The Complete Hush, Hush Saga Read online

  “You cheated,” she accused.

  His smile widened. She didn’t sound that disappointed, and she knew it.

  He played along, raising his shoulders, a display of innocence. “A bet’s a bet.”

  “How did you do it?”

  “Maybe my telepathy isn’t rusty after all.”

  Rixon walked up, clapping him on the back. “Let’s hit the road, Jack.”

  “Where’s Vee?” the redhead wanted to know.

  On cue, the blonde emerged from the restroom, slumped against the doorjamb, pantomimed her own erratically beating heart, and mouthed ooh-la-la.

  “What did you do to her?” the redhead asked Rixon.

  “Put a smile on her face. There’s more where that came from,” Rixon added, and Patch shoved him toward the doors.

  “Take it easy,” Patch told the redhead reluctantly, not ready to give up talking to her, but not wanting to impress any more of her on Rixon’s memory. For the time being, he wanted to keep who she really was to himself.

  The redhead blinked. “So I guess I’ll see you around,” she said, wearing a what just happened here? expression. Given the circumstances, he should ask himself the same thing.

  “Absolutely,” Patch answered. Sooner than she thought. Later tonight he planned on making house calls. First to the blonde, and then to the redhead.

  If tonight had happened seven or eight months down the road, the timing would have been perfect. As it was, he had to erase their memories. He felt a jolt of regret at needing to wipe the redhead’s memory. He wanted her to remember tonight. He wanted her to remember him.

  He imagined sacrificing her—a thought he’d turned over in his head a hundred times before—but the image stumbled. For the first time he looked beyond himself—seeing her. Not only did he plan to kill her, but he had it in his mind to betray her first. What would she think of him if she knew? It occurred to him to drag her outside now and get it over with. The image flared in his mind, impulsive and tempting, but he forced it aside. If he could do it now, he could do it tomorrow.

  But his hesitation bothered him. Something told him killing her wasn’t going to be easy. He hadn’t helped his cause by flirting with her and, worse, enjoying it. More than he was ready to admit.

  In an effort to refocus his thoughts, he shut his eyes briefly and pictured the end goal. Once he sacrificed her, he’d have a human body. It wasn’t complicated. Anything that stood in his way, including his own inner turmoil, was irrelevant.

  Without thinking he turned, stealing a private look at her. He’d only meant to see her face one last time, but to his surprise, she was watching him, too, with a question in those exquisite gray eyes that would haunt him.

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or

  real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are

  products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales

  or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2011 by Becca Fitzpatrick

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction

  in whole or in part in any form.

  is a trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For

  more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers

  Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com.

  Book design by Lucy Ruth Cummins

  The text for this book is set in Seria.

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

  CIP data for this book is available from the Library of Congress.

  ISBN 978-1-4424-2664-1 (hc)

  ISBN 978-1-4424-4960-2 (proprietary hc)

  ISBN 978-1-4424-2666-5 (eBook)

  Contents

  Prologue: Earlier Today

  Chapter 1: Tonight

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Epilogue: Three Years Later The Hodder Valley, Lancashire, England

  Acknowledgments

  For my mom, whom I’ve always been able to hear

  cheering from the sidelines (Run, child, run!)

  PROLOGUE

  EARLIER TODAY

  SCOTT DIDN’T BELIEVE IN GHOSTS. DEAD MEN stayed in the grave. But the tunnels crisscrossing under Delphic Amusement Park, echoing with rustling, whispered sounds, made him rethink. He didn’t like that his mind traveled to Harrison Grey. He didn’t want to be reminded of his role in a man’s murder. Moisture dripped from the low ceiling. Scott thought of blood. The fire from his torch cast skittish shadows on walls that smelled of cold, fresh earth. He thought of graves.

  An icy current tickled the back of his neck. Over his shoulder, he gave the darkness a long, distrustful look.

  Nobody knew he’d sworn an oath to Harrison Grey to protect Nora. Since he couldn’t say, “Hey, man, sorry for getting you killed,” in person, he’d defaulted to vowing to watch over Harrison’s daughter. When it came to decent apologies, it didn’t make the cut, not really, but it was the best he could think of. Scott wasn’t even sure an oath to a dead man held any weight.

  But the hollow sounds behind him made him think it did.

  “You coming?”

  Scott could just make out the dark outline of Dante’s shoulders ahead. “How much longer?”

  “Five minutes.” Dante chuckled. “Scared?”

  “Stiff.” Scott jogged to catch up. “What happens at the meeting? I’ve never done this before,” he added, hoping he didn’t sound as stupid as he felt.

  “Higher-ups want to meet Nora. She’s their leader now.”

  “So the Nephilim have accepted that the Black Hand is dead?” Scott didn’t fully believe it himself. The Black Hand was supposed to be immortal. All Nephilim were. So who’d found a way to kill him?

  Scott didn’t like the answer he kept going back to. If Nora had done this— If Patch had helped her—

  It didn’t matter how carefully they’d covered their tracks. They’d miss something. Everyone always did. It was only a matter of time.

  If Nora had murdered the Black Hand, she was in danger.

  “They’ve seen my ring,” Dante answered.

  Scott had seen it too. Earlier. The enchanted ring had sizzled like it had blue fire trapped under the crown. Even now it glowed a cold, dying blue. According to Dante, the Black Hand had prophesied it would be the sign of his death.

  “Have they found a body?”

  “No.”

  “And they’re cool with Nora leading them?” Scott pressed. “She’s nothing like the Black Hand.”

  “She swore a blood oath to him last
night. It kicked in the moment he died. She’s their leader, even if they don’t like it. They can replace her, but they’ll test her out first and try to figure out why Hank chose her.”

  Scott didn’t like the sound of that. “And if they replace her?”

  Dante flashed a dark gaze over his shoulder. “She dies. Terms of the oath.”

  “We’re not going to let that happen.”

  “No.”

  “So everything’s cool.” Scott needed confirmation that Nora was safe.

  “As long as she plays along.”

  Scott recalled Nora’s argument from earlier in the day. I’ll meet the Nephilim. And I’ll make my position clear: Hank may have started this war, but I’m finishing it. And this war is ending in ceasefire. I don’t care if that’s not what they want to hear. He squeezed the bridge of his nose—he had a lot of work to do.

  He trudged forward, keeping his eyes out for puddles. They rippled like oily kaleidoscopes, and the last one he’d accidentally stepped in had soaked him up to the ankle. “I told Patch I wouldn’t let her out of my sight.”

  Dante grunted. “Scared of him, too?”

  “No.” But he was. Dante would be too, if he knew Patch at all. “Why couldn’t she come with us to the meeting?” The decision to separate from Nora made him uneasy. He cursed himself for not arguing against it earlier.

  “I don’t know why we do half the things we do. We’re soldiers. We take orders.”

  Scott remembered Patch’s parting words to him. She’s on your watch. Don’t screw up. The threat dug under his skin. Patch thought he was the only one who cared about Nora, but he wasn’t. Nora was the closest thing to a sister Scott had. She’d stood by him when no one else would, and had talked him down off the ledge. Literally.

  They had a bond, and not that kind of bond. He cared about Nora more than any girl he’d ever known. She was his responsibility. If it mattered, he’d vowed as much to her dead father.

  He and Dante pressed deeper into the tunnels, the walls tightening around their shoulders. Scott turned sideways to squeeze into the next passageway. Clumps of earth broke loose from the walls, and he held his breath, half expecting the ceiling to crumble in one great heave and bury them.

  At last Dante tugged on a ring pull, and a door materialized out of the wall.

  Scott surveyed the cavernous room inside. Same dirt walls, stone floor. Empty.

  “Look down. Trapdoor,” Dante said.

  Scott stepped off the hatch door concealed in the stonework and yanked on the handle. Heated voices carried up through the opening. Bypassing the ladder, he dropped through the hole, landing ten feet below.

  He assessed the cramped, cavelike room in an instant. Nephilim men and women wearing hooded black robes formed a tight circle around two figures he couldn’t see clearly. A fire roared off to the side. A branding iron plunged into the coals glowed orange with heat.

  “Answer me,” a wiry old voice at the center of the circle snapped. “What is the state of your relationship with the fallen angel they call Patch? Are you prepared to lead the Nephilim? We need to know we have your full allegiance.”

  “I don’t have to answer,” Nora, the other figure, fired back. “My personal life isn’t your business.”

  Scott stepped up to the circle, improving his view.

  “You don’t have a personal life,” the old, white-haired woman with the wiry voice hissed, jabbing a frail finger at Nora, her sagging jowls trembling with rage. “Your sole purpose now is to lead your people to freedom from fallen angels. You’re the Black Hand’s heir, and while I don’t desire to go against his wishes, I will vote you out if I must.”

  Scott glanced uneasily at the robed Nephilim. Several nodded in agreement.

  Nora, he called to her in mind-speak. What are you doing? The blood oath. You have to stay in power. Say whatever you have to. Just calm them down.

  Nora glared around with blind hostility until her eyes found his. Scott?

  He nodded encouragingly. I’m here. Don’t freak them out. Keep them happy. And then I’ll get you out of here.

  She swallowed, visibly trying to collect herself, but her cheeks still burned with outraged color. “Last night the Black Hand died. Since then I’ve been named his heir, thrust into leadership, whisked away from one meeting to the next, forced to greet people I don’t know, ordered to wear this suffocating robe, interrogated on a myriad of personal subjects, poked and prodded, sized up and judged, and all this without a moment to catch my breath. So excuse me if I’m still reeling.”

  The old woman’s lips pinched into a thinner line, but she didn’t argue back.

  “I’m the Black Hand’s heir. He chose me. Don’t forget,” Nora said, and while Scott couldn’t tell if she spoke with conviction or derision, the effect was silencing.

  “Answer me one thing,” the old woman said shrewdly after a heavy pause. “What has become of Patch?”

  Before Nora could respond, Dante stepped forward. “She’s not with Patch anymore.”

  Nora and Scott looked sharply at each other, then at Dante. What was that? Nora demanded of Dante in mind-speak, including Scott in the three-way conversation.

  If they don’t let you lead right now, you’ll drop dead from the blood oath, Dante answered. Let me handle this.

  By lying?

  Got a better idea?

  “Nora wants to lead the Nephilim,” Dante spoke up. “She’ll do whatever it takes. Finishing her father’s work means everything to her. Give her a day to grieve, and then she’ll dive in, fully committed. I’ll train her. She can do this. Give her a chance.”

  “You’ll train her?” the old woman asked Dante with a piercing gaze.

  “This will work. Trust me.”

  The elderly woman pondered a long moment. “Brand her with the Black Hand’s mark,” she commanded at last.

  The wild, terrified look in Nora’s eyes nearly made Scott double over and vomit.

  The nightmares. They shot out of nowhere, dancing in his head. Faster. Dizzy. Then came the voice. The Black Hand’s voice. Scott flattened his hands to his ears, wincing. The maniacal voice cackled and hissed until the words all ran together to sound like a kicked hive of bees. The Black Hand’s mark, seared into his chest, throbbed. Fresh pain. He couldn’t differentiate between yesterday and now.

  His throat choked out a command. “Stop.”

  The room seemed to halt. Bodies shifted, and suddenly Scott felt crushed by their hostile stares.

  He blinked, hard. He couldn’t think. He had to save her. No one had been around to stop the Black Hand from branding him. Scott wouldn’t let the same thing happen to Nora.

  The old woman walked over to Scott, her heels clicking on the floor in a slow, deliberate cadence. Deep grooves cut her skin. Watery green eyes peered out from sunken sockets. “You don’t think she should show allegiance by example?” A faint, challenging smile curved her lips.

  Scott’s heart hammered. “Make her show it through action.” The words just came out.

  The woman tilted her head to one side. “What do you mean?”

  At the same time, Nora’s voice slipped into his head. Scott? she said nervously.

  He prayed he wasn’t making things worse. He licked his lips. “If the Black Hand had wanted her branded, he would have done it himself. He trusted her enough to give her this job. That’s good enough for me. We can spend the rest of the day testing her, or we can get this war started already. Not one hundred feet over our heads lives a city of fallen angels. Bring one down here. I’ll do it myself. Brand him. If you want fallen angels to know we’re serious about war, let’s send them a message.” He could hear his own ragged breathing.

  A slow smile warmed the old woman’s face. “Oh, I like that. Very much. And who are you, dear boy?”

  “Scott Parnell.” He edged down the collar of his T-shirt. His thumb brushed the warped skin that formed his brand—a clenched fist. “Long live the Black Hand’s vision.” The words tas
ted like bile in his mouth.

  Placing her spindly fingers on Scott’s shoulders, the woman leaned in and kissed each of his cheeks in turn. Her skin was damp and cold as snow. “And I am Lisa Martin. I knew the Black Hand well. Long live his spirit, in all of us. Bring me a fallen angel, young man, and let us send a message to our enemy.”

  • • •

  It was over soon.

  Scott had helped chain down the fallen angel, a skinny kid named Baruch who looked about fifteen in human years. Scott’s greatest fear had been that they would expect Nora to brand the fallen angel, but Lisa Martin had swept her into a private antechamber.

  A robed Nephil had placed the branding iron in Scott’s hands. He’d gazed down at the marble slab and the fallen angel manacled to it. Ignoring Baruch’s cursing vows of revenge, Scott repeated the words the robed Nephil at his side murmured in his ear—a load of crap that compared the Black Hand to a deity—and pressed the hot iron onto the fallen angel’s bare chest.

  Now Scott leaned back against the tunnel wall outside the antechamber, waiting for Nora. If she stayed in there more than five minutes, he was going in after her. He didn’t trust Lisa Martin. He didn’t trust any of the robed Nephilim. It was clear they’d formed a secret society, and Scott had learned the hard way that nothing good came of secrets.

  The door creaked open. Nora walked out, then threw her arms around his neck and held on tightly. Thank you.

  He held her until she stopped trembling.

  All in a day’s work, he teased, trying to soothe her in the best way he knew how. I’ll put the U.O.ME in the mail.

  She sniffled a laugh. “You can tell they’re really excited to have me as their new leader.”

  “They’re in shock.”

  “Shocked that the Black Hand left their future up to me. Did you see their faces? I thought they were going to start weeping. Either that, or throw vegetables at me.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “Hank is dead, Scott.” She looked at him straight on, then dried her eyes by running her fingers under them, and he saw a flash of something in her expression he couldn’t nail down. Assurance? Confidence? Or maybe, outright confession. “I’m going to celebrate.”