Hush, Hush #1 (26 page)

I heard the sound of wet fabric sliding like a squeegee over his skin.

“Lucky me.” His shirt landed in a wet heap at our feet.

“This is really awkward,” I told him.

I could
feel
him smiling. He stood way, way too close.

“You should shower,” I said. “Right now.”

“I smell that bad?”

Actually, he smelled that
good
. The smoke was gone, the mint stronger.

Patch disappeared inside the bathroom. He relit the candle and left the door ajar, a sliver of light stretching across the floor and up one wall.

I slid my back down the wall until I was seated on the floor, then tipped my head against the wall. In all honesty, I couldn’t stay here tonight. I 266

had to get home. It was wrong to stay here alone with Patch, vow of prudence or not. I had to report the bag lady’s body. Or did I? How was I supposed to report a vanished body? Talk about insane—which was the terrifying direction my thoughts were starting to go anyway.

Not wanting to dwell on the insanity idea, I concentrated on my original argument. I couldn’t stay here knowing Vee was with Elliot, in danger, when I was safe.

After a moment’s consideration I decided I needed to rephrase that thought. Safe was a relative term. As long as Patch was around, I wasn’t in harm’s way, but that didn’t mean I thought he was going to act like my guardian angel, either.

Right away, I wished I could take back the guardian angel thought.

Summoning up my powers of persuasion, I banished all thoughts of angels—guardian, fallen, or otherwise—from my head. I told myself I probably
was
going insane. For all I knew, I’d hallucinated seeing the bag lady die. And I’d hallucinated seeing Patch’s scars.

The water stopped, and a moment later Patch strolled out wearing only his wet jeans hanging low on his waist. He left the bathroom candle lit and the door wide. Soft color glowed through the room.

One quick look and I could tell Patch clocked several hours a week running and lifting weights. A body that defined didn’t come without sweat and work. Suddenly I felt a little self-conscious. Not to mention
soft
.

“Which side of the bed do you want?” he asked.

“Uh …”

A fox smile. “Nervous?”

267

“No,” I said as confidently as possible under the circumstances. And the circumstances were that I was lying through my teeth.

“You’re a bad liar,” he said, still smiling. “The worst I’ve seen.”

I put my hands on my hips and communicated a silent
Excuse me?

“Come here,” he said, pulling me to my feet. I felt my earlier promise of resistance melting away. Another ten seconds of standing this close to Patch and my defense would be blown to smithereens.

A mirror hung on the wall behind him, and over his shoulder I saw the upside-down V scars gleaming black on his skin.

My whole body went rigid. I tried to blink the scars away, but they were there for good.

Without thinking, I slid my hands up his chest and around to his back. A fingertip brushed his right scar.

Patch tensed under my touch. I froze, the tip of my finger quivering on his scar. It took me a moment to realize it wasn’t actually my finger moving, but
me.
All of me.

I was sucked into a soft, dark chute and everything went black.

I WAS STANDING IN THE LOWER LEVEL OF BO’S ARCADE

WITH my back to the wall, facing several games of pool. The windows were boarded, and I couldn’t tell if it was day or night. Stevie Nicks was coming through the speakers; the song about the white-winged dove and being on the edge of seventeen. Nobody seemed surprised by my sudden appearance out of thin air.

And then I remembered I was wearing nothing but a cami and panties.

I’m not all that vain, but standing in a crowd composed entirely of the opposite sex, my essentials barely covered, and nobody even looked at me? Something was … off.

I pinched myself. Perfectly alive, as far as I could tell.

Waving a hand to clear away the hazy cloud of cigar smoke, I spotted Patch across the room. He was sitting at a poker table, kicked back, holding a hand of cards close to his chest.

I padded barefoot across the room, crossing my arms over my chest, making sure to keep myself covered. “Can we talk?” I hissed in his ear.

There was an unnerved quality to my voice. Understandable, since I had no idea how I’d come to find myself at Bo’s. One moment I was at the motel, and the next I was here.

Patch pushed a short stack of poker chips into the pile at the center of the table.

“Like maybe
now
?” I said. “It’s kind of urgent… .” I trailed off when the calendar on the wall caught my eye. It was eight months behind, showing August of last year. Right before I started sophomore year.

Months before I met Patch. I told myself it was a mistake, that whoever was in charge of ripping off the old months had fallen behind, but at the 269

same time I briefly and unwillingly considered the possibility that the calendar was right where it was supposed to be. And I was not.

I dragged a chair over from the next table and pulled up beside Patch.

“He’s holding a five of spades, a nine of spades, the ace of hearts …” I stopped when I realized that no one was paying attention. No, it wasn’t that. No one could
see
me.

Footsteps lumbered down the stairs across the room, and the same cashier who’d threatened to throw me out the first time I’d come to the arcade appeared at the bottom of the stairwell.

“Someone upstairs wants a word with you,” he told Patch.

Patch raised his eyebrows, transmitting a silent question.

“She wouldn’t give her name,” the cashier said apologetically. “I asked a couple of times. I told her you were in a private game, but she wouldn’t leave. I can throw her out if you want.”

“No. Send her down.”

Patch played out his hand, gathered his chips, and pushed out of his chair. “I’m out.” He walked to the pool table closest to the stairs, rested against it, and slid his hands inside his pockets.

I followed him across the room. I snapped my fingers in front of his face. I kicked his boots. I flat-out smacked his chest. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move.

Light footsteps sounded on the stairs, growing closer, and when Miss Greene stepped out of the darkened stairwell, I experienced a moment of confusion. Her blond hair was down to her waist and toothpick straight.

She was wearing painted-on jeans and a pink tank top, and she was 270

barefoot. Dressed this way, she looked even closer to my age. She was sucking on a lollipop.

Patch’s face is always a mask, and at any given moment I have no idea what he’s thinking. But as soon as he locked eyes on Miss Greene, I knew he was surprised. He recovered quickly, all emotion funneling away as his eyes turned guarded and wary. “Dabria?”

My heart hit a faster cadence. I tried to wrestle my thoughts together, but all I could think was, if I was really eight months in the past, how did Miss Greene and Patch know each other? She didn’t have a job at school yet. And why was he calling her by her first name?

“How have you been?” Miss Greene—Dabria—asked with a coy smile, tossing the lollipop in the trash.

“What are you doing here?” Patch’s eyes turned even more watchful, as if he didn’t think “what you see is what you get” applied to Dabria.

“I sneaked out.” Her smile twisted up on one side. “I had to see you again. I’ve been trying for a long time, but security—well, you know.

It’s not exactly lax. Your kind and my kind—we aren’t supposed to mix.

But you know that.”

“Coming here was a bad idea.”

“I know it’s been a while, but I was hoping for a slightly more friendly reaction,” she said, pushing her lips out in a pout.

Patch didn’t answer.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you.” Dabria dimmed her voice to a low, sexy pitch and took a step closer to Patch. “It wasn’t easy getting down here. Lucianna is making excuses for why I’m absent. I’m risking 271

her future as well as my own. Don’t you want to at least hear what I have to say?”

“Talk.” Patch’s words didn’t hold a shred of trust.

“I haven’t given up on you. This whole time—” She broke off and blinked back a sudden display of tears. When she spoke again, her voice was more composed but still held a wavering note. “I know how you can get your wings back.”

She smiled at Patch, but he didn’t return the smile.

“As soon as you get your wings back, you can come home,” she said, speaking more confidently. “Everything will be like it was before.

Nothing has changed. Not
really
.”

“What’s the catch?”

“There is no catch. You have to save a human life. Very judicious, considering the crime that banished you here in the first place.”

“What rank will I be?”

All confidence scattered from Dabria’s eyes, and I got the feeling he’d asked the one question she’d hoped to avoid. “I just told you how to get your wings back,” she said, sounding a touch condescending. “I think I deserve a
thank-you
—”

“Answer the question.” But his grim smile told me he already knew. Or had a very good guess. Whatever Dabria’s answer was, he wasn’t going to like it.

“Fine. You’ll be a guardian, all right?”

272

Patch tipped his head back and laughed softly.

“What’s wrong with being a guardian?” Dabria demanded. “Why isn’t it good enough?”

“I have something better in the works.”

“Listen to me, Patch. There’s
nothing
better. You’re kidding yourself.

Any other fallen angel would jump at the chance to get their wings back and become a guardian. Why can’t you?” Her voice was choked with bewilderment, irritation, rejection.

Patch pushed up from the pool table. “It was good seeing you again, Dabria. Have a nice trip back.”

Without warning, she curled her fists into his shirt, yanked him close, and crushed a kiss to his mouth. Very slowly Patch’s body turned toward her, his stance softening. His hands came up and skimmed her arms.

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the stab of jealousy and confusion in my heart. Part of me wanted to turn away and cry, part of me wanted to march over and start shouting. Not that it would do any good. I was invisible. Obviously Miss Greene … Dabria … whoever she was … and Patch had a romantic past together. Were they still together now—in the future? Had she applied for a job at Coldwater High to be closer to Patch? Is that why she was so determined to scare me away from him?

“I should go,” said Dabria, pulling free. “I’ve already stayed too long. I promised Lucianna I’d hurry.” She lowered her head against his chest. “I miss you,” she whispered. “Save one human life, and you’ll have your wings again. Come back to me,” she begged. “Come home.” She broke away suddenly. “I have to go. None of the others can find out I’ve been down here. I love you.”

273

As Dabria turned away, the anxiety vanished from her face. An expression of sly confidence replaced it. It was the face of someone who’d bluffed their way through a rough hand of cards.

Without warning, Patch caught her by the wrist.

“Now tell me why you’re really here,” he said.

I shivered at the dark undercurrent in Patch’s tone. To an outsider, he looked perfectly calm. But to anyone who’d known him any length of time, it was obvious. He was giving Dabria a look that said she’d crossed a line and it was in her best interest to hop back across it—now.

Patch steered her toward the bar. He planted her on a bar stool and slid onto the one beside it. I took the one next to Patch, leaning in to hear him above the music.

“What do you mean, what am I here for?” Dabria stammered. “I told you

—”

“You’re lying.”

Her mouth dropped. “I can’t believe—you think—”

“Tell me the truth, right now,” said Patch.

Dabria hesitated before answering. She gave him a fierce glare, then said, “Fine. I know what you’re planning to do.”

Patch laughed. It was a laugh that said,
I have a lot of plans. Which one
are you referring to?

“I know you’ve heard rumors about
The Book of Enoch
. I also know you think you can do the same thing, but you can’t.”

274

Patch folded his arms on the bar. “They sent you here to persuade me to choose a different course, didn’t they?” A smile showed in his eyes. “If I’m a threat, the rumors must be true.”

“No, they’re not. They’re
rumors
.”

“If it happened once, it can happen again.”

“It never happened. Did you even bother to read
The Book of Enoch
before you fell?” she challenged. “Do you know exactly what it says, word for holy word?”

“Maybe you could loan me your copy.”

“That’s blasphemous! You’re
forbidden
to read it,” she cried. “You betrayed every angel in heaven when you fell.”

“How many of them know what I’m after?” he asked. “How big of a threat am I?”

She tossed her head side to side. “I can’t tell you that. I’ve already told you more than I should have.”

“Are they going to try to stop me?”

“The avenging angels will.”

He looked at her with meaning. “Unless they think you talked me out of it.”

“Don’t look at me like that.” She sounded like she was putting all her courage into sounding firm. “I won’t lie to protect you. What you’re trying to do is wrong. It’s not natural.”

275

“Dabria.” Patch spoke her name as a soft threat. He might as well have had her by the arm, twisting it behind her back.

“I
can’t
help you,” she said with quiet conviction. “Not that way. Put it out of your mind. Become a guardian angel. Focus on that and forget
The Book of Enoch
.”

Patch planted his elbows on the bar, radiating thought. After a moment he said, “Tell them we talked, and I showed interest in becoming a guardian.”

“Interest?” she said, a bit incredulously.

“Interest,” he repeated. “Tell them I asked for a name. If I’m going to save a life, I need to know who’s at the top of your departing list. I know you’re privy to that information as an angel of death.”