Silence

Scott said, “That’s why I was released. The army is in pandemonium. Nobody knows what to do. Cheshvan is almost here and the Black Hand had plans for war, but his men are restless. They’ve lost their leader. They’re starting to panic.”

I waded through this information. A thought struck me. “They released you because you knew how to find me — Hank’s next in line?” I guessed, eyeing Dante and Tono warily. Scott might trust them, but I had yet to make up my own mind.

“Like I said, these guys are clean. They’ve already confessed loyalty to you. We have to get as many Nephilim behind you as possible before this falls apart. The last thing we need right now is a coup.”

I felt light-headed. Actually, a coup sounded pretty appealing. Someone else wanted this job? Fine by me.

Dante spoke again. “Prior to his death, the Black Hand notified me that you agreed to take on the role of commander upon his death.”

I swallowed, not having expected this moment to arrive so quickly. I knew what had to be done, but I’d hoped for more time. To say I’d been dreading this moment was an understatement.

I looked all three of them in the eye in turn. “Yes, I swore a vow to lead Hank’s army. Here’s what’s going to happen. There isn’t going to be a war. Go back to the men and tell them to disband. All Nephilim who’ve sworn an oath of fealty are bound by a law that no army, no matter how great, can overthrow. To go into battle at this point would be suicide. Fallen angels are already planning retribution, and our only hope is to make it clear we aren’t going to fight them. Not this way. It’s over — and you can tell your men that’s an order.”

Dante smiled, but his expression held an edge. “I’d rather not discuss this with a fallen angel hanging around.” He leveled his eyes at Patch. “Give us a minute?”

I said, “I think it’s pretty obvious that asking Patch to leave is pointless. I’m going to tell him everything.” At Dante’s sore expression, I added, “When I swore the oath to Hank, I never said anything about breaking up with Patch. That’s right. Your new Nephil leader is dating a fallen angel.” Let the talk begin.

Dante’s curt nod was anything but accepting. “Then let’s get one thing straight. This isn’t over. Stalled, maybe, but not over. The Black Hand stirred up a revolution, and calling it off isn’t going to be enough to settle the dust.”

“I’m not worried about settling the dust. I’m worried about the Nephilim race as a whole. I’m thinking about what’s best for everyone.”

Scott, Dante, and Tono shared a silent look. At last Dante seemed to speak for all three. “Then we have a bigger problem. Because Nephilim think rebellion is best for them.”

“How many Nephilim?” Patch asked.

“Thousands. Enough to fill a city.” Dante’s eyes cut toward mine. “If you don’t lead them to freedom, you’ll break your vow. In short, your head’s on the line, Nora.”

I stared at Patch.

Stand your ground, he spoke calmly to my thoughts. Tell them the war is off and there’s no room for negotiation.

“I swore an oath to lead Hank’s army,” I told Dante. “I never promised freedom.”

“If you don’t declare war on fallen angels, you’re going to instantly make enemies with thousands of Nephilim,” he responded.

And if I do, I thought weakly, I might as well declare war on the archangels. They’d allowed Hank to die because Patch promised them I’d quell the uprising.

I returned my attention to Patch, and I knew we were sharing the same grisly thought. Either way, war was coming.

All I had to do now was decide my opponent.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This is always the most humbling part of writing a book.

First and foremost, a big shout of appreciation to my family for offering up support, encouragement, and most of all patience 365 days a year. Justin, I’m sure calling you my biggest cheerleader isn’t the manliest of endearments, but very fitting. You are my better half.

Thanks to the many friends who’ve helped out in immeasurable ways, from babysitting to reading early drafts of Silence to reminding me that laughter really is the best medicine. Sandra Roberts, Mary Louise Fitzpatrick, Shanna Butler, Lindsey Leavitt, Rachel Hawkins, Emily Wing Smith, Lisa Schroeder, Laura Andersen, Ginger Churchill, Patty Esden, Nicole Wright, and Meg Garvin — I am blessed to know you.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t say how grateful I am to Jenn Martin and Rebecca Sutton, the dynamic duo behind FallenArchangel.com. Thank you for keeping my fans in the know, and in a much more timely manner than I’d ever hope to accomplish. Your dedication truly astounds.

Thanks to James Porto, the creative genius behind my books’ stunning cover art.

Buckets of gratitude to Lyndsey Blessing, my foreign-rights agent, who has helped get my books into the hands of readers across the globe. Thanks to my agent, Catherine Drayton, for … everything (including talking me into buying that particularly stunning pair of shoes in Bologna).

As always, I am so very fortunate to have a devoted team behind me at Simon & Schuster BFYR. Thanks to Courtney Bongiolatti, Julia Maguire, and Venetia Gosling for your editorial prowess. Many thanks to Justin Chanda, Anne Zafian, Jenica Nasworthy, Lucy Ruth Cummins, Lucille Rettino, Elke Villa, Chrissy Noh, and Anna McKean for bringing so much excitement into my life. I truly feel that I have the easy job in all this.

A nod of appreciation to Valerie Shea, copyeditor extraordinaire. Without you, this book would be far more humorous. And not in a good way!

A big thank-you to Dayana Gomes Marques and Valentine Bulgakov for christening Silence characters Dante Matterazzi and Tono Grantham.

Last but never least, thank you to my readers, near and far. Writing for you has been immeasurably thrilling and satisfying. I’ve loved sharing Patch and Nora’s story with you.

AND NOW … A NEVER-BEFORE-SEEN LOOK AT THE REAL FIRST TIME PATCH AND NORA MET … FROM PATCH’S POINT OF VIEW!

Patch rocked his chair back on two legs, stretched out his arms, and folded them behind his neck. His gaze was nailed to the doors leading inside Enzo’s Bistro. He’d asked for a table at the back, in a shadowy corner where the light didn’t quite reach. A votive candle flickered on every other table, but Patch had snuffed his between his fingers upon sitting. Across the table, Rixon was sprawled in his chair, eyes tracing the ceiling in overdone boredom.

“I’ll wait for you till I turn blue,” Rixon sang in a mutter. “There’s nothing more a man can do. Ya drank with demons straight from”—he broke off and, arching a suggestive eyebrow, pointed beneath his feet—“hell. They almost nearly won as weeeell.”

Patch smiled. “Warming up for your American Idol audition?”

Rixon kicked him under the table. “When are you going to tell me what you’re up to?”

A waitress swept past, dropping off two coffees.

Patch took a drink. “Up to?”

“We’ve been coming here — Enzo’s, is it? — every Thursday night round eight. Five weeks in a row. And you thought I didn’t notice.”