Silence

CHAPTER 20

MY FIRST CONSCIOUS THOUGHT WAS OF BEING nailed down. No. Nailed inside. Locked in the snuggest of coffins. Tangled in a net. Defenseless and dictated by another body. A body that looked like my own — same hands, same hair, identical down to the finest detail — but one I had no control over. A strange phantom body that acted against my will, dragging me into its tide.

My second thought was Patch.

Patch was kissing me. Kissing me in a way that terrified me even more than the phantom body and its unbreakable hold over me. His mouth, everywhere. The rain, warm and sweet. The swell of distant thunder. And his body, taking up space, standing so very close, radiating heat.

Patch.

Astonished and shaken, I clawed at the memory. I begged to be let out.

I gasped as if coming up from a lengthy and punishing stay under water. At the same time, my eyes flew open.

“What is it?” Jev asked, grasping me protectively by the shoulders as I slumped against him.

We were back in his granite studio, the same candles flickering along the walls. The familiarity of it flooded me with relief. I was terrified of being trapped down there. Terrified of the sensation of being held captive in a body that I couldn’t command.

“Your memory was of me,” I choked. “But there wasn’t a double. I was trapped inside my body, but I couldn’t control it. I couldn’t move it. It was — terrifying.”

“What did you see?” he asked, his body tense enough to be made of stone. One hard push in the wrong direction, and he might well shatter.

“We were above here. In the shed. When I said your name, I didn’t say Jev. I called you Patch. And you were — kissing me.” I was too shocked to think about blushing.

Jev smoothed hair off my face, stroking my cheek. “Nothing is wrong,” he murmured. “Back then you knew me as Patch. That was the name I was going under when we met. I dropped the name when I lost you. I’ve been going by Jev ever since.”

I felt stupid for crying, but I couldn’t stop myself. Jev was Patch. My old boyfriend. It suddenly made sense. No wonder no one had recognized Jev’s name — he’d changed it after I disappeared.

“I kissed you back,” I said, still crying softly. “In the memory.”

The tightness in his face softened. “That bad?”

I wondered if I could ever tell him just what his kiss had done to me. It was so pleasurable it had single-handedly frightened me out of his memory.

To avoid having to answer him, I said, “You told me earlier that you tried to bring me here to your home once before, but Hank stopped us. I think that was the memory I saw. But I didn’t see Hank. I didn’t make it that far. I broke the connection. I couldn’t handle being inside my body but not being able to control it. I wasn’t prepared for just how real it would feel.”

“The girl in control of your body was you,” he reminded me. “You in the past. Before you lost your memory.”

I jumped up, pacing the room. “I have to go back.”

“Nora—”

“I have to face Hank. And I can’t face him here until I’ve faced him in there,” I said, thrusting my finger at Jev’s scars. And face yourself, I thought. You have to face the part of you that knows the truth.

Jev gave me a measured look. “Do you want me to pull you out?”

“No. This time I’m going all the way.”

The moment I arrived back inside Jev’s memory, I felt a switch being thrown, and the next thing I knew, I was reliving the flashback through the eyes of the girl I’d been before my memory was damaged. Her body overtook mine, and her thoughts overshadowed my own. I breathed through the panic, opening myself up to her — to me.

Outside, the rain made a metallic ping as it pattered the shed. Patch and I were both wet from it, and he sucked a drop of rainwater from my lip. I hung my fingertips on the waistband of his jeans and tugged him closer. Our mouths slipped over each other, a warm distraction from the chill in the air.

He nuzzled my neck affectionately. “I love you. I’m happier right now than I ever remember being.”

I was about to answer when a man’s voice, unaccountably familiar, carried out of the darkest part of the shed. “How very touching. Seize the angel.”

A handful of overly tall young men, undoubtedly Nephilim, rushed out of the shadows and surrounded Patch, twisting his arms behind his back.

I hardly had time to absorb what was happening when Patch’s voice broke into my thoughts as clearly as if he’d spoken in my ear. When I start fighting, run. Take the Jeep. Don’t go home. Stay in the Jeep and keep driving until I find you.

The man who lingered at the back of the shed, commanding the others, stepped forward into the eerie carnival light slicing through the shed’s many cracks. He was unnaturally young for his age, with crisp blue eyes and a ruthless curl to his mouth.

“Mr. Millar,” I whispered.

How could he possibly be here? After everything I’d gone through this night, a near-fatal attempt on my life, learning the sordid truth about my heritage, and overcoming it all to be with Patch, now this? It didn’t seem real.

“Let me introduce myself properly,” he said. “I’m the Black Hand. I knew your father Harrison well. I’m glad he’s not here now to see you debasing yourself with one of the devil’s brood.” He wagged his head at me. “You’re not the girl I thought you’d grow up to be, Nora. Fraternizing with the enemy, making a mockery of your heritage. But I can forgive that.” He paused with significance. “Tell me, Nora. Was it you who killed my dear friend and associate, Chauncey Langeais?”

My blood ran cold. I was caught between the impulse to lie and the knowledge that it wouldn’t do any good. He knew I’d killed Chauncey. The cold twist of his mouth frowned at me in judgment.

Now! Patch shouted, cutting into my thoughts. Run!

I bolted for the shed door. But I only made it a few steps before a Nephil hooked my elbow. Just as fast, he yanked my other arm behind my back. I tried to wrench free, every movement a desperate lunge for the shed door.

Hank Millar’s footfalls crossed the shed behind me. “I owe this to Chauncey.”

Any chill I’d felt from the rain had vanished; rivulets of sweat trickled beneath my shirt.

“We shared a vision. One we intended to see through to the end,” Hank continued. “Who would’ve guessed you of all people would be the one to nearly destroy it?”

A slew of spiteful responses sprang to mind, but I didn’t dare set off Hank. My only asset was time, and I needed to keep it on my side. The Nephil spun me around just as Hank retrieved a long, thin dagger from the waist of his pants.

Touch my back.

Patch’s voice cut through the panic clanging between my ears. Frantically, I looked sideways at him.

Go inside my memory. Touch the place where my wings fuse into my back. He nodded, urging me to act.

Easier said than done, I thought at him, even though I knew he couldn’t hear me. A span of five or six feet separated us, and both of us were held captive by Nephilim.

“Let go of me,” I snapped at the Nephil pinning my arms. “We both know I’m not going anywhere. I can’t outrun all of you.”

The Nephil glanced at Hank, who confirmed my request with a slight nod. Then he sighed, almost bored. “I’m sorry to do this, Nora. But justice must be served. Chauncey would have done the same for me.”

I rubbed the insides of my elbows, my skin burning from where the Nephil had gripped me. “Justice? What about family? I’m your daughter by blood.” And nothing more.

“You’re a blight on my heritage,” he dismissed. “A turncoat. A humiliation.”

I gave him the blackest look I had inside me, even though my stomach roiled in fear. “Are you here to avenge Chauncey, or is this an attempt to save face? Couldn’t handle your daughter dating a fallen angel and embarrassing you in front of your little Nephilim army? Am I getting warm?” So much for not setting him off.

Hank frowned slightly.

Think you could get inside my memory before he snaps your neck? Patch hissed to my mind.

I didn’t look at Patch, afraid I’d lose my resolve if I did. We both knew escaping into his memory wasn’t going to get me out of here. It would merely transport my mind into his past. And I supposed that was what Patch wanted; for me to be in some other place when Hank killed me. Patch knew this was the end, and he was saving me the pain of being conscious at my own execution. A ridiculous image of an ostrich with its head in the sand came distinctly to mind.

If I was going to die in the next few moments, it wouldn’t be before I said the words that I hoped would haunt Hank for the rest of eternity.

“I guess it’s a good thing you chose to keep Marcie as your daughter instead of me,” I said. “She’s cute, popular, dates the right boys, and is too dumb to question anything you do. But I know for a fact the dead can come back. I saw my dad earlier tonight — my real dad.”

The frown on Hank’s face deepened.

“If he can visit me, there’s nothing preventing me from visiting Marcie — or your wife. And I won’t stop there. I know you’re dating my mom on the sly again. I’ll tell her the truth about you, dead or alive. How many dates do you think you can squeeze in before I let her know you killed me?”

That was all I had time to say before Patch rammed his knee into the gut of the Nephil holding his right arm. The Nephil slumped, and Patch swung his free fist at the nose of the Nephil pinning his left arm. There was an awful crunch, and a blubbering yowl.

I ran for Patch, throwing myself against him.

“Hurry,” he said, forcing my hand up the back of his shirt.

I splayed my hand blindly on Patch’s back, hoping I’d make contact with the place where his wings fused into his skin. His wings were made of spiritual matter and I couldn’t see or feel them, but it only made sense that they’d span a good portion of his back and be hard to miss.

Someone — Hank or one of the other Nephilim — tore at my shoulders, but I only slipped a little; Patch’s arms were around me, locking me against him. With no time to spare, I plunged my hand a second time up the smooth, toned skin of Patch’s back. Where were his wings?

He kissed my forehead roughly and murmured something unintelligible. There was no time for more. A searing white light exploded at the back of my mind. The very next moment, I was suspended in a dark universe speckled with pricks of colorful light. I knew I had to move toward any of the millions of light pricks — each one a stored memory — but they seemed miles away.

I heard Hank shouting, and I knew it meant I hadn’t fully crossed over. Maybe my hand was close to the base of Patch’s wings, but not close enough. I couldn’t block out the flashing images of all the horrible, painful ways Hank could end my life, and I fought my way through the darkness, determined to see Patch in his memories one last time before it was all over.

Tears stained my vision. The end. I didn’t want this to be that moment, stealing up behind me with no warning. I had so much more I wanted to tell Patch. Did he know how much he meant to me? What we had together — it had barely started. Everything could not come crashing down now.

I summoned a picture of Patch’s face. The image I chose was of the very first time we met. His hair was long, curling over his ears, and his eyes looked like they didn’t miss a thing, perceiving the secrets and desires of my soul. I remembered the startled expression on his face when I’d stormed into Bo’s Arcade, upsetting his pool game, and demanded that he help me finish our biology assignment. I remembered his wolfish smile, daring me to play along, as he’d moved to kiss me that very first time in my kitchen….

Patch was shouting too. Not ahead of me in his memories, but far below me, in the shed. Two words rose above the others, sounding distorted in my ears, as though they had traveled a great distance.

Deal. Compromise.

I frowned, straining to hear more. What was Patch saying? I suddenly feared that whatever it was, I wouldn’t like it.

No! I shouted, needing to stop Patch. I tried to propel myself back to the shed, but I was in a vacuum, floating idly. Patch! What are you telling him?

I felt a strange tug to my body, as if I’d been latched behind my spine. The sound of shouting voices swirled shut behind me as I hurtled toward a blinding light and inside the corridors of Patch’s memory.

Again.

I arrived inside the second memory in an instant.

I stood once again in the damp chill of the shed crowded with Hank, his Nephilim men, and Jev, and I could only gather that this second memory was beginning precisely where the last one had ended. I felt that familiar switch being thrown, but this time I wasn’t locked inside a version of myself from the past. My thoughts and actions belonged to the present me. I was now a double, an invisible bystander, watching Jev’s version of this moment as he remembered it.

Jev held a sluggish version of my body. My body was limp except for my hand, which was splayed on his back. My eyes were rolled back to whites and I vaguely wondered if I would remember both memories when I pulled out entirely.

“Ah, yes. I’d heard about that trick,” Hank said. “It’s true, I gather? She’s inside your memory as we speak, and all this by simply touching your wings?”

Looking at Hank, I felt a surge of helplessness. Had I just said he was my father? I had. I felt a compulsion to beat my fists against his chest until he denied it, but the truth burned like a fever inside me. I could loathe him all I wanted, but it didn’t change the fact that his vile blood coursed through my veins. Harrison Grey might have given me all the love of a parent, but Hank Millar had given me life.

“I’ll make a deal,” Jev said roughly. “Something you want, in exchange for Nora’s life.”

Hank’s lips twitched. “What could you possibly have that I want?”

“You’re building a Nephilim army with the hope of overthrowing fallen angels as early as this Cheshvan. Don’t look surprised. I’m not the only angel who knows what you’re up to. Bands of fallen angels are forming alliances, and they’re going to make their Nephilim vassals regret thinking they could ever break free. It’s not going to be a pretty Cheshvan for any Nephil who bears the Black Hand’s mark of allegiance. And that’s only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to what they have in store. You’re never going to pull this off without a man on the inside.”

Hank gestured to dismiss his men. “Leave me alone with the angel. Take the girl outside.”

“You’re kidding if you think I’m letting her out of my sight,” Jev said.

Hank relented with an amused snort. “Very well. Keep her while you can.”

As soon as the Nephilim exited, Hank said, “Keep talking.”

“Let Nora live, and I’ll spy for you.”

Hank’s blond eyebrows swept up. “My, my. Your feelings for her run deeper than I thought.” His gaze raked my unconscious figure. “I daresay she’s not worth it. Sadly, I don’t care what you and your guardian angel friends think of my plans. I’m far more interested in fallen angels, what they’re thinking, any countermeasures they might attempt. You’re not one of them anymore. So how do you plan to be privy to their dealings?”

“Let me worry about that.”

Hank considered Jev with a discriminating eye. “All right,” he said at last. “I’m intrigued.” A careless shrug. “I’m not the one who stands to lose. I take it you’d have me swear an oath?”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Jev said coolly.

Drawing the dagger once again from the waist of his pants, Hank made a slash across the palm of his left hand. “I swear my oath to let the girl live. If I break my vow, I plead that I may die and return to the dust from which I was created.”

Jev accepted the blade and sliced his hand next. Making a fist, he shook loose a few drops of a bloodlike substance. “I swear to feed you all the information I can on what fallen angels are planning. If I break my vow, I will voluntarily lock myself in the chains of hell.”

The two of them clasped hands, mingling their blood. By the time they pulled free, their wounds had healed perfectly.

“Keep in touch,” Hank said with irony, dusting his shirt as though being in the shed had somehow sullied him. He raised his cell phone to his ear, and when he caught Jev watching, he explained, “Making sure my car is ready.”

However, when he spoke into the phone, his words adopted a hardened undertone. “Send my men in. All of them. I want the girl taken away.”

Jev went still. Even as the sound of running feet approached the shed he said, “What’s this?”

“I swore an oath to let her live,” Hank informed him. “When I release her is up to me — and you. She’s yours after you’ve given me enough information to guarantee I can overthrow fallen angels by Cheshvan. Consider Nora insurance.”

Jev’s eyes flicked to the shed door, but Hank interjected smoothly, “Don’t go down that road. You’re outnumbered twenty to one. We’d both hate to see Nora needlessly injured in a scuffle. Play this smart. Hand her over.”

Jev grabbed Hank’s sleeve, jerking him close. “If you take her away, I will see to it that your corpse fertilizes the ground we’re standing on,” he said, his voice more venomous than I’d ever heard it.

Nothing in Hank’s expression hinted at fear. If anything, he appeared almost smug. “My corpse? Is that my cue to laugh?”

Hank opened the shed door, and his Nephilim men thundered in.

Just like a dream, Jev’s memories ended almost before they began. There was a moment of disorientation, and then the granite studio came into focus. Jev stood silhouetted against the candlelight. The flame gave just enough illumination to bring a severe glint to his eyes. A dark angel indeed.

“Okay,” I whispered, haunted by a sensation of lingering vertigo. “Okay … then.”

He smiled, but his expression was uncertain. “Okay then? That’s it?”

I turned my face up to his. I could hardly look at him the same way. I was crying without realizing I’d started. “You made a deal with Hank. You saved my life. Why would you do that for me?”

“Angel,” he murmured, clasping my face between his hands. “I don’t think you understand the lengths I would go to if it means keeping you here with me.”

My throat choked with emotion. I couldn’t find words. Hank Millar, a man who’d stood quietly in the shadows for years, was now revealed to have given me life, only to try to end it, and Jev was the reason I was alive. Hank Millar. The man who’d stood in my house on numerous occasions, as if he belonged. Who’d smiled and kissed my mom. Who’d spoken to me with warmth and familiarity—

“He kidnapped me,” I said, piecing it all together. I’d suspected it before, but Jev’s memories filled in the gaps with shocking clarity. “He swore the oath not to kill me, but he held me hostage to make sure you were motivated to spy for him. Three whole months. He strung everyone along for three whole months. All to get his hands on information about fallen angels. He let my mom believe I was as good as dead.”

Of course he had. He’d proven he had no qualms when it came to getting his hands dirty. He was a powerful Nephil, capable of an arsenal of mind-tricks. And after dumping me in the cemetery, he’d used them to keep my memories far, far away. After all, he couldn’t release me and have me shouting his diabolical deeds to the world.

“I hate him. Words can’t express how angry I am. I want him to pay. I want him dead,” I said with hardened resolution.

“The mark on your wrist,” Jev said. “It’s not a birthmark. I’ve seen it twice before. On my old Nephil vassal, a man named Chauncey Langeais. Hank Millar also has the mark, Nora. The mark links you to their bloodline, like an outward expression of a genetic marker or DNA sequence. Hank is your biological father.”

“I know,” I said, shaking my head with bitterness.

He laced his hand in mine, brushing a kiss across my knuckles. I was acutely aware of the pressure of his mouth, little tingles swimming under my skin. “You remember?”

“I heard myself say it in the memory, but I must have already known. I wasn’t surprised; I was angry. I don’t remember when I first knew it.” I pressed my thumb into the mark slashing my inner wrist. “But I feel it. There’s a disconnect between my mind and my heart, but I feel the truth. They say when people lose their vision, their hearing becomes sharper. I’ve lost part of my memory, but maybe my intuition is stronger.”

We considered this in silence. What Jev didn’t know was that my true parentage wasn’t the only piece of information my intuition was making a judgment on.

“I don’t want to talk about Hank. Not right now. I want to talk about something else I saw. Or rather, I should say something I discovered.”

He regarded me with equal parts curiosity and wariness.

A deep breath. “I learned that I was either crazy in love with you, or putting on the best performance of my life.”

His eyes remained carefully guarded, but I thought I saw a flicker of hope. “Which one are you leaning toward?”

Only one way to find out. “First, I need to know what happened between you and Marcie. This is one of those times when giving me full disclosure is in your best interest,” I warned. “Marcie said you were her summer fling. Scott told me she played a role in our breakup. All that’s missing is your version.”

Jev stroked his chin. “Do I look like a summer fling?”

I tried to picture Jev playing Frisbee at the beach or lathering up in sunscreen. I tried to imagine him buying Marcie ice cream on the boardwalk and patiently listening to her endless chatter. Any way I tried it, the image brought a smile to my face. “Point taken,” I said. “So spill.”

“Marcie was an assignment. I hadn’t gone rogue yet; I still had my wings, which made me a guardian angel, taking orders from the archangels, and they wanted me to keep an eye on her. She’s Hank’s daughter, which equates to danger by association. I kept her safe, but it wasn’t a pleasant experience. I’ve done my best to put the memory behind me.”

“So nothing happened?”

His mouth tipped up slightly. “I almost shot her once or twice, but the excitement ends there.”

“Missed opportunity.”

He shrugged. “There’s always next time. Still want to talk about Marcie?”

I held his steady gaze, shaking my head no. “I don’t feel like talking,” I confessed quietly.

I rose to my feet, pulling him up with me, a little dizzy from the audacity of what I was about to do. I was all slippery emotions inside, able to grasp only two of them. Curiosity, and desire.

He held perfectly still. “Angel,” he said roughly. He stroked his thumb across my cheek, but I pulled back slightly.

“Don’t rush this. If there’s any memory of being with you left inside me, I can’t force it.” That was half the truth. The other half I kept to myself. I’d been secretly fantasizing about this moment since I’d first seen Jev. I’d created a hundred variations of it in my head since then, but my imagination had never come close to making me feel the way I did right now. I felt an irresistible draw, luring me closer, closer.

No matter what happened, I didn’t ever want to forget how it felt with Jev. I wanted to imprint his touch, his taste, event the scent of him so solidly inside me that no one—no one—could take them away from me.

I slid my hands up his torso, memorizing every ripple of muscle. I inhaled the same scents I had that first night in the Tahoe. Leather, spice, mint. I traced the planes of his face with my fingers, curiously exploring his sharp, almost Italian features. All through this Jev didn’t move, enduring my touch with his eyes closed. “Angel,” he repeated in a strained voice.

“Not yet.”

I spread my fingers through his hair, feeling it flutter through them. I committed every last detail to memory. The bronzed shade of his skin, the confident line of his posture, the seductive length of his eyelashes. He wasn’t clean lines and perfect symmetries, and I found him even more interesting for it.

Done stalling, I told myself at last. Leaning in, I closed my eyes. His mouth opened under mine, his tightly reined control shuddering through his body. His arms wrapped around me, securing me against him. He kissed me harder, and the depth of my response unnerved me.

My legs felt wobbly and heavy. I sank into Jev, and he backed us slowly down the wall until I came to straddle his lap. Brightness lit up inside me, and the heat of it consumed every hollow corner. A hidden world opened between us, one that was as frightening as it was familiar. I knew it was real. I’d kissed like this before. I’d kissed Patch like this before. I couldn’t remember calling him anything but Jev, but somehow Patch just felt … right. The hot deliciousness of being with him came roaring back, threatening to swallow me whole.

I pulled away first, trailing my tongue along my lower lip.

Patch made a low, questioning sound. “Not bad?”

I bent my head toward his. “Practice makes perfect.”