• • •
When I woke, the bed next to me was cold. I smiled at the memory of falling asleep curled in Patch’s arms, concentrating on that rather than the probability that Pepper Friberg, aka Mr. Archangel with a Dirty Secret, had sat outside my house all night, playing spy.
I thought back to a year ago, to the fall of my sophomore year. Back then, I hadn’t so much as kissed a guy. Never could I have imagined what lay in store. Patch meant more to me than I could put into words. His love and faith in me took the sting out of the hard decisions I’d been forced to make recently. Whenever doubt and regret crept into my conscience, all I had to do was think of Patch. I wasn’t sure I’d made the right choice every time, but I knew one thing for certain. I’d made the right choice in Patch. I couldn’t give him up. Ever.
At noon, Vee called.
“How about me and you go running?” she said. “I just got a new pair of tennis shoes, and I need to break these bad boys in.”
“Vee, I have blisters from dancing last night. And hold on. Since when do you like running?”
“It’s no secret I’m carrying around a few extra pounds,” she said. “I’m big-boned, but that’s no excuse for letting a little flab hold me back. There’s a guy out there named Scott Parnell, and if shedding some extra weight is what it’s gonna take for me to get up the courage to go after him, then that’s what I’m going to do. I want Scott to look at me the way Patch looks at you. I wasn’t serious about this diet and exercise stuff before, but I’m turning over a new leaf. Starting today, I love exercise. It’s my new BFF.”
“Oh? And what about me?”
“Soon as I lose this weight, you’ll be my number one girl again. I’ll pick you up in twenty. Don’t forget a sweatband. Your hair does scary stuff when it gets damp.”
I hung up, stretched a tank over my head, followed it up with a sweatshirt, and laced myself into tennis shoes.
Right on time, Vee picked me up. And right away, it became apparent we weren’t driving to the high school track. She steered her purple Neon across town, in the opposite direction from school, humming to herself.
I said, “Where are we going?”
“I was thinking we should run hills. Hills are good for the glutes.” She turned the Neon onto Deacon Road, and a light popped on in my head.
“Hang on. Scott lives on Deacon Road.”
“Come to think of it, he does.”
“We’re running by Scott’s house? Isn’t that kind of . . . I don’t know . . . stalkerish?”
“That’s a real sad-hat way of looking at it, Nora. Why not think of it as motivation? Eye on the prize.”
“What if he sees us?”
“You’re friends with Scott. If he sees us, he’ll probably come out and talk to us. And it would be rude not to stop and give him a couple minutes of our time.”
“In other words, this isn’t about running. This is a pickup.”
Vee wagged her head. “You’re no fun at all.”
She cruised up Deacon, a winding stretch of scenic road bordered on both sides by dense evergreens. In another couple of weeks, they’d be frosted with snow.
Scott lived with his mom, Lynn Parnell, in an apartment complex that came into view around the next bend. Over the summer, Scott had moved out and gone into hiding. He’d deserted Hank Millar’s Nephilim army, and Hank had searched tirelessly for him, hoping to make an example of him. After I killed Hank, Scott had been free to move home.
A cement fence caged the property, and while I was certain privacy had been the intent, it gave the place the feel of a compound. Vee pulled into the entrance, and I had a flashback to the time she had helped me snoop in Scott’s bedroom. Back when I thought he was an up-to-no-good jerk. Boy, had things changed. Vee parked near the tennis courts. The nets were long gone, and someone had decorated the turf with graffiti.
We got out and stretched for a couple of minutes.
Vee said, “I don’t feel safe leaving the Neon unattended for long in this neighborhood. Maybe we should do laps around the complex. That way I can keep my eye on my baby.”
“Uh-huh. It also gives Scott more opportunities to see us.”
Vee had on pink sweatpants with DIVA stamped across the butt in gold glitter, and a pink fleece jacket. She also had on full makeup, diamond studs in her ears, and a ruby cocktail ring, and she smelled like Pure Poison by Dior. Just your average day out running.
We picked up our feet and started a slow jog along the dirt trail circling the complex. The sun was out, and after three laps, I stripped off my sweatshirt, tying it around my waist. Vee beelined to a weathered park bench and plunked down, sucking air.
“That had to be about five miles,” she said.
I surveyed the trail. Sure . . . give or take four miles.
“Maybe we should peek in Scott’s windows,” Vee suggested. “It’s Sunday. He might be oversleeping and need a friendly wakeup call.”
“Scott lives on the third floor. Unless you have a forty-foot ladder stashed in the trunk of the Neon, window peeping is probably out.”
“We could try something more direct. Like knocking on his door.”
Just then an orange Plymouth Barracuda, circa 1970, vroomed into the parking lot. It pulled under the carport, and Scott swung out. Like most Nephilim men, Scott has the body of someone seemingly well acquainted with a weight room. He’s also unusually tall, pushing six feet six. He keeps his hair cropped as short as a prison inmate’s, and he’s good-looking—in a tough, hardened way. Today he was wearing mesh basketball shorts and a T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off.
Vee fanned herself. “Yowza.”
I stuck my hand in the air, intending to call out to Scott and flag his attention, when the Barracuda’s passenger door opened and Dante emerged.
“Check it out,” Vee said. “It’s Dante. Do the math. Two of them, and two of us. I knew I’d like running.”
“I’m feeling the sudden urge to keep running,” I muttered. And not stop until I’d put a lot of ground between me and Dante. I wasn’t in the mood to follow up last night’s conversation. Likewise, I wasn’t in the mood for Vee to play matchmaker. She was too aggravatingly good at it.
“Too late. We’ve been made.” Vee whipped her arm over her head like a helicopter propeller.
Sure enough, Scott and Dante leaned back against the Barracuda, shaking their heads and grinning at us.
“You stalking me, Grey?” Scott hollered.
“He’s all yours,” I told Vee. “I’m going to finish running.”
“What about Dante? He’ll feel like the third wheel,” she said.
“It’ll be good for him, trust me.”
“Where’s the fire, Grey?” Scott called out, and to my dismay, he and Dante started jogging over.
“I’m training,” I shot back. “I’m thinking about . . . trying out for track.”
“Track doesn’t start until spring,” Vee reminded me.
Hang it all.
“Uh-oh, heart rate’s dropping,” I yelled at Scott. And on that note, I took off running in the opposite direction.
I heard Scott on the trail behind me. A minute later, he snagged the strap of my tank top, tugging on it playfully. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”
I turned to face him. “What does it look like?”
“It looks like you and Vee came over to see me under the pretense of running.”
I gave his shoulder a congratulatory pat. “Good work, ace.”
“So why are you running away? And why does Vee smell like a perfume factory?”
I stayed quiet, letting him figure it out.
“Ah,” he said at last.
I spread my hands. “My work here is done.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not sure I’m ready to hang out with Vee all day. She’s pretty . . . intense.”
Before I could give him the sage advice, “Fake it till you make it,” Dante pulled up beside me.
“A word with you?” he as
ked.
“Oh boy,” I said under my breath.
“That’s my cue to go,” Scott said, and to my discouragement, he trotted away, leaving me alone with Dante.
“Can you run and talk at the same time?” I asked Dante, thinking I’d prefer not to have to look him in the eye while he rehashed his thoughts on our jury-rigged relationship. Plus, it spoke volumes about just how into this conversation I was.
By way of answer, Dante picked up his pace, jogging beside me.
“Glad to see you out running,” he said.
“And why’s that?” I panted, shoving some loose hairs off my sweat-soaked face. “You get a thrill out of seeing me a complete mess?”
“That, and it’s good training for what I have in store for you.”
“You have something in store for me? Why do I get the feeling I don’t want to hear more?”
“You may be Nephilim now, Nora, but you’re at a disadvantage. Unlike naturally conceived Nephilim, you don’t have the advantage of extreme height, and you aren’t as physically powerful.”
“I’m a lot stronger than you think,” I argued.
“Stronger than you were. But not as strong as a female Nephil. You have the same body you did when you were human, and while it was adequate back then, it’s not enough to compete now. Your frame is too slender. Compared to me, you’re abysmally short. And your muscle tone is pathetic.”
“Now that’s flattery.”
“I could tell you what I think you want to hear, instead of what you need to hear, but would I really be your friend then?”
“Why do you think you need to tell me any of this?”
“You’re not prepared to fight. You don’t stand a chance against a fallen angel. It’s as simple as that.”
“I’m confused. Why do I need to fight? I thought I made it clear repeatedly yesterday that there isn’t going to be a war. I’m leading the Nephilim to peace.” And keeping the archangels off my back. Patch and I had decided unequivocally that enraged Nephilim made a better enemy than the all-powerful archangels. It was evident that Dante wanted to go into battle, but we disagreed. And as leader of the Nephilim army, the decision was ultimately mine. I felt like Dante was undermining me, and I didn’t like it one bit.
He stopped, catching me by the wrist so he could look straight at me. “You can’t control everything that happens from here on out,” he said quietly, and a chill of foreboding slipped through me like I’d swallowed an ice cube. “I know you think I’ve got it out for you, but I promised Hank I’d look after you. I’ll tell you one thing. If war breaks out, or even a riot, you won’t make it. Not in your current state. If something happens to you and you’re unable to lead the army, you’ll have broken your oath, and you know what that means.”
Oh, I knew what it meant, all right. Jumping into my own grave. And dragging my mom in behind me.
“I want to teach you enough skills to get by, as a precaution,” Dante said. “That’s all I’m suggesting.”
I swallowed. “You think if I train with you, I can get to the point where I’ll be strong enough to handle myself.” Against fallen angels, sure. But what about the archangels? I’d promised to halt the rebellion. Training for battle wasn’t aligned with that goal.
“I think it’s worth a shot.”
The idea of war turned my stomach into a bundle of knots, but I didn’t want to show fear in front of Dante. He already thought I couldn’t handle myself. “So which is it? Are you my pseudo boyfriend or my personal trainer?”
His mouth twitched. “Both.”
CHAPTER
3
WHEN VEE DROPPED ME OFF AFTER RUNNING, there were two missed calls on my cell phone. The first was from Marcie Millar, my sometimes arch-nemesis and, as fate would have it, my half sister by blood, but not by love. I’d spent the past seventeen years having no knowledge that the girl who stole my chocolate milk in elementary school and adhered feminine pads to my school locker in junior high shared my DNA. Marcie had figured out the truth first, and flung it in my face. We had an unspoken contract not to discuss our relationship publicly, and for the most part, the knowledge hadn’t changed us any. Marcie was still a spoiled anorexic airhead, and I still spent a good portion of my waking hours watching my back, wondering what humiliation scheme she’d launch at me next.
Marcie hadn’t left a message, and I couldn’t guess what she’d want from me, so I moved to the next missed call. Unknown number. The voice mail consisted of controlled breathing, low and masculine, but no actual words. Maybe Dante, maybe Patch. Maybe Pepper Friberg. My personal number was listed, and with a little investigative spirit, Pepper could have tracked it down. Not the most reassuring of thoughts.
I hauled out my piggy bank from under my bed, removed the rubber cheat plug, and shook out seventy-five dollars. Dante was picking me up at five tomorrow morning for wind sprints and weight lifting, and after one disgusted glance at my current tennis shoes, he’d remarked, “Those won’t make it through a day of training.” So here I was, using my allowance to buy cross-trainers.
I didn’t think the threat of war was as serious as Dante had made it sound, especially since Patch and I secretly had plans to pull the Nephilim out of the doomed uprising, but his words on my size, speed, and agility had struck a chord. I was smaller than every other Nephil I knew. Unlike them, I had been born into a human body—average weight, average muscle tone, average in every single aspect—and it had taken a blood transfusion and the swearing of a Changeover Vow to turn me into a Nephil. I was one of them in theory, but not in practice. I didn’t want the discrepancy to paint a target on my back, but a little voice at the back of my mind whispered it might.
And I had to do whatever it took to stay in power.
“Why do we have to start so early?” should have been my first question to Dante, but I suspected I knew the answer. The world’s fastest humans would appear as though out for a leisurely stroll if racing beside Nephilim. At top speed, I suspected that Nephilim in their prime could run upward of fifty miles per hour. If Dante and I were seen using that speed on the high school track, it would draw a lot of unwanted attention. But in the predawn hours of Monday morning most humans were fast asleep, giving Dante and me the perfect opportunity to have a worry-free workout.
I tucked the money in my pocket and headed downstairs. “I’ll be back in a few hours!” I called to my mom.
“Pot roast comes out at six, so don’t be late,” she returned from the kitchen.
Twenty minutes later I strolled through the doors of Pete’s Locker Room and headed toward the shoe department. I tried on a few pairs of cross-trainers, settling on a pair from the clearance rack. Dante might have my Monday morning—a day off school, due to a district-wide teacher in-service day—but I wasn’t going to give him the sum total of my allowance, too.
I paid for the shoes and checked the time on my cell. Not even four yet. As a precaution, Patch and I had agreed to keep calls in public to a minimum, but a hasty look both ways down the sidewalk outside confirmed I was alone. I dug the untraceable phone Patch had given me out of my handbag and dialed his number.
“I have a free couple of hours,” I told him, walking toward my car, which was parked on the next block. “There’s a very private, very secluded barn in Lookout Hill Park behind the carousel. I could be there in fifteen minutes.”
I heard the smile in his voice. “You want me bad.”
“I need an endorphin boost.”
“And making out in an abandoned barn with me will give you one?”
“No, it will probably put me in an endorphin coma, and I’m more than happy to test the theory. I’m leaving Pete’s Locker Room now. If the stoplights are in my favor, I might even make it in ten—”
I didn’t get to finish. A cloth bag dropped over my head, and I was wrestled into a bear hug from behind. In my surprise, I dropped the cell phone. I screamed and tried to swing my arms free, but the hands shoving me forward and into the street were to
o strong. I heard a large vehicle rumble down the street, then come to a screeching halt beside me.
A door opened, and I was thrust inside.
• • •
The air inside the van held the tang of sweat masked by lemon air freshener. The heat was cranked up to high, blasting through vents at the front, making me sweat. Maybe that was the intent.
“What’s going on? What do you want?” I demanded angrily. The full weight of what was going on hadn’t hit yet, leaving me more outraged than frightened. No answer came, but I heard the steady breathing of two nearby individuals. Those two, plus the driver, meant three of them. Against one of me.
My arms had been twisted behind my back, pinned together by what felt like a tow chain. My ankles were secured by a similar heavy-duty chain. I was stretched out on my stomach, the bag still over my head, my nose pushed into the roomy floor of the van. I tried to rock onto my side but felt as though my shoulder joint would tear from its socket. I screamed out in frustration and received a swift kick in the thigh.
“Keep it down,” a male voice growled.
We drove for a long time. Forty-five minutes, maybe. My mind jumped in too many directions to keep track accurately. Could I escape? How? Outrun them? No. Outwit them? Maybe. And then there was Patch. He would know I’d been taken. He’d track my cell phone to the street outside Pete’s Locker Room, but how would he know where to go from there?
At first the van stopped repeatedly for stoplights, but eventually the road cleared. The van climbed higher, weaving back and forth on switchbacks, which made me believe we were moving into the remote, hilly areas far outside of town. Sweat trickled beneath my shirt, and I couldn’t seem to force a single deep breath. Each inhalation came shallow, panic clamping my chest.
The tires popped over gravel, steadily rolling uphill, until at last the engine died. My captors unchained my feet, dragged me outside and through a door, and yanked the bag off my head.
I was right; there were three of them. Two males, one female. They’d brought me to a log cabin, and they rechained my arms to a decorative wooden post that ran from the main level up to the tie beams at the ceiling. No lights, but that may have well been because the power had been shut off. Furniture was sparse, and covered in white sheets. The air couldn’t have been more than a degree or two warmer than outside, telling me the furnace wasn’t on. Whoever the cabin belonged to had closed up for winter.
The Complete Hush, Hush Saga Page 95
