Silence (29 page)

I skimmed the rafters. “Did you see any bats when you came in?”

Scott grinned. “Scared of bats, Grey?”

I dropped down on the bench beside him. “Quit calling me Grey. It makes me sound like I’m a boy. Like Dorian Gray.”

“Dorian who?”

I sighed. “Just think up something else. Plain old Nora works too, you know.”

“Sure thing, Gumdrop.”

I grimaced. “I take that back. Let’s stick with Grey.”

“I came by to see if you have anything for me. Information on Hank would be good. Do you think he knows it was us spying on his building that night?”

I was pretty sure Hank didn’t suspect us. He hadn’t acted any creepier than usual, which, in retrospect, wasn’t saying much. “No, I think we’re clear.”

“That’s good, real good,” Scott said, twisting the Black Hand’s
ring around his finger. I was glad to see he hadn’t taken it off. “Maybe I can come out of hiding earlier than I thought.”

“Looks to me like you’re out of hiding now. How did you know I’d find your note on the front door before Hank?”

“Hank’s at his dealership. And I know when you get home from school. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve been checking up on you now and then. I needed to know the best times to contact you. By the way, your social life is pathetic.”

“Speak for yourself.”

Scott laughed, but when I didn’t join in, he nudged my shoulder. “You seem down, Grey.”

I heaved a sigh. “Marcie Millar nominated me for homecoming royalty. Voting happens this Friday.”

He gave me one of those complex handshakes that college fraternities use on TV. “Well done, champ.”

I gave him a look of pure disgust.

“Hey, now. I thought girls loved this stuff. Shopping for a dress, getting your hair done, wearing the little crown thing on your head.”

“Tiara.”

“Yeah, tiara. I knew that. So what’s to hate?”

“I feel stupid having my name on a ballot with four other girls who are actually popular. I’m not going to win. I’m just going to look stupid. People are already asking if it was a misprint. And I don’t have a date. I guess I could take Vee. Marcie will come up
with a hundred lesbian jokes, but worse things could happen.”

Scott spread his arms wide, as though the solution was obvious. “Problem solved. Go with me.”

I rolled my eyes, suddenly regretting bringing up the topic. It was the last thing I wanted to talk about. Right now, denial seemed the only way to go. “You don’t even go to school,” I reminded him.

“Is there a rule about that? Girls at my old school in Portland were always dragging their college boyfriends back to dances.”

“There’s not a rule, per se.”

He considered briefly. “If you’re worried about the Black Hand, last time I checked, Nephilim dictators don’t consider human high school dances a top priority. He’ll never know I was there.”

At the image of Hank trolling the school gym, I couldn’t help but laugh.

“You laugh, but you haven’t seen me in a tux. Or maybe you don’t like broad-shouldered guys with muscular chests and washboard abs?”

I bit my lip to conquer another, harder laugh. “Quit intimidating me. You’re starting to make this sound like a role reversal of Beauty and the Beast. We all know you’re beautiful, Scott.”

Scott gave my knee an affectionate squeeze. “You’ll never hear me admit this again, so listen up. You look good, Grey. On a scale from one to ten, you’re definitely in the top half.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You’re not the kind of girl I would have chased after when I
was in Portland, but I’m not the same guy I was back then either. You’re a little too good for me, and let’s face it, a little too smart.”

“You’ve got street smarts,” I pointed out.

“Stop interrupting. You’re going to make me lose my place.”

“You’ve got this speech memorized?”

A smirk. “I’ve got a lot of time on my hands. As I was saying—hell. I forgot where I was.”

“You were telling me I can rest assured that I’m better-looking than half the girls at my school.”

“That was a figure of speech. If you want to get technical, you’re better-looking than ninety percent. Give or take.”

I laid a hand over my heart. “I’m speechless.”

Scott got down on his knee and clasped my hand dramatically. “Yes, Nora. Yes, I’ll go to the homecoming dance with you.”

I snorted down at him. “You are so full of yourself. I never asked.”

“See? Too smart. Anyway, what’s the big deal? You need a date, and while I might not be your number one choice, I’ll do.”

A clear image of Patch appeared in my thoughts, but I swept it aside. Logically, I knew there was no way Scott could read my mind, but that didn’t ease my guilt. I wasn’t ready to tell him just yet that I was no longer working exclusively with him to bring down Hank; I’d enrolled the help of my ex-boyfriend, who just so happened to be twice as resourceful, twice as dangerous, the embodiment of masculine perfection … and a fallen angel.
Hurting Scott was the last thing I wanted. Quite unexpectedly, he’d grown on me.

And while I found it odd that Scott had suddenly decided complacency was the way to go with Hank, I didn’t have the heart to tell him he wasn’t allowed one night of fun. As he’d said, the home-coming dance would be the last thing on Hank’s radar.

“Okay, okay,” I said, giving him a playful jab to the shoulder. “It’s a date.” I put on a serious face. “But you’d better not be exaggerating about how fine you look in a tux.”

It wasn’t until later that night that I realized I’d failed to tell Scott about Hank’s decoy building and the real Nephilim safe house. Who would’ve thought homecoming would weigh on my thoughts more heavily than stumbling inside a barracks of armed Nephilim? It was times like this when having Scott’s cell phone number would have come in really useful. On second thought, I wasn’t sure Scott had a cell. Phones were traceable.

At six I sat down to dinner with Mom.

“How was your day?” she asked.

“I can tell you it was absolutely fantastic, if you want,” I said, chewing a bite of baked ziti.

“Oh dear. Did the Volkswagen break down again? I thought it was very generous of Hank to fix it, and I’m sure he’d offer to help out again, if you asked.”

At my mom’s blind admiration of Hank, I had to exhale slowly
to regain my composure. “Worse. Marcie nominated me for homecoming royalty. Worse yet, I made the ballot.”

Mom lowered her fork. She looked stunned. “Are we talking about the same Marcie?”

“She said Hank told her about the hallucinations, and she’s made me her new charity case.
I
didn’t tell Hank about the hallucinations.”

“That would have been me,” she said, blinking in surprise. “I can’t believe he shared that information with Marcie. I distinctly remember telling him to keep it private.” She opened her mouth, then slowly closed it. “At least, I’m almost positive I did.” She set down her utensils with a clink. “I swear old age is getting the better of me. I can’t seem to remember anything anymore. Please don’t blame Hank. I take full responsibility.”

I couldn’t bear to see my mom lost and bewildered. Old age had nothing to do with her inability to remember. I had no doubt in my mind that Patch was right; she was under Hank’s influence. I wondered if he was mind-tricking her day by day, or if he’d instilled in her a general sense of obedience and loyalty.

“Don’t worry about it,” I murmured. I had a piece of ziti poised on my fork, but I’d lost my appetite. Patch had told me there wasn’t any use in trying to explain the truth to my mom—she wouldn’t believe me—but that didn’t keep me from wanting to scream out in frustration. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep up the charade: eating, sleeping, smiling, as if nothing were wrong.

Mom said, “This must be why Hank suggested you and Marcie go dress shopping together. I told him I’d be very surprised if you had any desire to go to homecoming, but he must have known what Marcie was planning. Of course, you’re under no obligation to go anywhere with Marcie,” she corrected in a rush. “I think it would be very big of you, but clearly Hank doesn’t know how you feel about Marcie. I think he dreams of seeing our families get along.” She gave a miserable little laugh.

Under the circumstances, I couldn’t bring myself to join her. I didn’t know how much of what she said was from the heart, and how much was dictated by Hank’s mind-tricks. But it was very clear that if she was thinking marriage, Patch and I needed to work faster.

“Marcie cornered me after school and told me—yes,
told
me—we’re going dress shopping tonight. Like I had absolutely no say in the matter whatsoever. But it’s all good. Vee and I have a plan. I texted Marcie and told her I couldn’t go shopping because I’m out of money. Then I told her how sorry I was, because I was really looking forward to her input. She texted back and said Hank gave her his credit card and she was paying.”

Mom groaned in disapproval, but her eyes crinkled with amusement. “Please tell me I raised you better than this.”

“I already picked out the dress I want,” I said cheerfully. “I’ll get Marcie to pay for it, and then Vee will just happen to bump into us as we’re leaving the store. I’ll take the dress, ditch Marcie, and go out for doughnuts with Vee.”

“What does the dress look like?”

“Vee and I found it at Silk Garden. It’s an above-the-knee party dress.”

“What color?”

“You’ll have to wait and see.” I smiled devilishly. “It’s one hundred and fifty dollars.”

Mom waved this off. “I’d be surprised if Hank even notices. You should see how he burns through cash.”

I settled higher in my chair, pleased with myself. “Then I don’t suppose he’ll mind buying my shoes, too.”

I was supposed to meet Marcie at Silk Garden at seven. Silk Garden was a boutique dress shop on the corner of Asher and Tenth. From the outside it resembled a château, with an oak-and-iron door and a cobblestone walk. The trees were wrapped in blue decorative lights. In the front windows, mannequins modeled dresses beautiful enough to eat. When I was little, my dreams of grandeur included becoming a princess and claiming Silk Garden as my castle.

At twenty past seven, I paced the parking lot, scouting for Marcie’s car. Marcie drove a red Toyota 4Runner, fully loaded. Somehow I got the feeling
her
shifter never popped out of its socket. I doubted she’d ever had to smack her dashboard for ten minutes straight before the engine caught. And I was willing to bet her ride never broke down halfway to school. I cast a gloomy look in the direction of the Volkswagen and sighed.

A red 4Runner swerved into the parking lot, and Marcie jumped out. “Sorry I’m late,” she said, throwing her handbag up her shoulder. “My dog didn’t want me to leave.”

“Your dog?”

“Boomer. Dogs are people too, you know.”

I saw my chance. “No worries. I already looked around inside. Picked out my dress, too. We can make this real quick, and you can get back to Boomer.”

Her face fell. “What about my input? You said you valued my opinion.”

I pretty much just value your dad’s credit card.
“Yeah, about that. I had every intention of waiting for you, but then I saw the dress. It spoke to me.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Marcie. The heavens opened and angels sang ‘Hallelujah.’” In my mind, I smacked my head against a wall.

“Show me the dress,” she directed. “You realize you have a warm skin tone, right? The wrong color is going to wash you out.”

Inside, I walked Marcie over to the dress. It was a party dress with an all-over green-and-navy tartan print and a ruched skirt. The saleslady had said it made my legs stand out. Vee said it made me look like I actually had a chest.

“Ew,” Marcie said. “Tartan? Too schoolgirl.”

“Well, it’s the one I want.”

She flipped through the rack, grabbing one in my size. “Maybe
it will look better on. But I don’t think I’ll change my mind.”

I carted the dress back to the fitting room with a bounce in my step. This was
the
dress. Marcie could huff all night; she wasn’t going to change my mind. I shucked off my jeans and shimmied into the dress. I couldn’t get the zipper up. I twisted the dress around and looked at the tag. Size four. Maybe an honest mistake, maybe not. To give Marcie the finger, I stuffed the fat at my midsection into the dress. For a minute, it looked like it might work. Then reality set in.

“Marcie?” I called through the drape.

“Mmm?”

I passed the dress out to her. “Wrong size.”

“Too big?” Her voice was laced with an overkill of naïveté.

I blew hair off my face to keep from saying something cynical. “A size six will do, thank you very much.”

“Oh. Too
small
.”

It was a good thing I was in my underwear, or I’d have been tempted to march out and slug her.

A minute later Marcie pushed a size six through the drapes. On its heels, she passed in a floor-length red number. “Not to sway the vote, but I think red is the way to go. More glam.”

I hung the red dress on the hook, stuck my tongue out at it, and zipped myself into the tartan party dress. I twirled in front of the mirror and mouthed a silent squeal. I imagined myself descending the farmhouse stairs on homecoming night while Scott looked on
from below. All of a sudden I wasn’t picturing Scott. Patch leaned on the banister, dressed in a tailored black suit and silver tie.

I gave him a flirty smile. He held out his arm and escorted me to the door. He smelled warm and earthy, like sun-baked sand.

Unable to control myself, I grabbed his jacket lapels and hauled him into a kiss.

“I could get you to smile like that, and without sales tax.”

I whirled around to find the real Patch standing in the fitting room behind me. He was wearing jeans and a snug white tee. His arms were folded loosely over his chest, and his black eyes smiled down at me.

Heat that wasn’t entirely uncomfortable flushed through my body. “I could make all kinds of pervert jokes right now,” I quipped.

“I could tell you how much I like you in that dress.”

“How did you get in?”

“I move in mysterious ways.”