The Complete Hush, Hush Saga

by Becca Fitzpatrick

  Dante rocked back on his heels, visibly shaken. “How did you do that?” he finally managed to ask. “I—couldn’t see. I’m not even sure where I was.” He blinked several times in succession, staring at me like he wasn’t sure I was real. “It was like—hanging between two moments in time. There was nothing. Nothing. It was like I didn’t exist. I’ve never had anything like that happen before.”

  “I imagined I was setting off bombs in your head,” I confessed.

  “Well, it worked.”

  “So I passed?”

  “Yeah, you could say that,” Dante told me, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’ve been doing this a long time, and I’ve never seen anything like that.”

  I wasn’t sure whether I should feel elated over finally doing something right, or guilty over having been surprisingly good at invading Dante’s mind. It wasn’t the most honorable talent to excel at. If I could have any trophy displayed on my dresser, I wouldn’t voluntarily choose one for corrupting people’s minds.

  “Then I guess we’re done here?” I asked.

  “Until tomorrow,” Dante said, his expression still dazed. “Good work, Nora.”

  I jogged the rest of the way home at a normal human pace—an excruciatingly lagging six miles per hour—because the sun had started to rise, and while I didn’t sense any humans in the vicinity, it didn’t hurt to be prudent. I came out of the woods, crossed the street to the farmhouse, and stopped abruptly at the base of the driveway.

  Marcie Millar’s red Toyota 4Runner was parked directly ahead.

  With an ever-increasing tightening of my stomach, I jogged up the porch. Several moving boxes were stacked by the door. I shoved my way into the house, but before I could get a word out, my mom jumped up from the kitchen table.

  “There you are!” she exclaimed impatiently. “Where have you been? Marcie and I have spent the past half hour trying to figure out where you could have run off to at this hour.”

  Marcie sat at my kitchen table, hands cupped around a mug of coffee. She gave me an innocent smile.

  “I went jogging,” I said.

  “I can see that,” Mom stated. “I just wish you would have told me. You didn’t even bother to leave a note.”

  “It’s seven in the morning. You’re supposed to be in bed. What is she doing here?”

  “I’m right here,” Marcie said sweetly. “You can talk to me.”

  I settled my eyes on her. “Fine. What are you doing here?”

  “I told you. I’m not getting along with my mom. We need some breathing room. For the time being, I think it’s better if I move in with you guys. My mom doesn’t have a problem with it.” Not looking the least bit disconcerted, she took a sip of coffee.

  “Why would you think that was a good idea, let alone a reasonable one?”

  Marcie rolled her eyes. “Hello. We’re family.”

  My jaw fell open, and my eyes immediately cut to my mom. To my disbelief, she didn’t look rattled.

  “Oh, come on, Nora,” she said. “We all knew it, even if no one was willing to say it. Under the circumstances, Hank would want me to take Marcie in with open arms.”

  I was speechless. How could she be kind to Marcie? Could she not remember our history with the Millars?

  This was Hank’s fault, I seethed inwardly. I’d hoped his grip on my mom would end with his death, but every time I tried to talk to her about him, she adopted the same serene attitude: Hank was coming back to her, she wanted him to, and she’d wait stalwartly until he did. Her bizarre behavior was further evidence of my theory: Hank had employed some crazy devilcraft mind-trick on her before he died. No amount of arguing on my part would penetrate her picture-perfect recollection of one of the vilest men to ever inhabit our planet.

  “Marcie is family, and while the circumstances are a bit sticky, she was right to come to us for help. If you can’t count on family, who can you count on?” Mom went on.

  I was still staring at my mom, frustrated by her sedate attitude, when a second light went on. Of course. Hank wasn’t the only one to blame in this charade. How had it taken me this long to catch on? I swiveled my eyes to Marcie.

  Are you mind-tricking her? I said accusingly to her mind. Is that it? I know you’re doing something, because there is no way my mom in her rational mind would let you move in with us.

  Marcie’s hand flew to her head, and she yelped. “Ow! How did you do that?”

  Don’t play dumb with me. I know you’re a Nephil, remember? You can perform mind-tricks and you can mind-speak. Whatever this little act is? I see right through it. And there is no way you’re moving in.

  Fine, Marcie fired back. I know about mind-speak. And I know about mind-tricks. But I’m not using them on your mom. My mom justifies all her crazy behavior by saying my dad would have wanted it that way too, you know. He probably mind-tricked both our moms before he died. He wouldn’t have wanted our families fighting. Don’t blame me just because I’m an available target for your anger.

  “Marcie, I’ll have the spare bedroom cleared out for you by the time you get home from school this afternoon,” Mom said, looking daggers at me. “You’ll have to forgive Nora for being so ungracious. She’s used to being an only child and getting her way. Maybe this new living arrangement will give her a new outlook.”

  “I’m used to getting my way?” I challenged. “Marcie’s an only child too. If we’re going to point fingers, let’s be fair about it.”

  Marcie smiled, clasping her hands together in delight. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Grey. I really appreciate it.” She had the audacity to bound over and hug my mom.

  “Kill me now,” I muttered.

  “Careful what you wish for,” Marcie crooned in a sugary tone.

  “Are you ready for this?” I asked my mom. “Two teenage girls, one ugly rivalry, and most importantly, one shared bathroom?”

  To my disgust, Mom smiled. “Family: the latest extreme sport. After school, we’ll carry Marcie’s boxes upstairs, get her settled in, and then we’ll all go out for pizza. Nora, do you think you could ask Scott to help? Some of the boxes might be heavy.”

  “I think Scott practices with his band on Wednesdays,” I lied, knowing full well Vee would throw an epic fit if she discovered I’d knowingly allowed Marcie and Scott in the same room together.

  “I’ll talk to him,” Marcie piped up. “Scott is such a sweetheart. I can convince him to come over after practice. Is it all right if I invite him for pizza, Mrs. Grey?”

  Hello? Scott Parnell? A sweetheart? Was I the only one hearing the absurdity in all this?

  “Of course,” Mom said.

  “I have to shower,” I said, looking for any excuse to flee the scene. I’d hit my maximum Marcie limit for the day and needed to recuperate. A daunting thought struck me. If Marcie moved in, I’d hit my limit by seven every morning.

  “Oh, Nora?” Mom called before I’d reached the stairs. “The school left a message on the phone yesterday afternoon. I think it was the attendance office. Do you know why they’d be calling?”

  I froze.

  Marcie stood behind my mom, mouthing Busted at me, barely able to control her glee.

  “Uh, I’ll swing by the office today and see what they need,” I said. “The call was probably routine.”

  “Yeah, probably,” Marcie echoed, wearing that haughty grin of hers that I hated most of all.

  CHAPTER

  12

  SHORTLY AFTER BREAKFAST, I BUMPED INTO MARCIE ON the front porch. She was on her way out the door, chatting on her cell phone, and I was on my way back inside, looking for her.

  “Your 4Runner is blocking my car,” I said.

  She held up a finger, signaling me to wait. I grabbed her cell phone, ended the call, and repeated more testily, “You’re blocking my car.”

  “Don’t blow a gasket. And don’t piss me off. If you touch my cell phone again, I’ll pee in your Cheerios.”

  “That’s disgusting.”

  “That was
Scott on the phone. He doesn’t have practice today, and he wants to help move boxes.”

  Great. I could look forward to arguing about this with Vee, who wouldn’t believe me when I said, “I tried.”

  “As much as I’d love to sit here and shoot the breeze, I have class. So . . .” I gestured dramatically at Marcie’s 4Runner, which was inconveniently boxing in the Volkswagen.

  “You know, if you need an excused-absence slip, I have a few extras. I work in the front office, and every now and then they find their way into my purse.”

  “Why would you think I’d need an excused-absence slip?”

  “The attendance office left a message on your phone,” Marcie stated, clearly unimpressed by my feigned innocence. “You skipped class, didn’t you?” It wasn’t really a question.

  “Okay, so maybe I need an excused absence from the nurse,” I admitted.

  Marcie gave me a patronizing look. “Did you use the old ‘I have a headache’ excuse? Or maybe the classic: PMS. And what did you ditch school for?”

  “None of your business. Can I get the excused slip or not?”

  She opened her purse, scrounged around, and produced a pink slip of paper bearing the school logo. As far as I could tell, it wasn’t a reproduction. “Take it,” she said.

  I hesitated. “Is this one of those things that’s going to come back to haunt me?”

  “My, my, aren’t we suspicious.”

  “If it seems too good to be true . . .”

  “Take the slip already,” she said, waving it in my face.

  I had the bad feeling this was a favor with strings attached. “Ten days from now, are you going to need something in return?” I pressed.

  “Maybe not ten days from now . . .”

  I held up my hand. “Then forget it.”

  “I’m only kidding! Yeesh. You are no fun. Here’s the truth. I was trying to be nice.”

  “Marcie, you don’t know how to be nice.”

  “Consider this a sincere attempt,” she said, and slapped the pink slip into my palm. “Take it, and I’ll move my car.”

  I pocketed the slip and said, “While we’re still on speaking terms, I have a question. Your dad was friends with a man named Blakely, and I need to find him. Does his name ring a bell?”

  Her face was a mask. Hard to tell if she’d had a reaction. “Depends. Are you going to tell me why you need to find him?”

  “I have some questions for him.”

  “What kind of questions?”

  “I’d rather not share.”

  “Then neither would I.”

  I swallowed down a few unsavory comments and tried again. “I’d like to tell you, Marcie, really I would, but there are some things you’re better off not knowing.”

  “That’s what my dad always told me. I think he was lying then, and I think you’re lying now. If you want my help finding Blakely, I want full disclosure.”

  “How do I know you even have anything on Blakely?” I protested. Marcie was good at playing games, and I wouldn’t put her past bluffing right now.

  “My dad took me to Blakely’s house once.”

  I jumped on the information. “Do you have an address? Could you find your way back?”

  “Blakely doesn’t live there anymore. He was getting divorced at the time, and my dad temporarily put him up in an apartment. But I did see some pictures on the mantel. Blakely has a little brother. You know him, because he goes to school with us. Alex Blakely.”

  “The football player?”

  “The star running back.”

  I was stunned. Did this mean Alex was Nephilim too? “Are Blakely and his brother close?”

  “Blakely bragged about Alex the whole time I was there. Which was, like, stupid because our football team sucks. Blakely said he’s never missed a game.”

  Blakely had a brother. And his brother was Coldwater High’s star running back. “When is the next football game?” I asked Marcie, trying to contain my excitement.

  “Friday, duh. Games are always on Friday.”

  “Home or away?”

  “Home.”

  A home game! Blakely was presumably working around the clock developing prototypes—all the more reason he’d want to leave his laboratory for a few hours and do something he actually enjoyed. Chances were he’d surface for a few hours this Friday night to watch his little brother play football. Since Blakely was divorced, Alex just might be the only family he had left. Making it to Alex’s game would be important to him.

  “You think Blakely is going to come to the game,” Marcie said.

  “It would be really helpful if he did.”

  “This is the part where you tell me what you’re going to ask him.”

  I met Marcie’s eyes and lied to her straight-faced. “I want to know if he has any idea who killed our dad.”

  Marcie almost flinched, but caught herself at the last moment. Her eyes stared ahead without blinking, giving away nothing to her thoughts. “I want to be there when you ask him.”

  “Sure,” I lied again. “No problem.”

  I watched Marcie back down the driveway. As soon as she cleared the curb, I shoved the key into the Volkswagen’s ignition. Six attempts later, it still hadn’t whined to life. I brushed aside my impatience; nothing could sour my mood, not even the Volkswagen. I’d just found the lead I’d so desperately needed.

  • • •

  After school I drove to Patch’s. I did the safety-conscious thing and circled the block a few times before parking in the freshly paved lot with extra-wide parking spaces. I didn’t like feeling like I constantly had to watch my back, but I liked surprise visits from unfriendly Nephilim and devious archangels even less. And as far as the outside world knew, Patch and I were Splitsville. Using my key, I let myself inside.

  “Hello?” I called out. The place felt empty. The couch cushions weren’t indented from a recent sitting, and the TV remote hadn’t moved since yesterday. Not that I could picture Patch sitting around watching ESPN all afternoon. If I had to guess, he’d probably spent the day trying to find Pepper’s real blackmailer or tracking down Cowboy Hat and Co.

  I walked deeper into the townhome. Half bath on the right, spare bedroom on the left, master bedroom at the back. Patch’s lair.

  His bed had a navy duvet with matching navy sheets and decorative pillows that also didn’t appear touched. I opened the shutters and drank in the breathtaking panoramic views of Casco Bay and Peaks Island under an overcast sky. If Marcie got to be too much, I could always move in with Patch. My mom would love that.

  I sent Patch a text. GUESS WHERE I AM?

  I DON’T HAVE TO GUESS. YOU’RE WEARING THE TRACKING DEVICE, he answered.

  I looked down. Sure enough, I’d worn the jean jacket today.

  GIVE ME 20 AND I’LL BE THERE, Patch texted. WHICH ROOM SPECIFICALLY ARE YOU IN?

  YOUR BEDROOM.

  MAKE THAT TEN MINUTES.

  I smiled and tucked my cell phone inside my purse. Then I flopped back on the king-size bed. The mattress was soft, but not too soft. I imagined Patch lying here, stretched out on this very bed, wearing who knew what. Boxers? Briefs? Nothing at all? I had the means and the method to find out, but going down that route didn’t feel like the safest option. Not when I was doing my best to keep my relationship with Patch as uncomplicated as possible. I needed our lives to calm down before I figured out when and if I wanted to take that next big step . . .

  Ten minutes later Patch strolled in to find me channel surfing on the couch. I clicked off the TV.

  “You moved rooms,” he said.

  “It’s safer this way.”

  “I’m that scary?”

  “No, but the consequences might be.” Who was I kidding? Yes, Patch was that scary. At six foot two, he was the embodiment of male physical perfection. I had a slim, well-proportioned figure, and I knew I was attractive, but I was no supergoddess. I didn’t suffer from low self-esteem, but I was susceptible to intimidation, thank you v
ery much.

  “I heard about Cheshvan,” I said. “I heard it was a little anticlimactic.”

  “Don’t believe everything you hear. Things are still pretty tense out there.”

  “Any idea what fallen angels are waiting for?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “I’m not spying for Dante.”

  “Happy to hear it.” Patch’s tone was carefully noncommittal.

  I sighed, hating this tension between us. “In case you’re wondering, I made my choice. I’m yours,” I said softly. “All yours.”

  Patch tossed his keys in the dish. “But?”

  “But this morning, I basically told Dante the same thing. I thought about what you said—that we need to find Blakely and eradicate devilcraft. I decided Dante was probably my best shot at getting anywhere near Blakely, so I sort of . . .” It was hard to say it out loud and not feel like total slime.

  “You’re playing him.”

  “It sounds horrible when you put it that way, but yeah. I guess that’s what I’m doing.” Coming clean didn’t make me feel any better. Dante and I didn’t always see eye to eye on things, but he didn’t deserve to be manipulated, either.

  “Is he still pretending to date you?” Patch’s tone chilled a degree.

  “If I had to guess, he’s been planting seeds about our relationship for days now. Either way, it’s a hoax, and he knows that better than anyone.”

  Patch sat down beside me. Unlike usual, he didn’t lace his fingers through mine.

  I tried not to let it bother me, but a lump caught in my throat. “Cheshvan?” I prompted again.

  “I know about as much as you. I’ve made it clear to fallen angels that I want nothing to do with this war. They resent me and clam up when I’m around. I’m not going to be the best source of information on fallen angel activity anytime soon.” He tilted his head back to take advantage of the sofa’s headrest and covered his face with his ball cap. I half expected him to start snoring, he looked so tired.

  “Long day?” I asked.