hush, hush 04 - Finale Read online

  I held Rixon’s sword close to my body, shifting on the balls of my feet. “Oh, there are several things I’m wishing right now, but that’s not one of them. Why haven’t fallen angels possessed Nephilim this Cheshvan? I’m guessing you know, and don’t take that as a compliment.”

  “I ordered them not to. Until I killed Blakely, I didn’t want him superseding my orders and distributing the devilcraft super-drink to Nephilim. He would have, if fallen angels had come against Nephilim.” Again, spoken so practically. So superior. He feared nothing.

  “Where’s Patch?”

  “In hell. I made certain his face never passed through the gates. He’ll stay in hell. And only when I feel like brutally abusing and tormenting something will he get a visitor.”

  I lunged for him, swinging my sword lethally at his head. He sprang from its swath, countering with several explosive blows of his own. With each defensive block, my sword vibrated up to my shoulders. I gritted my teeth to battle the pain. He was too strong; I couldn’t fend off his powerful strokes forever. I had to find a way to strip his sword and puncture his heart.

  “When was the last time you took devilcraft?” Dante asked, using his sword like a machete to hack at me.

  “I’m done with devilcraft.” I blocked his strikes, but if I didn’t stop playing defense soon, he’d back me into the fence. Aggressively, I lunged to stab his thigh. He sidestepped, my sword driving into air and nearly unbalancing me.

  The more you lean or stretch, the easier it will be for Dante to knock you over. Patch’s caution sounded in my head as clearly as he’d spoken it yesterday. I nodded to myself. That’s it, Patch. Keep talking to me.

  “It shows,” Dante said. “I’d hoped you’d take enough of the poisonous prototype I gave you to rot your brain.”

  So that had been his initial plan: get me addicted to devilcraft and let it quietly kill me. “Where are you storing the rest of the prototypes?”

  “Where I can harness their power whenever I want,” he returned smugly.

  “Hope you hid them well, because if there’s one thing I’m doing before I die, it’s destroying your lab.”

  “The new lab is inside me. The prototypes are there, Nora, replicating over and over. I am devilcraft. Do you have any idea what it feels like to be the most powerful man on the planet?”

  I ducked just in time to miss a chop at my neck. Quickening my steps and plunging my sword forward, I aimed for his stomach, but he danced sideways again, and the blade nipped the flesh above his hip instead. Blue liquid oozed from the wound, blooming across his white shirt.

  With a guttural growl, Dante flew at me. I ran, jumping the stone wall encasing the parking lot.

  Dew beaded the grass, and my balance faltered; I slipped and slid downhill. Just in time I scrabbled behind a gravestone; Dante’s sword speared the grass where I’d landed. He chased me through the headstones, swinging his sword at every chance, the steel ringing out as it clanged against marble and stone.

  I ran behind the first tree I saw, putting it between us. It was on fire, popping and crackling as the flames devoured it. Ignoring the heat blasting my face, I faked left, but Dante wasn’t in the mood for games. He chased around the tree, holding his sword over his head as though he intended to slice me in half, skull to toes. I fled again, hearing Patch in my head.

  Use his height to your advantage. Expose his legs. A hard strike to either knee, then steal his sword.

  I ducked behind the mausoleum, flattening myself against the wall. The moment Dante moved into my line of vision, I stepped out from my hiding place, driving my sword into the flesh of his thigh. Watery blue blood spurted from the wound. He’d consumed so much devilcraft, his veins literally flowed with it.

  Before I could retract my sword, Dante swung at me. I cleared his sword, but in doing so, had to leave my own buried in his leg. The emptiness in my hands suddenly felt very real, and I swallowed down panic.

  “Forgot something,” Dante jeered, clenching his teeth as he pulled the blade out of his leg. He hurled my sword onto the mausoleum’s roof.

  I dashed away, knowing his leg wound would slow him—until it healed. I hadn’t made it far before agonizing heat ripped into my left shoulder blade and spread down my arm. I stumbled to my knees with a cry. I glanced back, just able to see Pepper’s pearly-white dagger deeply lodged in my shoulder. Marcie must have given it to Dante last night. He limped up behind me.

  The whites of his eyes sizzled blue with devilcraft. Blue sweat popped from his brow. Devilcraft trickled from his wound. The prototypes he’d stolen from Blakely were inside him. He’d consumed them all, and somehow had transformed his body into a devilcraft factory. A brilliant plan, except for one small detail. If I could kill him, every prototype on Earth would go with him.

  If I could kill him.

  “Your fat archangel friend confessed to enchanting that dagger specifically to kill me,” he said. “He failed, and Patch did too.” His lips curled in a nasty smile.

  I ripped a marble headstone from the earth and hurled it at him, but he batted it away as though I’d flung a baseball.

  I inched backward, relying on my good arm to drag me. Too slow.

  I attempted a hurried mind-trick. Drop the sword and freeze! I shouted into Dante’s subconscious.

  Pain splintered across my cheekbone. The blunt edge of his sword had lashed out so hard, I tasted blood.

  “You’d dare mind-trick me?” Before I could recoil, he lifted me by the scruff of my neck and flung me savagely against a tree. The impact cast a fog over my vision and stole my breath. I tried to balance on my knees, but the ground rocked.

  “Let her go.”

  Scott’s voice. What was he doing here? My dazed apprehension lasted only a moment. I saw the sword in his hands, and sheer anxiety shot to every corner of my body.

  “Scott,” I warned. “Get out of here now.”

  His steady hands encircled the hilt. “I swore an oath to your father to protect you,” he said, never lowering his evaluating gaze from Dante.

  Dante tipped his head back, laughing. “An oath to a dead man? How does that work?”

  “If you touch Nora again, you’re as good as dead. That’s my oath to you.”

  “Step aside, Scott,” Dante barked. “This isn’t about you.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.”

  Scott charged at Dante, the two battling in a blur of rapid strokes. Scott relaxed his shoulders, relying on his powerful build and athletic grace to make up for Dante’s experience and devilcraft-enhanced skill. Scott held the offense, while Dante skirted agilely to the side. A brutal arc from Scott’s sword severed the lower half of Dante’s left arm. Scott skewered the limb and held it up. “As many pieces as it takes.”

  Dante cursed, sloppily slashing his sword at Scott with his usable arm. The ringing collision of their blades cracked the morning air, seeming to deafen me. Dante forced Scott back toward a towering stone cross, and I shouted my warning in mind-speak.

  Headstone directly behind!

  Scott skipped sideways, easily avoiding a fall while simultaneously blocking an attack. Dante’s pores leaked blue sweat, but if he noticed, he didn’t show it. He shook his damp hair from his eyes and continued to hack and chop, his good arm visibly tiring. His thrashing strokes turned desperate. I saw my chance to circle behind him, trapping him between Scott and me, where one of us could finish him off.

  A grunted cry stopped me in my tracks. I turned just as Scott slipped on wet grass, falling onto one knee. His legs spread awkwardly as he tried to regain his stance. He rolled safely away from Dante’s plunged sword, but he didn’t have time to climb to his feet before Dante pounced again, this time driving the sword deeply into Scott’s chest.

  Scott’s hands curled weakly around Dante’s sword, impaled in his heart, trying unsuccessfully to dislodge it. Fiery blue devilcraft pumped from the sword into his body; his skin darkened to a ghastly blue. He feebly croaked my name. Nora?

>   I screamed. Paralyzed by shock and grief, I watched as Dante finished his attack with a clean twist of the blade, cleaving Scott’s heart.

  I shifted my full attention to Dante, trembling with a hatred like I’d never known before. A wave of violent loathing rippled through me. Poison filled my veins. My hands curled into fists of rock, and a voice of fury and vengeance screamed in my head.

  Fueled by this deep, abiding anger, I drew on my inner power. Not halfheartedly or hurried, or with a lack of confidence. I summoned every drop of courage and determination I possessed and unleashed it at him. I would not let him win. Not this way. Not with devilcraft. Not by killing Scott.

  With all the strength of my mental conviction, I invaded his mind and shredded the impulses firing to and from his brain. Just as quickly, I plugged in an unyielding command: Drop the sword. Drop the sword, you worthless, cunning, twisted man.

  I heard the chink of steel on marble.

  I glared nails at Dante. His dazed expression stared into distant space, as though he was looking for something lost.

  “Ironic, isn’t it, that it was you who pointed out my greatest strength?” I said, every word dripping abhorrence.

  I’d sworn I would never use devilcraft again, but this was one circumstance where I’d gladly bend the rules. If I killed Dante, devilcraft went too.

  The temptation to steal devilcraft for my own flickered across my mind, but I flushed the idea away. I was stronger than Hank, stronger than Dante. Stronger, even, than devilcraft. I would send it back to hell for Scott, who’d given his life to save mine. I’d just picked up Dante’s sword when his leg bucked up, kicking it from my hands.

  Dante catapulted himself on top of me, his hands vising my neck. I raked my fingernails at his eyes. I clawed his face.

  I opened my mouth. No air.

  His cold stare gleamed with triumph.

  My jaw opened and closed uselessly. Dante’s ruthless face turned grainy, like an old TV picture. Over his shoulder, a stone angel watched me with interest.

  I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. So this was what it meant to die. To give in.

  I didn’t want to give in.

  Dante pinched my airway with his knee, stretching sideways to pick up his sword. The tip centered over my heart.

  Possess him, the stone angel seemed to calmly command me. Possess him and kill him.

  Patch? I wondered almost dreamily.

  Clinging to the strength that came from believing Patch was near, watching over me, I stopped resisting Dante. I lowered my scratching fingers and relaxed my legs. I succumbed to him, even though it felt like a cowardly, conceding thing. I focused my thoughts on gravitating toward him.

  A foreign coldness rippled over my body.

  I blinked, staring at the world through Dante’s eyes. I looked down. His sword was in my hands. Somewhere buried inside me, I knew Dante was grinding his teeth, uttering blood-chilling noises, howling like a miserable animal.

  I turned the sword to face me. I pointed it at my heart. And then I did a surprising thing.

  I fell on the blade.

  CHAPTER

  41

  DANTE’S BODY EXPELLED MINE SO FAST, I felt like I’d been flung from a moving car. My hands snatched at grass, searching for something solid in a world that spun, tipping and turning over itself. As the dizziness faded, I looked around for Dante. I smelled him before I saw him.

  His skin had deepened to the color of a bruise, and his body began to bloat. His corpse purged its fluids, his devilcraft blood seeping into the earth like something living, something that burrowed away from sunlight. Flesh fell away, deteriorating into dust. After only a handful of seconds, all that remained of Dante were sucked-dry bones.

  He was dead. Devilcraft was gone.

  Slowly I pushed to my feet. My jeans were tattered and stained, streaks of grass rubbed across the knees. I licked the crack of my mouth, tasting blood and the salty tang of sweat. I walked to Scott, each step heavy, tears hot on my face, my hands hovering uselessly over his rapidly decaying body. I shut my eyes, forcing myself to recall his lopsided grin. Not his vacant eyes. In my mind, I played back his teasing laugh. Not the gurgling, gasping sounds he’d made right before dying. I remembered his warmth in accidental touches and playful jabs, knowing his body was rotting even as I clung to the memory.

  “Thank you,” I choked out, telling myself that somewhere nearby, he could still hear my voice. “You saved my life. Good-bye, Scott. I’ll never forget you, that’s my oath to you. Never,” I vowed.

  The fog hanging over the cemetery burned gold and gray as the sun’s rays sliced through it. Ignoring the fire clawing my shoulder as I drew out Pepper’s dagger, I staggered out of the cluster of headstones and into the open cemetery.

  Strange lumps littered the grass, and as I came closer, I saw them for what they really were: corpses. Fallen angels, from what I could tell of what remained of them. Just like Dante, their flesh fell away in seconds. Blue fluid wept from their carcasses and was immediately sucked up by the earth.

  “You did it.”

  I spun around, instinctively hardening my grip on the dagger. Detective Basso tucked his hands in his pockets, a grim little smile playing at his mouth. The black dog who’d saved my life just a few short days ago sat stalwartly at his ankles. The dog’s feral yellow eyes stared up at me contemplatively. Basso bent down, rubbing the mangy fur between his ears.

  “He’s a good dog,” Basso said. “Once I’m gone, he’ll need a good home.”

  I took a cautious step backward. “What’s going on here?”

  “You did it,” he repeated. “Devilcraft is eradicated.”

  “Tell me I’m dreaming.”

  “I’m an archangel.” The corners of his mouth crooked, almost, but not quite, sheepishly.

  “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.”

  “I’ve been on Earth for months, working undercover. We suspected that Chauncey Langeais and Hank Millar were summoning devilcraft, and it was my job to keep a close eye on Hank, his dealings, and his family—including you.”

  Basso. Archangel. Working undercover. I shook my head. “I’m still not sure what is happening here.”

  “You did what I’ve been trying to do. Get rid of devilcraft.”

  I digested this in silence. After what I’d seen these past few weeks, it took a lot to surprise me. But this certainly did. Good to know I wasn’t entirely jaded yet.

  “Fallen angels are gone. It won’t last forever, but enjoy it while we can, right?” he grunted. “I’m closing this case and heading home. Congratulations.”

  My brain hardly heard him. Fallen angels, gone. Gone. The word yawned inside me like an endless hole.

  “Good work, Nora. Oh, and you might like to know we’ve got Pepper in custody and we’re dealing with him. He claims you put him up to stealing the feathers, but I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear it. One last thing. Consider this a thank-you of sorts: Go for a nice, clean cut through the middle of the mark on your wrist,” he said, sawing his own wrist with the side of his hand in demonstration.

  “What?”

  A knowing smile. “For once, just trust me.”

  And he was gone.

  I leaned back against a tree, trying to slow the world long enough to make sense of it. Dante, dead. Devilcraft, demolished. The war, nonexistent. My oath, fulfilled. And Scott. Oh, Scott. How would I tell Vee? How would I help her get through the loss, the heartache, the despair? Down the road, how would I encourage her to move on, when I had no such plans for myself? Trying to replace Patch—even trying to find happiness, however small, with someone else—would be a lie. I was Nephilim now, blessed to live forever, cursed to do so without Patch.

  Footsteps rustled ahead, cutting through the grass, a familiar sound. I stiffened, poised to attack, as a dark outline emerged through the fog. The figure’s eyes raked the ground, clearly hunting for something. He crouched at every body, inspecting it with a hurried fervor, then
kicked it aside with an impatient curse.

  “Patch?”

  Hunched over a decaying body, he froze. His head whipped up, his eyes narrowing, as if disbelieving what he’d heard. His gaze locked with mine, and something undecipherable moved in his black eyes. Relief? Solace? Deliverance.

  I ran in a frenzy the last several feet separating us and threw myself into his embrace, digging my fingers into his shirt, burying my face into his neck. “Let this be real. Let this be you. Don’t let me go. Don’t ever let me go.” I started crying freely. “I fought Dante. I killed him. But I couldn’t save Scott. He’s dead. Devilcraft is gone, but I failed Scott.”

  Patch murmured soft sounds in my ear, but his hands shook where they held me. He guided me to sit on a stone bench, but he never released me, holding me as though he were afraid I’d drain through his fingers like sand. His eyes, weary and red, told me he’d been crying.

  Keep talking, I told myself. Keep the dream going. Anything to keep Patch here.

  “I saw Rixon.”

  “He’s dead,” Patch said bluntly. “So are the rest of them. Dante released us from hell, but not before taking our oaths of loyalty and injecting us with a devilcraft prototype. It was the only way out. We left hell with it swimming in our veins, our lifeblood. When you destroyed devilcraft, every fallen angel being sustained by it died.”

  It can’t be a dream. It must be, and at the same time, it’s too real. His touch, so familiar, caused my heartbeat to soar and my blood to melt—I couldn’t fabricate such a forceful response to him in a dream.

  “How did you survive?”

  “I didn’t swear an oath to Dante, and I didn’t let him inject me with devilcraft. I possessed Rixon just long enough to escape hell. I didn’t trust Dante or devilcraft. I trusted you to finish them both off.”

  “Oh, Patch,” I said, my voice trembling. “You were gone. I saw your motorcycle. You never came back. I thought—” My heart twisted, a deep ache expanding to fill my chest. “When I didn’t save your feather—” The loss and devastation crept inside me like a winter chill, relentless and numbing. I snuggled closer to Patch, fearing that he might vanish through my hands. I climbed onto his lap, sobbing into his chest.