Crescendo

CHAPTER 15

I WAS DEEP IN A DREAM WHEN THE PHONE SHRILLED. I stuck an arm out sideways, swept my hand over the night-stand, and located my cell phone. “Hello?” I said, wiping drool from the rim of my mouth.

“Have you checked the Weather Channel yet?” Vee asked.

“What?” I mumbled. I tried to blink my eyes open, but they were still rolled back in the dream. “What time is it?”

“Blue skies, sizzling temps, zero wind. We are so going to Old Orchard Beach after class. I’m packing boogie boards in the Neon right now.” She belted out the first stanza to “Summer Nights” from Grease. I cringed and pulled the phone away from my ear.

I rubbed sleep out of my eyes and watched the numbers on the clock seesaw into focus. That couldn’t possibly be a six at the front … could it?

“Should I wear a hot pink bandeau, or a metallic gold bikini? The thing about the bikini is, I probably need a tan before I wear it. Gold will make my skin look even more washed out. Maybe I’ll wear pink this time, get a base tan, and—”

“Why does my clock say six twenty-five?” I demanded, trying to wade through the haze of sleep long enough to push some volume into my voice.

“Is this a trick question?”

“Vee!”

“Yeesh. Angry much?”

I slammed the phone down and snuggled deeper under the covers. The home phone started ringing downstairs in the kitchen. I folded my pillow over my head. The answering machine picked up, but Vee wasn’t that easy to get rid of. She redialed. Again and again.

I speed-dialed her cell. “What?”

“Gold or pink? I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. It’s just … Rixon’s going to be there, and this is the first time he’ll see me in a swimsuit.”

“Back up. The plan is for all three of us to go together? I’m not going all the way out to Old Orchard Beach to be the third wheel!”

“And I’m not going to let you sit home all afternoon with your sour face on.”

“I don’t have a sour face.”

“Yes, you do. And you’re wearing it right now.”

“This is my annoyed face. You woke me up at six in the morning!”

The sky was summer blue from horizon to horizon. The Neon’s windows were rolled down, a hot wind ripped through Vee’s and my hair, and the heady smell of salt water filled the air. Vee exited off the highway and drove down Old Orchard Street, eyes peeled for parking. The lanes on both sides of the street were backed up with slow-moving cars that rolled along well under the speed limit, hoping for a spot to open up on the street before they slipped past and lost their chance.

“This place is packed,” Vee complained. “Where am I supposed to park?” She steered down an alley and slowed to a stop behind a bookstore. “This looks good. Lots of parking back here.”

“The sign says employee parking only.”

“How are they going to know we aren’t employees? The Neon blends right in. All these cars speak low class.”

“The sign says violators will be towed.”

“They just say that to scare people like you and me away. It’s an empty threat. Nothing to worry about.”

She wedged the Neon into a space and cranked the parking brake. We grabbed an umbrella and a tote filled with bottled water, snacks, sunscreen, and towels out of the trunk, then hiked down Old Orchard Street until it dead-ended at the beach. The sand was dotted with colorful umbrellas, the frothy waves rolling under the twiggy legs of the pier. I recognized a group of soon-to-be senior guys from school playing Ultimate Frisbee just ahead.

“Normally I’d say we should go check out those guys,” Vee said, “but Rixon is so hot, I’m not even tempted.”

“When is Rixon supposed to get here, anyway?”

“Hey now. That didn’t sound very cheerful. In fact, it sounded just a little bit cynical.”

Shielding my eyes, I squinted at the coastline, looking for an ideal place to pitch the umbrella. “I already told you: I hate being the third wheel.” The last thing I needed or wanted was to sit under a hot sun all afternoon, watching Vee and Rixon make out.

“For your information, Rixon had a few errands to run, but he promised to be here by three.”

“What kind of errands?”

“Who knows? Probably Patch roped him into doing a favor. Patch always has something he needs Rixon to run off and take care of. You’d think Patch could just do it himself. Or at least pay Rixon, so he’s not taking advantage of him. Do you think I should wear sunscreen? I’m going to be really mad if I go to all this trouble and don’t get a tan.”

“Rixon doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who lets people take advantage of him.”

“People? No. Patch? Yes. It’s like Rixon worships him. It’s so lame. It makes my stomach heave. Patch is not the kind of guy I want my boyfriend aspiring to be.”

“They have a long history together.”

“So I’ve heard. Blah, blah, blah. Probably Patch is a drug dealer. No. Probably he’s an arms dealer and has Rixon out playing the sacrificial mule, gunrunning for free and risking his neck.”

Behind my knockoff Ray-Bans, I rolled my eyes. “Does Rixon have a problem with their relationship?”

“No,” she said, all huffy.

“Then leave it at that.”

But Vee wasn’t about to let it go. “If Patch isn’t dealing in arms, how’s he get all his cash?”

“You know where he gets his money.”

“Tell me,” she said, folding her arms stubbornly across her chest. “Tell me out loud where he gets his money.”

“The same place Rixon gets his.”

“Uh-huh. Just as I thought. You’re ashamed to say it.”

I gave her a pointed look. “Please. That’s the dumbest thing ever.”

“Oh yeah?” Vee marched up to a woman not far away who was building a sand castle with two small children. “Excuse me, ma’am? Sorry to interrupt your quality beach time with the little ones, but my friend here would like to tell you what her ex does for a living.”

I clamped my hand around Vee’s arm and dragged her away.

“See?” Vee said. “You’re ashamed. You can’t say it out loud and not feel your insides start to rot.”

“Poker. Pool. There. I said it and I didn’t shrivel up and die. Satisfied? I don’t know what the big deal is. Rixon earns his living the very same way.”

Vee shook her head. “You’re so in the dark, girl. You don’t buy the kind of clothes Patch wears by winning bets at Bo’s Arcade.”

“What are you talking about? Patch wears jeans and T-shirts.”

She put a hand on her hip. “You know how much jeans like that run?”

“No,” I said, confused.

“Let’s just say you can’t buy jeans like that in Coldwater. He probably ships them up from New York. Four hundred dollars a pair.”

“You lie.”

“Cross my heart, hope to die. Last week, he was wearing a Rolling Stones concert T-shirt with Mick Jagger’s autograph. Rixon said it’s the real thing. Patch isn’t paying off his MasterCard in poker chips. Back before you and Patch were Splitsville, did you ever ask where he really gets his money? Or how he got that nice shiny Jeep?”

“Patch won his Jeep off a poker game,” I argued. “If he won a Jeep, I’m sure he could win enough to buy a pair of four-hundred-dollar jeans. Maybe he’s just really good at poker.”

“Patch told you he won the Jeep. Rixon has a different story.”

I flipped my hair off my shoulders, trying to pretend like I couldn’t care less about the direction our conversation was headed, because I wasn’t buying it. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“I don’t know. Rixon won’t say. All he said was, ‘Patch would like you to think he won the Jeep. But he got his hands dirty getting that car.’”

“Maybe you heard wrong.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Vee repeated cynically. “Or maybe Patch is a damn lunatic running an illegal business.”

I handed her a tube of sunscreen, maybe just a little too hard. “Put this on my back, and don’t miss any areas.”

“I think I’m going straight to oil,” Vee said, slapping sunscreen across my back. “A little burn is better than spending a whole day at the beach and leaving it as white as when you came.”

I craned my neck over my shoulder but couldn’t tell how thorough Vee’s job was. “Make sure you get under my straps.”

“Think they’d arrest me if I take off my top? I really hate tan lines.”

I spread my towel under the umbrella and curled up beneath its shade, rechecking to make sure my feet weren’t hanging out in the sun. Vee shook her towel out a few feet away and lathered her legs with baby oil. In the back of my mind, I conjured up images of skin cancer I’d seen at the doctor’s office.

“Speaking of Patch,” Vee said, “what’s the latest? Is he still hooked up with Marcie?”

“Last I heard,” I said stiffly, thinking the only reason she’d raised the question was to goad me further.

“Well, you know my opinion.”

I did, but I was going to hear it again, whether I wanted to or not.

“The two of them deserve each other,” Vee said, spraying Sun-In through her hair, misting the air with chemical lemon. “Of course, I don’t think it will last. Patch will get bored and move on. Just like he did with—”

“Can we talk about something other than Patch?” I cut in, pinching my eyes closed and massaging the muscles at the back of my neck.

“You sure you don’t want to talk? Looks like you’ve got a lot on your mind.”

I rolled out a sigh. No use hiding it. Obnoxious or not, Vee was my best friend and deserved the truth, when I could give it. “He kissed me the other night. After the Devil’s Handbag.”

“He what?”

I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes. “In my bedroom.” I didn’t think I could explain to Vee that he’d kissed me inside my dream. The point was, he had. Location was irrelevant. That, and I didn’t want to even think about what it meant that he now seemed capable of inserting himself into my dreams.

“You let him inside?”

“Not exactly, but he came in anyway.”

“Okay,” Vee said, looking like she was struggling to come up with a decent response to my idiocy. “Here’s what we’ll do. We’re going to swear a blood oath. Don’t give me that look, I’m serious. If we swear a blood oath, you’ll have to keep it or something really bad will happen—like rats might gnaw off your feet while you’re sleeping. And when you wake up, all that will be left are bloody stumps. Do you have a pocketknife? We’ll find a pocketknife, and then we’ll both cut our palms and press them together. You’ll swear never to be alone with Patch again. That way, if temptation strikes, you’ll have something to fall back on.”

I wondered if I should tell her that being alone with Patch wasn’t always my choice. He moved like vapor. If he wanted alone time with me, he was going to get it. And though I hated to admit it, I didn’t always mind.

“I need something a little more effective than a blood oath,” I said.

“Babe, get a clue. This is serious stuff. I hope you’re a believer, because I am. I’ll go hunt down a knife,” she said, starting to rise to her feet.

I pulled her back down. “I have Marcie’s diary.”

“Wh-what?!” Vee sputtered.

“I took it, but I haven’t read it.”

“Why am I just now hearing about this? And what is taking you so long to crack that baby open? Forget Rixon—let’s drive home right now and read it! You know Marcie’s talked about Patch in it.”

“I know.”

“Then why the delay? Are you scared about what it might reveal? Because I could read it first, filter out the bad stuff, and just give you answers, straight up.”

“If I read it, I might never speak to Patch again.”

“That’s a good thing!”

I looked sideways at Vee. “I don’t know if it’s what I want.”

“Oh, babe. Don’t do this to yourself. It’s killing me. Read the stupid diary and allow yourself closure. There are other guys out there. Just so you know. There will never be a shortage of guys.”

“I know,” I said, but it felt like a cheap lie. There had never been a guy before Patch. How could I tell myself there’d be one after? “I’m not going to read the diary. I’m going to give it back. Marcie and I have had this ridiculous feud for years, and it’s getting old. I just want to move on.”

Vee’s jaw dropped, and she sputtered a little more. “Can’t moving on wait until after you’ve read the diary? Or at least given me a quick peek? Five minutes, that’s all I ask.”

“I’m taking the higher road.”

Vee rolled out her own sigh. “You’re not going to budge, are you?”

“No.”

A shadow fell over our towels.

“Mind if I join you lovely ladies?”

We looked up to find Rixon standing over us in swim trunks and a tank, with a towel thrown over his shoulder. He had a gangly build that appeared surprisingly tough and resilient, a hawk nose, and a shag of inky hair that fell across his forehead. A pair of black angel wings was tattooed on his left shoulder, and combined with a heavy five o’clock shadow, he looked like he was employed by the mob. Charming, playful, and up to no good.

“You made it!” Vee said, her smile lighting up her whole face.

Rixon collapsed on the sand in front of us, elbow down, cheek propped on his fist. “What’d I miss?”

“Vee wants me to swear a blood oath,” I said.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Sounds serious.”

“She thinks it will keep Patch out of my life.”

Rixon tilted his head back and laughed. “Good luck with that.”

“Hey now,” Vee said. “Blood oaths are serious stuff.”

Rixon laid his hand intimately on her thigh and grinned affectionately at her, and I felt my chest ache with envy. Weeks ago, Patch would have touched me the same way. The irony was, weeks ago, Vee had probably felt the same way I did now whenever she was forced to hang out with Patch and me. Knowing this should have made swallowing my jealousy a little bit easier, but the pain cut deep. Responding to Rixon, Vee bent forward, placing a kiss on his mouth. I averted my eyes, but it didn’t dilute the envy that seemed to hang like a rock in my throat.

Rixon cleared his voice. “Why don’t I go buy us some Cokes?” he asked, having the sensitivity to notice that he and Vee were making me uncomfortable.

“Allow me,” Vee said, standing and dusting sand off her bottom.

“I think Nora wants to talk to you, Rixon.” She made air quotes around the word “talk.” “I’d stay, but I’m not a big fan of the subject matter.”

“Uh—,” I began uncomfortably, not sure what Vee was hinting at, but acutely aware that I wasn’t going to like it.

Rixon smiled at me expectantly.

“Patch,” Vee said, clarifying things, only to make the air seem ten times heavier than it already was. With that out of the way, she marched off.

Rixon rubbed his chin. “You want to talk about Patch?”

“Not really. But you know Vee. Always there to make an uncomfortable situation ten times worse,” I muttered under my breath.

Rixon laughed. “Good thing I’m not easily humiliated.”

“I wish I could say the same thing right now.”

“How are things?” he asked, trying to break the ice.

“With Patch, or in general?”

“Both.”

“They’ve been better.” Realizing there was a good chance Rixon would pass anything I said along to Patch, I quickly added, “I’m on the upswing. But can I ask a personal question? It’s about Patch, but if you don’t feel comfortable answering, I’m seriously okay with it.”

“Shoot.”

“Is he still my guardian angel? A while back, after a fight, I told him I didn’t want him to be. But I’m not sure where we stand. Is he no longer my guardian simply because I said that’s what I wanted?”

“He’s still assigned to you.”

“How come he’s never around anymore?”

Rixon’s eyes glinted. “You broke up with him, remember? It’s awkward for him. Most guys don’t relish the idea of hanging around an ex any longer than they have to. That, and I know he said the archangels are breathing down his neck. He’s bending over backward to keep things strictly professional.”

“So he’s still protecting me?”

“Sure. Just from behind the scenes.”

“Who was in charge of matching him to me?”

Rixon shrugged. “The archangels.”

“Is there any way to let them know I’d like to be reassigned? It’s not working out very well. Not since the breakup, anyway.” Not working out? It was tearing me up inside. All this touch and go, seeing him, but not being able to have him, was devastating.

He ran his thumb along his lip. “I can tell you what I know, but there’s a good chance the information’s dated. It’s been a while since I was in the loop. Ironically—you ready for this?—you have to swear a blood oath.”

“Is this a joke?”

“You cut your palm and shake a few drops of blood into the dust of the earth. Not carpet or concrete—dirt. Then you swear the oath, acknowledging to heaven that you’re not afraid to shed your own blood. From dust you came, and to dust you go. In saying the oath, you give up your right to a guardian angel and announce that you accept your fate—without heaven’s help. Keep in mind, I’m not advocating it. They gave you a guardian, and for good reason. Someone upstairs thinks you’re in danger. I’m going with my gut on this one, but I think it’s more than a paranoid hunch.”

Not exactly a news flash—I could feel something dark pressing against my world, threatening to eclipse it. The phantom behind my father’s reappearing ghost, most notably. I was struck by a thought. “What if the person who’s after me is also my guardian angel?” I asked slowly.

Rixon gave a yap of laughter. “Patch?” He didn’t sound like it was even a possibility. No surprise there. Rixon had been through everything with Patch. Even if Patch was guilty, Rixon would stand by his side. Blind loyalty above all else.

“If he was trying to hurt me, would someone know?” I asked. “The archangels? The angels of death? Dabria knew when people were close to death. Could another angel of death stop Patch before it’s too late?”

“If you’re doubting Patch, you’ve got the wrong guy.” His tone had cooled. “I know him better than you. He takes his job as guardian seriously.”

But if Patch wanted to kill me, he’d crafted the perfect murder, hadn’t he? He was my guardian angel. He was charged with keeping me safe. No one would suspect him….

But he’d already had his chance to kill me. And he hadn’t taken it. He’d sacrificed the one thing he wanted most of all—a human body—to save my life. He wouldn’t do that if he wanted me dead.

Would he?

I shook off my suspicions. Rixon was right. Suspecting Patch was ridiculous at this point.

“Is he happy with Marcie?” I clamped my mouth shut. I hadn’t meant to ask the question in the first place. It had spilled out in the moment. A blush brushed my cheeks.

Rixon watched me, clearly giving his answer some thought. “Patch is the closest thing I’ve got to family, and I love the guy like a brother, but he’s not right for you. I know it, he knows it, and deep down, I think you know it too. Maybe you don’t want to hear this, but he and Marcie are alike. They’re cut from the same cloth. Patch should be allowed to have a little fun. And he can—Marcie doesn’t love him. Nothing she feels for him is going to tip off the archangels.”

We sat in silence, and I struggled to stuff my emotions deep down. I’d tipped off the archangels, in other words. My feelings for Patch were what exposed us. It was nothing Patch had done or said. It was all me. According to Rixon’s explanation, Patch had never loved me. He’d never reciprocated. I didn’t want to accept it. I wanted Patch to have cared about me as much as I cared about him. I didn’t want to think I’d been nothing more than entertainment, a way to pass the time.

There was one more question I desperately wanted to ask Rixon. If Patch and I were still on good terms, I would have asked him, but that was a moot point now. Rixon was just as worldly as Patch, however. He knew things other people didn’t—particularly when it came to fallen angels and Nephilim—and what he didn’t know, he could find out. Right now, my best hope at finding the Black Hand was through Rixon.

I moistened my lips and decided to get the question over with. “Have you ever heard of the Black Hand?”

Rixon flinched. He studied me in silence a moment before his face blazed with amusement. “Is this a joke? I haven’t heard that name in a long time. I thought Patch didn’t like to be called it. Did he tell you about it, then?”

A slow freeze gripped my heart. I’d been on the brink of telling Rixon about the envelope with the iron ring and note claiming the Black Hand killed my father, but found myself grasping for a new response. “The Black Hand is Patch’s nickname?”

“He hasn’t gone by it in years. Not since I started calling him Patch. He never liked the Black Hand.” He scratched his cheek. “Those were back in the days when we took jobs as mercenaries for the French king. Eighteenth-century black ops. Enjoyable stint. Good money.”

I might as well have been slapped across the face. The whole moment felt unbalanced, tipped on its side. Rixon’s words ran over me in a blur, as if he was speaking in a foreign language, and I couldn’t keep up. I was immediately bombarded with doubts. Not Patch. He hadn’t killed my dad. Anyone else, but not him.

Slowly the doubts began to fall by the wayside, replaced by other thoughts. I found myself picking through facts, analyzing for evidence. The night I gave Patch my ring: The moment I’d said my dad had given it to me, he insisted he couldn’t take it, almost adamantly so. And the mere name the Black Hand. It was fitting, almost too fitting. Forcing myself to hang on a few more moments, holding my emotions carefully in check, I selected my next words carefully.

“You know what I regret most?” I said, my tone as casual as I could make it. “It’s the stupidest thing, and you’ll probably laugh.” To make my story convincing, I pulled a trivial laugh up from someplace deep inside me that I didn’t even know existed. “I left my favorite sweatshirt at his house. It’s from Oxford—my dream school,” I explained. “My dad picked it up for me when he went to England, so it means a lot.”

“You were at Patch’s place?” He sounded genuinely surprised.

“Just once. My mom was home, so we drove over to his place to watch a movie. I left my sweatshirt on the sofa.” I knew I was walking a dangerous line—the more details I revealed about Patch’s house, the higher the chance something wouldn’t match up, and my cover would be blown. But along the same lines, if I was too vague, I was scared it would tip Rixon off that I was lying.

“I’m impressed. He likes to keep his home address off the radar.”

And why was that? I wondered. What was he hiding? Why was Rixon the only person allowed into Patch’s inner sanctum? What could he share with Rixon, but no one else? Had he never allowed me inside because he knew something I’d see there would unravel the truth—that he was responsible for murdering my dad?

“Getting the sweatshirt back would mean a lot to me,” I said. I felt somehow removed, as if I was watching myself converse with Rixon from several feet away. Someone stronger, more clever and contained was saying the words rolling from my mouth. I was not that person. I was the girl who felt herself crumbling into pieces as fine as the sand beneath her feet.

“Head over first thing in the morning. Patch leaves early, but if you’re there by six thirty, you should catch him.”

“I don’t want to have to do it face-to-face.”

“Want me to pick up the sweatshirt next time I’m over? I’m sure I’ll be over there tomorrow night. This weekend at the latest.”

“I’d like to get it sooner rather than later. My mom keeps asking about it. Patch gave me a key, and as long as he hasn’t changed the locks, I could still get in. Trouble is, it was dark when we drove over, and I don’t remember how to get to his place. I didn’t pay attention, because I wasn’t planning on having to drive back and get my sweatshirt, post-breakup.”

“Swathmore. Near the industrial district.”

My mind netted this information.

If his place was near the industrial district, I was betting he lived in one of the brick apartment buildings on the edge of Old Town Coldwater. There wasn’t much else to choose from, unless he’d taken up residence in one of the abandoned factories or vagabond shacks by the river, which seemed doubtful.

I smiled, hoping I appeared relaxed. “I knew it was over by the river somewhere. Top floor, right?” I said, taking a stab in the dark. It seemed to me Patch wouldn’t want to hear his neighbors stomping around above him.

“Yeah,” Rixon said. “Number thirty-four.”

“Do you think Patch will be home tonight? I don’t want to bump into him. Especially if he’s there with Marcie. I just want to get the sweatshirt and get out.”

Rixon coughed into his fist. “Uh, no, you should be good.” He scratched his cheek and cast me a nervous, almost pitying, look. “Vee and I are actually meeting up with Patch and Marcie for a movie tonight.”

I felt my spine stiffen. The air in my lungs seem to shatter … and then, just when I felt all semblance of my carefully controlled emotions fleeing, I was speaking clearly again. I had to. “Does Vee know?”

“I’m still trying to figure out how to break the news.”

“Break the news about what?”

Rixon and I both swung around as Vee plopped down with a cardboard crate of Cokes.

“Uh—a surprise,” Rixon said. “I’ve got something planned for tonight.”

Vee grinned. “A clue, a clue! Pleeeease?”

Rixon and I shared a quick glance, but I looked away. I didn’t want any part of this. Besides, I’d already tuned out. My thoughts were robotically sifting through this new information: Tonight. Patch and Marcie. A date. Patch’s apartment would be empty.

I had to get in.