Silence (39 page)

I didn’t know if my situation was as dire. I didn’t know anything anymore. Could I freeze to death? Could I die? What exactly had changed with the vow? Everything?

A car sat abandoned on the street ahead, its tires police-marked for removal, and with little thought, I tested the door. In the first stroke of luck all night, it was unlocked. I laid my mom out gently in the backseat, then went to work on the wires beneath the steering wheel. After several attempts, the engine sputtered to life.

“Don’t worry,” I murmured to my mom. “We’re going home. It’s over. It’s all over.” I said the words more to myself, and I believed them because I
needed
to. I couldn’t think about what I’d done. I couldn’t think about how slow or painful the transformation would happen when it finally triggered.
If
it needed to be triggered.
If
there was more to face.

Patch. I’d have to face him, and I’d have to confess what I’d done. I wondered if I’d ever feel his arms around me again. How could I expect this not to change everything? I wasn’t simply Nora Grey anymore. I was a purebred Nephil. His enemy.

I stomped the brake as a pale object staggered into the road ahead. The car swerved to a stop. A pair of eyes swung my way. The girl stumbled, got up, and tottered to the far side of the road,
clearly trying to run, but too traumatized to coordinate her movements. The girl’s clothes were ripped, her face frozen in terror.

“Marcie?” I asked out loud.

Automatically, I reached across the console, pushing the passenger door open. “Get in!” I commanded her.

Marcie stood there, squeezing her arms around her middle, making small whimpering sounds.

I ejected myself out of the car, ran around to her, and folded her inside the seat. She stuck her head between her knees, breathing much too fast. “I’m—going—to—vomit.”

“What are you doing here?”

She continued to gulp air.

I dropped behind the wheel and stepped on the gas, not having any desire to hang around this derelict area of town any longer. “Do you have your phone?”

She made a choked sound at the back of her throat.

“In case you missed it, we’re in a bit of a hurry,” I said more sharply than I’d intended, now that I fully realized just who I’d picked up. Hank’s daughter. My sister, if I really wanted to go there. My lying, betraying, fool of a sister. “Phone?
Yes or no?
”

She moved her head, but I couldn’t tell if it was a shake or a nod.

“You’re mad at me for stealing the necklace,” she said, barely coherent between hiccups. “My dad tricked me. He made me think it was a prank we’d play on you together. I left the note on your pillow that night to scare you. ‘You’re not safe.’ My dad put some kind
of enchantment on me so you couldn’t see me sneak in. He also did something to the ink so it would disappear after you read the note. I thought it would be funny. I wanted to watch you unravel. I wasn’t thinking. I went along with everything my dad said. It was like he had this
power
over me.”

“Listen to me, Marcie,” I told her firmly. “I’m going to get us out of here. But if you have a phone, I could really use it right now.”

With trembling hands, she pried open her purse. She rummaged around, then produced her cell phone. “He tricked me,” she said, tears leaking from the edges of her eyes. “I thought he was my dad. I thought he—loved me. If it makes a difference, I didn’t give him the necklace. I was going to. I brought it to his warehouse tonight, just like he told me to. But then … but in the end … when I saw that girl in the cage …” She trailed off.

I didn’t want to feel anything resembling empathy for Marcie. I didn’t want her in the car, period. I didn’t want her to rely on me, or vice versa. I didn’t want any kind of bond between us, but somehow, all of the above managed to be true despite what I wanted.

“Please give me the phone,” I said softly.

Marcie pushed her phone into my hand. Curling her legs up to her chest, she sobbed quietly into her knees.

I dialed Patch. I had to tell him Hank didn’t have the necklace. And I had to tell him the horrible truth about what I’d done. With each ring, I felt the barrier I’d thrown up, just to get through
this
, break down. I pictured Patch’s face when I told him the truth, the
image freezing me. My lip wobbled and my breath caught.

His voice mail kicked on and I called Vee.

“I need your help,” I told her. “I need you to watch my mom and Marcie.” I pulled the phone slightly away from my ear in response to the noise on her end. “Yes, Marcie Millar. I’ll explain everything later.”

I
T WAS CLOSE TO THREE A.M. I DROPPED OFF MARCIE
and my mom, leaving them in Vee’s care without any explanation. I’d shaken my head firmly when Vee demanded answers, carefully compartmentalizing every emotion. I’d left without a word, intending to find a remote road where I could be alone, but soon it became clear that my aimless driving had a clear destination after all.

I hardly saw the road as I sped toward Delphic Amusement
Park. I screeched into the parking lot, finding myself utterly and completely alone. I hadn’t dared allow myself to contemplate what I’d done, but now, surrounded by darkness and stillness, I couldn’t bear to be brave any longer. I wasn’t strong enough to hold everything back. Bending my head to the steering wheel, I sobbed.

I cried for the choice I’d had to make and for what it had cost me. Most of all, I cried because I was at a complete and utter loss as to how to tell Patch. It was news I knew I should deliver in person, but I was terrified. How, when we’d finally reconciled our relationship, could I explain that I’d turned myself into the very thing he despised above all else?

Using Marcie’s cell I dialed his number, torn between relief and dread when his voice mail picked up. Was he not answering because he didn’t know it was me calling? Could he know what I’d done? Was he avoiding me until he could come to terms with his feelings? Was he cursing me for making such a stupid, stupid decision, even though I’d had no alternative?

No,
I told myself. It was none of those things. Patch didn’t avoid confrontation—that was my problem.

I exited the car and walked solemnly to the gates. I pressed my head to the bars, the cold metal stinging my skin, but the pain didn’t compare to the ache of regret and longing burning inside me.
Patch!
I cried out silently.
What have I done?

I rattled the bars, seeing no way to get in, when a metallic groan jarred me alert. The steel in my hands bent as though made of
clay. I blinked through the confusion before it struck me. I was no longer human. I was truly Nephilim, and I had the strength and power of one. A horrifying fascination tingled up my spine at the prospect of my new powers. If I’d been looking for a way to convince myself that I could undo the oath, I was rapidly approaching the point of no return.

Prying the bars wide enough apart to squeeze through, I jogged into the park, slowing when I neared the shed leading down to Patch’s studio. My fingers trembled as I turned the doorknob. With heavy feet, I crossed the shed and lowered myself through the trap-door.

Using trial and error, and relying heavily on my memory, I found the right door. I stepped inside Patch’s studio and immediately knew something was wrong. I sensed the lingering traces of a violent confrontation in the air. It wasn’t something I could explain, but the evidence was there, as palpable as if I’d read it on paper.

Following an invisible trail of energy, I moved cautiously through Patch’s studio, still unsure what to make of the strange vibrations all around. I nudged his bedroom door open with my foot, and that was when I saw the secret door.

One of the black granite walls was rolled slightly to the right, opening to a shadowy corridor beyond. Water puddled on the dirt floor. Mounted torches burned with smoky brightness.

The sound of footsteps echoed from the corridor, and my
stomach tightened. The torchlight illuminated the chiseled lines of Patch’s face and the edge in his black eyes, which looked right through me, absorbed in thought. His features were so merciless, I could do nothing but stand, paralyzed. I couldn’t look at him, and I couldn’t
not
look. I was filled with diminishing hope and surging shame. Just as I was about to shut my eyes to tears, his gaze shifted and our eyes met. One look from him, and the weight fell away. My defenses dissolved.

I walked toward him, slowly at first, my body shaking with emotion, then running into his arms, unable to be away from him any longer.

“Patch—I—don’t know where to begin!” I said, bursting into tears.

He clutched me against him. “I know everything,” he murmured roughly into my ear.

“No you don’t,” I protested miserably. “Hank made me swear a vow. I’m not—that is—I’m no longer—” I couldn’t make myself say it. Not to Patch. I couldn’t tolerate it if he rejected me. Even the slightest halting in his expression, a gleam of scorn in his eyes …

He gave me a light shake. “It’s all right, Angel. Listen to me. I know about the Changeover Vow. Believe me when I say I know everything.”

I sobbed into his shirt, twisting my fingers into it. “How could you?”

“I came back and you were gone.”

“I’m so sorry. Scott was in trouble. I had to help. And I ruined everything!”

“I went out to find you. The first place I looked was with Hank. I thought he’d tricked you into leaving. I dragged him back here and got him to confess everything.” He exhaled, a haggard sound. “I can tell you how my night played out, but you should see for yourself.”

He tugged his shirt over his head.

Pressing my finger gently to Patch’s scar, I concentrated on what I wanted to know. Mainly what had happened after Patch had left the studio a few short hours ago.

I was tugged inside the dark recesses of his mind, a cacophony of voices rushing past my ears, while faces blurred together much too fast to pinpoint. It felt as though I were lying on my back on a street at night, horns beeping, tires whizzing dangerously close.

Hank,
I thought with all my energy.
What happened after Patch left to find Hank?
One car veered toward me, and I was plunged headlong into its headlights….

The memory opened on a murky street corner outside Hank’s warehouse. It wasn’t the one I’d successfully broken into, rather the one Scott and I had first attempted to take pictures of. The air was damp and heavy, the stars hidden behind cloud cover. Patch moved silently down the sidewalk, approaching what could only
be Hank’s guard from behind. He leaped at him, dragging him backward in a punishing embrace before the guard could so much as squawk. Patch deprived the man of his weapons, tucking them into the waistband of his jeans.

To my amazement, Gabe—the same Gabe who’d tried to kill me behind 7-Eleven—strolled out of the shadows ahead. Dominic and Jeremiah followed. All three shared a wicked smile.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Gabe asked in a mocking undertone, brushing dirt off the Nephil guard’s collar.

“Keep him quiet until I give the signal,” Patch said, handing the guard over to Dominic and Jeremiah.

“Better not fail me, bro,” Gabe said to Patch. “I’m counting on the Black Hand being on the other side of that door.” He lifted his chin at the warehouse’s side door. “You come through for me, and I’ll forget any past grievances. You end up wrong about this, and I’ll show you what it feels like to have a tire iron rammed into your wing scars … every day for a solid year.”

Patch merely answered with a cool, measured look. “Wait for my signal.”

He edged up to the small window encased in the door. I followed, peering through the glass.

I saw the caged archangel. I saw a handful of Hank’s Nephilim men. But to my surprise, Marcie Millar stood just feet away, her posture withdrawn, her eyes wide and frightened. What could only be Patch’s archangel’s necklace dangled from her bloodless hands,
and her gaze flicked surreptitiously to the door Patch and I hid behind.

There was a loud commotion as the archangel bucked wildly, kicking at the bars of her cage. Hank’s men instantly lashed back with blue-glowing chains, no doubt enchanted with devilcraft, sending them whipping against her body. After repeated strikes, her skin adopted the same unearthly bluish glow as the chains, and she crouched in submission.

“Would you like the honors?” Hank proposed to Marcie, holding his hand out to indicate the necklace. “Or if you’d rather, I’ll place it on her neck.”

By now, Marcie was trembling. Her complexion was ashen and she cowered, saying nothing.

“Come, darling,” Hank urged her. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. My men have secured her. She won’t hurt you. This is what it means to be Nephilim. We have to take a stand against our enemies.”

“What are you going to do to her?” Marcie stammered.

Hank laughed, but he sounded weary. “Put the necklace on her, of course.”

“And then?”

“And then she’ll answer my questions.”

“Why does she have to be in the cage if you only want to talk to her?”

Hank’s smile thinned. “Give me the necklace, Marcie.”

“You said you wanted me to get the necklace as a prank. You said it was a joke we’d play on Nora together. You never said anything about
her
.” Marcie sent a terrified glance at the caged archangel.

“The necklace,” Hank ordered, hand out.

Marcie backed along the wall, but her eyes gave her away—they flashed briefly to the door. Hank made a convulsive movement toward her, but she was faster. She shoved through the door, almost running headlong into Patch.

He steadied her, his eyes briefly locking on his archangel’s necklace dangling from her hand. “Do the right thing, Marcie,” he told her in a low voice. “That doesn’t belong to you.”

I suddenly realized that the events of this memory must have happened moments after I’d left the warehouse with my mom—and just before I’d picked up Marcie off the streets. I’d missed Patch by a matter of minutes. All that time he’d been busy rounding up Gabe and his crew to go against Hank.