The Complete Hush, Hush Saga

by Becca Fitzpatrick

  “We ran into each other today, and while I had her, I decided to get to the bottom of a few questions that have been weighing on my mind. I’ve been looking for a way to communicate with you undetected, and I wasn’t going to waste the opportunity that she might provide answers.”

  I hardly heard him. “Why did she track you down?”

  “She didn’t say, and it’s not important. We got what we wanted, and that’s what I care about. We now have a private form of communication.”

  “Did she still look doughy around the middle?”

  Patch rolled his eyes.

  I was acutely aware that he’d dodged my question. “Has she been to your studio?”

  “This is starting to feel like Twenty Questions, Angel.”

  “In other words, she has.”

  “No, she hasn’t,” Patch answered patiently. “Can we be done talking about Dabria?”

  “When do I get to meet her?” And tell her to keep her hands off.

  Patch scratched his cheek, but I thought I saw his mouth twitch. “Probably not a good idea.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? You don’t think I can handle myself, do you? Thanks for the vote of confidence!” I said, seething at him and my own stupid insecurities.

  “I think Dabria is a narcissist and an egomaniac. Best to stay away.”

  “Maybe you should take your own advice!”

  I started to whirl away, but Patch hooked my arm and brought me around to face him. He pressed his forehead to mine. I started to pull away, but he laced his fingers through mine, effectively trapping me against him. “What do I have to do to convince you I’m using Dabria for one thing, and one thing only: to break down Hank, piece by piece if I have to, and make him pay for everything he’s done to hurt the girl I love?”

  “I don’t trust Dabria,” I said, still clinging to some of my indignation.

  He shut his eyes, and I thought I heard the softest of sighs. “Finally something we agree on.”

  “I don’t think we should use her, even if she can get to Hank’s inner circle faster than you or me.”

  “If we had more time, or another option, I’d jump on it. But for now, she’s our best chance. She won’t double-cross me. She’s too smart. She’ll take the cash I’m offering and walk away, even if it hurts her pride.”

  “I don’t like it.” I snuggled into Patch, and even in the dream, the warmth of his body effectively cast away any lingering chill. “But I trust you.”

  He kissed me, long and reassuring.

  “Something strange happened tonight,” I said. “Someone stole my handbag from the dressing room at Silk Garden.”

  Patch immediately frowned. “This happened after I left?”

  “Either that, or right before you came.”

  “Did you see who took it?”

  “No, but the saleslady said he was male and old enough to be my father. She let him stroll right out with it, but I think he may have mind-tricked her. Do you think it’s a coincidence that an immortal stole my handbag?”

  “I don’t think anything is a coincidence. What did Marcie see?”

  “Apparently nothing, even though the shop was practically empty.” I gauged his eyes, cool and calculating. “You think Marcie was involved, don’t you?”

  “Hard to believe she didn’t see something. It’s starting to feel like the whole night was a setup. When you went into the dressing room, she could have placed a call, letting the thief know it was safe to come in. She could have seen your bag underneath the drape, and walked him through the theft step by step.”

  “Why would she want my bag? Unless—” I stopped. “She thought I was carrying the necklace Hank wants,” I realized. “He’s roped her into this. She was playing fetch for him.”

  Patch’s mouth was set in a grim line. “He’s not beneath putting his daughter in harm’s way.” His eyes flickered to mine. “He proved that with you.”

  “Are you still convinced Marcie doesn’t know what Hank really is?”

  “She doesn’t know. Not yet. Hank could have lied to her about why he needed the necklace. He could have told her it belongs to him, and she wouldn’t ask questions. Marcie isn’t the type to ask questions. If she sees a target, she turns into a pit bull.”

  Pit bull. Tell me about it. “There’s one more thing. I got a look at the car before the thief drove away. It was an Audi A6.”

  From the look in his eyes, I knew the information meant something to him. “Hank’s right-hand man, a Nephil named Blakely, drives an Audi.”

  A shiver chased up my spine. “I’m starting to get a little freaked out. He obviously thinks he can use the necklace to force the archangel to talk. What does he need her to tell him? What does she know that he’d risk the retaliation of the archangels for?”

  “And this close to Cheshvan,” Patch murmured, a look of distraction clouding his eyes.

  “We could try to break the archangel out,” I suggested. “That way, even if Hank gets a necklace, he won’t have an archangel.”

  “I’d thought of that, but we’re facing two big problems. First, the archangel trusts me even less than Hank, and if she sees me anywhere near her cage, she’s going to make a lot of racket. Second, Hank’s warehouse is crawling with his men. I’d need my own army of fallen angels to go against them, and I’m going to have a hard time talking fallen angels into helping me rescue an archangel.”

  Our conversation seemed to dead-end there, and we both contemplated our slim list of options in silence.

  “What happened to the other dress?” Patch asked at last. I followed his gaze to the Jessica Rabbit gown.

  I heaved a sigh. “Marcie thought I’d look better in red.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think Marcie and Dabria would be instant friends.”

  Patch laughed low, the sound of it tingling my skin as seductively as if he’d kissed it. “Do you want my opinion?”

  “Might as well, since everyone else seems to have weighed in.”

  He sat on my bed, leaning back nonchalantly on his elbows. “Try it on.”

  “It’s probably a little snug,” I said, suddenly feeling conspicuous. “Marcie tends to buy down when it comes to sizing.”

  He merely smiled.

  “It has a slit up the thigh.”

  His smile deepened.

  Locking myself in my closet, I tugged on the dress. It moved like liquid over every curve. The slit fell open halfway up my thigh, exposing my leg. Stepping out into the low light, I swept my hair off my neck. “Zip it up?”

  Patch’s eyes made a slow assessment of me, sharpening to vivid black. “I’m going to have a hard time sending you off with Scott in that dress. Just a heads-up: If you come home and the dress looks even slightly tampered with, I will track Scott down, and when I find him, it won’t be pretty.”

  “I’ll relay the message.”

  “If you tell me where he’s hiding, I’ll relay it myself.”

  I had to work not to smile. “Something tells me your message would be a lot more direct.”

  “Let’s just say he’d get the point.”

  Patch took my wrist and reeled me in for a kiss, but something wasn’t right. His face grew hazy at the edges, dissolving into the background. When his lips met mine, I hardly felt it. Worse, I felt myself pulling away from him like a piece of tape peeling back from glass.

  Patch noticed it too and swore under his breath.

  “What’s happening?” I asked.

  “It’s the half-breed,” he growled.

  “Scott?”

  “He’s knocking at your bedroom window. Any second now, you’re going to wake up. Is this the first time he’s come prowling around at night?”

  I thought it might be safer not to answer. Patch was in my dream and couldn’t do anything rash, but that didn’t mean it was a good idea to stir up the competition between them any further.

  “We’ll finish this tomorrow!” was all I had time to say before
the dream, and Patch, swirled into the recesses of my mind.

  The dream snapped apart, and sure enough, Scott stood in my bedroom, closing the window behind him.

  “Rise and shine,” he said.

  I groaned. “Scott, you have to stop this. I have school first thing tomorrow. Plus, I was in the middle of a really good dream,” I grumbled as an afterthought.

  “About me?” he said, flashing a cocky smile.

  I simply said, “This better be good.”

  “Better than good. I got a gig playing bass for a band called Serpentine. We’re opening at the Devil’s Handbag next weekend. Band members get two free tickets, and you’re one of the lucky recipients.” With a flourish, he threw down two tickets on my bed.

  I was growing more awake by the second. “Are you crazy? You can’t be in a band! You’re supposed to be hiding from Hank. Going to the dance with me is one thing, but this is taking things too far.”

  His smile died, his expression souring. “I thought you’d be happy for me, Grey. I’ve spent the past couple months hiding. Now I’m living in a cave and scavenging for food, which is getting harder and harder to find with winter coming. I have to force myself into the ocean three times a week for a bath, and I spend the rest of the day shivering by the fire. I have no TV, no cell. I’m completely cut off. You want the truth? I’m sick of hiding. Living on the run isn’t living. I might as well be dead.” He stroked the Black Hand’s ring, still snug around his finger. “I’m glad you talked me into wearing this again. I haven’t felt this alive in months. If Hank tries anything, he’s going to be in for a big surprise. My powers have intensified.”

  I kicked out of my blankets and stood up to him. “Scott, Hank knows you’re in town. He’s got his men searching for you. You have to stay hidden until—Cheshvan at least,” I threw out, believing Hank’s interest in Scott would wane once his full plans, whatever they were, unfolded.

  “I keep telling myself that, but what if he’s not?” he remarked blandly. “What if he’s forgotten about me and all this is for nothing?”

  “I know he’s looking for you.”

  “Did you hear him say it?” he asked, calling my bluff.

  “Something like that.” Given his current state, I couldn’t bring myself to tell him where the information had come from. Scott wouldn’t take Patch’s advice seriously. And then I’d have to explain why I was mixed up with Patch in the first place. “A reliable source told me.”

  He wagged his head back and forth. “You’re trying to scare me. I appreciate the gesture,” he said cynically, “but I’ve made up my mind. I’ve thought this over, and whatever happens, I can face it. A few months of freedom is better than a lifetime in prison.”

  “You can’t let Hank find you,” I insisted. “If he does, he’ll put you in one of his reinforced prisons. He’ll torture you. You have to ride this out a little longer. Please,” I begged. “Just a few more weeks?”

  “Screw it. I’m out of here. I’m playing at the Devil’s Handbag whether you come or not.”

  I didn’t understand Scott’s sudden blasé attitude. Up until now, he’d been meticulous about staying away from Hank. Now he was putting his neck on the line for something as trivial as a high-school dance … and now a gig?

  A horrible thought struck me. “Scott, you said the Black Hand’s ring connects you to him. Is there any way it’s drawing you closer to him? Maybe the ring does more than give you heightened powers. Maybe it’s some kind of—beacon.”

  Scott snorted. “The Black Hand isn’t going to catch me.”

  “You’re wrong. And if you keep up that attitude, he’s going to catch you sooner than you think,” I said gently but firmly.

  I reached for his arm, but he drew away.

  He ducked out the window, slamming it shut behind him.

  CHAPTER

  25

  IT WAS FRIDAY, AND VOTING FOR HOMECOMING ROYALTY was scheduled to take place during lunch. At the moment, I was sitting in health, watching the clock inch toward the dismissal bell. Instead of worrying that hundreds of people I had to spend the next two years of my life with might burst into hysterics upon seeing my name on the ballot, and in less than ten minutes’ time, I concentrated on Scott.

  I needed to find a way to talk him back inside the cave through Cheshvan, and as a precaution, I needed a way to get him to take off the Black Hand’s ring. If that didn’t work, I needed a way to contain him. I vaguely wondered if I could recruit Patch’s help. Surely he knew of several good places to detain a Nephil, but would he trouble himself over Scott? And even if I managed to talk Patch into cooperating, how would I ever earn back Scott’s trust? He’d view it as the ultimate betrayal. I couldn’t even reason with him that it was for his own safety—he’d made it clear last night that he no longer valued his life. I’m sick of hiding. I might as well be dead.

  In the middle of my thoughts, the intercom above Miss Jarbowski’s desk buzzed. The secretary’s voice came through, carefully measured.

  “Miss Jarbowski? Pardon the interruption. Would you please send Nora Grey to the attendance office?” A touch of sympathy crept into her tone.

  Miss Jarbowski tapped her foot impatiently, apparently not appreciating being cut off midsentence. She flicked her hand in my direction. “Take your things, Nora. I don’t think you’ll make it back before the bell.”

  I scooped my textbook into my backpack and headed for the door, wondering what this was all about. I knew of only two reasons students were called to the attendance office. For ditching, and for excused absences. As far as I knew, neither applied to me.

  At the attendance office, I tugged on the door, and that’s when I saw him. Hank Millar sat in the lounge, his shoulders hunched, his expression haggard. His chin was propped on his fist, and his eyes stared blankly ahead.

  Reflexively I backed away. But Hank saw me and immediately rose to his feet. The deep sympathy etched on his face wrung my stomach sick.

  “What is it?” I found myself stammering.

  He avoided looking directly at me. “There’s been an accident.”

  His words rattled around inside me. My initial thought was, why would I care if Hank had been in an accident? And why had he come all the way to school to tell me?

  “Your mom fell down the stairs. She was wearing heels and lost her balance. She has a concussion.”

  A tide of panic crashed over me. I said something that might have been no or now. No, this couldn’t be happening. I needed to see my mom now. All of a sudden I regretted every sharp word I’d said to her these past couple of weeks. My worst fears came crawling in from every direction. I’d already lost my dad. If I lost my mom …

  “How serious is it?” My voice wobbled. Deep down, I knew I didn’t want to cry in front of Hank. A trivial matter of pride that shattered the moment I pictured my mom’s face. I shut my eyes, trapping the tears.

  “When I left the hospital, they couldn’t tell me anything. I came straight here to get you. I’ve already signed you out with the attendance secretary,” Hank explained. “I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

  He held the door for me, and I mechanically ducked under his arm. I felt my feet carry me down the hall. Outside, the sun was too bright. I wondered if I would remember this day forever. I wondered if I would have reason to look back on it and feel the same intolerable emotions I’d felt upon learning my dad had been murdered—confusion, bitterness, helplessness. Abandonment. I choked, no longer able to hold back a sob.

  Hank unlocked his Land Cruiser without a word. He raised his hand once, as if to give my shoulder a consoling squeeze, then made a fist and dropped it.

  And that’s when it hit me. Things were looking a little too convenient. Maybe it was my natural aversion to Hank, but it crossed my mind that he could be lying to get me inside his car.

  “I want to call the hospital,” I said abruptly. “I want to see if they have an update.”

  Hank frowned. “We’re on our way there now. In t
en minutes, you can talk to her doctor in person.”

  “Excuse me if I’m a little worried, but this is my mom we’re talking about,” I said softly, but with unmistakable firmness.

  Hank dialed a number on his phone and handed it to me. The hospital’s automated system picked up, asking me to listen carefully to the following options, or stay on the line for an operator. A minute later I was connected with an operator.

  “Can you tell me if Blythe Grey was admitted today?” I asked the woman, avoiding Hank’s gaze.

  “Yes, we have a Blythe Grey on record.”

  I exhaled. Just because Hank hadn’t lied about my mom’s accident didn’t mean he was innocent. All these years living in the farmhouse, and never once had she fallen down the stairs. “This is her daughter. Can you give me an update on her condition?”

  “I can leave a message for her doctor to call you.”

  “Thanks,” I said, leaving my cell phone number.

  “Any news?” Hank asked.

  “How do you know she fell down the stairs?” I quizzed him. “Did you see her fall?”

  “We’d arranged to meet for lunch. When she didn’t answer the door, I let myself in. That’s when I found her at the bottom of the stairs.” If he detected any suspicion in my voice, he didn’t show it. If anything, he sounded morose, loosening his tie and wiping sweat off his brow.

  “If anything happens to her … ,” he muttered to himself, but didn’t finish the thought. “Should we go?”

  Get into the car, a voice inside my head commanded. Just like that, my mind emptied of all suspicion. I could grasp only one thought: I needed to go with Hank.

  There was something strange about the voice, but I couldn’t place it through my muddled mind. All my reasoning power seemed to float away, making room for that one continuous order: Get into the car.

  I looked at Hank, who blinked benignly. I had the impulse to accuse him of something, but why should I? He was here to help. He cared about my mom….

  Obediently, I slid inside the Land Cruiser.

  I didn’t know how long we rode in silence. My thoughts were a whirlwind, until suddenly Hank cleared his voice. “I want you to know she’s in the best hands. I requested that Dr. Howlett oversee her care. Dr. Howlett and I were roommates at the University of Maine before he went on to Johns Hopkins.”