The Complete Hush, Hush Saga

by Becca Fitzpatrick

  Dr. Howlett. I juggled his name a moment—and then it came to me. He was the doctor who’d cared for me after I first returned home. After Hank saw fit to return me, I corrected myself. And now it turned out Hank and Dr. Howlett were friends? Any numbness I felt was quickly eclipsed by anxiety. I felt a swift and instant distrust of Dr. Howlett.

  As I was frantically considering the connection between the two men, a car pulled up beside Hank’s. For one split moment, I didn’t see anything wrong with the picture—and then the car slammed into the Land Cruiser.

  The Land Cruiser careened sideways, grating against the guardrail. A shower of sparks flew from the scraping metal. I barely had time to yelp when we were battered again. Hank overcorrected, the rear of the Land Cruiser fishtailing violently.

  “They’re trying to run us off the road!” Hank yelled. “Get your seat belt on!”

  “Who are they?” I shrieked, double-checking that my seat belt was fastened.

  Hank jerked the wheel to avoid another hit, and the abrupt movement jarred my attention back to the road ahead; it curved sharply to the left as we approached a deep ravine. Hank stomped the gas, trying to outrace the other car, a tan El Camino. The El Camino gunned forward, swerving into the lane ahead. Three heads were visible through the windshield, and from what I could tell, all were male.

  An image of Gabe, Dominic, and Jeremiah flashed to mind. It was pure speculation, since I couldn’t make out their faces, but even the mere suggestion caused me to yell out.

  “Stop the car!” I shouted. “It’s a trap. Put the car in reverse!”

  “They destroyed my car!” Hank snarled, accelerating into a chase.

  The El Camino screeched around the bend, skidding across the solid white line. Hank followed, veering dangerously close to the guardrail. The shoulder of the road dropped away, plunging into the ravine. From way up here, it looked like a giant bowl of air, with Hank racing recklessly along the rim. My stomach turned circles, and I clutched the armrest.

  The El Camino’s taillights blazed red.

  “Look out!” I screamed. I flattened one hand to the window and the other against Hank’s shoulder, trying to stop the inevitable.

  Hank jerked the wheel hard, sending the Land Cruiser up on two wheels. I was thrown forward, my seat belt catching hard across my chest, my head colliding with the window. My vision clouded, and loud noises seemed to descend on me from every direction. Crunching, shattering, piercing noises that exploded in my ears.

  I thought I heard Hank growl something—Damn fallen angels!— but then I was flying.

  No, not flying. Tumbling. Over and over.

  I didn’t remember landing, but when my mind registered again, I was on my back. Not inside the Land Cruiser, somewhere else. Dirt. Leaves. Sharp rocks biting into my skin.

  Cold, pain, hard. Cold, pain, hard. My brain couldn’t move beyond three chanted words. I saw them slide across my vision.

  “Nora!” Hank yelled, his voice sounding far away.

  I was sure my eyes were open, but I couldn’t make out any one object. Bright light I couldn’t see past stretched from one edge of my vision to the other. I attempted to rise. The directions I gave my muscles were clear, but there was a breach somewhere along the lines; I couldn’t move.

  Hands grasped my ankles first, then my wrists. My body glided through the leaves and dirt, making a strange rustling noise. I licked my lips, trying to call out to Hank, but when my mouth opened, the wrong words came out.

  Cold, pain, hard. Cold, pain, hard.

  I wanted to rattle myself out of the stupor. No! I screamed inside my head. No, no, no!

  Patch! Help! Patch, Patch, Patch!

  “Cold, pain, hard,” I muttered incoherently.

  Before I could correct myself, it was too late. My mouth was stitched closed. As were my eyes.

  Solid hands grasped my shoulders, shaking me.

  “Can you hear me, Nora? Don’t try to get up. Stay on your back. I’m going to get you to the hospital.”

  My eyes popped open. Trees swayed overhead. Sunlight spilled through their branches, casting strange shadows that altered the world from light to dark, and back again.

  Hank Millar bent over me. His face was cut up, blood trickling down, blood smearing his cheeks, blood matting his hair. His lips were moving, but it hurt too much to make sense of his words.

  I turned away. Cold, pain, hard.

  I woke in a hospital, my bed behind a white cotton curtain. The room was peacefully, yet strangely, quiet. My toes and fingers tingled, and my head might as well have been strewn with cobwebs. Drugs, I mildly noted.

  A different face leaned over mine. Dr. Howlett smiled, but not enough to show teeth.

  “You took a frightful hit, young lady. Plenty of bruising, but nothing’s broken. I had the nurses give you ibuprofen, and I’ll give you a prescription before you go. You’re going to feel tender for a few days. Considering the circumstances, I’d say you should count your blessings.”

  “Hank?” I managed to ask, my lips paper-dry.

  Dr. Howlett shook his head, rumbling a short laugh. “You’re going to hate hearing this, but he pulled through without a scratch. Hardly seems fair.”

  Through the haze, I tried to reason. Something wasn’t right. And then my memory opened. “No. He was cut up. He was bleeding badly.”

  “You’re mistaken. Hank came in wearing more of your blood than his own. You got the worst of it by far.”

  “But I saw him—”

  “Hank Millar is in pristine shape,” he cut me off. “And once your stitches fall out, you will be too. As soon as the nurses finish checking these bandages, you’ll be good to go.”

  Underneath it all, I knew I should panic. There were too many questions, too few answers. Cold, pain, hard. Cold, pain, hard.

  The glow of taillights. The crash. The ravine.

  “This will help,” Dr. Howlett said, surprising me with a prick to my arm. Fluid streamed from the needle into my blood with nothing more than a faint sting.

  “But I just regained consciousness,” I murmured, a pleasant chemical exhaustion washing through me. “How can I be okay already? I don’t feel right.”

  “You’ll make a faster recovery at home.” He chuckled. “Here you’ll have nurses poking and prodding you all night.”

  All night? “It’s already evening? But it was just noon. Before Hank—health class—I never had lunch.”

  “It’s been a rough day,” Dr. Howlett said, nodding complacently. Under the layers of drugs, I wanted to scream. Instead a mere sigh escaped.

  I laid a hand on my stomach. “I feel funny.”

  “MRI confirmed you don’t have internal bleeding. Take it easy for the next few days, and you’ll be up and running in no time.” He gave my shoulder a playful squeeze. “But I can’t promise you’ll feel like climbing into another car any time soon.”

  Somewhere in the middle of the fog, I remembered my mom. “Is Hank with my mom? Is she okay? Can I see her? Does she know about the car crash?”

  “Your mom is making a very speedy recovery,” he assured me. “She’s still in ICU and can’t have visitors, but she should be moved to her own room by morning. You can come back and see her then.” He leaned down, as though to make me his coconspirator. “Between us, if it weren’t for the red tape, I’d let you sneak in to see her now. She had a pretty nasty concussion, and while there was memory loss at first, considering her condition when Hank first brought her in, I think it’s safe to say she’ll pull a one-eighty.” He patted my cheek. “Luck must run in the family.”

  “Luck,” I repeated lethargically.

  But I had an alarming feeling stirring inside me, indicating that luck had nothing to do with either of our recoveries.

  And maybe not our accidents, either.

  CHAPTER

  26

  AFTER DR. HOWLETT GAVE ME CLEARANCE TO leave, I rode the elevator down to the main lobby. On the way, I dialed Vee. I didn’t have a rid
e home, and I hoped it was still early enough that her mom would let her rescue a stranded friend.

  The elevator eased to a stop, and the doors glided open. My phone clattered at my feet.

  “Hello, Nora,” Hank said, standing directly in front of me.

  Three counts passed before I summoned my voice. “Going up?” I asked, hoping I sounded calm.

  “Actually, I was looking for you.”

  “I’m in a hurry,” I said apologetically, scooping up my phone.

  “I thought you might need a ride home. I had one of my boys bring over a rental from the dealership.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve already called a friend.”

  His smile was plastic. “At least let me see you to the doors.”

  “I need to stop by the restrooms first,” I hedged. “Please don’t wait. Really, I’m fine. I’m sure Marcie is anxious to see you.”

  “Your mother would want me to see you home safely.”

  His eyes were bloodshot, his whole expression weary, but I didn’t for one moment think it was from his role as the grieving boyfriend. Dr. Howlett could insist all he wanted that Hank had arrived at the hospital unscathed, but I knew the truth. He’d come out of the crash worse than I had. Worse, even, than the crash warranted.

  His face had resembled pulverized meat, and while his Nephilim blood had cured him almost instantly, I’d known from the moment he’d shaken me out of unconsciousness, and I’d taken that first blurry look at him, that something had happened to him after I blacked out. He could deny it up and down, but his condition had resembled being mauled by tigers.

  He was haggard and exhausted because he’d battled a group of fallen angels today. At least, that was my current working theory. As I traced my way back through the events, it was the only explanation that made sense. Damn fallen angels! Weren’t those the words Hank had sworn viciously a fraction of a moment before the crash? He clearly hadn’t planned on running into them … so what had he planned to happen?

  I had a terrible feeling churning inside me. One, I realized in retrospect, I’d been dangling at the back of my mind ever since Hank had shown up at school. What if Hank had in fact set the day’s events up? Could he have pushed my mom down the stairs? Dr. Howlett said she’d initially suffered from amnesia, a device Hank could have used to keep her from remembering the truth. Then he’d picked me up from school … for what? What was I missing?

  “I smell rubber burning,” Hank said. “You’re thinking hard about something.”

  His voice jerked me to the present. I stared up at him, wishing I could glean his motives from his expression. It was then that I realized his eyes were just as fixed on me. His gaze was so intent, it was almost trancelike.

  Whatever conclusion I’d been about to draw swam away. My thoughts tipped sideways. Suddenly they were all out of order, and I couldn’t remember what I’d been pondering. The harder I tried to remember, the more my thoughts careened into an abyss at the back of my mind.

  A cocoon stretched around my mind, wrapping any cognitive ability tightly out of reach. It was happening all over again. The muddled, heavy sensation of being unable to control my own thoughts.

  “Has your friend agreed to pick you up, Nora?” he asked with that same laserlike attention.

  Somewhere deep inside, I knew I shouldn’t tell Hank the truth. I knew I should say Vee was coming for me. But what reason did I have to lie to him?

  “I called Vee, but she didn’t answer,” I admitted.

  “I’m happy to give you a ride, Nora.”

  I nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

  My mind was jumbled, and I couldn’t snap out of it. I strolled down the corridor beside Hank, my hands cold and shaking. Why was I trembling? It was nice of Hank to offer me a ride. He cared about my mom enough to go out of his way for me … didn’t he?

  The ride home was uneventful, and at the farmhouse, Hank followed me inside.

  I stopped just inside the door. “What are you doing?”

  “Your mom would want me to look after you tonight.”

  “You’re staying the whole night?” My hands started to shake again, and through my cotton-filled head, I knew I had to find a way to make him leave. It wasn’t a good idea to let him sleep over. But how could I force him out? He was stronger. And even if I could get him out, my mom had recently given him a house key. He’d come right back inside.

  “You’re letting cold air in,” Hank said, gently prying my hands from the door. “Let me help.”

  That’s right, I thought with a smile at my own muddleheaded silliness. He wanted to help.

  Hank tossed his keys on the counter and sank into the couch, kicking his feet up on the ottoman. He angled his eyes at the cushion next to him. “Want to unwind with a show?”

  “I’m tired,” I said, hugging myself now that the awful quivering had spread above my elbows.

  “You’ve had a long day. Sleep might be just what the doctor ordered.”

  I fought through the oppressive cloud suffocating my brain, but it seemed there was no end to the thick darkness. “Hank?” I asked quizzically. “Why do you really want to stay here tonight?”

  He chuckled. “You look positively frightened, Nora. Be a good girl and go up to bed. It’s not like I’m going to strangle you in your sleep.”

  In my bedroom, I scooted the dresser in front of the door, effectively blocking it. I had no idea why I did it; I had no reason to fear Hank. He was keeping a promise to my mom. He wanted to protect me. If he knocked, I would push the dresser aside and open the door.

  And yet …

  I crawled into bed and closed my eyes. Exhaustion raked down my body, and by now I was shivering violently. I wondered if I was catching a cold. When my mind began to feel heavy, I didn’t fight it. Colors and shapes seesawed in and out of focus. My thoughts slid deeper into my subconscious. Hank was right; it had been a long day. I needed sleep.

  It wasn’t until I found myself standing at the threshold of Patch’s studio that I began to sense that something wasn’t quite right. The haze scattered from my brain, and I realized Hank had mind-tricked me into submission. Flinging open Patch’s front door and dashing inside, I shouted his name.

  I found him in the kitchen, slouched on a bar stool. One look at me, and he swung off and crossed to me. “Nora? How did you get here? You’re inside my head,” he said with surprise. “Are you dreaming?” His eyes flicked back and forth across my face, hunting for an answer.

  “I don’t know. I think so. I crawled into bed feeling a desperate need to talk to you … and here I am. Are you asleep?”

  He shook his head. “I’m awake, but you’re eclipsing my thoughts. I don’t know how you did it. Only a powerful Nephil or fallen angel could pull off something like this.”

  “Something terrible happened.” I threw myself into his arms, trying to dissipate my convulsive shivers. “First my mom fell down the stairs, and on our way to the hospital to see her, Hank and I were hit. Before I blacked out, I think Hank said the other car was full of fallen angels. Hank drove me home from the hospital—and I asked him to leave, but he won’t!”

  Patch’s eyes flashed with anxiety. “Slow down. Hank is alone with you right now?”

  I nodded.

  “Wake up. I’m coming to see you.”

  Fifteen minutes later there was a soft rap on my bedroom door. Dragging aside the dresser to clear the entrance, I cracked the door to find Patch on the other side of it. I grabbed his hand and hauled him inside.

  “Hank is downstairs watching TV,” I whispered. Hank had been right; sleep had done me a world of good. Upon breaking out of the dream, enough of my normal thought process had returned to make me see what I’d been unable to before: Hank had mind-tricked me into submission. I’d let him drive me home without a single complaint, let him walk inside my house, let him make himself at home, and all because I’d thought he wanted to protect me. Nothing could be further from the truth.

  Patch gave the door a gent
le kick closed. “I came in through the attic.” He looked me over, head to toe. “Are you okay?” His finger traced a bandage covering a thin laceration cutting across my hair-line, and his eyes blazed with anger.

  “Hank has been mind-tricking me all night.”

  “Play everything back, starting with your mom’s fall.”

  I swallowed a deep breath, then recounted my story.

  “What did the fallen angels’ car look like?” Patch asked.

  “El Camino. Tan.”

  Patch rubbed his chin in thought. “Do you think it was Gabe? It’s not what he usually drives, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

  “There were three of them in the car. I couldn’t see their faces. It might have been Gabe, Dominic, and Jeremiah.”

  “Or it might have been any number of fallen angels targeting Hank. With Rixon gone, there’s a price on his head. He’s the Black Hand, the most powerful Nephil alive, and any number of fallen angels want him as their vassal for bragging rights alone. How long were you out before Hank drove you to the hospital?”

  “If I had to guess, only a few minutes. When I came around, Hank was covered in blood, and he looked exhausted. He could barely lift me into the car. I don’t think his cuts and bruises came from the crash. Being coerced to swear fealty sounds plausible.”

  A truly savage look sharpened Patch’s features. “This ends here. I want you out of this. I know you’re set on being the one to bring down Hank, but I can’t risk losing you.” He stood and paced the room, clearly upset. “Let me do this for you. Let me be the one to make him pay.”

  “This isn’t your fight, Patch,” I said quietly.

  His eyes burned with an intensity I’d never seen before. “You’re mine, Angel, and don’t you forget it. Your fights are my fights. What if something had happened today? It was bad enough when I thought your ghost was haunting me; I don’t think I could handle the real thing.”

  I came up behind him, threading my arms under his. “Something bad could have happened, but it didn’t,” I said gently. “Even if it was Gabe, he obviously didn’t get what he wanted.”