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  "He fell be­ca­use he wan­ted to be hu­man, li­ke her! He had me- he had we!" She ga­ve a scof­fing la­ugh, but it didn't mask the an­ger or sor­row. "At first I was hurt and angry, and I did everyt­hing in my po­wer to for­get abo­ut him. Then, when the arc­han­gels fi­gu­red out he was se­ri­o­usly at­temp­ting to be­co­me hu­man, they sent me down he­re to chan­ge his mind. I told myself I wasn't go­ing to fall for him all over aga­in, but what go­od did it do?"

  "Dab­ria…," I be­gan softly.

  "He didn't even ca­re that the girl was ma­de from the dust of the earth! You-all of you-are sel­fish and slo­venly! Yo­ur bo­di­es are wild and un­dis­cip­li­ned. One mo­ment you're at the pe­ak of joy, the next you're on the brink of des­pa­ir. It's dep­lo­rab­le! No an­gel will as­pi­re to it!" She flung her arm in a wild arc ac­ross her fa­ce, wi­ping away te­ars. "Lo­ok at me! I can ba­rely cont­rol myself! I've be­en down he­re too long, sub­mer­ged in hu­man filth!"

  I tur­ned and ran from the kitc­hen, knoc­king over a cha­ir and le­aving it be­hind me in Dab­ria's path. I ra­ced down the hall, kno­wing I was trap­ping myself. The ho­use had two exits: the front do­or, which Dab­ria co­uld re­ach be­fo­re me by cut­ting thro­ugh the li­ving ro­om, and the back do­or off the di­ning ro­om, which she bloc­ked.

  I was sho­ved hard from be­hind, and I pitc­hed for­ward. I skid­ded down the hall, co­ming to a stop on my sto­mach. I rol­led over. Dab­ria ho­ve­red a few fe­et abo­ve me-in the air-her skin and ha­ir ab­la­ze in blin­ding whi­te, the kni­fe po­in­ted down at me.

  I didn't think. I kic­ked my leg up with all my strength. I arc­hed in­to the kick, bra­cing with my non­kic­king leg, and aimed for her lo­wer arm. The kni­fe was knoc­ked out of her hand. As I got my fe­et un­der me, Dab­ria po­in­ted at the lamp on a small entry­way tab­le, and with a sharp fling of her fin­ger, sent it flying at me. I rol­led away, fe­eling shards of glass sli­de un­der me as the lamp shat­te­red on the flo­or.

  "Mo­ve!" Dab­ria com­man­ded, and the entry bench slid to bar­ri­ca­de the front do­or, bloc­king my exit.

  Scramb­ling for­ward, I to­ok the sta­irs two at a ti­me, using the ba­nis­ter to pro­pel me fas­ter. I he­ard Dab­ria la­ugh be­hind me, and the next ins­tant the ba­nis­ter bro­ke free, cras­hing to the hall be­low. I threw my we­ight back to ke­ep from fal­ling over the un­gu­ar­ded ed­ge. Catc­hing my ba­lan­ce, I ra­ced up the fi­nal sta­irs. At the top I flung myself in­to my mom's bed­ro­om and slam­med the French do­ors shut.

  Ra­cing to one of the win­dows flan­king the fi­rep­la­ce, I lo­oked down two sto­ri­es to the gro­und. The­re we­re three bus­hes in a rock bed di­rectly be­low, all the­ir fo­li­age go­ne sin­ce autumn. I didn't know if I'd sur­vi­ve a jump.

  "Open!" Dab­ria com­man­ded from the ot­her si­de of the French do­ors. A crack split up the wo­od as the do­or stra­ined aga­inst the lock. I was out of ti­me.

  I ran to the fi­rep­la­ce and duc­ked un­der the man­tel. I had just pul­led my fe­et up, bra­cing them aga­inst the in­si­de of the flue, when the do­ors swung open, slam­ming back aga­inst the wall. I he­ard Dab­ria stri­de to the win­dow.

  "No­ra!" she cal­led in her de­li­ca­te, chil­ling vo­ice. "I know you're clo­se! I sen­se you. You can't run and you can't hi­de-I'll burn this ho­use down ro­om by ro­om if that's what it ta­kes to find you! And then I'll burn my way thro­ugh the fi­elds be­hind. I'm not le­aving you ali­ve!"

  A glow of bright gold light siz­zled to li­fe out­si­de the fi­rep­la­ce, along with the ro­aring who­osh of fi­re ig­ni­ting. The fla­mes sent sha­dows dan­cing in the pit be­low. I he­ard the snap and crack­le of fi­re eating up fu­el-most li­kely the fur­ni­tu­re or wo­od flo­ors.

  I sta­yed cram­ped in the flue. My he­art throb­bed, swe­at le­aking from my skin. I drew se­ve­ral bre­aths, ex­ha­ling slowly to ma­na­ge the burn in my tightly cont­rac­ted leg musc­les. Patch had sa­id he was go­ing to the scho­ol. How long un­til he ca­me back?

  Not kno­wing if Dab­ria was still in the ro­om, but fe­aring that if I didn't le­ave now, the fi­re wo­uld trap me in, I lo­we­red one leg in­to the pit, then the ot­her. I ca­me out from un­der the man­tel. Dab­ria was now­he­re in sight, but the fla­mes we­re lic­king up the walls, smo­ke cho­king all air from the ro­om.

  I hur­ri­ed down the hall, not da­ring to go downs­ta­irs, thin­king Dab­ria wo­uld ex­pect me to try to es­ca­pe thro­ugh one of the do­ors.

  In my bed­ro­om I ope­ned the win­dow. The tree out­si­de was clo­se eno­ugh and sturdy eno­ugh to climb. May­be I co­uld lo­se Dab­ria in the fog be­hind the ho­use. The ne­arest ne­igh­bors we­re just un­der a mi­le away, and run­ning hard, I co­uld be the­re in se­ven mi­nu­tes. I was abo­ut to swing my leg out the win­dow when a cre­ak so­un­ded down the hall.

  Qu­i­etly clo­sing myself in­si­de the clo­set, I di­aled 911.

  "The­re's so­me­one in my ho­use trying to kill me," I whis­pe­red to the ope­ra­tor. I had just gi­ven my ad­dress when the do­or to my ro­om eased open. I held per­fectly still.

  Thro­ugh the slats in the clo­set do­or, I watc­hed a sha­dowy fi­gu­re en­ter the ro­om. The ligh­ting was low, my ang­le was off, and I co­uldn't see a sing­le dis­tin­gu­is­hing de­ta­il. The fi­gu­re par­ted the win­dow blinds, pe­ering out. It fin­ge­red the socks and un­der­we­ar in my open dra­wer. It pic­ked up the sil­ver comb on my bu­re­au, stu­di­ed it, then re­tur­ned it. When the fi­gu­re tur­ned in the di­rec­ti­on of the clo­set, I knew I was in tro­ub­le.

  Sli­ding my hand over the flo­or, I felt for anyt­hing I co­uld use in my de­fen­se. My el­bow bum­ped a stack of shoe bo­xes, top­pling them. I mo­ut­hed a cur­se. The fo­ots­teps trod clo­ser.

  The clo­set do­ors ope­ned, and I hur­led a shoe out. I grab­bed anot­her and threw it.

  Patch swo­re in an un­der­to­ne, yan­ked a third shoe out of my hands, and hur­led it be­hind him. Wrest­ling me out of the clo­set, he got me on my fe­et. Be­fo­re I co­uld re­gis­ter re­li­ef at dis­co­ve­ring him and not Dab­ria in front of me, he pul­led me aga­inst him and wrap­ped his arms aro­und me.

  "Are you okay?" he mur­mu­red in my ear.

  "Dab­ria's he­re," I sa­id, my eyes brim­ming with te­ars. My kne­es tremb­led, and Patch's hold was the only thing ke­eping me up. "She's bur­ning down the ho­use."

  Patch han­ded me a set of keys and cur­led my fin­gers aro­und them. "My Je­ep's par­ked on the stre­et. Get in, lock the do­ors, dri­ve to Delp­hic, and wa­it for me." He tip­ped my chin up to fa­ce him. He brus­hed a kiss ac­ross my lips and sent a flash of he­at thro­ugh me.

  "What are you go­ing to do?" I as­ked.

  "Ta­ke ca­re of Dab­ria."

  "How?"

  He slid me a lo­ok that sa­id, Do you re­al­ly want de­ta­ils?

  The so­und of si­rens wa­iled in the dis­tan­ce.

  Patch lo­oked to the win­dow. "You cal­led the po­li­ce?"

  "I tho­ught you we­re Dab­ria."

  He was al­re­ady on his way out the do­or. "I'll go af­ter Dab­ria. Dri­ve the Je­ep to Delp­hic and wa­it for me."

  "What abo­ut the fi­re?"

  "The po­li­ce will hand­le it."

  I tigh­te­ned my grip on the keys. The de­ci­si­on-ma­king part of my bra­in was split, run­ning in op­po­si­te di­rec­ti­ons. I wan­ted to get out of the ho­use and away from Dab­ria, and me­et up with Patch la­ter, but the­re was one nag­ging tho­ught I co­uldn't sha­ke free. Dab­ria had sa­id Patch ne­eded to sac­ri­fi­ce me to be­co­me hu­man.

  She hadn't sa­id it lightly, or to get un­der my skin. Or even to har­den me aga­inst him. Her words had co­me out cold and se­ri­o­us. Se­ri­o­us eno­ugh that she tri­ed to kill me
to stop Patch from get­ting to me first.

  I fo­und the Je­ep par­ked on the stre­et, just li­ke Patch had sa­id. I put the keys in the ig­ni­ti­on and flo­ored the Je­ep down Hawt­hor­ne. Fi­gu­ring it was po­int­less to try Vee's cell aga­in, I di­aled her ho­me pho­ne ins­te­ad.

  "Hi, Mrs. Sky," I sa­id, trying to so­und li­ke not­hing was out of the or­di­nary. "Is Vee the­re?"

  "Hi, No­ra! She left a few ho­urs ago. So­met­hing abo­ut a party in Port­land. I tho­ught she was with you."

  "Um, we got se­pa­ra­ted," I li­ed. "Did she say whe­re she was go­ing af­ter the party?"

  "She was thin­king abo­ut se­e­ing a mo­vie. And she isn't ans­we­ring her cell, so I as­su­me she has it tur­ned off for a show. Is everyt­hing okay?"

  I didn't want to frigh­ten her, but at the sa­me ti­me, I wasn't abo­ut to say everyt­hing was okay. Not one bit of it felt okay to me. The last ti­me I'd he­ard from Vee, she was with El­li­ot. And now she wasn't ans­we­ring her cell.

  "I don't think so," I sa­id. "I'm go­ing to dri­ve aro­und and lo­ok for her. I'll start at the mo­vie the­ater. Will you se­arch the pro­me­na­de?"

  CHAPTER 26

  IT WAS THE SUN­DAY NIGHT BE­FO­RE THE START OF SPRING bre­ak, and the mo­vie the­ater was pac­ked. I got in the tic­ket li­ne, con­ti­nu­al­ly lo­oking aro­und for signs that I'd be­en fol­lo­wed. Not­hing alar­ming so far, and the press of bo­di­es of­fe­red go­od co­ver. I told myself Patch wo­uld ta­ke ca­re of Dab­ria and that I had not­hing to worry abo­ut, but it didn't hurt to be vi­gi­lant.

  Of co­ur­se, de­ep in­si­de, I knew Dab­ria wasn't my big­gest worry. So­oner or la­ter Patch was go­ing to fi­gu­re out I wasn't at Delp­hic. Ba­sed on past ex­pe­ri­en­ce, I didn't ha­ve any il­lu­si­ons abo­ut be­ing ab­le to hi­de long-term from him. He wo­uld find me. And then I'd be for­ced to conf­ront him with the qu­es­ti­on I was dre­ading. Mo­re spe­ci­fi­cal­ly, I dre­aded his ans­wer. Be­ca­use the­re was a sha­dow of do­ubt at the back of my mind, whis­pe­ring that Dab­ria had be­en tel­ling the truth abo­ut what it wo­uld ta­ke for Patch to get a hu­man body.

  I step­ped up to the tic­ket win­dow. The ni­ne-thirty mo­vi­es we­re just star­ting.

  "One for The Sac­ri­fi­ce" I sa­id wit­ho­ut thin­king. Im­me­di­ately I fo­und the tit­le eerily iro­nic. Not wan­ting to ref­lect furt­her on it, I fis­hed in my poc­kets and pus­hed a wad of small bills and co­ins un­der the win­dow, pra­ying it was eno­ugh.

  "Je­ez" the tel­ler sa­id, sta­ring at the co­ins spil­ling un­der the win­dow. I re­cog­ni­zed her from scho­ol. She was a se­ni­or, and I was pretty su­re her na­me was Kay­lie or Kylie. "Thanks a lot," she sa­id. "It's not li­ke the­re's a li­ne or anyt­hing."

  Ever­yo­ne be­hind me mut­te­red a col­lec­ti­ve exp­le­ti­ve.

  "I cle­aned out my piggy bank," I sa­id, at­temp­ting sar­casm.

  "No kid­ding. Is it all he­re?" she as­ked, ex­pel­ling a drawn-out sigh as she pus­hed the co­ins in­to gro­ups of qu­ar­ters, di­mes, nic­kels, and pen­ni­es.

  "Su­re."

  "Wha­te­ver. I don't get pa­id eno­ugh for this." She swept the mo­ney in­to the cash dra­wer and slid my tic­ket un­der the win­dow. "The­re are the­se things cal­led cre­dit cards…"

  I grab­bed the tic­ket. "Did you hap­pen to see Vee Sky co­me in to­night?"

  "Bee who?"

  "Vee Sky. She's a sop­ho­mo­re. She was with El­li­ot Sa­un­ders."

  Kay­lie or Kylie's eyes bug­ged out. "Do­es it lo­ok li­ke a slow night? Do­es it lo­ok li­ke I've just be­en sit­ting he­re, me­mo­ri­zing every fa­ce that walks past?"

  "Ne­ver mind," I bre­at­hed, he­ading for the do­ors le­ading in­si­de.

  Cold­wa­ter's mo­vie the­ater has two scre­ens, be­hind do­ors on eit­her si­de of a con­ces­si­on co­un­ter. As so­on as the tic­ket guy rip­ped my tic­ket in half, I tug­ged on the do­or to the­ater num­ber two and duc­ked in­si­de to dark­ness. The mo­vie had star­ted.

  The the­ater was al­most full, ex­cept for a few iso­la­ted se­ats. I wal­ked down the ais­le, lo­oking for Vee. At the bot­tom of the ais­le I tur­ned and wal­ked ac­ross the front of the the­ater. It was hard to dis­tin­gu­ish fa­ces in the dark­ness, but I was pretty su­re Vee wasn't he­re.

  I exi­ted the the­ater and wal­ked over to the show next do­or. It wasn't as crow­ded. I did anot­her walk-thro­ugh, but aga­in, I didn't see Vee. Ta­king a se­at ne­ar the back, I tri­ed to set­tle my mind.

  This who­le night felt li­ke a dark fa­ir) ta­le I'd stra­yed in­to and co­uldn't find my way back out of. A fa­iry ta­le with fal­len an­gels, hu­man hybrids, and sac­ri­fi­ci­al kil­lings. I rub­bed my thumb over my birth­mark. I es­pe­ci­al­ly didn't want to think abo­ut the pos­si­bi­lity that I was des­cen­ded from one of the Nep­hi­lim.

  I pul­led out the emer­gency cell pho­ne and chec­ked for mis­sed calls. No­ne.

  I was tuc­king the pho­ne in my poc­ket when a car­ton of pop­corn ma­te­ri­ali­zed be­si­de me.

  "Hungry?" as­ked a vo­ice from just over my sho­ul­der. The vo­ice was qu­i­et and not es­pe­ci­al­ly happy. I tri­ed to ke­ep my bre­at­hing calm. "Stand up and walk out of the the­ater," Patch sa­id. "I'll be right be­hind you."

  I didn't mo­ve.

  "Walk out," he re­pe­ated. "We ne­ed to talk."

  "Abo­ut how you ne­ed to sac­ri­fi­ce me to get a hu­man body?" I as­ked, my to­ne light, my in­si­des fe­eling le­aden.

  "That might be cu­te if you tho­ught it was true."

  "I do think it's true!" Sort of. But the sa­me tho­ught kept re­tur­ning-if Patch wan­ted to kill me, why hadn't he al­re­ady?

  "Shh!" sa­id the guy next to me.

  Patch sa­id, "Walk out, or I'll carry you out."

  I flip­ped aro­und. "Excu­se me?"

  "Shh!" the guy be­si­de me his­sed aga­in.

  "Bla­me him," I told the guy, po­in­ting at Patch.

  The guy cra­ned his neck back. "Lis­ten," he sa­id, fa­cing me aga­in. "If you don't qu­i­et down, I'll get se­cu­rity."

  "Fi­ne, go get se­cu­rity. Tell them to ta­ke him away," I sa­id, aga­in sig­na­ling Patch. "Tell them he wants to kill me."

  "/want to kill you," his­sed the guy's girlf­ri­end, le­aning aro­und him to ad­dress me.

  "Who wants to kill you?" the guy as­ked. He was still lo­oking over his sho­ul­der, but his exp­res­si­on was puz­zled.

  "The­re's no­body the­re" the girlf­ri­end told me.

  "You're ma­king them think they can't see you, aren't you?" I sa­id to Patch, awed by his po­wer even as I des­pi­sed his use of it.

  Patch smi­led, but it was pinc­hed at the cor­ners.

  "Oh, je­ez!" sa­id the girlf­ri­end, thro­wing her hands in the air. She rol­led her eyes fu­ri­o­usly at her boyf­ri­end and sa­id, "Do so­met­hing!"

  "I ne­ed you to stop tal­king," the guy told me. He ges­tu­red at the scre­en. "Watch the show. He­re-ha­ve my so­da."

  I swung in­to the ais­le. I felt Patch mo­ve be­hind me, un­set­tlingly clo­se, not qu­ite to­uc­hing. He sta­yed that way un­til we we­re out of the the­ater.

  On the ot­her si­de of the do­or, Patch ho­oked my arm and gu­ided me ac­ross the fo­yer to the la­di­es' ro­om.

  "What is it with you and girls' bath­ro­oms?" I sa­id.

  He ste­ered me thro­ugh the do­or, loc­ked it, and le­aned back aga­inst it. His eyes we­re all over me. And they sho­wed ever) sign of wan­ting to rat­tle me to de­ath.

  I was bac­ked up aga­inst the co­un­ter, my palms dig­ging in­to the ed­ge. "You're mad be­ca­use I didn't go to Delp­hic." I ra­ised one shaky sho­ul­der. "Why Delp­hic, Patch? It's Sun­day night. Delp­hic will be clo­si
ng so­on. Any spe­ci­al re­ason you wan­ted me to dri­ve to a dark, so­on-to-be de­ser­ted amu­se­ment park?"

  He wal­ked to­ward me un­til he was stan­ding clo­se eno­ugh that I co­uld see his black eyes be­ne­ath his ball cap.

  "Dab­ria told me you ha­ve to sac­ri­fi­ce me to get a hu­man body," I sa­id.

  Patch was qu­i­et a mo­ment. "And you think I'd go thro­ugh with it?"

  I swal­lo­wed. "Then it's true?"

  Our eyes loc­ked. "It has to be an in­ten­ti­onal sac­ri­fi­ce. Simply kil­ling you won't do it."

  "Are you the only per­son who can do this to me?"

  "No, but I'm pro­bably the only per­son who knows the end re­sult, and the only per­son who wo­uld at­tempt it. It's the re­ason I ca­me to scho­ol. I had to get clo­se to you. I ne­eded you. It's the re­ason I wal­ked in­to yo­ur li­fe."

  "Dab­ria told me you fell for a girl." I ha­ted myself for ex­pe­ri­en­cing ir­ra­ti­onal pangs of je­alo­usy. This wasn't sup­po­sed to be abo­ut me. This was sup­po­sed to be an in­ter­ro­ga­ti­on. "What hap­pe­ned?"

  I des­pe­ra­tely wan­ted Patch to gi­ve away so­me clue to his tho­ughts, but his eyes we­re a co­ol black, emo­ti­ons tuc­ked out of sight. "She grew old and di­ed."

  "That must ha­ve be­en hard for you," I snap­ped.

  He wa­ited a few co­unts be­fo­re ans­we­ring. His to­ne was so low, I shi­ve­red. "You want me to co­me cle­an, I will. I'll tell you everyt­hing. Who I am and what I've do­ne. Every last de­ta­il. I'll dig it all up, but you ha­ve to ask. You ha­ve to want it. You can see who I was, or you can see who I am now. I'm not go­od," he sa­id, pi­er­cing me with eyes that ab­sor­bed all light but ref­lec­ted no­ne, "but I was wor­se."

  I ig­no­red the roll in my sto­mach and sa­id, "Tell me."

  "The first ti­me I saw her, I was still an an­gel. It was an ins­tant, pos­ses­si­ve lust. It dro­ve me crazy. I didn't know anyt­hing abo­ut her, ex­cept that I wo­uld do wha­te­ver it to­ok to get clo­se to her. I watc­hed her for a whi­le, and then I got it in my he­ad that if I went down to Earth and pos­ses­sed a hu­man body, I wo­uld be cast out of he­aven and be­co­me hu­man. The thing is, I didn't know abo­ut Chesh­van. I ca­me down on a night in August, but I co­uldn't pos­sess the body. On my way back to he­aven, a host of aven­ging an­gels stop­ped me and rip­ped out my wings. They tos­sed me out of the sky. Right away I knew so­met­hing was wrong. When I lo­oked at hu­mans, all I co­uld fe­el was an in­sa­ti­ab­le cra­ving to be in­si­de the­ir bo­di­es. All my po­wers we­re strip­ped, and I was this we­ak, pat­he­tic thing. I wasn't hu­man. I was fal­len. I'd re­ali­zed I'd gi­ven it all up, just li­ke that. All this ti­me I've ha­ted myself for it. I tho­ught I'd gi­ven it up for not­hing." His eyes fo­cu­sed sin­gu­larly on me, le­aving me fe­eling trans­pa­rent. "But if I hadn't fal­len, I wo­uldn't ha­ve met you."