Crescendo, Hush 2

by Becca Fitzpatrick

  “Give us a minute, Mom?”

  “Is Summer Solstice a dress-up party?” Mrs. Parnell asked. “Like a dance? I could make a reservation at Todd’s Tuxes—”

  “Mom.”

  “Oh. Right. I’ll just be in the kitchen. Nora, I’ve got to hand it to you. I had no idea you were up here planting an invite to the party. I really thought you were picking up sheet music. Very clever.” She winked, then backed out, pulling the door shut behind her.

  I was left alone with Scott, and all my relief scattered.

  “What are you really doing here?” Scott repeated, his voice significantly darker.

  “I told you—”

  “Not buying it.” His eyes flicked beyond me, surveying the room. “What did you touch?”

  “I came by to give you the hot dog, I swear. I looked in the desk for a pen to write the wiener note, but that’s it.”

  Scott strode to the desk, pulled out each drawer, and sifted through the contents. “I know you’re lying.”

  I backed toward the door. “You know what? Keep the hot dog, but forget about Summer Solstice. I was just trying to be nice. I was trying to make up for the other night, because I felt responsible for your face getting smashed. Forget I said anything.”

  He assessed me in silence. I had no idea if he’d bought my act, but I didn’t care. The only thought running through my mind was of getting out.

  “I’ve got my eye on you,” he said at last, in a tone I found to be startlingly threatening. I’d never seen Scott so icily hostile. “Think about that. Every time you think you’re alone, think again. I’m watching you. If I ever catch you in my room again, you’re dead. We all clear?”

  I swallowed. “Crystal.”

  On my way out, I passed Mrs. Parnell standing near the fireplace, drinking a glass of iced tea. She took a swig, set the glass on the mantel, and flagged me down.

  “Scott is quite the boy, isn’t he?” she said.

  “That’s one way of putting it.”

  “I bet you asked him to the party early because you knew all the other girls would race to get in line if you didn’t act fast.”

  Summer Solstice was tomorrow night, and everyone going already had dates. Unable to tell this to Mrs. Parnell, I opted for a smile. She could interpret it however she wanted.

  “Do I need to get him fitted for a tux?” she asked.

  “Actually, the party is really casual. Jeans and a shirt are fine.” I’d let Scott break the news to her that we were no longer going together.

  Her face fell slightly. “Well, there’s always homecoming. I don’t suppose you’re planning to ask him to homecoming?”

  “I really haven’t thought about it yet. And anyway, Scott might not want to go with me.”

  “Don’t be silly! You and Scott go way back. He’s crazy about you.”

  Or crazy, period.

  “I have to go, Mrs. Parnell. It was great seeing you again.”

  “Drive safely!” she called, giving me a finger wave.

  I met Vee outside in the parking lot. She was hunched over, fists pressed into her knees, sucking air. A splotch of sweat stained the back of her shirt.

  “Nice decoy work,” I said.

  She looked up, her face pink as a Christmas ham. “You ever try chasing down a car?” she gasped.

  “I’ll one-up you. I gave Scott my hot dog and asked if he’d go to Summer Solstice with me.”

  “What does the hot dog have to do with anything?”

  “I said he’d be a wiener if he didn’t go with me.”

  Vee wheezed laughter. “I’d have run harder had I known I’d get to see you call him a wiener.”

  Forty-five minutes later, Vee’s dad had called AAA and had the Neon towed back onto the road and dropped me off in front of the farmhouse. I didn’t waste any time clearing off the kitchen table and shaking Scott’s shoe box out of my handbag. Multiple layers of duct tape were wrapped around the box, nearly a quarter of an inch thick. Whatever Scott was hiding, he didn’t want the rest of the world finding it.

  I sawed through the tape with a steak knife. I freed the lid, set it aside, and peered into the box. A plain white tube sock lay innocently at the bottom.

  I stared at the sock, feeling my heart drop with disappointment. Then I frowned. I stretched the sock open just wide enough to look inside. My knees went soft.

  Inside was a ring. One of the Black Hand’s rings.

  CHAPTER

  19

  I STARED AT THE RING BLANKLY. I COULD HARDLY CONTAIN my thoughts. Two rings? I didn’t know what it meant. Clearly the Black Hand had more than one ring, but why did Scott have one? And why had he gone to the trouble of hiding it in a secret compartment in his wall?

  And why, if he was so ashamed of the branding on his chest, was he holding on to the ring that presumably had given it to him?

  In my bedroom, I dug my cello out of the closet and stowed Scott’s ring in the zippered music pouch, right next to its twin, the ring I’d received by envelope last week. I didn’t know how to make sense of it. I’d gone to Scott’s looking for answers, and was left feeling more confused than ever. I would have dwelt on the rings longer, maybe pieced together a few theories, but I was at a complete and utter loss.

  When the grandfather clock chimed midnight, I double-checked the door locks one last time and crawled into bed. I propped my pillows up, sat upright, and painted my fingernails midnight blue. After my fingernails, I moved on to my toenails. I turned on my iPod. I read several chapters in my chemistry text. I knew I couldn’t go forever without sleep, but I was determined to put it off as long as possible. I was terrified Patch would be waiting for me on the other side if I did.

  I hadn’t realized I’d fallen asleep until I woke to a strange scraping sound. I lay in bed, frozen, straining to hear the sound again and place it. The drapes were drawn, the room shadowy. I slipped out of bed and dared a look through the drapes. The backyard was still. Undisturbed. Deceptively peaceful.

  A low creak sounded downstairs. I grabbed my cell phone off the nightstand and opened my bedroom door just wide enough to peer out. The hall outside was clear, and I turned into it, my heart beating so hard against my ribs, I thought my chest might crack. I’d made it to the top of the stairs when the softest click alerted me that the knob on the front door was turning.

  The door opened, and a figure stepped cautiously into the dark foyer. Scott was in my house, standing fifteen feet away, at the base of the stairs. I steadied my grip on the cell phone, which was slick with sweat.

  “What are you doing here?” I called down to Scott.

  He jerked his head up, startled. He raised his hands level with his shoulders, showing he was harmless. “We need to talk.”

  “The door was locked. How did you get in?” My voice was high, shaky.

  He didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. Scott was Nephilim— freakishly strong. I was almost positive that if I’d walked down to check the deadbolt, I would have found it damaged by the sheer strength of his hands.

  “Breaking and entering is illegal,” I said.

  “So’s theft. You stole something that belongs to me.”

  I moistened my lips. “You have one of the Black Hand’s rings.”

  “It’s not mine. I—I stole it.” His slight hesitation told me he was lying. “Give me the ring back, Nora.”

  “Not until you tell me everything.”

  “We can do this the hard way, if you want.” He climbed the first step.

  “Don’t move!” I ordered, scrambling to dial 911 on my cell. “If you come another step, I’ll call the police.”

  “It will take the police twenty minutes to get out here.”

  “That’s not true.” But we both knew it was.

  He advanced to the second step.

  “Stop”, I ordered. “I’ll place the call, I swear I will.”

  “And tell them what? That you broke into my room? That you stole valuable jewelry?”

 
“Your mom let me inside,” I said nervously.

  “She wouldn’t have, if she’d known you were going to steal from me.” He took another step, the stairs creaking under his weight.

  I racked my brain for a way to divert him from climbing higher. At the same time, I wanted to goad him into telling me the truth, once and for all. “You lied to me about the Black Hand. That night in your bedroom, wow, quite an act. The tears were almost convincing.”

  I could see his mind spinning, trying to figure out how much I knew. “I did lie,” he said at last. “I was trying to keep you out of the middle of things. You don’t want to get mixed up with the Black Hand.”

  “Too late. He killed my dad.”

  “Your dad isn’t the only one the Black Hand wants dead. He wants me dead, Nora. I need the ring.” Suddenly he was on the fifth step.

  Dead? The Black Hand couldn’t kill Scott. He was immortal. Did Scott think I didn’t know? And why was he so intent on getting the ring back? I thought he despised his branding. A new piece of information rose to the surface of my mind. “The Black Hand didn’t force you to get the branding mark, did he?” I said. “You wanted it. You wanted to join the society. You wanted to swear allegiance. That’s why you kept the ring. It’s a sacred token, isn’t it? Did the Black Hand give it to you after he finished branding you?”

  His hand flexed around the banister. “No. I was forced.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Do you think I’d let some psychopath grind a burning hot ring into my chest? If I’m so proud of the branding, why am I always covering it up?”

  “Because it’s a secret society. I’m sure you thought a branding was a small price to pay for the benefits that come with being part of a powerful society.”

  “Benefits? You think the Black Hand has done a single thing for me?” His tone was cut with anger. “He’s the Grim Reaper. I can’t escape him, and trust me, I’ve tried. More times than I can count.”

  I absorbed this, catching Scott in another lie. “He came back,” I said, speaking my thoughts aloud. “After he branded you. You lied when you said you never saw him again.”

  “Of course he came back!” Scott snapped. “He’d call late at night, or sneak up on me on my way home from work, wearing a ski mask. He was always there.”

  “What did he want?”

  His eyes gauged me. “If I talk, will you give the ring back?”

  “Depends if I think you’re telling the truth.”

  Scott scrubbed his knuckles furiously over his head. “The first time I saw him was on my fourteenth birthday. He said I wasn’t human. He said I was Nephilim, like him. He said I had to join this group he belonged to. He said all Nephilim had to band together. He said there was no other way we could free ourselves from the fallen angels.” Scott glared up the stairs at me, defiant, but his eyes held a shadow of wariness, as if he thought I might think he was crazy. “I thought he’d lost it. I thought he was hallucinating. I kept dodging him, but he kept coming back. He started threatening me. He said the fallen angels would get me once I turned sixteen. He’d follow me around, after school and work. He said he was watching my back, and I should be grateful. Then he found out about my gambling debts. He paid them off, thinking I’d see it as a favor and want to join his group. He didn’t get it—I wanted him to go away. When I told him I was going to get my dad to slap a restraining order on him, he hauled me into the warehouse, tied me down, and branded me. He said it was the only way he could keep me safe. He said that someday I’d understand and I’d thank him.” The tone of Scott’s voice told me that day was never going to come.

  “Sounds like he’s obsessed with you.”

  Scott shook his head. “He thinks I betrayed him. My mom and I moved here to get away from him. She doesn’t know about the Nephilim stuff, or the branding, she just thinks he’s a stalker. We moved, but he doesn’t want me running off, and he especially doesn’t want to risk having me open my mouth and blow the cover on his secret cult.”

  “Does he know you’re in Coldwater?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I need the ring. When he finished branding me, he gave me the ring. He said I had to keep it and find other members to recruit. He told me not to lose it. He said something bad would happen if I did.” Scott’s voice shook slightly. “He’s crazy, Nora. He could do all kinds of things to me.”

  “You have to help me find him.”

  He advanced two more steps. “Forget it. I’m not going looking for him.” He reached his hand out. “Now give me the ring. Stop stalling. I know it’s here.”

  For no reason other than instinct, I turned and ran. I slammed the bathroom door shut behind me and punched the lock.

  “This is getting old,” Scott said through the door. “Open up.” He waited. “You think this door is going to stop me?”

  I didn’t, but I didn’t know what else to do. I was pressed against the back wall of the bathroom, and that was when I saw the paring knife on the counter. I kept it in the bathroom to open cosmetic packages and to easily remove tags from my clothes. I picked it up, pointing the blade out.

  Scott rammed his body against the door, and it banged open, slamming back against the wall.

  We were standing face-to-face, and I leveled the knife at him.

  Scott walked up to me, yanked the knife out of my grasp, and redirected it at me. “Who’s in charge now?” he sneered.

  The hallway behind Scott was dark, light from the bathroom illuminating the faded flower wallpaper in the hall. The shadow moved so stealthily across the wallpaper, I almost missed it. Rixon appeared behind Scott, holding the base of the brass lamp my mom kept on the entryway table. He brought the lamp down on Scott’s skull in a crushing blow.

  “Oouf!” Scott blubbered, staggering around to see what had hit him. In what looked like a jerk of reflex, he yanked the knife up and sliced blindly.

  The knife missed, and Rixon slammed the lamp down on Scott’s arm, causing him to drop the knife at the same moment that he collapsed sideways into the wall. Rixon kicked the knife down the hall, out of reach. He rammed his fist into Scott’s face. A spray of blood flecked the wall. Rixon threw a second punch, and Scott’s back dragged down the wall until he sat slumped on the floor. Gripping Scott’s collar, Rixon uprighted him long enough to deliver a third punch. Scott’s eyes rolled back in his head.

  “Rixon!”

  I jerked away from the violence at the sound of Vee’s hysterical voice. She hiked up the stairs, using the banister to pull herself faster. “Stop, Rixon! You’re going to kill him!”

  Rixon let go of Scott’s collar and stepped away. “Patch would kill me if I didn’t.” He turned his attention to me. “You okay?”

  Scott’s face was splattered with blood, and it made my stomach roll. “I’m fine,” I said numbly.

  “You sure? You need something to drink? A blanket? You want to lie down?”

  I looked between Rixon and Vee. “What are we going to do now?”

  “I’m going to call Patch,” Rixon said, flipping his cell open and pressing it to his ear. “He’s going to want to be here for this.”

  I was too much in shock to argue otherwise.

  “We should call the cops,” Vee said. She stole a brief look at Scott’s unconscious and battered body. “Should we tie him up? What if he wakes up and tries to get away?”

  “I’ll tie him in the back of the truck as soon as I finish this call,” Rixon said.

  “Come here, babe,” said Vee, pulling me into her arms. She guided me down the stairs, her arm curled around my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” I answered automatically, still in a daze. “How did you guys get here?”

  “Rixon came over, and we were hanging out in my bedroom when I got one of those creepy feelings that we should check on you. When we pulled up, Scott’s Mustang was parked in the driveway. I figured his being here couldn’t be good, especially since we’d been snooping around his b
edroom. I told Rixon something was wrong, and he told me to wait in the car while he went in. I’m just glad we made it before something worse happened. Holy freak show. What was he thinking, pulling a knife on you?”

  Before I could tell her I’d pulled the knife first, Rixon jogged downstairs, joining us in the foyer. “I left a message for Patch,” he said. “He should be here soon. I also called the cops.”

  Twenty minutes later, Detective Basso braked at the bottom of the driveway, a Kojak light flashing on the roof of his car. Scott was slowly regaining consciousness, stirring and groaning in the bed of Rixon’s truck. His face was a swollen, blotchy mess, and his hands were roped at his lower back. Detective Basso hauled him out and swapped the rope for handcuffs.

  “I didn’t do anything,” Scott protested, his lip a blubbery mess of blood and tissue.

  “Breaking and entering is nothing?” Detective Basso echoed. “Funny, the law disagrees.”

  “She stole something from me.” Scott jerked his chin in my direction. “Ask her. She was in my bedroom earlier tonight.”

  “What did she steal?”

  “I—I can’t talk about it.”

  Detective Basso looked to me for confirmation.

  “She’s been with us all night,” Vee inserted quickly. “Right, Rixon?”

  “Absolutely,” Rixon said.

  Scott nailed me with a look of betrayal. “Not so goody-two-shoes now, are you?”

  Detective Basso ignored him. “Let’s talk about this knife you pulled.”

  “She pulled it first!”

  “You broke into my house,” I said. “Self-defense.”

  “I want a lawyer,” Scott said.

  Detective Basso smiled, but there was no patience in it. “A lawyer? You sound guilty, Scott. Why’d you try to knife her?”

  “I didn’t try to knife her. I took the knife out of her hand. She was the one trying to knife me.”

  “He’s a good liar, I’ll give him that,” Rixon said.

  “You’re under arrest, Scott Parnell,” Detective Basso said, ducking Scott’s head as he directed him into the backseat of the patrol car. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you.”