Crescendo h-2 Read online

  “You don’t happen to have a thousand dollars I can borrow?”

  “I don’t have five you can borrow. My piggy bank is officially anorexic.”

  I gave a sigh of longing in the direction of the Cabriolet. “I need money. I need a job.” I shut my eyes, envisioning myself behind the wheel of the Cabriolet, the top down, the wind swishing my curly hair. With the Cabriolet, I’d never have to bum a ride again. I’d be free to go where I wanted, when I pleased.

  “Yeah, but getting a job means you actually have to work. I mean, are you sure you want to blow the entire summer laboring away at minimum wage? You might, I don’t know, break a sweat or something.”

  I dug through my backpack for a scrap of paper and scribbled down the number listed on the sign. Maybe I could talk the owner down a couple hundred. In the meantime, I added browsing the classifieds for part-time employment to my afternoon to-do list. A job meant time away from Patch, but it also meant private transportation. Much as I loved Patch, he always seemed to be busy … doing something. Which made him unreliable when it came to rides.

  Inside Enzo’s, Vee and I placed orders for iced mochas and spicy pecan salads, and plopped down with our food at a table. Over the past several weeks, Enzo’s had undergone extensive remodeling to bring it up to speed with the twenty-first century, and Coldwater now had its very first Internet lounge. Given the fact that my home computer was six years old, I was actually excited about this.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for vacation,” Vee said, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head. “Eight more weeks of Spanish. That’s more days than I want to think about. What we need is a distraction. We need something that will take our minds off this endless stretch of quality education spread out before us. We need to go shopping. Portland, here we come. Macy’s is having a big sale. I need shoes, I need dresses, and I need a new fragrance.”

  “You just bought new clothes. Two hundred dollars’ worth. Your mom is going to hemorrhage when she gets her MasterCard statement.”

  “Yeah, but I need a boyfriend. And to get a boyfriend, you have to look good. Doesn’t hurt to smell good too.”

  I bit a diced pear off my fork. “Have anybody in mind?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  “Just promise me it’s not Scott Parnell.”

  “Scott who?”

  I smiled. “See? Now I’m happy.”

  “I don’t know about any Scott Parnells, but the guy I’ve got my eye on happens to be hot. Off-the-charts hot. Hotter-than-Patch hot.” She paused. “Well, maybe not that hot. Nobody’s that hot. Seriously, the rest of my day is a wash. Portland or bust, I say.”

  I opened my mouth, but Vee was faster.

  “Uh-oh,” she said. “I know that look. You’re going to tell me you already have plans.”

  “Rewind to Scott Parnell. He used to live here when we were five.”

  Vee looked like she was searching her long-term memory.

  “He wet his pants a lot,” I offered helpfully.

  Vee’s eyes lit up. “Scotty the Potty?”

  “He’s moving back to Coldwater. My mom invited him over for dinner tonight.”

  “I see where this is going,” Vee said, nodding sagely. “This is what’s called the ‘meet cute.’ This is when the lives of two potential romantic partners intersect. Remember when Desi accidentally walked into the men’s room and caught Ernesto at the urinal?”

  I stopped with my fork halfway between my plate and my mouth. “What?”

  “On Corazón, the Spanish soap. No? Never mind. Your mom wants to hook you and Scotty the Potty up. Pronto.”

  “No, she doesn’t. She knows I’m with Patch.”

  “Just because she knows, doesn’t mean she’s happy about it. Your mom is going to spend a lot of time and energy turning this equation from Nora plus Patch equals love, to Nora plus Scotty the Potty equals love. And what about this? Maybe Scotty the Potty turned into Scotty the Hottie. Have you thought about that?”

  I hadn’t, and I wasn’t going to either. I had Patch, and I was perfectly happy to keep it that way.

  “Can we talk about something slightly more urgent?” I asked, thinking it was time to change the subject before our current one gave Vee even more wild ideas. “Like the fact that my new chemistry partner is Marcie Millar?”

  “The ho.”

  “Apparently she’s filing for the front office, and she looked in Patch’s file.”

  “Is it still empty?”

  “It looks that way, since she wants me to tell her everything I know about him.” Including why he was hanging out in her driveway last night, gazing at her bedroom window. I’d once heard a rumor that Marcie propped a tennis racket in her window when she was open to payment for certain “services,” but I wasn’t going to think about that. Weren’t rumors 90 percent fiction, anyway?

  Vee leaned in closer. “What do you know?”

  Our conversation lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. I didn’t believe in secrets between best friends. But there are secrets … and there are hard truths. Scary truths. Unimaginable truths. Having a boyfriend who’s a fallen-turned-guardian angel fits into all of the above.

  “You’re keeping something from me,” said Vee.

  “Am not.”

  “Are too.”

  Thick silence.

  “I told Patch I loved him.”

  Vee covered her mouth, but I couldn’t tell if she was stifling a gasp or laughter. Which only made me feel more insecure. Was it that funny? Had I done something even stupider than I already thought?

  “What did he say?” Vee asked.

  I merely looked at her.

  “That bad?” she asked.

  I cleared my voice. “Tell me about this guy you’re after. I mean, is this a lust-from-afar thing, or have you actually talked to him?”

  Vee took the hint. “Talked to him? I had hot dogs at Skippy’s with him yesterday for lunch. It was one of those blind date things, and it turned out better than expected. Much better. FYI, you’d know all this stuff if you returned my calls instead of making out with your boyfriend nonstop.”

  “Vee, I’m your only friend, and it wasn’t me who hooked you up.”

  “I know. Your boyfriend did.”

  I choked on a Gorgonzola cheese ball. “Patch set you up on a blind date?”

  “Yeah, so?” Vee said, her tone edging toward defensive.

  I smiled. “I thought you didn’t trust Patch.”

  “I don’t.”

  “But?”

  “I tried calling you to vet my date first, but to repeat, you never return my calls anymore.”

  “Mission accomplished. I feel like the worst friend ever.” I gave her a conspirator’s smile. “Now tell me the rest.”

  Vee’s resistant tone dropped away, and she mirrored my smile. “His name is Rixon, and he’s Irish. His brogue or whatever it’s called kills me. Sexy to the max. He’s a little on the skinny side considering I’m big-boned, but I’m planning on losing twenty pounds this summer, so everything should even out by August.”

  “Rixon? No way! I love Rixon!” As a standard rule, I didn’t trust fallen angels, but Rixon was an exception. Like Patch, his moral boundaries were drawn in the gray area between black and white. He wasn’t perfect, but he wasn’t all bad, either.

  I grinned, pointing my fork at Vee. “I can’t believe you went out with him. I mean, he’s Patch’s best friend. You hate Patch.”

  Vee gave me her black-cat look, her hair practically bristling. “Best friends doesn’t mean anything. Look at you and me. We’re nothing alike.”

  “This is great. The four of us can hang out all summer.”

  “Uh-uh. No way. I’m not hanging out with that whack-job boyfriend of yours. I don’t care what you told me, I still think he had something to do with Jules’s mysterious death in the gym.”

  A dark cloud fell on the conversation. There had been only three people in the gym the night Jules
died, and I was one of them. I’d never told Vee everything that happened, just enough to get her to stop pressing, and for her own safety, I planned on keeping it that way.

  Vee and I spent the day driving around, picking up employment applications from local fast-food joints, and it was nearly six thirty when I got home. I dropped my keys on the sideboard and checked the answering machine for messages. There was one from my mom. She was at Michaud’s Market picking up garlic bread, deli lasagna, and cheap wine, and swore on her grave she would beat the Parnells to the house.

  I deleted the message and climbed upstairs to my bedroom. Since I’d missed my morning shower, and my hair had frizzed to maximum height during the day, I figured I’d change into clean clothes by way of damage control. Every single memory I had of Scott Parnell was unpleasant, but company was company. I had my cardigan halfway unbuttoned when there was a rap at the front door.

  I found Patch on the other side of it, hands in his pockets.

  Normally I would have greeted him by bounding straight into his arms. Today I held back. Last night I’d said I loved him, and he’d bolted and allegedly headed straight for Marcie’s house. My mood fell somewhere between injured pride, anger, and insecurity. I hoped my reserved silence sent him a message that something was off, and would be until he made a move to correct it, either by apology or explanation.

  “Hey,” I said, assuming casualness. “You forgot to call last night. Where did you end up going?”

  “Around. You going to invite me in?”

  I didn’t. “I’m glad to hear Marcie’s house is just, you know, around.”

  A momentary flick of surprise in his eyes confirmed what I didn’t want to believe: Marcie had been telling the truth.

  “Want to tell me what’s going on?” I said in a slightly more hostile tone. “Want to tell me what you were doing at her place last night?”

  “You sound jealous, Angel.” There might have been a note of teasing behind it, but unlike usual, there was nothing affectionate or playful about it.

  “Maybe I wouldn’t be jealous if you didn’t give me a reason to be,” I shot back. “What were you doing at her house?”

  “Taking care of business.”

  I swept my eyebrows up. “I didn’t realize you and Marcie had business.”

  “We do, but it’s just that. Business.”

  “Care to elaborate?” There was a heavy dose of allegation crammed between my actual words.

  “Are you accusing me of something?”

  “Should I be?”

  Patch was usually expert at hiding his emotions, but the line of his mouth tightened. “No.”

  “If being at her house last night was so innocent, why are you having such a hard time explaining what you were doing there?”

  “I’m not having a hard time,” he said, each word carefully measured. “I’m not telling you, because what I was doing at Marcie’s has nothing to do with us.”

  How could he think this didn’t have anything to do with us? Marcie was the one person who took every opportunity to attack and belittle me. Over the past eleven years, she’d teased me, spread horrible rumors about me, and humiliated me publicly. How could he think this wasn’t personal? How could he think I’d just accept this, no questions asked? Above all, couldn’t he see I was terrified that Marcie would use him to hurt me? If she suspected he was even remotely interested, she’d do everything in her power to steal him for herself. I couldn’t stand the thought of losing Patch, but it would kill me if I lost him to her.

  Overwhelmed by that sudden fear, I said, “Don’t come back until you’re ready to tell me what you were doing at her place.”

  Patch impatiently pushed his way inside and closed the door behind him. “I didn’t come here to argue. I wanted to let you know Marcie ran into some trouble this afternoon.”

  Marcie again? Did he think he hadn’t dug a deep enough hole already? I tried to stay calm long enough to hear him out, but I wanted to yell across him. “Oh?” I said coolly.

  “She was caught in the crossfire when a group of fallen angels tried to force a Nephil to swear fealty inside the men’s room at Bo’s Arcade. The Nephil wasn’t sixteen, so they couldn’t force him, but they had fun trying. They cut him up pretty bad, and broke a few ribs. Enter Marcie. She’d had too much to drink and walked into the wrong restroom. The fallen angel standing guard pulled a knife on her. She’s at the hospital, but they’ll release her soon. Flesh wound.”

  My pulse jumped, and I knew I was upset that Marcie had been knifed, but that was the last thing I wanted to reveal to Patch. I crossed my arms stiffly. “Gee, is the Nephil okay?” I vaguely remembered Patch explaining, some time ago, that fallen angels can’t force Nephilim to swear fealty until they’re sixteen. Likewise, he couldn’t sacrifice me to get a human body of his own until I turned sixteen. Sixteen was a darkly magical, even crucial age in the world of angels and Nephilim.

  Patch gave me a look that held the tiniest glare of disgust. “Marcie may have been drunk, but chances are she remembers what she saw. Obviously you know fallen angels and Nephilim try to stay under the radar, and someone like Marcie, with a big mouth, can threaten their secrecy. The last thing they want is for her to announce to the world what she saw. Our world operates a lot more smoothly when humans are ignorant of it. I know the fallen angels involved.” His jaw tensed. “They’ll do whatever it takes to keep Marcie quiet.”

  I felt a shiver of fear for Marcie but flushed it away. Since when did Patch care one way or the other what happened to Marcie? Since when was he more worried about her than me? “I’m trying to feel bad,” I said, “but it sounds like you’re concerned enough for the both of us.” I jerked on the doorknob and held the door wide. “Maybe you should go check on Marcie, see if her flesh wound is healing properly.”

  Patch pried my hand loose and shut the door with his foot. “Bigger things than you, me, and Marcie are going on.” He hesitated, as if he had more to say, but closed his mouth at the last moment.

  “You, me, and Marcie? Since when did you start putting the three of us in the same sentence? Since when does she mean anything to you?” I snapped.

  He cupped a hand over the back of his neck, looking very much like he knew he should choose his words carefully before answering.

  “Just tell me what you’re thinking!” I blurted. “Spit it out! It’s bad enough that I have no idea what you’re feeling, let alone what you’re thinking!”

  Patch looked around, as if he was wondering whether I was talking to someone else. “Spit it out?” he said, his tone darkly incredulous. Maybe even annoyed. “What does it look like I’m trying to do? If you’d calm down, I could. Right now you’re going to turn hysterical, regardless of what I say.”

  I felt my eyes narrow. “I have a right to be angry. You won’t tell me what you were doing at Marcie’s last night.”

  Patch threw his hands up. Here we go again, the gesture said.

  “Two months ago,” I began, trying to inject pride into my voice to hide the quaver in it, “Vee, my mom—everyone—warned me that you were the kind of guy who sees girls as conquests. They said I was just another notch on your belt, another stupid girl you’d seduce for your own satisfaction. They said the moment I fell in love with you was the moment you’d leave.” I swallowed hard. “I need to know they weren’t right.”

  Even though I didn’t want to recall it, the memory of last night resurfaced with perfect clarity. I remembered the whole humiliating scene in vivid detail. I’d said I loved him, and he’d left me hanging. There were a hundred different ways to analyze his silence, none of them good.

  Patch wagged his head in disbelief. “You want me to tell you they’re wrong? Because I get the feeling you aren’t going to believe me, no matter what I say.” He glared at me.

  “Are you as committed to this relationship as I am?” I couldn’t not ask it. Not after watching everything come tumbling down since last night. I suddenly realized I had no idea how Patch
really felt about me. I thought I meant everything to him, but what if I’d only seen what I wanted? What if I’d grossly exaggerated his feelings? I held his eyes, not about to make this easy on him, not about to give him a second chance to skirt the issue. I needed to know. “Do you love me?”

  I can’t answer that, he said, startling me by speaking to my thoughts. It was a gift all angels possessed, but I didn’t understand why he was choosing now to use it. “I’ll stop by tomorrow. Sleep well,” he added curtly, heading for the door.

  “When we kiss, are you faking it?”

  He stopped short. Another disbelieving shake of his head. “Faking it?”

  “When I touch you, do you feel anything? How far does your desire go? Do you feel anything close to what I feel for you?”

  Patch watched me in silence. “Nora—,” he began.

  “I want a straight answer.”

  After a moment, he said, “Emotionally, yes.”

  “But physically no, right? How am I supposed to be in a relationship, when I have no idea how much it even means to you? Am I experiencing things on a whole different level? Because that’s what it feels like. And I hate it,” I added. “I don’t want you to kiss me because you have to. I don’t want you to pretend it means something, when it’s really just an act.”

  “Just an act? Are you listening to yourself?” He tipped his head back against the wall and gave another, darker laugh. He cut me a sideways glance. “Are you done with the accusations?”

  “You think this is funny?” I said, hit by a fresh wave of anger.

  “Just the opposite.” Before I could say more, he turned toward the door. “Call me when you’re ready to talk rationally.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you’re crazy. You’re impossible.”

  “I’m crazy?”

  He tipped my chin up and planted a quick, rough kiss on my mouth. “And I must be crazy for putting up with it.”

  I pulled free and rubbed my chin resentfully. “You gave up becoming human for me, and this is what I get? A boyfriend who hangs out at Marcie’s, but won’t tell me why. A boyfriend who walks out at the first hint of a fight. Try this on for size: You’re a—jerk!”