Silence

CHAPTER 24

AFTER PATCH LEFT, I DECIDED IT WAS TIME TO STOP playing princess and change back into my ordinary clothes. I’d just tugged my shirt over my head when I knew something wasn’t right. And then it hit me. My handbag was gone.

I looked under the plush bench, but it wasn’t there. Even though I was almost positive I hadn’t hung it on a hook, I looked behind the red dress. Shoving my feet into my shoes, I flung back the drape and hustled out to the main store area. I found Marcie tearing her way through a rack of push-up bras.

“Have you seen my handbag?”

She paused long enough to say, “You took it into the dressing room with you.”

A saleslady bustled over. “Was it a brown leather saddlebag?” she asked me.

“Yes!”

“I just saw a man leaving the store with it. He came in without saying a word, and I assumed he was your father.” She touched her head, frowning. “In fact, I could have sworn he said he was … but maybe I imagined the whole thing. The whole moment felt so strange. My head feels fuzzy. I can’t explain it.”

A mind-trick, I thought.

She added, “He had gray hair and was wearing an argyle sweater….”

“Which way did he go?” I cut her off.

“Out the front doors, heading toward the parking lot.”

I ran outside. I could hear Marcie on my heels.

“Do you think this is a good idea?” she panted. “I mean, what if he has a gun? What if he’s mentally unstable?”

“What kind of man steals a purse from under a dressing room door?” I demanded out loud.

“Maybe he was desperate. Maybe he needed cash.”

“Then he should have taken your bag!”

“Everyone knows Silk Garden is posh,” Marcie rationalized. “He probably figured he’d score big no matter which bag he grabbed.”

What I couldn’t tell Marcie was that he was most likely either Nephilim or a fallen angel. And instinct told me he was motivated by something bigger than a potential handful of cash.

We ran into the parking lot just as a black sedan backed out of a parking space. The glare of its headlights made it impossible to see behind the windshield. The engine revved and the car gunned toward us.

Marcie yanked on my sleeve. “Move, you idiot!”

Tires squealing, the car floored past us onto the street. The driver ran the stop sign, switched off his lights, and vanished into the night.

“Did you see what kind of car it was?” asked Marcie.

“An Audi A6. I got a partial on the license plate.”

Marcie appraised me up and down. “Not bad, Tiger.”

I gave her a look of pure irritation. “Not bad? He got away with my handbag! Don’t you find it a little odd that a guy who drives a flashy Audi needs to steal handbags? My handbag in particular?” Which begged the question, what did an immortal want with my handbag?

“Was it designer?”

“Try Target!”

Marcie hitched her shoulders. “Well, that was exciting. What now? Drop it and get back to shopping?”

“I’m calling the police.”

Thirty minutes later a patrol car pulled to the curb in front of Silk Garden and Detective Basso swung out. Suddenly I wished I’d taken Marcie’s advice and dropped the whole thing. My night had just gone from bad to worse.

Marcie and I were inside, pacing by the windows, and Detective Basso came in and found us. His eyes showed initial surprise upon seeing me, and when he ran his hand over his mouth, I was pretty sure it was to hide a smile.

“Someone stole my handbag,” I informed him.

“Walk me through this,” he said.

“I went into the fitting room to try on homecoming dresses. When I finished, I noticed my handbag wasn’t on the floor where I’d left it. I came out, and the saleslady told me she’d seen a man running off with it.”

“He had gray hair and an argyle sweater,” the saleslady offered helpfully.

“Any credit cards in the purse?” Detective Basso asked.

“No.”

“Cash?”

“No.”

“Total value of missing items?”

“Seventy-five dollars.” The handbag had cost only twenty, but standing in line for two hours to get a new driver’s license had to be worth at least fifty.

“I’ll file a report, but there’s not a lot we can do. Best-case scenario, the guy ditches the bag and someone turns it in. Worst case, you buy yourself a new bag.”

Marcie linked her arm through mine. “Look on the bright side,” she said, patting my hand. “You lost a cheap bag, but you’re getting a swanky dress.” She handed me a dress bag with the Silk Garden logo. “It’s all taken care of. You can thank me later.”

I peered inside the bag. The floor-length red gown hung neatly inside.

I was in my bedroom, and I was forking down a piece of chocolate cake. I was evil-eyeing the red dress, which I’d hung on the closet door. I hadn’t tried it on yet, but I had the distinct vision that I was going to look eerily like Jessica from Who Framed Roger Rabbit. Minus the D cups.

I brushed my teeth, splashed water on my face, and dabbed on eye cream. Saying good night to my mom, I padded down the hall to my bedroom, buttoned myself into a cute pair of flannel pj’s from Victoria’s Secret, and cut the lights.

Taking Patch’s advice, I cleared my mind and prepared for sleep. Patch said he could come inside my dreams, but I had to be open to the idea. I was a little bit skeptical, a little bit hopeful. And not the least bit opposed. After the night I’d had, the only thing I could imagine making me feel better was having Patch take me into his arms. Better in a dream than not at all.

Lying in bed, I reflected on my day, letting my subconscious twist the memories into phantoms of dreams. My mind toyed with bits of dialogue, flashes of color. Suddenly I was standing in the dressing room at Silk Garden with Patch. Only in this version, he had his fingers hooked in the belt loops of my jeans and my fingers were mussing up his hair. Our mouths were an inch apart, and I could feel the warmth of his breath.

The dream had almost towed me under completely when I felt my blankets being dragged off my body.

I sat up to find Patch standing over my bed. He was wearing the same jeans and white tee I’d seen him in earlier, and he balled up my blankets, tossing them aside.

A smile lit his eyes. “Sweet dreams?”

I looked around. Everything in my room was just as it should be. The door was shut, the night-light on. My clothes were draped over the rocking chair where I’d left them, and the Jessica Rabbit dress still hung from the closet door. Despite no visible evidence, something felt … not quite right.

“Is this real,” I asked Patch, “or a dream?”

“Dream.”

I gave an appreciative laugh. “Wow. Could’ve fooled me. It’s so real.”

“Most dreams are. It isn’t until you wake up that you see all the plot holes.”

“Talk me through this.”

“I’m in the landscape of your dream. Imagine that your subconscious and mine walked through a door you created in your mind. We’re in the room together, but it’s not a physical place. The room is imagined, but our thoughts aren’t. You decided the setting and the clothes you’re wearing, and you decide everything you say. But since I’m actually in the dream with you, as opposed to a version of myself that you dreamed up, the things I say and do aren’t the work of your imagination. I control those things.”

I was pretty sure I understood enough to get by. “Are we safe here?”

“If you’re asking if Hank will spy on us, no, most likely not.”

“But if you can do this, what’s stopping him from doing it? I know he’s Nephilim, and unless I’m way off here, it seems like fallen angels and Nephilim have a lot of the same powers.”

“Until I tried invading your dreams a few months ago, I didn’t know much about how the process works. I’ve since learned it requires a strong connection between both subjects. I also know the dreaming subject has to be deep under. The timing can get tricky and requires patience. If you invade too early, the subject will wake up. If two angels, or Nephilim, or any combination of the two, invade a dream at the same time, pushing and pulling with their own agendas, the dreamer is far more likely to wake up. Whether or not you like it, Hank has a strong connection to you. But if he hasn’t tried invading your dreams yet, I don’t think he’ll start this late in the game.”

“How did you learn all of this?”

“Trial and error.” He hesitated, as though meaning to tread carefully with his next words. “I also got a little outside help from a fallen angel who recently fell. Unlike me, she had a strong grasp on angel law before she fell. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has the Book of Enoch, a tome about the history of angels, memorized. I knew if anyone had answers, she did. After a little arm-twisting, she told me.” His face was a mask of indifference. “She meaning Dabria.”

My heart gave an unpleasant twist. I didn’t want to be jealous of Patch’s ex — obviously I understood there was no way he didn’t have some kind of romantic history — but I felt an overpowering aversion to Dabria. Maybe residual anger — she had tried to kill me. Or maybe instinct telling me she wouldn’t hesitate to betray us again.

“So you met her in person after all?” I asked accusingly.

“We ran into each other today, and while I had her, I decided to get to the bottom of a few questions that have been weighing on my mind. I’ve been looking for a way to communicate with you undetected, and I wasn’t going to waste the opportunity that she might provide answers.”

I hardly heard him. “Why did she track you down?”

“She didn’t say, and it’s not important. We got what we wanted, and that’s what I care about. We now have a private form of communication.”

“Did she still look doughy around the middle?”

Patch rolled his eyes.

I was acutely aware that he’d dodged my question. “Has she been to your studio?”

“This is starting to feel like Twenty Questions, Angel.”

“In other words, she has.”

“No, she hasn’t,” Patch answered patiently. “Can we be done talking about Dabria?”

“When do I get to meet her?” And tell her to keep her hands off.

Patch scratched his cheek, but I thought I saw his mouth twitch. “Probably not a good idea.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You don’t think I can handle myself, do you? Thanks for the vote of confidence!” I said, seething at him and my own stupid insecurities.

“I think Dabria is a narcissist and an egomaniac. Best to stay away.”

“Maybe you should take your own advice!”

I started to whirl away, but Patch hooked my arm and brought me around to face him. He pressed his forehead to mine. I started to pull away, but he laced his fingers through mine, effectively trapping me against him. “What do I have to do to convince you I’m using Dabria for one thing, and one thing only: to break down Hank, piece by piece if I have to, and make him pay for everything he’s done to hurt the girl I love?”

“I don’t trust Dabria,” I said, still clinging to some of my indignation.

He shut his eyes, and I thought I heard the softest of sighs. “Finally something we agree on.”

“I don’t think we should use her, even if she can get to Hank’s inner circle faster than you or me.”

“If we had more time, or another option, I’d jump on it. But for now, she’s our best chance. She won’t double-cross me. She’s too smart. She’ll take the cash I’m offering and walk away, even if it hurts her pride.”

“I don’t like it.” I snuggled into Patch, and even in the dream, the warmth of his body effectively cast away any lingering chill. “But I trust you.”

He kissed me, long and reassuring.

“Something strange happened tonight,” I said. “Someone stole my handbag from the dressing room at Silk Garden.”

Patch immediately frowned. “This happened after I left?”

“Either that, or right before you came.”

“Did you see who took it?”

“No, but the saleslady said he was male and old enough to be my father. She let him stroll right out with it, but I think he may have mind-tricked her. Do you think it’s a coincidence that an immortal stole my handbag?”

“I don’t think anything is a coincidence. What did Marcie see?”

“Apparently nothing, even though the shop was practically empty.” I gauged his eyes, cool and calculating. “You think Marcie was involved, don’t you?”

“Hard to believe she didn’t see something. It’s starting to feel like the whole night was a setup. When you went into the dressing room, she could have placed a call, letting the thief know it was safe to come in. She could have seen your bag underneath the drape, and walked him through the theft step by step.”

“Why would she want my bag? Unless—” I stopped. “She thought I was carrying the necklace Hank wants,” I realized. “He’s roped her into this. She was playing fetch for him.”

Patch’s mouth was set in a grim line. “He’s not beneath putting his daughter in harm’s way.” His eyes flickered to mine. “He proved that with you.”

“Are you still convinced Marcie doesn’t know what Hank really is?”

“She doesn’t know. Not yet. Hank could have lied to her about why he needed the necklace. He could have told her it belongs to him, and she wouldn’t ask questions. Marcie isn’t the type to ask questions. If she sees a target, she turns into a pit bull.”

Pit bull. Tell me about it. “There’s one more thing. I got a look at the car before the thief drove away. It was an Audi A6.”

From the look in his eyes, I knew the information meant something to him. “Hank’s right-hand man, a Nephil named Blakely, drives an Audi.”

A shiver chased up my spine. “I’m starting to get a little freaked out. He obviously thinks he can use the necklace to force the archangel to talk. What does he need her to tell him? What does she know that he’d risk the retaliation of the archangels for?”

“And this close to Cheshvan,” Patch murmured, a look of distraction clouding his eyes.

“We could try to break the archangel out,” I suggested. “That way, even if Hank gets a necklace, he won’t have an archangel.”

“I’d thought of that, but we’re facing two big problems. First, the archangel trusts me even less than Hank, and if she sees me anywhere near her cage, she’s going to make a lot of racket. Second, Hank’s warehouse is crawling with his men. I’d need my own army of fallen angels to go against them, and I’m going to have a hard time talking fallen angels into helping me rescue an archangel.”

Our conversation seemed to dead-end there, and we both contemplated our slim list of options in silence.

“What happened to the other dress?” Patch asked at last. I followed his gaze to the Jessica Rabbit gown.

I heaved a sigh. “Marcie thought I’d look better in red.”

“What do you think?”

“I think Marcie and Dabria would be instant friends.”

Patch laughed low, the sound of it tingling my skin as seductively as if he’d kissed it. “Do you want my opinion?”

“Might as well, since everyone else seems to have weighed in.”

He sat on my bed, leaning back nonchalantly on his elbows. “Try it on.”

“It’s probably a little snug,” I said, suddenly feeling conspicuous. “Marcie tends to buy down when it comes to sizing.”

He merely smiled.

“It has a slit up the thigh.”

His smile deepened.

Locking myself in my closet, I tugged on the dress. It moved like liquid over every curve. The slit fell open halfway up my thigh, exposing my leg. Stepping out into the low light, I swept my hair off my neck. “Zip it up?”

Patch’s eyes made a slow assessment of me, sharpening to vivid black. “I’m going to have a hard time sending you off with Scott in that dress. Just a heads-up: If you come home and the dress looks even slightly tampered with, I will track Scott down, and when I find him, it won’t be pretty.”

“I’ll relay the message.”

“If you tell me where he’s hiding, I’ll relay it myself.”

I had to work not to smile. “Something tells me your message would be a lot more direct.”

“Let’s just say he’d get the point.”

Patch took my wrist and reeled me in for a kiss, but something wasn’t right. His face grew hazy at the edges, dissolving into the background. When his lips met mine, I hardly felt it. Worse, I felt myself pulling away from him like a piece of tape peeling back from glass.

Patch noticed it too and swore under his breath.

“What’s happening?” I asked.

“It’s the half-breed,” he growled.

“Scott?”

“He’s knocking at your bedroom window. Any second now, you’re going to wake up. Is this the first time he’s come prowling around at night?”

I thought it might be safer not to answer. Patch was in my dream and couldn’t do anything rash, but that didn’t mean it was a good idea to stir up the competition between them any further.

“We’ll finish this tomorrow!” was all I had time to say before the dream, and Patch, swirled into the recesses of my mind.

The dream snapped apart, and sure enough, Scott stood in my bedroom, closing the window behind him.

“Rise and shine,” he said.

I groaned. “Scott, you have to stop this. I have school first thing tomorrow. Plus, I was in the middle of a really good dream,” I grumbled as an afterthought.

“About me?” he said, flashing a cocky smile.

I simply said, “This better be good.”

“Better than good. I got a gig playing bass for a band called Serpentine. We’re opening at the Devil’s Handbag next weekend. Band members get two free tickets, and you’re one of the lucky recipients.” With a flourish, he threw down two tickets on my bed.

I was growing more awake by the second. “Are you crazy? You can’t be in a band! You’re supposed to be hiding from Hank. Going to the dance with me is one thing, but this is taking things too far.”

His smile died, his expression souring. “I thought you’d be happy for me, Grey. I’ve spent the past couple months hiding. Now I’m living in a cave and scavenging for food, which is getting harder and harder to find with winter coming. I have to force myself into the ocean three times a week for a bath, and I spend the rest of the day shivering by the fire. I have no TV, no cell. I’m completely cut off. You want the truth? I’m sick of hiding. Living on the run isn’t living. I might as well be dead.” He stroked the Black Hand’s ring, still snug around his finger. “I’m glad you talked me into wearing this again. I haven’t felt this alive in months. If Hank tries anything, he’s going to be in for a big surprise. My powers have intensified.”

I kicked out of my blankets and stood up to him. “Scott, Hank knows you’re in town. He’s got his men searching for you. You have to stay hidden until — Cheshvan at least,” I threw out, believing Hank’s interest in Scott would wane once his full plans, whatever they were, unfolded.

“I keep telling myself that, but what if he’s not?” he remarked blandly. “What if he’s forgotten about me and all this is for nothing?”

“I know he’s looking for you.”

“Did you hear him say it?” he asked, calling my bluff.

“Something like that.” Given his current state, I couldn’t bring myself to tell him where the information had come from. Scott wouldn’t take Patch’s advice seriously. And then I’d have to explain why I was mixed up with Patch in the first place. “A reliable source told me.”

He wagged his head back and forth. “You’re trying to scare me. I appreciate the gesture,” he said cynically, “but I’ve made up my mind. I’ve thought this over, and whatever happens, I can face it. A few months of freedom is better than a lifetime in prison.”

“You can’t let Hank find you,” I insisted. “If he does, he’ll put you in one of his reinforced prisons. He’ll torture you. You have to ride this out a little longer. Please,” I begged. “Just a few more weeks?”

“Screw it. I’m out of here. I’m playing at the Devil’s Handbag whether you come or not.”

I didn’t understand Scott’s sudden blasé attitude. Up until now, he’d been meticulous about staying away from Hank. Now he was putting his neck on the line for something as trivial as a high-school dance … and now a gig?

A horrible thought struck me. “Scott, you said the Black Hand’s ring connects you to him. Is there any way it’s drawing you closer to him? Maybe the ring does more than give you heightened powers. Maybe it’s some kind of — beacon.”

Scott snorted. “The Black Hand isn’t going to catch me.”

“You’re wrong. And if you keep up that attitude, he’s going to catch you sooner than you think,” I said gently but firmly.

I reached for his arm, but he drew away.

He ducked out the window, slamming it shut behind him.