Hush, Hush

My mind was working hard to make sense of the fragments of information. Suddenly my mouth went a little dry and sticky. “She still has feelings for you. Maybe she wants me out of the picture.”



Our eyes locked. “It crossed my mind,” Patch said.



An icy, disturbing thought had been banging around inside my head the past few minutes, trying to get my attention. It practically shouted at me now, telling me Dabria could be the guy in the ski mask. All along I thought the person I hit with the Neon was male, just like Vee thought her attacker was male. At this point, I wouldn’t put it past Dabria to deceive us both.



After a quick trip to the bathroom, Patch emerged wearing his wet tee. “I’ll go get the Jeep,” he said.



“I’ll pull around to the back exit in twenty. Stay in the motel until then.”



CHAPTER 25



AFTER PATCH LEFT, I PUT THE CHAIN ON THE DOOR. I dragged the chair across the room and rammed it under the door handle. I checked to make sure the window locks were in place. I didn’t know if locks would work against Dabria—I didn’t even know if she was after me—but I figured it was better to play it safe. After pacing around the room for a few minutes, I tried the phone on the nightstand. Still no dial tone.



My mom was going to kill me.



I’d sneaked behind her back and gone to Portland. And how was I supposed to explain the whole “I checked into a motel with Patch” situation? I’d be lucky if she didn’t ground me through the end of the year. No. I’d be lucky if she didn’t quit her job and apply to substitute teach until she found a full­time job locally. We’d have to sell the farmhouse, and I’d lose the only connection to my dad I had left.



Approximately fifteen minutes later I peered through the peephole. Nothing but blackness. I unbarred the door, and just as I was about to tug it open, lights flickered on behind me. I whirled around, half expecting to see Dabria. The room was still and empty, but the electricity was back.



The door opened with a loud click and I stepped into the hall. The carpet was bloodred, worn bald down the center of the hallway, and stained with unidentifiable dark marks. The walls were painted neutral, but the paint job was sloppy and chipping.



Above me, a neon green sign spelled the way to the exit. I followed the arrow down the hall and around the corner. The Jeep rolled to a stop on the other side of the back door, and I dashed out and hopped in on the passenger side.



No lights were on when Patch pulled up to the farmhouse. I experienced a guilty squeeze in my stomach and wondered if my mom was driving around, looking for me. The rain had died, and fog pressed against the siding and hung on the shrubs like Christmas tinsel. The trees dotting the driveway were permanently twisted and misshapen from constant northern winds. All houses look uninviting with the lights off after dark, but the farmhouse with its small slits for windows, bowed roof, caved­in porch, and wild brambles looked haunted.



“I’m going to walk through,” Patch said, swinging out.



“Do you think Dabria’s inside?”



He shook his head. “But it doesn’t hurt to check.”



I waited in the Jeep, and a few minutes later Patch walked out the front door. “All clear,” he told me.



“I’ll drive to the high school and come back here as soon as I sweep her office. Maybe she left something useful behind.” He didn’t sound like he was counting on it.



I unbuckled my seat belt and ordered my legs to carry me quickly up the walk. As I turned the doorknob, I heard Patch back down the driveway. The porch boards creaked under my feet and I suddenly felt very alone.



Keeping the lights off, I crept through the house room by room, starting with the first floor, then working my way upstairs. Patch had already cleared the house, but I didn’t think an extra pair of eyes would hurt. After I was sure no one was hiding under the furniture, behind the shower curtains, or in the closets, I tugged on Levi’s and a black V­neck sweater. I found the emergency cell phone my mom kept in a first­aid kit under the bathroom sink and dialed her cell.



She picked up on the first ring. “Hello? Nora? Is that you? Where are you? I’ve been worried sick!”



I drew a deep breath, praying the right words would come to me and help me talk my way out of this.



“Here’s the deal—,” I began in my most sincere and apologetic voice. “Cascade Road flooded and they closed it. I had to turn back and get a room in Milliken Mills—that’s where I am now. I tried calling home, but apparently the lines are down. I tried your cell, but you didn’t pick up.”



“Wait. You’ve been in Milliken Mills this whole time?”



“Where did you think I was?”



I gave an inaudible sigh of relief and lowered myself onto the edge of the bathtub. “I didn’t know,” I said. “I couldn’t get ahold of you, either.”



“What number are you calling from?” Mom asked. “I don’t recognize this number.”



“The emergency cell.”



“Where’s your phone?”



“I lost it.”



“What! Where?”



I came to the rocky conclusion that a lie of omission was the only way to go. I didn’t want to alarm her.



I also didn’t want to be grounded for an interminable length of time. “It’s more like I misplaced it. I’m sure it will pop up somewhere.” On a dead woman’s body.



“I’ll call you as soon as they open the roads,” she said.



Next I called Vee’s cell. After five rings I was sent to voice mail.



“Where are you?” I said. “Call me back at this number ASAP.” I snapped the phone shut and tucked it into my pocket, trying to convince myself Vee was fine. But I knew it was a lie. The invisible thread tying us together had been warning me for hours now that she was in danger. If anything, the feeling was heightening with each passing minute.



In the kitchen I saw my bottle of iron pills on the counter, and I immediately went for them, popping the cap and swallowing two with a glass of chocolate milk. I stood in place a moment, letting the iron work into my system, feeling my breathing deepen and slow. I was walking the milk carton back to the fridge when I saw her standing in the doorway between the kitchen and laundry room.



A cold, wet substance pooled at my feet, and I realized I’d dropped the milk. “Dabria?” I said.



She tilted her head to one side, showing mild surprise. “You know my name?” She paused. “Ah, Patch.”



I backed up to the sink, putting more distance between us. Dabria didn’t look anything like she did at school as Miss Greene. Tonight her hair was tangled, not smooth, and her lips were brighter, a certain hunger reflected there. Her eyes were sharper, a smudge of black ringing them.



“What do you want?” I asked.



She laughed, and it sounded like ice cubes tinkling in a glass. “I want Patch.”



“Patch isn’t here.”



She nodded. “I know. I waited down the street for him to leave before I came in. But that’s not what I meant when I said I want Patch.”



The blood pounding through my legs circled back to my heart with a dizzying effect. I put one hand on the counter to steady myself. “I know you were spying on me during the counseling sessions.”



“Is that all you know about me?” she asked, her eyes searching mine.



I remembered the night I was sure someone had looked in my bedroom window. “You’ve been spying on me here, too,” I said.



“This is the first time I’ve been to your house.” She dragged her finger along the edge of the kitchen island and perched herself on a stool. “Nice place.”



“Let me refresh your memory,” I said, hoping I sounded brave. “You looked in my bedroom window while I was sleeping.”



Her smile curved high. “No, but I did follow you shopping. I attacked your friend and planted little hints in her mind, making her think Patch hurt her. It wasn’t a far stretch. He’s not exactly harmless to begin with. It was in my best interest to make you as frightened of him as possible.”



“So I’d stay away from him.”



“But you didn’t. You’re still standing in our way.”



“In your way of what?”



“Come on, Nora. If you know who I am, then you know how this works. I want him to get his wings back. He doesn’t belong on Earth. He belongs with me. He made a mistake, and I’m going to correct it.” There was absolutely no compromise in her voice. She got off the stool and walked around the island toward me.



I backed along the edge of the outer counter, keeping space between us. Racking my brain, I tried to think of a way to distract her. Or escape. I’d lived in the house sixteen years. I knew the floor plan. I knew every secret crevice and the best hiding places. I commanded my brain to come up with a plan: something spur­of­the­moment and brilliant. My back met with the sideboard.



“As long as you’re around, Patch won’t return with me,” Dabria said.



“I think you’re overestimating his feelings for me.” It seemed like a good idea to downplay our relationship. Dabria’s possessiveness appeared to be the main force driving her to act.



An incredulous smile dawned on her face. “You think he has those feelings for you? All this time you thought—” She broke off, laughing. “He’s not staying because he loves you. He wants to kill you.”



I shook my head. “He’s not going to kill me.”



Dabria’s smile hardened at the edges. “If that’s what you believe, you’re just another girl he’s seduced to get what he wants. He has a talent for it,” she added shrewdly. “He seduced your name right out of me, after all. One soft touch from Patch was all it took. I fell under his spell and told him death was coming for you.”



I knew what she was talking about. I’d witnessed the exact moment she was referring to inside Patch’s memory.



“And now he’s doing the same thing to you,” she said. “Betrayal hurts, doesn’t it?”



I shook my head slowly. “No—”



“He’s planning to use you as a sacrifice!” she erupted. “See that mark?” She thrust her finger at my wrist. “It means you’re a female descendant of a Nephil. And not just any Nephil, but Chauncey Langeais, Patch’s vassal.”



I glanced at my scar, and for one heart­stopping moment, I actually believed her. But I knew better than to trust her.



“There’s a sacred book, The Book of Enoch,” she said. “In it, a fallen angel kills his Nephil vassal by sacrificing one of the Nephil’s female descendants. You don’t think Patch wants to kill you? What’s the one thing he wants most? Once he sacrifices you, he’ll be human. He’ll have everything he wants. And he won’t come home with me.”



She unsheathed a large knife from the wood block on the counter. “And that’s why I have to get rid of you. It appears that one way or another, my premonitions were right. Death is coming for you.”



“Patch is coming back,” I said, my insides sickening. “Don’t you want to talk this over with him?”