The Complete Hush, Hush Saga

by Becca Fitzpatrick

  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.

  CHAPTER

  30

  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.

  His nimble fingers picked at the knot of my blindfold, and it drooped to my neck. I blinked, making sense of the unlit room. Aside from a card table and a second folding chair, the room was bare.

  “What do you want?” I demanded, my voice trembling slightly.

  Scraping the second chair across the floor, he positioned it to face mine. “To talk.”

  “Not in the mood, thanks anyway,” I said curtly.

  He leaned toward me, the hard lines around his eyes deepening as he narrowed his gaze. “Do you know who I am, Nora?”

  Sweat leaked from every pore. “Off the top of my head? You’re a filthy, lying, manipulative, worthless little—”

  His hand lashed out before I saw it coming. He struck my cheek, hard. I recoiled, too shocked to cry.

  “Do you know I’m your biological father?” he asked, his quiet tone unnerving.

  “‘Father’ is such an arbitrary word. Douche bag, on the other hand …”

  Hank gave a subtle nod. “Then let me ask
this. Is that any way to speak to your father?”

  Now tears welled up my eyes. “Nothing you’ve done gives you the right to call yourself my father.”

  “Be that as it may, you are my blood. You bear my mark. I can’t deny it any longer, Nora, and neither can you deny your destiny.”

  I hitched my shoulder, but I couldn’t lift it high enough to wipe my nose. “My destiny has nothing to do with yours. When you gave me up as a baby, you forfeited your right to have any say in my life.”

  “Despite what you may think, I’ve been actively involved in every aspect of your life since the day you were born. I gave you up to protect you. Because of fallen angels, I had to sacrifice my family—”

  I cut him off with a scornful laugh. “Don’t start with the poor-me routine. Quit blaming your choices on fallen angels. You made the decision to give me up. Maybe you cared about me back then, but your Nephilim blood society is the only thing you care about anymore. You’re a zealot. It’s all on you.”

  His mouth thinned, tight as a wire. “I should kill you right now for making a fool of me, of my society, of the whole Nephilim race.”

  “Then do it already,” I spat, rage overshadowing any anxiety I felt.

  Reaching into his coat, he withdrew a long black feather that looked remarkably similar to the one I’d put in my dresser drawer for safekeeping. “One of my advisers found this in your bedroom. It’s a fallen angel’s feather. Imagine my surprise upon learning that my own flesh and blood is keeping company with the enemy. You had me fooled. Hang around fallen angels long enough and their proclivity for deceit rubs off, it seems. Is the fallen angel Patch?” he asked bluntly.

  “Your paranoia is astounding. You found a feather while pawing through my drawers, so what? What does that prove? That you’re a pervert?”

  He sat back, crossing his legs. “Is this really the road you want to take? I have no doubt the fallen angel is Patch. I sensed him in your bedroom the other night. I’ve sensed him on you for a while now.”

  “Ironic that you’re grilling me when you obviously know more than I do. Maybe we should switch seats?” I suggested.

  “Oh? And whose feather do you expect me to believe was in your drawer?” Hank inquired with the slightest trace of amusement.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” I said, defiance dripping from every word. “I found the feather in the cemetery right after you dumped me there.”

  A wicked smile spread across his features. “My men ripped out Patch’s wings in the same cemetery. I daresay it’s his feather.”

  I swallowed discreetly. Hank had Patch’s feather. I had no way of knowing if he understood the power this gave him over Patch. I could only pray he didn’t.

  Trying to draw attention away from that terrifying thought, I said, “I know you planned the car crash. I know it was your men who hit us. Why the charade?”

  The superior glint in his smile made me uneasy. “That was next on my list of things to discuss. While you were blacked out, I performed a blood transfusion on you,” he stated simply. “I filled your veins with my blood, Nora. My purebred Nephilim blood.”

  A brittle silence crackled between us.

  “This kind of operation has never been done before, not successfully, that is, but I’ve found a way to tamper with the laws of the universe. So far things have gone better than expected. Should I tell you that my biggest worry was that the transfusion would kill you on the spot?”

  I grasped for answers, for some way to make sense of the horrible things he was telling me, but my head was muddled. A blood transfusion. Why, why, why? It could explain why I’d felt so strange at the hospital. It could explain why Hank had appeared so beat and exhausted. “You used devilcraft to do it,” I announced nervously.

  He cocked an eyebrow. “So you’ve heard about devilcraft. The angel figured it out?” he guessed, not looking pleased.

  “Why did you perform the transfusion?” My mind raced for the answer—he needed me for a sacrifice, a doppelgänger, an experiment. If none of those, then what?

  “You’ve had my blood inside you since the day your mother gave birth to you, but it wasn’t pure enough. You weren’t a first-generation Nephil, and I need you to be a purebred, Nora. You’re so close now. All that’s left is to swear a Changeover Vow before heaven and hell. Upon your vow, the transformation will be complete.”

  The weight of his words slowly sank in, and it sickened me. “You thought you could turn me into one of your brainwashed, obedient Nephilim soldiers?” I rocked violently in the chair, trying to tear free.

  “I’ve seen a prophecy foretelling my death. I’ve been using a device enhanced with devilcraft to look into my future and, just to be sure, got a second opinion.”

  I hardly heard him. I was incensed by his confession, trembling with rage. Hank had violated me in the worst possible way. He’d tampered with my life, attempting to twist and mold me as he pleased. He’d injected his vile, murderous blood into my veins!

  “You’re Nephilim, Hank. You can’t die. You don’t die. As much as I wish you would,” I added on a venomous note.

  “Both the device and a former angel of death have seen it. Their prophecies match. I don’t have long. My last days on Earth will be spent preparing you to lead my army against fallen angels,” he said with the first hint of resignation.

  It all locked into place. “You’re running this entire plan on the word of Dabria? She doesn’t have a gift. She needs money. She can’t predict the future any more than you or I. Did it ever occur to you that she’s probably laughing herself silly right now?”

  “I rather doubt it,” he said dryly, as though he knew something I did not. “I need you to be a purebred Nephil, Nora, to command my army. To lead my society. To step up as my rightful heir and free Nephilim everywhere from bondage. After this Cheshvan, we will be our own masters, no longer ruled by fallen angels.”

  “You’re insane. I’m not doing anything for you. I’m especially not swearing your vow.”

  “You have the mark. You’ve been preordained. Do you really think I want you to become the leader of everything I’ve built?” he said in a hardened voice. “You aren’t the only one who doesn’t have a choice in the matter. Destiny claims us, not the other way around. First there was Chauncey. Then me. Now the responsibility falls to you.”

  I glared at him, putting all my hate behind it. “You want a blood relative to lead your army? Get Marcie. She likes ordering people around. She’ll be a natural.”

  “Her mom is a purebred Nephil.”

  “Didn’t see that coming, but even better. Surely that makes Marcie a purebred too?” A nice little trio of supremacists.

  Hank’s laugh sounded increasingly weary. “We never expected Susanna to conceive. Purebred Nephilim don’t mate together successfully. We understood from the beginning that Marcie was a bit of a miracle and would never live long. She didn’t have my mark. She was always small, frail, struggling to survive. She doesn’t have long now—her mother and I both feel it.”

  A burst of memories rushed out of my subconscious. I remembered talking about this before. About how to kill a Nephil. About sacrificing a female descendant who’d reached the age of sixteen. I remembered my own doubts about why my biological father would give me up. I remembered …

  In that one instant, everything became clear. “That’s why you didn’t bother hiding Marcie from Rixon. That’s why you gave me up, but kept her. You never thought she’d live long enough to be used as a sacrifice.”

  I, on the other hand, had the full package: Hank’s Nephilim mark and an excellent chance of survival. I’d been hidden away as a baby to keep Rixon from sacrificing me, but in a twist of fate, Hank now intended me to lead his revolution. I shut my eyes hard, wishing I could block out the truth.

  “Nora,” Hank said. “Open your eyes. Look at me.”

  I shook my head. “I won’t swear the vow. Not now, not ten minutes from now, not ever.” My nose dripped, and I couldn�
��t wipe it. I didn’t know which was more humiliating—that, or the quiver in my lip.

  “I admire your bravery,” he said, his voice deceptively gentle. “But there are all kinds of bravery, and this one doesn’t suit you.”

  I jumped when his finger tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, an almost fatherly gesture. “Swear the vow to become a purebred Nephil and command my army, and I’ll let you and your mother go. I don’t want to hurt you, Nora. The choice is yours. Swear the vow, and you can shut the door on this night. It will all go away.” He untied the knots at my wrists; the rope slithered to the floor.

  My hands trembled as I kneaded them in my lap, but not from lack of blood. Something else he’d said had filled me with icy dread. “My mom?”

  “That’s right. She’s here. In one of the lower rooms, sleeping.”

  The awful sting returned behind my eyes. “Did you hurt her?”

  Instead of answering my question, he said, “I am the Black Hand. I’m a busy man, and I’ll be honest, this is the last place I want to be tonight. This is the last thing I want to be doing. But my hands are tied. You hold the power. Swear the oath, and you and your mom will walk away together.”

  “Did you ever love her?”

  He blinked in surprise. “Your mother? Of course I loved her. At one time, I loved her very much. The world is different now. My vision has changed. I had to sacrifice my own love for the interest of my entire race.”

  “You’re going to kill her, aren’t you? If I don’t swear the vow, that’s what you’ll do.”

  “My life has been defined by difficult choices. I won’t stop making them tonight,” he said, a sideways answer to my question that left me with no doubt.

  “Let me see her.”

  Hank gestured to a row of windows across the room. I stood slowly, afraid of the condition I might find her in. When I looked out the panel of windows, I realized I was in an office of sorts, overlooking the warehouse below. My mom was curled up on a cot, watched over by three armed Nephilim as she slumbered. I wondered if, like me, her perception cleared in her dreams and she saw Hank for the monster he really was. I wondered if, when he was gone from her life completely, no longer able to manipulate her, she would see him the way I saw him. It was my answer to those questions that gave me the courage to face Hank.