudged my shoulder. “But it would be fun.”

  Marcie opened the front door and came out on the porch. She perched herself on the steps, crossing her legs and leaning forward on them. “Hi, Scott.”

  “Yo.”

  “Thanks for coming to my rescue. You’re my knight in shining armor.”

  “Oh, gag,” I said, rolling my eyes melodramatically.

  “Anytime,” Scott told her. “I can’t pass up an excuse to torment Grey.” He came up behind me and stuffed a fistful of leaves down my shirt.

  “Hey!” I shrieked. I picked up my own handful of leaves and flung them in his face.

  Scott dropped his shoulder, barreled toward me, and took me down, scattering my tidy pile of leaves everywhere. I was mad that in one moment he’d obliterated my hard work, but at the same time, I couldn’t stop laughing. He was on top of me, cramming leaves down my shirt, into my pockets, and up my pant legs. “Scott!” I giggled.

  “Get a room,” Marcie said in a bored voice, but I could tell she was irritated.

  When Scott finally rolled off me, I said to Marcie, “Too bad about those allergies. Raking leaves can be a lot of fun. Did I forget to mention that?”