“Suicide,” Vee told her. “You know, when you put a little shot of everything into the glass?”
I leaned sideways. “How old are we?”
“Childhood only comes once. Live it up.”
“Cherry Coke,” I told the bartender.
As Vee and I sipped our drinks, sitting back and taking in the preshow excitement, a slender blonde with her hair stuffed into a messy—and sexy—bun sashayed over. She leaned her elbows back on the bar, giving me a cursory glance. She wore a long bohemian dress, pulling off hippie-chic flawlessly. Other than a swipe of siren-red lipstick, she was sans makeup, which drew my attention to her full, pouty mouth. Fixing her gaze on the stage, she said, “Haven’t seen you girls around before. First time?”
“What’s it to you?” Vee said.
The girl laughed, and while the sound was soft and tinkling, it made the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
“High schoolers?” she guessed.
Vee narrowed her eyes. “Maybe, maybe not. And you are … ?”
The blonde flashed a smile. “Dabria.” Her eyes pinned mine. “I heard about the amnesia. Pity.”
I gagged on my cherry Coke.
Vee said, “You look familiar. But your name isn’t ringing a bell.” She pursed her lips in evaluation.
In response, Dabria cast cool eyes on Vee, and just like that, all suspicion dissipated from Vee’s expression, leaving her as blank as placid water. “I’ve never seen you before in my life. This is the first time we’ve met,” Vee said in a monotone.
I glared at Dabria. “Can we talk? Alone?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” she answered breezily.
I pushed my way over to the hallway leading to the restrooms. When we were out of the crowd, I spun on Dabria. “First, quit mind-tricking my best friend. Second, what are you doing here? And third, you’re a lot prettier than Patch led me to believe.” Probably didn’t need to throw in that last bit, but now that I had Dabria alone, I wasn’t in the mood to dance around. Best to get straight to the point.
Her mouth curled into a satisfied smirk. “And you’re quite a bit more plain than I remember.”
Suddenly I wished I’d pulled on something more sophisticated than boyfriend jeans, a graphic tee, and a military-style hat. I said, “He’s over you, just so we’re clear.”
Dabria examined her manicure before looking up at me through lowered lashes. With unmistakable regret she said, “I wish I could say I was over him.”
I told you so! I thought angrily at Patch.
“Unrequited love sucks,” I stated simply.
“Is he here?” Dabria craned her neck to search the crowd.
“No. But I’m sure you already knew that, since you’ve taken it upon yourself to stalk him.”
Something mischievous danced in her eyes. “Oh? He noticed?”
“Hard not to when you’ve clearly made it your life’s purpose to throw yourself at him.”
Her pouty smirk adopted a hardened edge. “Just so you know, if it weren’t for my feather Jev keeps tucked in his pants, I wouldn’t think twice about dragging you out to the street and giving you a front-row seat with an oncoming car. Jev might be here for you now, but I wouldn’t breathe easy. He’s made quite a few enemies over the years, and I can’t tell you how many of them would love to chain him in hell. You don’t treat people the way he has and sleep with both eyes closed,” she said, cold-blooded warning creeping into her tone. “If he wants to stay on Earth, he can’t be distracted by some”—her gaze raked over me—“childish little girl. He needs an ally. Someone who can watch his back and be useful to him.”
“And you think you’re just the girl for the job?” I seethed.
“I think you should stick to your own kind. Jev doesn’t like to be tied down. One glance at you, and I can tell you’ve got your hands full with him.”
“He’s changed,” I said. “He’s not the same person he was when you knew him.”
Her laughter rang off the walls. “I can’t decide if your naïveté is adorable, or if I want to smack some sense into you. Jev will never change, and he doesn’t love you. He’s using you to get to the Black Hand. Do you know how high the price on Hank Millar’s head is? Millions. Jev wants that money as much as the next fallen angel, maybe more, because he can use it to pay off his enemies, and trust me when I say they’re snapping at his heels. He’s ahead of the game because he has you, the Black Hand’s heir. You can get close to the Black Hand in a way most fallen angels can only dream of.”
I didn’t bat an eye. “I don’t believe you.”
“I know you want the Black Hand, sweetie. Just like I know you want to be the one to destroy him. Not an easy feat, considering he’s Nephilim, but pretend for a minute it’s possible. Do you really think Jev will hand Hank over to you when he can deliver him to the right people and receive a ten-million-dollar paycheck? Think about it.”
On that note, Dabria raised a shrewd eyebrow and merged into the crowd.
When I returned to the bar, Vee said, “Don’t know about you, but I didn’t like that chick. She rivals Marcie for the number one spot on my skank-detecting meter.”
She’s worse, I thought grimly. Much worse.
“Speaking of instincts, I haven’t made up my mind yet how I feel about this particular Romeo,” Vee said, sitting a little higher on her stool.
I followed her gaze, finding Scott at the end of it.
A good head taller than the crowd, he waded toward us. His sun-streaked brown hair hugged his head like a cap, and paired with bedraggled jeans and a fitted T-shirt, he looked every bit the bass player in an up-and-coming rock band.
“You came,” he said with a hitch of his mouth, and I knew right away he was pleased.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I said, trying to squash down any uneasiness I felt over Scott’s obstinate refusal to stay in hiding a little longer. One brief glance at his hand revealed that he hadn’t removed the Black Hand’s ring. “Scott, this is my best friend, Vee Sky. I don’t know if you two have officially met.”
Vee shook Scott’s hand and said, “I’m happy to see there’s at least one person in this room taller than me.”
“Yeah, I get my height from my dad’s side,” Scott said, clearly not in a hurry to elaborate. Then to me, “About homecoming. I’m sending a limo over to your place tomorrow at nine. The driver will take you to the dance, and I’ll meet you there. Was I supposed to get one of those flower things for your wrist? I totally forgot about that.”
“You two are going to homecoming together?” Vee asked, eyebrows vaulted, fingers pointing between us in a puzzled manner.
I could have kicked myself for not remembering to tell her. In my defense, I’d had a lot on my mind.
“As friends,” I reassured Vee. “If you want to come, the more the merrier.”
“Yeah, but now I don’t have time to buy a dress,” Vee said, sounding genuinely discouraged.
Thinking on my feet, I said, “We’ll go to Silk Garden first thing tomorrow. Plenty of time. Didn’t you like that purple sequin gown, the one on the mannequin?”
Scott jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I gotta go warm up. If you can hang around after the show, find me backstage and I’ll give you a private tour.”
Vee and I exchanged a look, and I knew her estimation of Scott had just risen several notches. I, on the other hand, prayed he’d last long enough to give us a tour. Surreptitiously casting my eyes about, I hunted for signs of Hank, his men, or anything else troublesome.
Serpentine came on stage, testing and tuning the various guitars and drums. Scott jumped onstage with them, flinging his guitar strap across his shoulder. He strummed a few notes, biting the guitar pick between his teeth as he nodded to his own beat. Looking sideways, I found Vee tapping her foot in rhythm.
I nudged her elbow. “Anything you want to tell me?”
She bit back a smile. “He’s nice.”
“I thought you were in b
oy detox.”
Vee nudged me back, harder. “Don’t be a Debbie Downer.”
“Just getting my facts straight.”
“If we hooked up, he could write me ballads and stuff. You gotta admit, nothing’s sexier than a guy who writes music.”
“Mm-hmm,” I said.
“Mm-hmm, yourself.”
Onstage, a crew from the Devil’s Handbag helped adjust the microphones and amps. One of the crew members was on his knees, taping down cords, when he paused to wipe sweat off his brow. My eyes fell on his arm, and I was hit by a flash of recognition so strong it seemed to rock me back. Three words were tattooed like a mantra on his forearm. COLD. PAIN. HARD.
I didn’t know the significance of the combination of words, but I knew I’d seen them before. A pair of curtains drew back, revealing my memory long enough for me to remember seeing the tattoo right after I’d been hurled from Hank’s Land Cruiser. COLD. PAIN. HARD. I hadn’t remembered it before, but now I was positive. The man onstage had been there. Directly following the crash. He’d grabbed my wrists as I’d drifted into unconsciousness, dragging my body through the dirt. He had to have been one of the fallen angels riding in the El Camino.
As I came to this startling conclusion, the fallen angel dusted his hands and jumped offstage, wandering the perimeter of the crowd. He made brief conversation with a few people, slowly progressing toward the back of the room. Abruptly, he turned down the same hall where Dabria and I had talked.
I called into Vee’s ear, “I’m going to run to the restroom. Save my spot.”
Edging through the crowd, huddled three and four deep around the bar, I followed the fallen angel into the hallway. He stood at the far end of it, bent slightly forward. He shifted, revealing his profile, holding a lighter to the cigarette balanced between his lips. Exhaling a plume of spoke, he stepped outside.
I gave him a few seconds’ head start, then cracked the door and stuck my head out. A handful of smokers loitered in the alley, but other than a flick of eyes, no one paid me any attention. I stepped all the way out, searching for the fallen angel. He was halfway down the alley, walking toward the street. Maybe he wanted to smoke alone, but I had a feeling he was leaving for good.
I ran down my options. I could hurry back inside and enlist Vee’s help, but I didn’t want to risk involving her if I could help it. I could call Patch for backup, but if I waited for him to arrive, I’d risk losing the fallen angel. Or I could take Patch’s advice and immobilize the fallen angel, taking advantage of his wing scars, and then call for backup.
I decided to give Patch as much of a heads-up as I could and pray that he hurried. We’d agreed to reserve calls and texts for emergencies only, not wanting to leave any unwanted evidence lying around for Hank to find. If this didn’t constitute an emergency, I didn’t know what did.
IN ALLEY BEHIND DEVIL’S HANDBAG, I texted in a hurry. SAW FALLEN ANGEL FROM CAR CRASH. WILL AIM FOR WING SCARS.
There was a snow shovel propped against the back door of the shoe repair store, and I picked it up without thinking. I didn’t have a plan, but if I was going to immobilize the fallen angel, I’d need a weapon. Keeping an unsuspecting distance behind, I followed him to the end of the alley. He turned onto the street, flicked his cigarette into the gutter, and dialed on his cell phone.
Hidden in shadow, I picked up bits and pieces of his conversation.
“Finished the job. He’s here. Yeah, I’m sure it’s him.”
He hung up and scratched his neck. He let go of a sigh that sounded conflicted. Or maybe resigned.
Taking advantage of his quiet contemplation, I crept up behind him and swung the shovel sideways in a vicious sweep. It smashed into his back with more power than I ever thought I possessed, right where his wing scars should be.
The fallen angel staggered forward, taking a knee.
I brought the shovel down a second time with more confidence. Then a third, fourth, fifth time. Knowing I couldn’t kill him, I slammed a fierce blow to his head.
He wobbled off balance, then slumped to the ground.
I nudged him with my shoe, but he was out cold.
Hurried footsteps rang out behind me and I flipped around, still clutching the shovel. Patch emerged from the darkness, breathless from running. He looked between me and the fallen angel.
“I—got him,” I said, still in shock that it had been so easy.
Patch gently pried the shovel from my hands and set it aside. A faint smile twitched his lips. “Angel, this man isn’t a fallen angel.”
I blinked. “What?”
Patch crouched beside the man, took his shirt in his hands, and ripped the fabric. I stared at the man’s back, smooth and muscular. And not a wing scar in sight.
“I was sure,” I stammered. “I thought it was him. I recognized his tattoo—”
Patch peered up at me. “He’s Nephilim.”
A Nephil? I’d just bludgeoned a Nephil unconscious?
Rolling the Nephil’s body over, Patch unbuttoned his shirt, inspecting his torso. At the same time, our eyes traveled to the brand just below his clavicle. The clenched fist was all too familiar.
“The Black Hand’s mark,” I said with astonishment. “The men who attacked us that day, and nearly drove us off the road, were Hank’s men?” What did it mean? And how could Hank have made such a grave error in judgment? He’d claimed they were fallen angels. He’d sounded so certain—
“Are you sure this was one of the men in the El Camino?” Patch asked.
Rage leaped inside me as I realized I’d been played. “Oh, I’m sure.”
CHAPTER
28
HANK ORCHESTRATED THE CAR CRASH,” I SAID, deadly quiet. “Originally I thought the crash had upended his plans, but none of it was by accident. He told his men to hit us, and he planted it in my head that they were fallen angels. And I was stupid enough to fall for it!”
Patch transported the Nephil’s body behind an overgrown hedge, concealing it from the street. “This way he won’t attract any attention before he wakes up,” he explained. “Did he get a good look at you?”
“No, I took him by surprise,” I said distractedly. “But why did Hank need to crash his car? The whole thing seems pointless. His car was totaled, he was severely beat up in the process—I don’t get it.”
“I don’t want you leaving my sight until we’ve figured this out,” Patch said. “Go inside and tell Vee you don’t need a ride home. I’ll pick you up out front in five.”
I scrubbed my hands briskly over my arms, which prickled with goose bumps. “Come with me. I don’t want to be alone. What if there are more of Hank’s men inside?”
Patch made a sound that wasn’t quite amusement. “If Vee sees us together, things will get messy. Tell her you found a ride home, and you’ll call her later. I’ll stand just inside the doors. I won’t let you out of my sight.”
“She won’t buy it. She’s a lot more cautious than she used to be.” Quickly I worked out the only plausible solution. “I’ll ride home with her, and after she leaves, I’ll meet you up the street from my house. Hank is there, so don’t drive any closer than you have to.”
Patch pulled me into a brief, hard kiss. “Be careful.”
Inside the Devil’s Handbag, a loud murmur of complaint spread through the audience. People threw wadded napkins and plastic straws on the stage. A group on the far side of the floor took up chanting, “Serpentine sucks, Serpentine sucks.” I elbowed my way over to Vee.
“What’s going on?”
“Scott bailed. Just up and ran. The band can’t play without him.”
A sick feeling settled in my stomach. “Ran? Why?”
“I might have asked him if I could have caught him. He took a running leap off the stage and sprinted for the doors. Everyone thought it was a joke at first.”
“We should get out of here,” I told Vee. “The crowd isn’t going to hold much longer.”
“Amen to that,” Vee said, hopping off
her bar stool and scurrying toward the doors.
At the farmhouse, Vee bounced the Neon into the driveway. “What do you think got into Scott?” she asked me.
I was tempted to lie, but I was tired of playing this game with Vee. “I think he’s in trouble,” I told her.
“What kind of trouble?”
“I think he made some mistakes and upset the wrong people.”
Vee looked bewildered … then skeptical. “Wrong people? What kind of wrong people?”
“Very bad people, Vee.”
That was all the explanation she needed. Vee shoved the Neon into reverse. “Well, what are we doing sitting here? Scott’s out there somewhere, and he needs our help.”
“We can’t help him. The people who are looking for him don’t exactly have a conscience. They wouldn’t think twice about hurting us. But there is someone who can help, and with any luck, he’ll be able to help Scott get out of town tonight, where he’ll be safe.”
“Scott has to leave town?”
“It’s not safe for him here. I’m sure the men who are looking for him expect him to try to leave, but Patch will know a way around them—”
“Hold up! Back up. You’ve got that whack job helping Scott?” Vee’s volume shot higher and she glared at me accusingly. “Does your mom know you’re mixed up with him again? Did you ever think maybe, maybe this was information you should tell me? I’ve been lying about him this whole time, pretending he never existed, and all the while you were hooking up with him behind my back?”
Hearing her blatant confession, minus any trace of remorse, ignited my temper. “So you’re finally ready to come clean about Patch?”
“Come clean? Come clean? I lied because unlike that dirtbag, I actually care what happens to you. He’s not right in the head. He showed up and your life was never the same. My life either, while we’re on the subject. I’d rather face down a gang of convicts than bump into Patch on an empty street. He’s real good at taking advantage of people, and it sounds to me like he’s up to his old tricks again.”
I opened my mouth, so upset I couldn’t untangle my thoughts. “If you saw him the way I do—”
The Complete Hush, Hush Saga Page 85
