Silence (37 page)

“You wouldn’t happen to know any former archangels who are missing their necklace?” Dabria asked speculatively.

“I’ll wire your money over tomorrow,” was Patch’s mild answer.

“What does Hank want with an archangel’s necklace? On his way out, I heard him tell his driver to take him to the warehouse. What’s at the warehouse?” Dabria pressed.

“You’re the prophetess.” This said with an undercurrent of amusement.

Dabria’s tinkling laugh resonated through the studio before turning playful. “Maybe I should look into
your
future. Maybe it intersects mine.”

That brought me to my feet. I strolled out, smiling. “Hello, Dabria. What a nice surprise.”

She swung around, outrage blazing across her features as her eyes took me in.

I stretched my arms over my head. “I was taking a nap when the pleasant sound of your voice woke me.”

Patch smiled. “I believe you’ve met my girlfriend, Dabria?”

“Oh, we’ve met,” I said cheerfully. “Fortunately, I lived to talk about it.”

Dabria opened her mouth, then shut it. All the while, her cheeks turned a darker shade of pink.

“Seems Hank came across an archangel’s necklace,” Patch said to me.

“Funny how that worked out.”

“Now we figure out what he plans on doing with it,” Patch said.

“I’ll grab my coat.”

“You’re staying here, Angel,” Patch said in a voice I didn’t like. He didn’t often hint at his emotions, but there was a clear note of firmness mixed with … worry.

“You’re taking this one alone?”

“First, Hank can’t see us together. Second, I don’t like the idea of dragging you into something that could get messy fast. If you need one more reason, I love you. This is uncharted territory for me, but I need to know that at the end of the night, I have you to come home to.”

I blinked. I’d never heard Patch speak to me with this kind of affection. But I couldn’t just let the matter drop.

“You promised,” I said.

“And I’ll keep my promise,” he answered, shrugging into his motorcycle jacket. Crossing to me, he tipped his head against mine.

Don’t think about moving an inch outside this door, Angel. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I can’t let Hank put the necklace on the archangel without hearing what he wants. Out there, you’re fair game. He’s got one thing he wants—let’s not give him two. We’re going to end this once and for all.

“Promise you’ll stay here, where I know you’re safe,” he said out loud. “The alternative is I order Dabria to stay put and play watch-dog.” He raised his eyebrows as if asking,
What’s it going to be?

Dabria and I exchanged a look, neither of our expressions remotely pleased.

“Hurry back,” I said.

I
PACED PATCH’S STUDIO, SELF-TALKING MYSELF OUT OF
running after him. He had promised me—
promised
me—he wouldn’t take Hank down on his own. This was my fight as much as it was his, more even, and given all the countless ways Hank had made me suffer, I’d won the right to dole out his punishment. Patch had said he’d find a way to kill Hank, and I wanted to be the one to send him into the next life, where the deeds he’d committed in this life would haunt him for eternity.

A voice of doubt crept into my thoughts.
Dabria was right. Patch needs the money. He’s going to deliver Hank to the right people, give me a cut of the money, and call it even.
Between asking permission and begging forgiveness, Patch held firmly to the latter—he’d said so himself.

I braced my hands on the back of Patch’s sofa, breathing deeply to imitate an air of calm, all the while inventing various ways I might bind and torture him if he returned without Hank—alive—in tow.

My phone rang, and I shoveled through my messenger bag to answer it. “Where are you?”

Short, hard breathing sounded in my ear. “They’re onto me, Grey. I saw them at the Devil’s Handbag. Hank’s men. I bolted.”

“Scott!” Not the voice I expected, but by no means unimportant. “Where are you?”

“I don’t want to say over the phone. I need to get out of town. When I went to the bus station, Hank had men there. He has them everywhere. He’s got friends in the police force, and I think he gave them my picture. Two cops chased me into a grocery store, but I got away through the back door. I had to leave the Charger behind. I’m on foot. I need cash—as much as you can get—hair dye, and new clothes. If you can spare the Volkswagen, I’ll take it. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can. Can you meet me in thirty at my hideout?”

What could I say? Patch had told me to stay put. But I couldn’t sit back and do nothing while time was running out for Scott.
Hank was currently occupied at his warehouse, and there was no better time to try and get Scott out of town.
Beg forgiveness later, indeed.

“I’ll be there in thirty,” I told Scott.

“You remember the way?”

“Yes.” More or less.

As soon as I hung up, I rushed through Patch’s studio, opening and closing drawers, grabbing whatever I thought would be useful to Scott. Jeans, T-shirts, socks, shoes. Patch was a couple of inches shorter than Scott, but it would have to do.

Upon opening the antique mahogany armoire in Patch’s bedroom, my frantic search slowed. I stood in place, absorbing the sight. Patch’s wardrobe was impeccably organized, chinos folded on the shelves, dress shirts on wood hangers. He owned three suits, a tailored black with narrow lapels, a luxurious Newman pinstripe, and a charcoal gray with Jacquard stitching. A small bin stored silk handkerchiefs, and a drawer held multiple rows of silk ties in every color from red to purple to black. Shoes ranged from black running sneakers to Converses to Italian loafers—even a pair of nubuck flip-flops for good measure. The woodsy scent of cedar lingered in the air. Not what I was expecting. At all. The Patch I knew wore jeans, T-shirts, and a ratty baseball cap. I wondered if I’d ever see
this
side of Patch. I wondered if there even was an end to the many sides of Patch. The more I thought I knew him, the more the mystery deepened. With these doubts
fresh in my mind, I asked myself once more if I thought Patch would sell me out tonight.

I didn’t want to believe it, but the truth was, I was on the fence.

In the bathroom, I threw a razor, soap, and shaving cream into a duffel. Then a hat, gloves, and mirrored Ray-Bans. In the kitchen drawers, I found several fake ID cards and a roll of cash totaling more than five hundred dollars. Patch would be less than thrilled when he discovered the money had gone to Scott, but given the circumstances, I could justify playing Robin Hood.

I didn’t have a car, but Scott’s cave couldn’t be more than two miles from Delphic Amusement Park, and I set out at a brisk jog. I kept to the shoulder of the road, pulling the hoodie I’d borrowed from Patch over my face. Cars streamed steadily out of the park as the hour edged toward midnight, and while a few people honked, I managed not to draw much attention.

As the lights leading out of the park thinned, and the road curved toward the highway, I jumped the guardrail and headed down toward the beach. Grateful I’d thought to pack a flashlight, I swept the beam over the craggy rocks and started the most difficult part of the journey.

By my estimation, twenty minutes passed. Then thirty. I had no idea where I was; the landscape of the beach had changed very little and the ocean, black and glittering, stretched on forever. I didn’t dare call out Scott’s name, out of the horrible fear that Hank’s men had somehow tracked him and were also combing the beach for
him, but every once in a while I stopped to shine the flashlight slowly across the beach, intending to signal my location to Scott.

Ten minutes later a strange birdcall carried down from the rocks above. I stopped, listening. The call came again, louder. I projected the flashlight in the direction of the noise, and a moment later Scott hissed, “Put the light away!”

I clambered up the rocks, the duffel bouncing against my hip. “I’m sorry I’m late,” I told Scott. I threw the duffel at his feet, sinking onto a rock to catch my breath. “I was at Delphic when you called. I don’t have the Volkswagen, but I did pack you clothes and a winter hat to hide your hair. There’s five hundred dollars in cash, too. It’s the best I could do.”

I was sure Scott was going to question where I’d managed to find everything on such short notice, but he caught me off guard by taking me into his arms and murmuring a fierce, “Thanks, Grey,” into my ear.

“Are you going to be okay?” I whispered.

“The stuff you brought will help. Maybe I can hitch a ride out of town.”

“If I asked you to do something for me first, would you consider it?” Once I had his attention, I drew in a breath for courage. “Throw away the Black Hand’s ring. Toss it into the ocean. I’ve thought this through. The ring is pulling you back toward Hank. He put some kind of curse on it, and when you wear it, it gives him power over you.” I was now positive the ring was enchanted with
devilcraft, and the longer it stayed on Scott’s finger, the harder it would be to talk him into taking it off. “It’s the only explanation. Think about it. Hank wants to find you. He wants to draw you out. And that ring is doing a stellar job.”

I expected him to protest, but his subdued expression told me that, deep down, he’d drawn the same conclusion. He just hadn’t wanted to admit it. “And the powers?”

“They’re not worth it. You made it three months relying on your own strengths. Whatever curse Hank put on the ring, it’s not good.”

“Is it that important to you?” Scott asked quietly.

“You’re important to me.”

“If I say no?”

“I’ll do everything I can to get it off your hand. I can’t beat you in a fight, but I can’t live with myself if I don’t at least try.”

Scott snorted softly. “You’d fight me, Grey?”

“Don’t make me prove it.”

To my amazement, Scott twisted the ring loose. He held it between his fingers, gazing at it in silent consideration. “Here’s your Kodak moment,” he said, then flung the ring into the waves.

I let go of a long breath. “Thank you, Scott.”

“Any other last requests?”

“Yeah,
go
,” I told him, trying not to sound as upset as I felt. In an unexpected turn of events, I didn’t want him to leave. What if this was good-bye … for good? I blinked my eyes rapidly, stalling tears.

He blew on his hands to warm them. “Can you check on my
mom every once in a while, make sure she’s hanging in there?”

“Of course.”

“You can’t tell her about me. The Black Hand will leave her alone as long as he thinks she has nothing to give.”

“I’ll make sure she’s safe.” I gave him a light shove. “Now get out of here before you make me cry.”

Scott stood in place a moment, a strange look passing over his eyes. It was nervous, but not quite. More expectation, less anxiety. He bent down and kissed me, his mouth closing over mine gently. I was too stunned to do anything but let him finish.

“You’ve been a good friend,” he said. “Thanks for having my back.”

I touched my hand to my mouth. There was so much to say, but the right words twisted out of reach. I wasn’t looking at Scott anymore, but behind him. To the line of Nephilim scrambling up the rocks, weapons drawn, eyes focused and hardened.

“Hands in the air, hands in the air!”

They shouted the command, but the words sounded convoluted in my ears, almost as if spoken in slow motion. A strange buzz filled my ears, escalating to a roar. I saw their angry lips moving, their weapons flashing in the moonlight. They swarmed in from every direction, trapping me and Scott in a small huddle.

The glimmer of hope drained from Scott’s eyes, replaced by dread.

He dropped the duffel, clasping his hands behind his head. A
solid object, an elbow maybe, or a fist, came out of the night air, smashing into his skull.

When Scott collapsed, I was still grasping for words. Even a scream couldn’t cut through my horror.

In the end, the only thing between us was silence.

I
WAS CRAMMED INTO THE TRUNK OF A BLACK AUDI A6,
with my hands tied and a blindfold blocking my vision. I’d screamed myself hoarse, but wherever the driver was taking me, it had to be remote. He’d never once attempted to silence me.

I didn’t know where Scott was. Hank’s Nephilim men had surrounded us at the beach, dragging us off in different directions. I pictured Scott chained and helpless in an underground prison, at the mercy of Hank’s anger …

I slammed my shoes against the trunk. I rolled side to side. I yelled and screamed—then a choke caught me mid-breath, and I dissolved into sobs.

At last the car slowed and the engine was cut. Footsteps crunched through gravel, a key scraped the inside of the lock, and the trunk popped open. Two sets of hands hauled me out, setting me roughly on solid ground. My legs had fallen asleep on the ride, and an assault of pins stabbed up through the soles of my feet.

“Where do you want this one, Blakely?” one of my captors asked. Judging by his voice, he couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen. Judging by his strength, he might as well have been made of steel.

“Inside,” a man, presumably Blakely, answered.

I was propelled up a ramp and through a door. The space inside was cool and quiet. The air smelled of gasoline and turpentine. I wondered if we were at one of Hank’s warehouses.

“You’re hurting me,” I told the men on either side of me. “Obviously I’m not going anywhere. Can’t you at least untie my hands?”

Wordlessly, they hauled me up a set of stairs and though a second door. They forced me down onto a metal folding chair, securing my ankles to the chair legs.

Minutes after they left, the door opened again. I knew it was Hank before he spoke. The scent of his cologne filled me with panic and revulsion.