Silence

CHAPTER 14

AFTER LUNCH, I DROVE HOME. LESS THAN A MINUTE after I’d parked the Volkswagen on the cement slab beside the driveway, my mom bounced her Taurus into the drive. She’d been home when I left earlier, and I wondered if she’d slipped out for lunch with Hank. I hadn’t stopped smiling since leaving Enzo’s, but my mood cooled suddenly.

Mom pulled into the garage and came out to meet me. “How was lunch with Vee?”

“Same old, same old. What about you? Hot lunch date?” I inquired innocently.

“More like work.” She released a long-suffering sigh. “Hugo asked me to travel to Boston this week.”

My mom works for Hugo Renaldi, owner of an auction company of the same name. Hugo conducts high-end estate auctions, and it’s my mom’s job to make sure the auctions run smoothly, something she can’t do long distance. She’s constantly on the road, leaving me home alone, and we both know it’s not an ideal situation. She’d considered quitting in the past, but it always came down to money. Hugo paid her more — quite a bit more — than she’d make anywhere inside Coldwater’s city limits. If she quit, several sacrifices would have to be made, starting with selling the farmhouse. Since every memory I had of my dad was wrapped up in the house, you could say I was sentimental about it.

“I turned him down,” Mom said. “I told him I’m going to need to find a job that doesn’t require me to leave home.”

“You told him what?” My surprise wore off quickly, and I felt alarm creep into my tone. “You’re quitting? Have you found a new job? Does this mean we’re going to have to move?” I couldn’t believe she’d made this decision without me. In the past, we had always taken the same stance: Moving was out of the question.

“Hugo said he’d see what he can do about giving me a local position, but not to get my hopes up. His secretary has been working for him for years and does her job well. He’s not going to let her go just to keep me happy.”

I stared at the farmhouse, stunned. The thought of another family living inside its walls made my stomach roll. What if they remodeled? What if they gutted my dad’s study and tore out the cherry floors we’d installed together? And what about his bookshelves? They weren’t perfectly straight, but they’d been our first genuine attempt at woodworking. They had character!

“I’m not worried about selling yet,” Mom said. “Something will come up. Who knows? Maybe Hugo will realize he needs two secretaries. If it’s meant to be, it’ll happen.”

I turned on her. “Are you so casual about quitting because you’re counting on marrying Hank and having him bail us out?” The cynical observation sprang out before I could stop it, and I immediately felt a wrench of guilt. This kind of rudeness was beneath me. But I’d spoken from that hollow place of fear that hid deep in my chest and overruled all.

Mom’s entire posture went stiff. Then she clicked off through the garage, punching the button that automatically lowered the door behind her.

I stood in the driveway a moment, torn between wanting to go straight inside and apologize, and growing fear over her easy avoidance of my question. So that was that. She was dating Hank with every intention of marrying him. She was doing the very thing Marcie had accused her of: thinking of the money. I knew our finances were tight, but we’d survived, hadn’t we? I resented my mom for stooping so low, and I resented Hank for giving her a choice other than making do with me.

Dropping back into the Volkswagen, I drove across town. I was going fifteen over, but for once, I didn’t care. I didn’t have a destination in mind — I simply wanted to put distance between me and my mom. First Hank, and now her job. Why did I feel like she kept making decisions without consulting me?

When the entrance to the highway appeared in the lane ahead, I hung right and followed it to the coast. I took the last exit before Delphic Amusement Park and followed signs to the public beaches. This stretch of coast saw far less traffic than the southern beaches of Maine. The coastline was rocky, and evergreens sprang up just out of reach of high tide. Instead of tourists with beach towels and picnic baskets, I saw a lone hiker and a dog chasing seagulls.

Which was exactly what I wanted. I needed time alone to cool down.

I jerked the Volkswagen curbside. In the rearview mirror, a red muscle car glided in behind me. I vaguely remembered seeing it on the highway, always hanging a few cars back. The driver probably wanted to squeeze in one last trip to the beach before the weather changed for the worse.

I jumped the guardrail and climbed down the rocky embankment. The air was cooler than it had been in Coldwater, and a steady wind pummeled my back. The sky was more gray than blue, and hazy. I stayed above the reach of the waves, scaling the higher rocks. The terrain grew increasingly difficult to navigate, and I kept my concentration glued on careful foot placement rather than my latest fight with my mom.

My boot slipped on a rock, and I went down, landing awkwardly on my side. Muttering under my breath, I regained my footing, and that was when a large shadow fell over me. Taken by surprise, I flipped around. I recognized the driver from the red muscle car. He was taller than average and had a year or two on me. His hair was cut utilitarian short, with sandy-brown eyebrows and a touch of hair at his chin. By the fit of his sweatshirt, he hit the gym regularly.

“About time you left your house,” he said, glancing around. “I’ve been trying to get you alone for days.”

I pushed to my feet, balancing on a rock. I searched his face for familiarity, but the lights didn’t come on. “I’m sorry, do we know each other?”

“Do you think you were followed?” His eyes continued to rove the coastline. “I tried to keep tabs on all the cars, but I might have missed one. It would have helped if you’d circled the block before parking.”

“Uh, I honestly have no idea who you are.”

“That’s a strange thing to say to the guy who bought the car you drove here in.”

A moment ticked by before I wrapped my head around his words. “Wait. You’re — Scott Parnell?” Even though it had been years, the similarities were there. The same dimple in his cheek. The same hazel eyes. More recent additions included the scar across his cheekbone, the five o’clock shadow, and the juxtaposition of a full, sensuous mouth with sculpted, symmetrical features.

“I heard about your amnesia. Rumors are true, then? Looks like it’s as bad as they say.”

My, my, wasn’t he optimistic. I crossed my arms over my chest and said coolly, “While we’re on the subject, maybe now’s a good time to tell me why you ditched the Volkswagen at my house the night I disappeared. If you know about my amnesia, surely you’ve heard I was kidnapped.”

“The car was an apology for being a jerk.” His eyes still flicked over the trees. Who was he so worried had followed us?

“Let’s talk about that night,” I stated. Out here all alone didn’t seem like the best place to have this conversation, but my determination to get answers won out. “It seems we were both shot by Rixon earlier that night. That’s what I told the police. You, me, and Rixon alone in the fun house. If Rixon even exists. I don’t know how you pulled it off, but I’m starting to think you invented him. I’m starting to think you shot me and needed someone else to blame. Did you force me to give Rixon’s name to the police? And next question, did you shoot me, Scott?”

“Rixon’s in hell now, Nora.”

I flinched. He’d said it without any hesitation and with just the right amount of melancholy. If he was lying, he deserved an award.

“Rixon’s dead?”

“He’s burning in hell, but yeah, same basic idea. Dead works, as far as I’m concerned.”

I scrutinized his face, watching for the slightest false movement. I wasn’t going to argue specifics of the afterlife with him, but I needed confirmation that Rixon was gone for good. “How do you know? Have you told the police? Who killed him?”

“I don’t know who we get to thank, but I know he’s gone. Word travels fast, trust me.”

“You’re going to have to do better than that. You might have the rest of the world fooled, but I’m not bought that easily. You dumped a car in my driveway the night I was kidnapped. Then you ran off into hiding — New Hampshire, was it? Forgive me if the last word that comes to mind when I see you is ‘innocent.’ I think it goes without saying: I don’t trust you.”

He sighed. “Before Rixon shot us, you convinced me that I really am Nephilim. You’re the one who told me I can’t die. You’re part of the reason I ran away. You were right. I was never going to end up like the Black Hand. No way was I going to help him recruit more Nephilim to his army.”

The wind pierced my clothes, breathing like frost against my skin. Nephilim. That word again. Following me everywhere. “I told you that you’re Nephilim?” I asked nervously. I closed my eyes briefly, praying he would correct himself. Praying that he’d been using the words “can’t die” figuratively. Praying this was where he explained that he was the final stop in an elaborate hoax that had started last night, with Gabe. A big hoax, and the joke was on me.

But the truth was there, stirring in that murky place where my memory had once been intact. I couldn’t rationalize it in my head, but I could feel it. Inside me. Burning in my chest. Scott wasn’t making this up.

“What I want to know is why you can’t remember any of this,” he said. “I thought amnesia wasn’t permanent. What gives?”

“I don’t know why I can’t remember!” I snapped. “Okay? I don’t know. I woke up a few nights ago in the cemetery with nothing. I couldn’t even remember how I’d gotten there.” I wasn’t sure why I felt the sudden urge to spill everything to Scott, but there it was. My nose began to run, and I could feel tears forming behind my eyes. “The police found me and took me to the hospital. They said I’d been missing for nearly three months. They said I have amnesia because my mind is blocking the trauma to protect myself. But you want to know what’s crazy? I’m starting to think I’m not blocking anything. I got a note. Someone broke into my house and left it on my pillow. It said even though I’m home, I’m not safe. Someone is behind this. They know what I don’t. They know what happened to me.”

Right then, I realized I’d divulged too much. I had no evidence the note existed. Worse, logic proved it didn’t. But if the note was a figment of my imagination, why did the thought of it refuse to fade? Why couldn’t I accept that I’d invented, contrived, or hallucinated it?

Scott studied me with a deepening frown. “They?”

I threw my hands up. “Forget it.”

“Did the note say anything else?”

“I said drop it. Do you have a Kleenex?” I could feel the skin under my eyes growing puffy, and I was past the point where sniffling was helping to keep my nose dry. As if that weren’t bad enough, two tears tumbled down my cheek.

“Hey,” Scott said gently, grasping me by the shoulders. “It’s going to be okay. Don’t cry, all right? I’m on your side. I’ll help you figure out this mess.” When I didn’t resist, he pulled me against his chest and patted my back. Awkwardly at first, and then he settled into a soothing rhythm. “The night you went missing, I went into hiding. It’s not safe for me here, but when I saw on the news you were back and couldn’t remember anything, I had to come out of hiding. I had to find you. I owe you that much.”

I knew I should pull away. Just because I wanted to believe Scott didn’t mean I should trust him completely. Or let down my guard. But I was tired of throwing up walls, and I let my defenses slip. I couldn’t remember the last time it had felt so good just to be held. In his embrace, I could almost make myself believe I wasn’t in this alone. Scott had promised we’d get through this together, and I wanted to believe him on that count as well.

Plus, he knew me. He was a link to my past, and that meant more to me than I could put into words. After so many discouraging attempts at remembering any fragment my memory saw fit to throw at me, he’d appeared without any effort on my part. It was more than I could have asked for.

Wiping my eyes on the back of my arm, I said, “Why isn’t it safe for you here?”

“The Black Hand is here.” As if remembering that the name meant nothing to me, he said, “Just to make sure we’re clear, you remember nothing of this? I mean, nothing as in nothing?”

“Nothing.” With that one word, I felt as though I were standing at the opening of a forbidding labyrinth that stretched to the horizon.

“Sucks to be you,” he said, and despite his word choice, I believed he sincerely meant he was sorry. “The Black Hand is the nickname of a powerful Nephil. He’s building an underground army, and I used to be one of his soldiers, for lack of a better word. Now I’m a deserter, and if he catches me, it won’t be pretty.”

“Back up. What is a Nephil?”

Scott’s mouth quirked up on one side. “Get ready to feel your mind blow, Grey. A Nephil,” he explained patiently, “is an immortal.” His smile tipped even higher at my dubious expression. “I can’t die. None of us can.”

“What’s the catch?” I asked. He couldn’t really mean immortal as in immortal.

He gestured to the ocean shattering itself against the rocks far below. “If I jump, I’ll live.”

Okay, so maybe he’d been stupid enough to make the jump before. And survived. That didn’t prove anything. He wasn’t immortal. He simply believed he was because he was a typical teenage guy who’d done a few reckless things, lived to talk about them, and now he believed he was invincible.

Scott arched his eyebrows in mock offense. “You don’t believe me. Last night I spent a good two hours in the ocean, diving for fish, and I didn’t freeze to death. I can hold my breath down there for eight, nine minutes. Sometimes I pass out, but when I come around, I’ve always floated to the surface, and all my vital signs are up and working.”

I opened my mouth, but it took a minute for words to form. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“It makes sense if I’m immortal.”

Before I could stop him, Scott whipped out a Swiss Army knife and drove it into his thigh. I gave a strangled scream and leaped for him, unsure if I should pull out the knife or stabilize it. Before I’d made up my mind, he yanked it out himself. He swore in pain, his jeans seeping blood.

“Scott!” I shrieked.

“Come back tomorrow,” he said in a more subdued voice. “It will be like it never happened.”

“Oh, yeah?” I snapped, still worked up. Was he completely out of his mind? Why would he do such a stupid thing?

“It’s not the first time I’ve done it. I’ve tried to burn myself alive. My skin was torched — gone. A couple days later, I was as good as new.”

Even now I could see the blood on his jeans drying. The wound had stopped bleeding. He was … healing. In seconds rather than weeks. I didn’t want to trust my eyes, but seeing was believing.

All of a sudden, I remembered Gabe. More clearly than I wanted to, I summoned up a visual of a tire iron projecting from his back. Jev had sworn the injury wouldn’t kill Gabe….

Just like Scott swore his wound would heal without so much as a scratch.

“Okay, then,” I whispered, even though I was anything but okay.

“You sure you’re convinced? I could always throw myself in front of a car if you need more proof.”

“I think I believe you,” I said, failing to keep the dazed bewilderment out of my tone.

I forced myself to snap out of my stupor. For now, I was going to go with the flow as much as I could. Focus on one thing at a time, I told myself. Scott is immortal. Okay. What’s next?

“Do we know who the Black Hand is?” I asked, suddenly hungry to get my hands on any information Scott might have. What else was I missing? How many more of my beliefs could he send spinning on their heads? And highest priority: Could he help mend my memory?

“Last we spoke, we both wanted to know. I spent the summer following leads, which wasn’t easy, given that I’m living on the run, clean out of cash, working solo, and the Black Hand isn’t what you’d call careless. But I’ve narrowed it down to one man.” His eyes swept to mine. “You ready for this? The Black Hand is Hank Millar.”

“Hank is what?”

We were sitting on two tree stumps in a cave, about a quarter mile up the coast, tucked around a jutting cliff, and far out of view of the road. The cave was semi-dark with a low ceiling, but it offered protection from the wind and, as Scott had insisted, concealed us from any potential spies of the Black Hand. He’d refused to say another word until he was certain we were alone.

Scott struck a match on the bottom of his shoe and lit a fire in a pit of rocks. Light glinted off the jagged walls, and I got my first good look around. There was a backpack and a sleeping bag against the back wall. A cracked mirror was propped against a rock that jutted out like a shelf, along with a razor, a can of shaving cream, and a stick of deodorant. Closer to the mouth of the cave was a large toolbox. On it rested a few dishes, silverware, and a frying pan. Beside it lay a fishing pole and an animal trap. The cave both impressed and saddened me. Scott was anything but helpless, clearly able to survive on his own knowledge and fortitude. But what kind of life did he have, hiding and running from one place to the next?

“I’ve been watching Hank for months,” Scott said. “This isn’t a stab in the dark.”

“Are you sure Hank is the Black Hand? No offense, but he doesn’t fit my picture of an underground militarist or—” An immortal man. The thought seemed unreal. No, absurd. “He runs the most successful car dealership in town, he’s a member of the yacht club, and he single-handedly supports the booster club. Why would he care what’s going on in the world of Nephilim? He already has everything he could possibly want.”

“Because he’s Nephilim too,” Scott explained. “And he doesn’t have everything he wants. During the Jewish month of Cheshvan, all Nephilim who’ve sworn an oath of fealty have to give up their body for two weeks. They don’t have a choice. They give it up and someone else possesses it — a fallen angel. Rixon was the fallen angel who used to possess the Black Hand, and that’s how I came to hear he’s burning in hell. The Black Hand might be free, but he hasn’t forgotten and he’s not about to forgive. That’s what the army is for. He’s going to try to overthrow the fallen angels.”

“Back up. Who are the fallen angels?” A gang? That’s what it sounded like. I was increasingly doubtful. Hank Millar was the last person in Coldwater who’d lower himself to associate with gangs. “And what do you mean ‘possesses’?”

Scott’s mouth twitched with a disparaging smile, but to his credit, he answered with patience. “Definition of a fallen angel: heaven’s rejects and a Nephil’s worst nightmare. They force us to swear fealty, and then possess our bodies during Cheshvan. They’re parasites. They can’t feel anything in their own bodies, so they invade ours. Yeah, Grey,” he said at the look of abhorrence I was sure was frozen on my face. “I mean they literally come inside us and use our bodies like their own. A Nephil is mentally there while they do it, but doesn’t have any control.”

I tried to swallow Scott’s explanation. More than once, I imagined the theme song of The Twilight Zone playing in the background, but the truth of the matter was, I knew he wasn’t lying. It was all coming back. The memories were splintered and damaged, but they were there. I’d learned this all before. When or how, I didn’t know. But I knew this — all of it. I said, “The other night I saw three guys beating up a Nephil. That’s what they were doing? Trying to force him to give up his body for two weeks? That’s inhumane. It’s — repulsive!”

Scott had dropped his eyes, stirring the fire with a stick. My mistake hit me too late. Shame swept through me and I whispered, “Oh, Scott. I wasn’t thinking. I’m so sorry you have to go through that. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to give up your body.”

“I haven’t sworn fealty. And I’m not going to.” He tossed the stick on the fire, and gold sparks showered into the dark, smoky air of the cave. “If nothing else, that’s what the Black Hand taught me. Fallen angels can try any mind-trick on me they want. They can chop my head off, cut out my tongue, and burn me to ash. But I’ll never swear that oath. I can handle pain. But I can’t handle the consequences of that oath.”

“Mind-trick?” The skin at the back of my neck tingled, and my thoughts turned once more to Gabe.

“A perk of being a fallen angel,” he said bitterly. “You get to mess with people’s minds. Make them see things that aren’t real. Nephilim inherited the trick from fallen angels.”

It seemed I’d been right about Gabe after all. But he hadn’t used a magician’s sleight of hand to create the illusion of turning himself into a bear, as Jev had let me believe. He’d used a Nephilim weapon — mind control.

“Show me how it’s done. I want to know exactly how it works.”

“I’m out of practice,” was all he said, rocking back on his stump and lacing his hands behind his head.

“Can’t you at least try?” I said with a playful shot to his knee, hoping to lighten the mood. “Show me what we’re up against. Come on. Surprise me. Make me see something I’m not expecting. Then teach me how it’s done.”

When Scott continued to stare at the fire, the light illuminating the hard edges of his features, the smile slipped from my face. This was anything but a joke to him.

“Here’s the thing,” he said. “Those powers are addictive. When you get a taste of them, it’s hard to stop. When I ran away three months ago and realized what I was capable of, I used my powers every chance I got. If I was hungry, I’d walk into a store, throw what I wanted into a cart, and mind-trick the clerk into bagging my stuff and letting me walk out without paying. It was easy. It made me feel superior. It wasn’t until I was spying on the Black Hand one night, and saw him do the same thing, that I quit cold turkey. I’m not going to live the rest of my life like that. I’m not going to be like him.” He pulled a ring out of his pocket, holding it up in the light. It appeared to be made of iron, and the crown of the ring was stamped with a clenched fist. For one fleeting moment, a strange blue halo of light seemed to radiate from the metal. But it immediately vanished, and I wrote it off as a trick of the light.

“All Nephilim have heightened strength, making us physically more powerful than humans, but when I wear this ring, it takes that strength to a whole different level,” Scott said solemnly. “The Black Hand gave me the ring after he tried to recruit me to his army. I don’t know what kind of curse or enchantment is on the ring, or if it’s even one of those. But there’s something. Anyone with one of these rings is almost physically unstoppable. Before you disappeared in June, you stole the ring from me. The pull to get it back was so intense I didn’t sleep, eat, or rest until I found it. I was like a junkie searching for the one thing that could give me my next high. I broke into your house one night after you were kidnapped. I found it in your bedroom in your violin case.”

“Cello,” came my murmured correction. Faint recollection stirred inside me, a sensation of having seen the ring before.

“I’m not the smartest guy, but I know this ring isn’t harmless. The Black Hand did something to it. He wanted a way to give every member of his army an advantage. Even when I’m not wearing the ring, and just relying on my natural strength and powers, the pull for more of both is strong. The only way to beat it is to lay off using my powers and abilities as much as I can.”

I tried to sympathize with Scott, but I was a little disappointed. I needed to gain a better understanding of how Gabe had tricked me in case I found myself face-to-face with him again. And if Hank really was the Black Hand, the leader of an underground and nonhuman militia, I had to wonder if he was in my life for reasons darker than met the eye. After all, if he was so busy battling fallen angels, how did he have time to run his dealership, be a father, and date my mom? Maybe I was suspicious, but given everything Scott had just told me, I was pretty sure it was warranted.

I needed someone on my side who could go up against Hank, if it came to that. Right now, the only person I knew of was Scott. I wanted him to keep his integrity, but at the same time, he was the only person I knew of who stood a chance against Hank.

“Maybe you could try using the ring’s powers for good,” I suggested softly after a minute.

Scott scrubbed a hand through his hair, obviously ready to drop the subject. “Too late. I’ve made my decision. I won’t wear the ring. It connects me to him.”

“Don’t you ever worry that if you don’t wear the ring, it will give Hank a dangerous advantage?”

His eyes caught mine, but he avoided answering. “You hungry? I can catch us some bass. It tastes decent pan-seared over the fire.” Without waiting for my response, he grabbed the fishing pole and descended the rocks leading down from the cave.

I followed after him, suddenly wishing I could swap my boots for tennis shoes. Scott navigated the rocks in strides and jumps, whereas I was forced to take one cautious step after another.

“Fine, I’ll put all talk of your powers on hold,” I called after him, “but I’m not finished. There are still way too many gaps. Let’s go back to the night I disappeared. Do you have any guesses as to who kidnapped me?”

Scott took a seat on a rock, threading his line with bait. By the time I caught up to him, he was almost finished.

“At first I thought it had to be Rixon,” he said. “That was before I learned he’s in hell. I wanted to come back and look for you, but it wasn’t that simple. The Black Hand has spies everywhere. And given what happened in the fun house, I figured I’d have the cops on my tail too.”

“But?”

“But I didn’t.” He looked sideways at me. “Don’t you find it a little strange? The cops had to have known I was in the fun house that night with you and Rixon. You would have told them. You probably told them I was shot, too. So why didn’t they ever come looking for me? Why’d they let me off the hook? It’s almost like—” He caught himself.

“Like what?”

“Like someone came in after and cleaned up. And I’m not talking about physical evidence. I’m talking about mind-tricks. Erasing memories. Someone powerful enough to make the police look the other way.”

“A Nephil, you mean.”

A shrug. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? Maybe the Black Hand didn’t want the police looking for me. Maybe he wanted to find me himself and take care of me off the record. If he finds me, trust me, he’s not handing me over to the police for questioning. He’ll lock me in one of his prisons and make me regret the day I ran out on him.”

So we were looking for someone strong enough to tamper with minds, or as Scott put it, erase memories. The correlation to my own lost memory didn’t slip past me. Could a Nephil have done this to me? A knot tightened in my stomach as I pondered the possibility.

“How many Nephilim have that kind of power?” I asked.

“Who knows? Definitely the Black Hand.”

“Have you ever heard of a Nephil named Jev? Or a fallen angel, for that matter?” I added, increasingly aware that Jev was most likely one or the other. Not that the realization made me feel the least bit consoled.

“No. But that’s not saying much. Almost as soon as I found out about Nephilim, I had to go into hiding. Why?”

“The other night I met a guy named Jev. He knew about Nephilim. He stopped the three guys—” I caught myself. No need to be vague, even though it was easier on my state of mind. “He stopped the fallen angels I told you about from forcing a Nephil named B.J. into swearing fealty. This is going to sound crazy, but Jev gave off some kind of energy. I felt it like electricity. It was a lot stronger than anything the others gave off.”

“Probably a good indicator of his power,” Scott said. “Taking on three fallen angels speaks for itself.”

“He’s that powerful, and you’ve never heard of him?”

“Believe it or not, I know about as much as you when it comes to this stuff.”

I remembered Jev’s words to me. I tried to kill you. What did that mean? Was he mixed up with my kidnapping after all? And was he strong enough to erase my memory? Based on the intensity of the power radiating from him, he was capable of more than a few simple mind-tricks. A lot more.

“Knowing what I do about the Black Hand, I’m surprised I’m still a free man,” Scott said. “He must hate that I’ve made a fool of him.”

“About that. Why did you desert Hank’s army?”

Scott sighed, dropping his hands heavily on his knees. “This is a conversation I didn’t want to have. There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to put it out there. The night your dad died, I was supposed to keep an eye on him. He was on his way to a dangerous meeting, and the Black Hand wanted to make sure he was safe. The Black Hand said if I succeeded, it proved he could count on me. He wanted me in his army, but it wasn’t what I wanted.”

A chill of premonition tingled up my spine. The last thing I’d expected was for Scott to bring my dad into this. “My dad — knew Hank Millar?”

“I blew off the Black Hand’s order. Figured I’d give him the finger and make my point. But all I really succeeded in doing was letting an innocent man die.”

I blinked, Scott’s words cascading over me like a bucket of ice water. “You let my dad die? You let him walk into danger and did nothing to help him?”

Scott spread his hands. “I didn’t know it was going to be like that. I thought the Black Hand was crazy. I had him pegged as an egotistical freak. I never got the whole Nephilim thing. Not until it was too late.”

I set my eyes straight ahead, staring steadfastly at the ocean. An unwanted sensation clenched my chest, squeezing relentlessly. My dad. All this time, Scott had known the truth. He hadn’t given it to me until I’d dragged it out of him.

“Rixon pulled the trigger,” Scott said, his voice breaking quietly into my thoughts. “I let your dad walk into a trap, but it was Rixon who stood at the end of it.”

“Rixon,” I repeated. In bitter pieces, it was all coming back. One awful glimpse at a time. Rixon leading me into the fun house. Rixon admitting matter-of-factly that he’d killed my dad. Rixon leveling his gun at me. I couldn’t remember enough to paint the full picture, but the flashes were enough. I was sick to my stomach.

“If Rixon didn’t kidnap me, who did?” I asked.

“Remember how I said I spent the summer following the Black Hand? At the beginning of August, he made a trip out to White Mountain National Forest. He drove to a remote cabin and stayed less than twenty minutes. A long drive for such a short visit, right? I didn’t dare get close enough to look in the windows, but I overheard a conversation he had on his phone a couple days later, back in Coldwater. He told the person on the other line that the girl was still at the cabin, and he needed to know she was a clean slate. Those were his words. He said there was no room for error. I’m starting to wonder if the girl he was referring to—”

“Was me,” I finished for him, stunned. Hank Millar, an immortal. Hank Millar, the Black Hand. Hank, possibly my kidnapper.

“There’s one dude who could probably get answers,” Scott said, tugging his eyebrow. “If anyone knows how to get information, it’s him. Tracking him down could get tricky. I wouldn’t know where to start. And given the circumstances, he might not jump to help us, especially since the last time I saw him, he nearly broke my jaw for trying to kiss you.”

I flinched. “Kiss me? What? Who is this guy?”

Scott frowned. “That’s right. I guess you wouldn’t remember him, either. Your ex — Patch.”