Crescendo

CHAPTER 18

I WOKE UP WITH A SHARP INTAKE OF AIR. MY ROOM was settled in shadow, the moon glowing like a crystal ball on the far side of the window. My sheets were hot and damp, tangled around my legs. The clock read nine thirty.

I flung myself out of bed and went to the bathroom, filling a cold glass of water. I gulped it down, then leaned against the wall. I couldn’t fall back asleep. Whatever I did, I couldn’t let Patch back in my dreams. I paced the upstairs hall, frantically trying to keep myself wide awake, but I was so worked up, I doubted I could have slept if I’d wanted to.

Several minutes later the throb of my pulse had died down, but my mind wasn’t as easy to settle. The Black Hand. Those three words haunted me. They were elusive, menacing, taunting. I couldn’t bring myself to look them straight on. Not without feeling my already flimsy world start to shatter. I knew I was avoiding finding a way to let the archangels know Patch was the Black Hand, and my father’s killer, to protect myself from the shameful truth: I’d fallen in love with a killer. I’d let him kiss me, lie to me, betray me. When he touched me in my dreams, all my strength crumbled, and I felt myself being tangled up in his net all over again. He still held my heart in his hand, and that was the biggest betrayal of all. What kind of person was I, when I couldn’t bring my own father’s killer to justice?

Patch had said I could tell the archangels I wanted him as my guardian angel again through the simple act of saying it out loud. It seemed logical, then, that I could shout out, “Patch killed my dad!” and be done with it. Justice would be served. Patch would be sent to hell, and I could slowly start to rebuild my life. But I couldn’t pull the words up, as if they were chained down someplace deep inside me.

Too many things weren’t adding up. Why was Patch, an angel, mixed up with a Nephilim blood society? If he was the Black Hand, why was he branding Nephilim recruits? Why was he recruiting them in the first place? It wasn’t just odd—it was illogical. The Nephilim race hated angels, and vice versa. And if the Black Hand was Chauncey’s successor and the new leader of the society … how could that person possibly be Patch?

I squeezed the bridge of my nose, feeling like my head might crack from chasing the same questions over and over. Why was it that everything surrounding the Black Hand seemed to be an endless maze of trapdoor, after trapdoor, after trapdoor?

Right now Scott was my only reliable link left to the Black Hand. He knew more than he was letting on, I was sure of it, but he was too scared to talk. The tone of his voice when he’d spoken of the Black Hand carried sheer panic. I needed him to tell me what he knew, but he was running from his past, and nothing I said was going to make him turn back and face it. I pressed my forehead into the palms of my hands, trying to think clearly.

I called Vee.

“Good news,” she said before I could get a word in edgewise. “I talked my dad into driving back to the beach with me and paying the fine to get the boot off my car. I’m back in business.”

“Good, because I need your help.”

“Help is my middle name.”

I was pretty sure she’d already told me bad was her middle name, but I kept my opinion to myself. “I need someone to help me look through Scott’s bedroom.” Chances were, Scott wasn’t going to keep any evidence detailing his involvement with the Nephilim blood society out in the open, but what alternative did I have? He had done a terrific job of not giving me direct answers in the past, and after our last encounter, I knew he was wary of me. If I wanted to find out what he knew, I was going to have to do a little legwork.

“Apparently Patch canceled our double date, so my schedule is wide open,” Vee said, a little too eagerly. I’d expected her to ask what we were snooping for in Scott’s bedroom.

“Going through Scott’s bedroom isn’t going to be dangerous or exciting,” I told her, just to make sure we were both on the same page. “All you’re going to do is sit in the Neon outside his apartment and call me if you see him coming home. I’m the one who’s going inside.”

“Just because I’m not doing the spying doesn’t mean it’s not exciting. It’ll be like watching a movie. Only, in the movies the good guy almost never gets caught. But this is real life, and there’s a strong chance you’ll get caught. See what I mean? The excitement factor is through the roof.”

Personally, I thought Vee was a little overanxious to see me caught.

“You are going to warn me if Scott comes home, right?” I asked.

“Heck yeah, babe. I’ve got you covered.”

My next call was to Scott’s home line. Mrs. Parnell picked up.

“Nora, so good to hear your voice! Scott tells me things have been heating up between the two of you,” she added in a conspirator’s voice.

“Well, uh—”

“I always thought it would be real nice if Scott married a local girl. I don’t much like the idea of him marrying into a family of strangers. What if his in-laws are nutcases? Your mom and I are such close friends, can you imagine the fun we’d have planning a wedding together? But I’m getting ahead of myself! All in good time, as they say.”

Oh boy.

“Is Scott there, Mrs. Parnell? I have some news I think he’ll be interested in.”

I heard her cup a hand over the mouthpiece and shout, “Scott! Pick up the phone! It’s Nora!”

A moment later Scott came on. “You can hang up now, Mom.” His voice held a drop of wariness.

“Just making sure you got it, hon.”

“I’ve got it.”

“Nora has some interesting news,” she said.

“Then hang up so she can tell me.”

There was a sigh of disappointment, and a click.

“I thought I told you to stay away from me,” Scott said.

“Have you found a band yet?” I asked, pushing forward, hoping to take control of the conversation and pique his interest before he hung up on me.

“No,” he said with that same guarded skepticism.

“I mentioned to a friend that you play the guitar—”

“I play bass.”

“—and he spread the word and found a band that wants to audition you. Tonight.”

“What’s the name of the band?”

I hadn’t anticipated that question. “Uh—the Pigmen.”

“Sounds like something out of 1960.”

“Do you want the audition or not?”

“What time?”

“Ten. At the Devil’s Handbag.” If I’d known of a warehouse farther away, I would have mentioned it. As it was, I would have to make do with the twenty minutes it would take him to drive round trip.

“I’ll need a contact name and number.”

He definitely was not supposed to ask that.

I said, “I told my friend I’d pass the information along to you, but I didn’t think to ask for names and numbers of the band members.”

“I’m not going to blow my night on an audition without first getting an idea of who these guys are, what style they play, and where they’ve gigged. Are they punk, indie-pop, metal?”

“What are you?”

“Punk.”

“I’ll get their numbers and call you right back.”

I disconnected from Scott and immediately dialed Vee. “I told Scott I got him an audition with a band tonight, but he wants to know what kind of music the band plays and where they’ve played. If I give him your number, would you pretend to be the girlfriend of someone from the band? Just say you always answer your boyfriend’s phone when he’s practicing. Don’t elaborate further. Stick to the facts: They’re a punk band, they’re the next big thing, and he’d be stupid not to audition.”

“I’m really starting to like all this spy work,” Vee said. “When my normal life gets boring, all I have to do is sidle up next to you.”

I was sitting on the front porch with my knees tucked against my chest when Vee cruised up.

“I think we should stop at Skippy’s for hot dogs before we do this,” she said when I swung in. “I don’t know what it is about hot dogs, but they’re like an instant shot of courage. I feel like I can do anything after I’ve had a hot dog.”

“That’s because you’re high on all the toxins they pump inside those things.”

“Like I said, I think we should stop by Skippy’s.”

“I already had pasta for dinner.”

“Pasta isn’t very filling.”

“Pasta is very filling.”

“Yeah, but not in the way mustard and relish are,” Vee argued.

Fifteen minutes later, we were leaving the drive-through at Skippy’s with two grilled hot dogs, one large carton of fries, and two strawberry milk shakes.

“I hate this kind of food,” I said, feeling grease seep through the wax-paper-wrapped hot dog onto my hand. “It’s unhealthy.”

“So’s a relationship with Patch, but that didn’t stop you.”

I didn’t respond.

A quarter mile from Scott’s complex, Vee steered to the side of the road. The biggest problem I foresaw was our location. Deacon Road dead-ended just past the complex. Vee and I were out in the open, and as soon as Scott drove past and saw Vee sitting in the Neon, he’d know something was up. I hadn’t been worried that he’d recognize her voice on the phone, but I was worried he’d remember her face. He’d seen us together on more than one occasion, and had even seen us tailing him in the Neon once. She was guilty by association.

“You’re going to have to drive off the road and park behind those bushes,” I instructed Vee.

Vee leaned forward, peering into the darkness. “Is that a ditch between me and the bushes?”

“It’s not very deep. Trust me, we’ll clear it.”

“Looks deep to me. This is a Neon we’re talking about, not a Hummer.”

“The Neon doesn’t weigh very much. If we get stuck, I’ll get out and push.”

Vee put the car in drive and hopped the shoulder of the road, the sound of overgrown weeds dragging along the undercarriage.

“More g-gas!” I said, my teeth knocking together as we bounced over the rocky embankment. The car tipped forward and raced into the ditch, and the front tires slammed to a stop, hitting bottom.

“I don’t think we’re going to make it up,” Vee said, feeding the Neon more gas. The tires spun but didn’t find traction. “I need to approach this sucker from an angle.” She cranked the wheel a hard left and punched the gas again. “That’s more like it,” she said as the Neon dug in and lurched forward.

“Watch out for the rock—,” I began, but it was too late.

Vee drove the Neon straight over a large jutting rock half buried in the earth. She stomped on the brake and killed the engine. We got out and stared at the front left tire.

“Something doesn’t look right,” Vee said. “Is the tire supposed to look like that?”

I banged my head against the nearest tree trunk.

“So we’ve got a flat,” Vee said. “What now?”

“We stick to the plan. I’ll search Scott’s room, and you’ll keep a lookout. When I get back, you’ll call Rixon.”

“And tell him what?”

“That we saw a deer and you swerved to miss it. That’s when you ran the Neon into the ditch and over a rock.”

“I like that story,” said Vee. “It makes me sound like an animal lover. Rixon will like that.”

“Any questions?” I asked her.

“Nope, I’ve got it. Call you as soon as Scott leaves the premises. Call you again if he comes back and warn you to get the heck out of there.” Vee dropped her eyes to my footwear. “Are you going to scale the building and climb in through a window? Because you might have wanted to wear tennis shoes for that. Your ballet flats are cute, but not practical.”

“I’m going in through the front door.”

“What are you going to say to Scott’s mom?”

“It doesn’t matter. She likes me. She’ll let me walk right inside.” I held out my hot dog, which had grown cold. “Do you want this?”

“No way. You’re going to need it. If anything bad happens, just take a bite. Ten seconds later, you’ll feel all warm and happy inside.”

I jogged the rest of the way down Deacon, veering off into the shadows of the trees as soon as I could make out a human form moving back and forth across the lighted windows of Scott’s third-story apartment. From what I could tell, Mrs. Parnell was in the kitchen, moving between the fridge and the sink, most likely baking dessert or throwing together a snack. The light in Scott’s bedroom was on, but the shades were drawn. The light blinked out, and a moment later Scott entered the kitchen and brushed a kiss on his mom’s cheek.

I stayed put, swatting mosquitoes for five minutes, before Scott walked out the front door carrying what looked like a guitar case. He stowed the case in the trunk of the Mustang and backed out of the parking space.

A minute later, Vee’s ringtone sounded in my pocket.

“The eagle has flown the nest,” she said.

“I know,” I said. “Stay where you are. I’m going in.”

I hiked up to the front door and rang the bell. The door opened, and as soon as Mrs. Parnell saw me, she broke into a wide smile.

“Nora!” she said, grasping me good-naturedly by the shoulders. “You just missed Scott. He left to audition with the band. I can’t tell you how much it means to him that you went to the trouble to set this up. He’s going to knock the socks off the other band members. Just you wait and see.” She pinched my cheek affectionately.

“Actually, Scott just called me. He left some of his sheet music here and asked if I could pick it up. He would have come back for it himself, but he didn’t want to show up late to the audition and make a bad impression.”

“Oh! Yes, of course! Come right in. Did he say which music he wanted?”

“He texted me a couple of titles.”

She drew the door all the way open. “I’ll walk you back to his room. Scott will be so upset if the audition doesn’t go just the way he wants. He’s usually so particular about taking the right music, but it all happened on such short notice. I’m sure he’s going out of his mind, poor thing.”

“He sounded really upset,” I agreed. “I’ll hurry as fast as I can.”

Mrs. Parnell led the way down the hall. As I stepped across the threshold into Scott’s bedroom, I took in the complete change of scenery. The first thing I noticed was the black paint on the walls. They’d been white the last time I came over. The Godfather poster and the New England Patriots pennant had been ripped down. The air smelled heavily of paint and Febreze.

“You’ll have to excuse the walls,” Mrs. Parnell said. “Scott’s been going through a bit of an emotional downturn. Moving can be hard. He needs to get out more.” She looked meaningfully at me. I pretended to miss the hint.

“So that’s the sheet music?” I asked, gesturing at a heap of paper on the floor.

Mrs. Parnell wiped her hands on her apron. “Do you want me to help you hunt down the titles?”

“It’s no problem, really. I don’t want to keep you. It’ll just take me a second.”

As soon as she left, I closed the door. I set my cell and the Skippy’s hot dog on the desk opposite the bed, then moved to the closet.

A pair of white high-tops stuck out from a mound of jeans and T-shirts on the floor. Only three lumberjack shirts were left on hangers. I wondered if Mrs. Parnell had bought them, because I couldn’t picture Scott in flannel.

Under the bed I found one aluminum bat, one baseball mitt, and one potted plant. I called Vee.

“What does marijuana look like?”

“Five leaves,” Vee said.

“Scott is growing marijuana in here. Under his bed.”

“Are you surprised?”

I wasn’t, but it did explain the Febreze. I wasn’t sure I could picture Scott smoking pot, but I wouldn’t put him past selling it. He was desperate for cash.

“I’ll call back if I find anything else,” I said. I dropped my cell on Scott’s bed and turned a slow circle around the room. There weren’t many hiding places. The underside of the desk was clean. The heating vents were empty. Nothing was sewn into his blanket. I was about to give up when something high in the closet caught my eye. There was damage to the wall.

I dragged the desk chair over and stepped up. A medium-size square hole had been cut out of the wall, but the plaster had been replaced to make it appear as if the hole wasn’t there. Using a wire hanger, I reached up as high as I could and knocked the square of plaster out. From what I could tell, an orange Nike shoe box was crammed into the space. I jabbed at it with the hanger, but ended up pushing it farther back.

A soft buzzing sound broke my concentration, and I realized my cell was ringing on vibrate, the blankets on Scott’s bed muffling the sound.

I jumped down. “Vee?” I answered.

“Get out of there!” she hissed in a panicked undertone. “Scott called again and asked for directions to the warehouse, but I didn’t know which warehouse you told him. I sort of stalled and said I was only the girlfriend, and I didn’t know where the band held its auditions. He asked which warehouse they practiced at, and I said I didn’t know that, either. The good news is, he hung up, so I didn’t have to lie my way into a bigger hole. The bad news is, he’s on his way home. Right now.”

“How much time do I have?”

“Since he already flew past here at about a hundred miles per hour, I’d guess a minute. Or less.”

“Vee!”

“Don’t blame me—you’re the one who wasn’t answering your phone!”

“Chase him down and stall for time. I need two more minutes.”

“Chase him down? How? The Neon has a flat.”

“With your own two feet!”

“You mean exercise?”

Cradling the phone under my chin, I found a scrap of paper in my handbag and hunted through Scott’s desk for a pen. “It’s less than a fourth of a mile. That’s one lap around the track. Go!”

“What do I say when I catch him?”

“This is what spies do—they improvise. You’ll think of something. I have to go.” I broke the connection.

Where were all the pens? How could Scott have a desk with no pens, no pencils? Finally I found one in my bag and scribbled a quick note on the scrap of paper. I slid the paper under the hot dog.

Outside, I heard the Mustang roar into the complex’s parking lot.

I crossed to the closet and climbed up a second time. I was stretched on my tiptoes, stabbing at the box with the hanger.

The front door slammed.

“Scott?” I heard Mrs. Parnell say from the kitchen. “What are you doing back so soon?”

I got the hook part of the hanger under the lip of the lid and coaxed it out of the compartment. Once I had it halfway out, gravity did the rest. The box dropped into my hands. I’d just shoved it inside my bag and one-armed the chair back to its place at the desk, when the bedroom door smacked open.

Scott’s eyes found me in an instant. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

“I wasn’t expecting you to come back so fast,” I stammered.

“The audition was fake, wasn’t it?”

“I—”

“You wanted me out of the apartment.” He crossed to me in two steps and took my arm, giving me a rough shake. “You made a big mistake coming here.”

Mrs. Parnell moved into the doorway. “What’s the matter, Scott? For heaven’s sake, let her go! She came by to pick up the sheet music you forgot.”

“She’s lying. I didn’t forget any sheet music.”

Mrs. Parnell looked at me. “Is that true?”

“I lied,” I confessed shakily. I swallowed, trying to inject a measure of calm into my voice. “The thing is, I really wanted to ask Scott to the Summer Solstice party at Delphic, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it in person. This is really awkward.” I walked to the desk and offered him the hot dog along with the scrap of paper I’d scribbled the note on.

“‘Don’t be a wiener,’” Scott read. “‘Go to Summer Solstice with me.’”

“Well? What do you think?” I tried to hold a smile. “Do you want to be a wiener or not?”

Scott looked from the note to the hot dog to me. “What?”

“Well, isn’t that the cutest thing ever,” Mrs. Parnell chimed in. “You don’t want to be a wiener, do you, Scott?”

“Give us a minute, Mom?”

“Is Summer Solstice a dress-up party?” Mrs. Parnell asked. “Like a dance? I could make a reservation at Todd’s Tuxes—”

“Mom.”

“Oh. Right. I’ll just be in the kitchen. Nora, I’ve got to hand it to you. I had no idea you were up here planting an invite to the party. I really thought you were picking up sheet music. Very clever.” She winked, then backed out, pulling the door shut behind her.

I was left alone with Scott, and all my relief scattered.

“What are you really doing here?” Scott repeated, his voice significantly darker.

“I told you—”

“Not buying it.” His eyes flicked beyond me, surveying the room. “What did you touch?”

“I came by to give you the hot dog, I swear. I looked in the desk for a pen to write the wiener note, but that’s it.”

Scott strode to the desk, pulled out each drawer, and sifted through the contents. “I know you’re lying.”

I backed toward the door. “You know what? Keep the hot dog, but forget about Summer Solstice. I was just trying to be nice. I was trying to make up for the other night, because I felt responsible for your face getting smashed. Forget I said anything.”

He assessed me in silence. I had no idea if he’d bought my act, but I didn’t care. The only thought running through my mind was of getting out.

“I’ve got my eye on you,” he said at last, in a tone I found to be startlingly threatening. I’d never seen Scott so icily hostile. “Think about that. Every time you think you’re alone, think again. I’m watching you. If I ever catch you in my room again, you’re dead. We all clear?”

I swallowed. “Crystal.”

On my way out, I passed Mrs. Parnell standing near the fireplace, drinking a glass of iced tea. She took a swig, set the glass on the mantel, and flagged me down.

“Scott is quite the boy, isn’t he?” she said.

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“I bet you asked him to the party early because you knew all the other girls would race to get in line if you didn’t act fast.”

Summer Solstice was tomorrow night, and everyone going already had dates. Unable to tell this to Mrs. Parnell, I opted for a smile. She could interpret it however she wanted.

“Do I need to get him fitted for a tux?” she asked.

“Actually, the party is really casual. Jeans and a shirt are fine.” I’d let Scott break the news to her that we were no longer going together.

Her face fell slightly. “Well, there’s always homecoming. I don’t suppose you’re planning to ask him to homecoming?”

“I really haven’t thought about it yet. And anyway, Scott might not want to go with me.”

“Don’t be silly! You and Scott go way back. He’s crazy about you.”

Or crazy, period.

“I have to go, Mrs. Parnell. It was great seeing you again.”

“Drive safely!” she called, giving me a finger wave.

I met Vee outside in the parking lot. She was hunched over, fists pressed into her knees, sucking air. A splotch of sweat stained the back of her shirt.

“Nice decoy work,” I said.

She looked up, her face pink as a Christmas ham. “You ever try chasing down a car?” she gasped.

“I’ll one-up you. I gave Scott my hot dog and asked if he’d go to Summer Solstice with me.”

“What does the hot dog have to do with anything?”

“I said he’d be a wiener if he didn’t go with me.”

Vee wheezed laughter. “I’d have run harder had I known I’d get to see you call him a wiener.”

Forty-five minutes later, Vee’s dad had called AAA and had the Neon towed back onto the road and dropped me off in front of the farmhouse. I didn’t waste any time clearing off the kitchen table and shaking Scott’s shoe box out of my handbag. Multiple layers of duct tape were wrapped around the box, nearly a quarter of an inch thick. Whatever Scott was hiding, he didn’t want the rest of the world finding it.

I sawed through the tape with a steak knife. I freed the lid, set it aside, and peered into the box. A plain white tube sock lay innocently at the bottom.

I stared at the sock, feeling my heart drop with disappointment. Then I frowned. I stretched the sock open just wide enough to look inside. My knees went soft.

Inside was a ring. One of the Black Hand’s rings.