The Complete Hush, Hush Saga

by Becca Fitzpatrick

  “What does it look like?” Gabe answered, cracking his knuckles. “When my buddy Patch here said he knew where I could find the Black Hand, he sparked my interest. Did I mention I’m in the market for a new Nephilim vassal?”

  The Nephilim in the room held their places, but I could read the dread and tension on every one of their faces. I wasn’t sure what Patch had planned, but clearly this was part of it. He’d told me he’d have a hard time finding fallen angels who’d help him rescue an archangel, but maybe he’d found a way to recruit their help after all. By offering up spoils of war.

  Gabe motioned Jeremiah and Dominic to spread out, each taking a side of the room.

  “Ten of you, four of us,” Gabe told Hank. “Do the math.”

  “We’re stronger than you think,” Hank countered with a malicious smile. “Ten on four. Those don’t sound like good odds to me.”

  “Funny, I was thinking they sounded pretty damn enticing. You remember the words, don’t you, Black Hand? ‘Lord, I become your man.’ Start rehearsing. I’m not leaving until you sing them to me. You’re mine, Nephil. Mine,” Gabe finished with a mocking jab of his finger.

  “Don’t just stand there,” Hank exploded at his men. “Bring this arrogant fallen angel to his knees!”

  But Hank didn’t stick around to shout further orders. He bolted through the door.

  Gabe’s laughter rang from the rafters. He strolled to the door and flung it open. His voice boomed into the night. “Scared, Nephil? You’d better be. Here I come.”

  At this, every Nephilim in the building fled through the front and rear exits. Jeremiah and Dominic chased after them, whooping and hollering.

  Patch stood in the vacated warehouse, facing the archangel’s cage. He approached her and she drew back with a warning hiss.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” Patch told her, keeping his hands where she could see them. “I’m going to unlock the cage and let you go.”

  “Why would you do that?” she rasped.

  “Because you don’t belong here.”

  Her eyes, ringed with exhaustion, darted over his face. “And what do you want in return? What mysteries of the world do you want answered? What lies will you whisper sweetly into my ear for the truth?”

  Opening the door to the cage, Patch reached inside slowly, taking her hand. “I don’t want anything except for you to hear me out. I don’t need a necklace to make you talk, because I think once you hear what I have to say, you’ll want to help.”

  The archangel hobbled out of the cage, reluctantly leaning her weight on Patch, her blue-glowing legs clearly impaired by devil-craft.

  “How long will I be like this?” she asked, tears jumping to her eyes.

  “I don’t know, but I think we can both agree the archangels will be able to help.”

  “He cut my wings off,” she whispered hoarsely.

  A nod. “But he didn’t rip them out. There’s hope.”

  “Hope?” she repeated, eyes flashing. “You see something hopeful in all this? That makes one of us. What kind of help do you want anyway?” she inquired miserably.

  “I want a way to kill Hank Millar,” Patch said bluntly.

  A dull laugh. “And now that makes two of us.”

  “You can make it happen.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off.

  “The archangels have tampered with death at least once before, and they can do it again.”

  “What are you talking about?” she scoffed.

  “Four months ago one of Chauncey Langeais’s female descendants threw herself off the rafters of her high school gym, a sacrifice that ended up killing him. Her name is Nora Grey, but I can tell by the look on your face you’ve heard of her.”

  Patch’s words shocked me. Not because what he’d said sounded foreign. In one of his other memories I’d heard myself say I killed Chauncey Langeais, but on coming out of the memory, I’d stubbornly denied it. Now there was no closing my eyes to the truth. The fog in my mind shifted, and in a succession of flashes, I saw myself standing in the gym at school, several months ago. With Chauncey Langeais, a Nephil who wanted to kill me to hurt Patch.

  A Nephil who didn’t realize I was his descendant.

  “What I want to know is why her sacrifice didn’t kill Hank Millar,” Patch said. “Hank was the most direct Nephil in her line. Something tells me the archangels have their hand in this.”

  The archangel stared back wordlessly. Patch had visibly cracked her composure, which had been whittled down to threadbare from the start. With a faint smile of mockery, she said at last, “Any other conspiracy theories?”

  Patch shook his head. “Not a theory. A cover-up—the archangels’ cover-up. I missed it at first, but when I realized what happened, I knew the archangels had tampered with death. You let Chauncey die in Hank’s place. Given the problems Hank has created for you, why?”

  “You really think I’m going to talk about this with you?”

  “Then you get to hear my theory after all. Here’s what I think. I think just about five months ago the archangels found out that Chauncey and Hank had started dabbling in devilcraft, and they wanted it stopped. Believing Hank was the lesser of two evils, the archangels approached him first. The archangels would have foreseen Nora’s sacrifice, and they decided to offer Hank a deal. They’d let Chauncey die in his place, if Hank agreed to leave devilcraft alone.”

  “Your imagination astounds,” the archangel said, but her voice came out haggard, and I knew Patch was onto something.

  “You haven’t heard the end of the story,” Patch said. “I’m betting Hank sold Chauncey out. And then he sold the archangels out. Picking up where Chauncey left off, he’s been using devilcraft ever since. The archangels want him out of the picture before he passes the knowledge on to anyone else. And they want devilcraft back where it belongs—in hell. That’s where I come in. I’m asking for the archangels to tamper with death one more time. Let me kill Hank. He’ll carry the knowledge of devilcraft to his grave, and if my theory is as dead on as I’m betting it is, that’s exactly what you and the rest of the archangels want. Of course, I’m sure you have your own reasons for wanting Hank dead,” Patch added meaningfully.

  “Pretend for a moment the archangels could tamper with death. I couldn’t make that decision on my own,” she said. “It would require a unanimous vote.”

  “Then let’s take it to the table.”

  The archangel spread her hands wide. “In case it isn’t obvious, I’m not at the table. I don’t have a way to get from here to there. I can’t fly. I can’t call home, Jev. As long as I’m cursed with devilcraft, I’m an invisible spot on their radar.”

  “The power in an archangel’s necklace is stronger than devil-craft.”

  “I don’t have my necklace,” she said wearily.

  “You’re going to use my necklace. Talk to the archangels. Present my idea and take a vote.” He pulled his archangel’s necklace from his pocket and unclasped it for her.

  “How do I know this isn’t a trick? How do I know you won’t force me to answer your questions?”

  “You don’t. The only thing you have at the moment is faith.”

  “You’re asking me to trust a known betrayer. A banished angel.” Her eyes locked with his, searching his face, which was as opaque as a lake at midnight.

  “That was a long time ago,” he said quietly, holding his necklace out to her again. “Turn around and I’ll put it on you.”

  “Faith,” she repeated just as softly. Her eyes seemed to weigh her options. Trust Patch, or tackle her problems alone.

  At last she turned and lifted her hair. “Put it on.”

  CHAPTER

  32

  MY BREATHING SLOWED AS I REALIZED PATCH’S arms were secure around me. We were sitting on the floor in his bedroom, and I was leaning back against him. He rocked me gently, murmuring soothing sounds in my ear. “So that’s that,” I said. “I really did kill Chauncey. I killed a Nephi
l. An immortal. I killed someone. Indirectly, but still. I killed.”

  “Your sacrifice should have killed Hank.”

  I nodded numbly. “I saw you tell the archangel. I saw everything. You used Gabe, Jeremiah, and Dominic to clear the warehouse and get her alone.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did Gabe find Hank and force him to swear fealty?”

  “No. He would have, but I got to Hank first. I wasn’t completely up-front with Gabe. I let him think I’d give him Hank, but I had Dabria waiting outside the warehouse. The moment Hank surfaced, she grabbed him. When I came back here and found you gone, I thought he’d gotten to you. I called Dabria and hauled Hank here to interrogate him. I’m sorry about Dabria,” he apologized. “I took her with me because I don’t care what happens to her. She’s disposable. You’re not.”

  “I’m not mad,” I said. Dabria was the least of my worries. I had a much bigger concern hammering inside me. “Did the archangels vote? What’s going to happen to Hank?”

  “Before they voted, they wanted to talk to me. Given everything that’s happened, they don’t trust me. I told them if they’d let me kill Hank, they wouldn’t have to worry about devilcraft anymore. I also reminded them that if Hank dies, you’ll become the leader of his Nephilim army. I promised them you’d stop the war.”

  “Whatever it takes,” I said, nodding impatiently. “I want Hank gone. Was the vote unanimous?”

  “They want this mess behind them. They’ve given me the green light on Hank. We have until sunrise.” It was then that I noticed the handgun on the floor beside his leg.

  He said, “I promised I wouldn’t take this moment from you, and if that’s still what you want, then I’ll close my argument on the subject forever. But I can’t let you walk into this blindly. Hank’s death will stay with you forever. You can’t take it back, and you’ll never forget it. I’ll kill him, Nora. I’ll do it if you’ll let me. The option is there. It’s your choice to make, and I’ll stand beside you either way, but I want you prepared.”

  I didn’t flinch. I picked up the gun. “I want to see him. I want to look in his eyes and see his regret when he realizes where his choices have left him.”

  Only the briefest moment passed before Patch accepted my decision with a nod. He led me into the secret corridor. The only light flickered from the mounted torches. The flames illuminated the first several feet down the corridor, but after that, I could see nothing through the suffocating blackness.

  I followed Patch deeper and deeper, the corridor gently leading us downhill. At last a door appeared. Patch tugged on the iron ring pull, and the door swung toward us.

  Inside, Hank was ready. He lunged for Patch. Manacles brought him up short, catching his fists midair. With a chuckle that sounded too insane for my liking, he said, “Don’t fool yourself into thinking you’ll get away with this.” His eyes gleamed with equal parts approval and hatred.

  “Like you thought you could fool the archangels?” came Patch’s level response.

  Hank’s eyes narrowed warily. His gaze fell on the gun in my hand, registering it for the first time. “What’s this?” he asked in truly chilling tones.

  I raised the gun, aiming it at Hank. I took satisfaction in watching his face cloud with confusion, then hostility. “Would someone tell me what’s going on?” he snapped.

  “Your time is up,” Patch told him.

  “We’ve made our own agreement with the archangels,” I said.

  “What agreement?” Hank snarled, rage seething from every word.

  I narrowed my aim to his chest. “You’re not immortal anymore, Hank. Death came knocking after all.”

  He gave a short, incredulous laugh, but the fearful glint in his eyes told me he believed me.

  “I wonder what it will be like for you in the next life,” I murmured. “I wonder if, right now, you’re second-guessing the life you’ve built. I wonder if you’re rethinking every decision, and trying to figure out where it all went wrong. Do you remember the countless people you used and hurt? Do you remember each of their names? Do you see my mom’s face? I hope so. I hope her face haunts you. Eternity is a long time, Hank.”

  Hank beat against the chains so violently, I thought they would snap.

  “I want you to remember my name,” I told Hank. “I want you to remember that I did for you what you should have done for me. Showed a little mercy.”

  His wild, vindictive expression was suddenly etched with guarded speculation. He was a clever man, but I wasn’t sure he’d guessed my intentions just yet.

  “I’m not going to lead your Nephilim uprising,” I told him, “because you’re not going to die. In fact, you’re going to live quite a bit longer. Granted, you won’t be living at the Ritz. Unless Patch intends to upgrade this chamber.” I raised my eyebrows at Patch, asking him to weigh in.

  What are you doing, Angel? he murmured to my thoughts.

  To my amazement, my ability to speak to his mind came naturally. An instinctive switch flipped in my brain, and I channeled my words by sheer mental power. I’m not going to kill him. And you aren’t either, so don’t get any ideas.

  And the archangels? We had a deal.

  This isn’t right. His death shouldn’t be our call. I thought this was what I wanted, but you were right. If I kill him, I’ll never forget. I’ll carry him with me forever, and that’s not what I want. I want to move on. I’m making the right decision. And though I kept it to myself, I knew the archangels were using us to do their dirty work. I for one had had enough of getting my hands dirty.

  To my surprise, Patch didn’t argue. He faced Hank. “I prefer it cold, dark, and cramped. And I’ll soundproof it. That way, no matter how loud or long you holler, you’ll only have your own misery to keep you company.”

  Thank you, I told Patch, putting all my sincerity behind my words.

  A wicked smile crept to his mouth. Death was too good for him. More fun this way.

  If the mood hadn’t been so grave, I might have laughed.

  “This is what you get for believing Dabria,” I told Hank. “She’s not a prophetess; she’s a psychopath. Live and learn.”

  I gave Hank the opportunity for any final words, but as I expected, he was speechless. I’d hoped, at the very least, for a fumbled attempt at an apology, but I hadn’t set my heart on it. Instead Hank’s final exchange came in the form of a strange, faint smile of anticipation. The effect unnerved me slightly, but I supposed that was what he intended.

  A hush filled the small cell. The tension crackling the air ebbed away. Banishing all thought of Hank, I became acutely aware of Patch standing behind me. There was a distinct change in the air, shifting from uncertainty to relief.

  Exhaustion drained through me. Its first casualty were my hands, which started to shake. My knees also trembled, then my legs. The draining sensation swept through me like a dizzy spell. The walls of the cell, the stale air, even Hank seemed to spin away. The only thing keeping me grounded was Patch.

  Without warning, I flung myself into his arms. He pressed me back against the wall with the force of his kiss. A shudder of relief rippled through him, and I sank my fingers into his shirt, dragging him against me, needing him close in a way I never had before. His mouth pressed and tasted mine. There was nothing expert about the way he kissed now; in the cool darkness of the cell, hot urgency bound us together.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he murmured into my ear.

  I was about to agree, when I saw fire out of the corner of my eye. At fist I thought one of the torches had fallen from a bracket. But the flame danced in Hank’s hand, a mesmerizing, unearthly blue glow. It took me a moment to understand what my eyes were seeing but refused to believe.

  Realization dawned one piece at a time. Hank juggled a ball of sizzling blue fire in one hand and Patch’s black feather in the other. Two vastly different objects; one light, one dark. Moving inextricably closer together. A thread of smoke coiled up from the tip of the feather.

 
There wasn’t time to shout a warning. There wasn’t time at all.

  In that thinnest of moments, I raised the gun. I squeezed the trigger.

  The shot flung Hank back against the wall, arms outstretched, mouth open in surprise.

  He never moved again.

  CHAPTER

  33

  PATCH DIDN’T BOTHER DIGGING A GRAVE FOR THE body. It was dark, an hour or two before sunrise, and he dragged it to the coast, just beyond Delphic’s gates, and with a nudge of his boot, rolled it off the cliffs and into the raging waves below.

  “What will happen to him?” I asked, huddling into Patch for warmth. The icy winds ripped at my clothes, painting a layer of frost over my skin, but the real chill came from within, cutting bone deep.

  “The tide will drag him out, and the sharks will have an easy meal.”

  I shook my head to signify he’d misunderstood. “What will happen to his soul?” I couldn’t help but wonder if the things I’d said to Hank were true. Would he suffer every moment for the rest of time? I shook aside any remorse I felt. I hadn’t wanted to kill Hank, but in the end, he’d left me no choice.

  Patch stayed silent, but I didn’t miss that he held me tighter, closing his arms protectively around me. He ran his hands briskly over my arms. “You’re freezing. Let me take you back to my place.”

  I held my ground. “What happens now?” I whispered. “I killed Hank. I have to lead his men, but what will I do with them?”

  “We’ll figure it out,” Patch said. “We’ll come up with a plan, and I’ll be by your side until we see it through.”

  “Do you really believe it will be that easy?”

  Patch made a short sound of amusement. “If I wanted easy, I’d chain myself in hell beside Rixon. The two of us could kick back and soak up the rays together.”

  I gazed down at the waves, dashing themselves to pieces against the rocks. “When you made the deal with the archangels, weren’t they worried you’d talk? This can’t look good for them. All you’d have to do is spread rumors that devilcraft can be harnessed, and you’d incite a black-market feeding frenzy among Nephilim and fallen angels.”