The Complete Hush, Hush Saga

by Becca Fitzpatrick

  I dropped my eyes, unable to bear the disappointment and disgust that would surely rise in Patch’s face. It was awful enough knowing the truth, but hearing myself say it aloud cut to the core. Who was I anymore? I didn’t recognize myself, and it was the worst feeling I’d ever experienced. Somewhere along the way, I’d lost myself. And as easy as it was to blame devilcraft, I had made the choice to steal that first bottle from Dante.

  At last Patch spoke. His voice was so steady, so full of quiet admiration, it made me wonder if he could have known my secret all along. “Did you know, the first time I saw you, I thought: I’ve never seen anything more captivating and beautiful?”

  “Why are you telling me this?” I said miserably.

  “I saw you, and I wanted to be close to you. I wanted you to let me in. I wanted to know you in a way no one else did. I wanted you, all of you. That wanting nearly drove me mad.” Patch paused, inhaling softly, as though breathing me in. “And now that I have you, the only thing that terrifies me is having to go back to that place. Having to want you all over again, with no hope of my desire ever being fulfilled. You’re mine, Angel. Every last piece of you. I won’t let anything change that.”

  I propped my weight on my elbow, staring at him. “I don’t deserve you, Patch. I don’t care what you say. It’s the truth.”

  “You don’t deserve me,” he agreed. “You deserve better. But you’re stuck with me, and you might as well get over it.” Scooping me under him in one agile movement, he rolled on top of me, his black eyes all pirate. “I have no intention of letting you go easily, something to keep in mind. I don’t care if it’s another man, your mother, or the powers of hell trying to pry us apart, I’m not easing up and I’m not saying good-bye.”

  I blinked my wet lashes. “I’m not letting anything come between us either. Especially not devilcraft. I have the antidote in my purse. I’ll take it right now. And, Patch?” I added with heartfelt emotion. “Thank you . . . for everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “Good thing,” he murmured. “Because I’m not letting you get away.”

  I sank back on his bed, happy to oblige.

  CHAPTER

  32

  SURE ENOUGH, WORD OF MY REQUESTED MEETING with Nephilim higher-ups spread. By Sunday afternoon, Nephilim channels buzzed with anticipation and speculation. I was getting all the press, and news of Dante’s announcement had fizzled. I’d stolen the show, and Dante hadn’t put up any protest. I had no doubt Patch was right—Dante was putting his plans on hold until he could see my next move.

  Scott called every hour with an update, which was usually to tell me the latest theories Nephilim were churning out in regard to my first combative strike against fallen angels. Ambush, destroying lines of communication, sending in spies, and kidnapping fallen angel commanders had all made the glorified list. As Patch had predicted, the Nephilim had quickly concluded that war was the only reason I’d call a meeting. I wondered if Dante had jumped to the same conclusion. I wished I could say yes, I had him fooled, but experience told me he was cunning enough to know better—he knew I was up to something.

  “Big news,” Scott said excitedly over the phone. “The bigwigs—high-powered Nephilim—have accepted your request for a meeting. They’ve determined the location, and it’s not Delphic. Also, they are keeping things cozy. As might be expected, it’s an invitation-only party. Twenty Nephilim at most. No leaks, lots of guards. Every Nephil invited will be screened before entering. Good news is, I’m on the guest list. Took some schmoozing, but I’ll be there with you.”

  “Just tell me the location already,” I said, trying not to sound nauseated.

  “They want to meet at Hank Millar’s old house.”

  My spine tingled. I would never be able to erase those arctic-blue eyes his name summoned to mind.

  I pushed his ghost aside and focused. A classy Georgian colonial in a respected human neighborhood? It didn’t seem shady enough for a covert Nephilim meeting. “Why there?”

  “The higher-ups thought it showed a nod of respect to the Black Hand. Good call, I say. He started this whole mess,” Scott added snidely.

  “Keep talking like that, and they’re going to boot you off the guest list.”

  “The meeting has been scheduled for ten tonight. Keep your cell phone close, in case I learn anything else. Don’t forget to act surprised when they call with the details. Can’t have them thinking they’ve got a spy problem already. One more thing. I’m sorry about Dante. I feel responsible. I introduced you. If I could, I’d dismember him. And then tie a brick to each of his limbs, take them to sea, and throw them overboard. Chin up. I’ve got your back.”

  I hung up and turned toward Patch, who’d been leaning against the wall and watching me carefully throughout the conversation.

  “Meeting is tonight,” I told him. “At the old Millar residence.” I couldn’t bring myself to finish the thought bearing down on my mind. A private home? Screenings? Guards? How on earth would Patch ever get in? To my great discouragement, it looked like I was going in without him tonight.

  “That works,” Patch said calmly. “I’ll be there.”

  I admired his cool confidence, but I didn’t see how he could possibly sneak in unnoticed. “The house will be highly guarded. The minute you set foot on the block, they’ll know. Maybe if they’d selected a museum or the courthouse, but not this. The Millar house is big, but not that big. They’ll have every square inch covered.”

  “Which is exactly what I planned for. I’ve already worked out the details. Scott is going to let me in.”

  “It won’t work. They’ll be expecting fallen angel spies, and even if Scott does unlock a window for you, they will have thought of it. Not only will they capture you, but they’ll know Scott’s a traitor—”

  “I’m going to possess Scott’s body.”

  I flinched. Slowly, his solution came together in my mind. Of course. It was Cheshvan. Patch would have no problem taking control of Scott’s body. And from an outsider’s perspective, there would be no way to tell the difference between the two. Patch would be welcomed into the meeting without a batted eye. It was the perfect disguise. Only one tiny little problem. “Scott will never agree to it.”

  “He already has.”

  I stared back in disbelief. “He has?”

  “He’s doing this for you.”

  My throat suddenly closed up. There was nothing in the world Scott fought harder for than to keep fallen angels from possessing him. I realized at that moment just how much my friendship must mean to him. For him to do this— The one thing he abhorred— There were no words. Just a deep, aching gratitude for Scott, and the determination not to fail him.

  “Tonight, I need you to be careful,” I said.

  “I’ll be careful. And I won’t overstay my welcome. The minute you’re out of the meeting safely, and I’ve stayed long enough to learn all I can, Scott will have his body back. I’ll make sure nothing happens to him.”

  I squeezed Patch into a fierce hug. “Thank you,” I whispered.

  Later that night, an hour before ten, I departed Patch’s home. I left alone, driving a rental car at the request of my Nephilim hosts. They’d dotted every i and crossed every t and weren’t taking any chances of having me followed by nosy Nephilim, or worse, any fallen angel who might have caught wind of tonight’s top secret meeting.

  The streets were dark and slick under a film of fog. My headlights swept across the black ribbon of pavement that rolled over hills and around curves. I had the heater cranked, but it never quite cast out the chill dancing in my bones. I didn’t know what to expect tonight, and that made it difficult to plan. I’d have to play things by ear, my least favorite way to go. I wanted to walk into the Millar house with something to hold on to besides my own instincts, but that’s all I had. Finally I pulled up in front of Marcie’s old house.

  I sat in the car a moment, gazing at the white columns and black shutters. The lawn was lost un
der withered leaves. Brown twigs, the remnants of hydrangeas, jutted from twin terra-cotta pots flanking the porch. Newspapers in various states of decay littered the walkway. The house had been vacated after Hank’s death and didn’t look as inviting or elegant as I remembered. Marcie’s mom had moved into a condo on the river, and Marcie, well, Marcie had taken the phrase mi casa es su casa to heart.

  Faint lights glowed behind draped windows, and while they didn’t reveal silhouettes, I knew several of the Nephilim world’s most influential and powerful leaders sat just behind the front door, waiting to form judgments on the news I was about to deliver. I also knew Patch would be there, making sure no danger befell me.

  Clinging to that thought, I drew a jagged breath and marched to the front door.

  I knocked.

  The front door opened, and I was ushered inside by a tall woman whose eyes lingered on me just long enough to confirm my identity. Her hair had been combed back in a tight braid, and there was nothing either remarkable or memorable about her face.

  She murmured a polite but reserved, “Hello,” and then, with a stiff sweep of her hand, directed me deeper into the house.

  The tap of my shoes echoed down the dimly lit hallway. I passed portraits of the Millar family, smiling behind dusty glass. A vase of dead lilies sat on the entryway table. The whole house smelled bottled up. I followed the trail of lights toward the dining room.

  As soon as I stepped through the French doors, the hushed conversation died. There were six men and five women seated on each side of a long, polished mahogany table. A few more Nephilim stood around the table, looking both fidgety and apprehensive. I almost did a double take when I saw Marcie’s mom. I knew Susanna Millar was Nephilim, but it had always felt like an intangible thought drifting at the back of my mind. Seeing her here tonight, convening a secret meeting of immortals, made her suddenly feel . . . threatening. Marcie wasn’t with her. Maybe Marcie hadn’t wanted to come, but a more plausible explanation was that she hadn’t been invited. Susanna seemed like the kind of mother who bent over backward to keep her daughter’s life clear of even the tiniest complication.

  I found Scott’s face in the crowd. Knowing Patch was possessing him, the clanging in my stomach took a momentary reprieve. He caught my eye and inclined his head, a secret nod of encouragement. A deep feeling of assurance and security flooded me. I wasn’t in this alone. Patch had my back. I should have known he’d find a way to be here, no matter the risk.

  And then there was Dante. He sat at the head of the table, wearing a black cashmere turtleneck and a ponderous frown. His fingers were steepled over his mouth, and when his eyes locked with mine, his lips twitched with a sneer. His eyebrows lifted in discreet but unmistakable challenge. I looked away.

  I turned my attention to the elderly woman in a purple cocktail dress and diamonds seated at the opposite end of the long table. Lisa Martin. Second to Hank, she was the most influential and respected Nephil I’d met. I didn’t like or trust her. Feelings I was going to have to suppress for the next several minutes, if I wanted to get through this.

  “We’re so glad you instigated this meeting, Nora.” Her warm, regal, and accepting voice slipped like honey into my ears. My racing heart slowed. If I could get her on my side, I was halfway there.

  “Thank you,” I managed at last.

  She gestured at the empty seat beside her, beckoning me to sit.

  I walked over to the chair, but I didn’t sit. I was afraid I’d lose my nerve if I did. Leaning my hands on the table for support, I bypassed pleasantries and launched into the true meaning of my visit.

  “I’m aware that not everyone in this room thinks I’m the best person to lead my father’s army,” I stated bluntly. The word “father” tasted like bile in my mouth, but I remembered Patch’s admonition to attach myself to Hank any way I could tonight. Nephilim worshipped him, and if I could use his endorsement, even a backdoor endorsement, I should.

  I made eye contact with everyone seated at the table, and a few standing behind it. I had to show them I had fortitude and courage, and most of all, that I was displeased with their lack of support. “I know some of you have already come up with a list of men and women better suited for the task.” I paused again, turning the full weight of my gaze on Dante. He held my stare, but I saw hatred sizzle behind his brown eyes. “And I know Dante Matterazzi is at the top of that list.”

  A murmur circled the room. But no one disputed my claim.

  “I didn’t call you here tonight to discuss my first offensive strike in the war against fallen angels. I called you here because without a strong leader and your approval of that individual, there won’t be a war. Fallen angels will tear us apart. We need unity and solidarity,” I urged them with conviction. “I believe I am the best leader, and my father thought likewise. Clearly, I haven’t convinced you. Which is why, tonight, I am challenging Dante Matterazzi to a duel. The winner leads this army once and for all.”

  Dante shot to his feet. “But we’re dating!” His expression painted a perfect portrait of shock mingled with wounded pride. “How can you suggest dueling me?” he said, his voice sagging with humiliation.

  I hadn’t expected him to plead our utterly fake relationship, built on the weak foundation of my spoken agreement and never carried out—a relationship I had forgotten immediately, and that now soured in my bones, but it didn’t startle me into silence. I said coolly, “I’m willing to take down anyone—that’s what leading the Nephilim means to me. I hereby officially challenge you to a duel, Dante.”

  Not a single Nephil spoke. Surprise registered in their expressions, quickly followed by satisfaction. A duel. Winner take all. Patch had been right—Nephilim were still fully entrenched in an archaic world, ruled by Darwinian principles. They were pleased by this turn of events, and it was crystal clear from the adoring eyes they cast in Dante’s direction that not one Nephil in the room doubted who the winner would be.

  Dante tried to keep his face impassive, but I saw him smile softly at my folly and his own good fortune. He thought I’d blundered, all right. But his eyes immediately narrowed with wariness. Apparently he wasn’t going to lunge for the bait headlong.

  “I can’t do that,” he announced. “It would be treason.” His eyes swept the room, as if to gauge whether his gallant words had won him any further approval. “I’ve given my allegiance to Nora, and I couldn’t think of doing any act that would contradict it.”

  “As your commander, I’m ordering you to duel,” I retorted crisply. I was still leader of this army, damn it, and I wasn’t going to let him undermine me with smooth words and flattery. “If you truly are the best leader, I’ll step aside. I want what is best for my people.” I had rehearsed the words a hundred times, and while I was giving a well-practiced speech, I meant every word. I thought of Scott, of Marcie, of thousands of Nephilim I’d never met, but still cared about because I knew they were good men and women who didn’t deserve to be enslaved by fallen angels every year. They deserved a fair fight. And I was going to do my best to give them one.

  I’d been wrong before—shamefully wrong. I’d avoided fighting for the Nephilim out of fear of the archangels. Even more reprehensible, I’d used war as an excuse to get more devilcraft. All this time I’d been more concerned with myself than the people I’d been charged with leading. That ended now. Hank had trusted me with this role, but I wasn’t doing it for him. I was doing it because it was the moral thing to do.

  “I think Nora has made a strong point,” spoke Lisa Martin. “There is nothing more uninspiring than leadership propagating itself. Perhaps the Black Hand was right about her.” A shrug. “Perhaps he made a mistake. We will take the matter into our own hands and settle it once and for all. Then we can go to war against our enemies, unified behind a strong leader.”

  I gave her a nod of appreciation. If I had her on my side, the others would step into line.

  “I agree,” a Nephil across the room spoke up.

  “As
do I.”

  More ratifying buzzed through the dining room.

  “All in favor, make it known,” said Lisa.

  One by one, hands shot up. Patch locked eyes with me, then raised his arm. I knew it killed him to do it, but we were out of alternatives. If Dante swept me out of power, I would die. My only chance was to fight, and try my hardest to win.

  “We have a majority,” Lisa said. “The duel will take place at sunrise tomorrow, Monday. I will send word of the location, once it has been determined.”

  “Two days,” Patch immediately interjected, speaking in Scott’s voice. “Nora has never shot a pistol before. She’ll need time to train.”

  I also needed to give Pepper time to return from heaven with his enchanted dagger, hopefully making the duel a moot point.

  Lisa shook her head. “Too long. Fallen angels could come against us any day now. We have no idea why they’ve waited, but our luck might not hold.”

  “And I never said anything about pistols,” Dante spoke up, eyeing Patch and me shrewdly as though trying to guess what we were up to. He watched my face for any hint of emotion. “I’d prefer sabers.”

  “It is Dante’s call,” Lisa stated. “The duel was not his idea. He reserves the right to choose the weapon. You’ve settled on sabers, then?”

  “More ladylike,” Dante explained, squeezing every last ounce of approval from his Nephilim peers.

  I stiffened, resisting the urge to send Patch a plea for help.

  “Nora has never touched a sword in her life,” Patch argued, again speaking through Scott’s voice. “It won’t be a fair fight if she can’t train. Give her until Tuesday morning.”