Silence

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.