count.”
I absorbed this, catching Scott in another lie. “He came back,” I said, speaking my thoughts aloud. “After he branded you. You lied when you said you never saw him again.”
“Of course he came back!” Scott snapped. “He’d call late at night, or sneak up on me on my way home from work, wearing a ski mask. He was always
“What did he want?”
His eyes gauged me. “If I talk, will you give the ring back?”
“Depends if I think you’re telling the truth.”
Scott scrubbed his knuckles furiously over his head. “The first time I saw him was on my fourteenth birthday. He said I wasn’t human. He said I was Nephilim, like him. He said I had to join this group he belonged to. He said all Nephilim had to band together. He said there was no other way we could free ourselves from the fallen angels.” Scott glared up the stairs at me, defiant, but his eyes held a shadow of wariness, as if he thought I might think he was crazy. “I thought he’d lost it. I thought he was hallucinating. I kept dodging him, but he kept coming back. He started threatening me. He said the fallen angels would get me once I turned sixteen. He’d follow me around, after school and work. He said he was watching my back, and I should be grateful. Then he found out about my gambling debts. He paid them off, thinking I’d see it as a favor and want to join his group. He didn’t get it—I wanted him to go away. When I told him I was going to get my dad to slap a restraining order on him, he hauled me into the warehouse, tied me down, and branded me. He said it was the only way he could keep me safe. He said that someday I’d understand and I’d thank him.” The tone of Scott’s voice told me that day was never going to come.
“Sounds like he’s obsessed with you.”
Scott shook his head. “He thinks I betrayed him. My mom and I moved here to get away from him. She doesn’t know about the Nephilim stuff, or the branding, she just thinks he’s a stalker. We moved, but he doesn’t want me running off, and he especially doesn’t want to risk having me open my mouth and blow the cover on his secret cult.”
“Does he know you’re in Coldwater?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I need the ring. When he finished branding me, he gave me the ring. He said I had to keep it and find other members to recruit. He told me not to lose it. He said something bad would happen if I did.” Scott’s voice shook slightly. “He’s crazy, Nora. He could do all kinds of things to me.”
“You have to help me find him.”
He advanced two more steps. “Forget it. I’m not going looking for him.” He reached his hand out. “Now give me the ring. Stop stalling. I know it’s here.”
For no reason other than instinct, I turned and ran. I slammed the bathroom door shut behind me and punched the lock.
“This is getting old,” Scott said through the door. “Open up.” He waited. “You think this door is going to stop me?”
I didn’t, but I didn’t know what else to do. I was pressed against the back wall of the bathroom, and that was when I saw the paring knife on the counter. I kept it in the bathroom to open cosmetic packages and to easily remove tags from my clothes. I picked it up, pointing the blade out.
Scott rammed his body against the door, and it banged open, slamming back against the wall.
We were standing face-to-face, and I leveled the knife at him.
Scott walked up to me, yanked the knife out of my grasp, and redirected it at me. “Who’s in charge now?” he sneered.
The hallway behind Scott was dark, light from the bathroom illuminating the faded flower wallpaper in the hall. The shadow moved so stealthily across the wallpaper, I almost missed it. Rixon appeared behind Scott, holding the base of the brass lamp my mom kept on the entryway table. He brought the lamp down on Scott’s skull in a crushing blow.
The knife missed, and Rixon slammed the lamp down on Scott’s arm, causing him to drop the knife at the same moment that he collapsed sideways into the wall. Rixon kicked the knife down the hall, out of reach. He rammed his fist into Scott’s face. A spray of blood flecked the wall. Rixon threw a second punch, and Scott’s back dragged down the wall until he sat slumped on the floor. Gripping Scott’s collar, Rixon uprighted him long enough to deliver a third punch. Scott’s eyes rolled back in his head.
“Rixon!”
I jerked away from the violence at the sound of Vee’s hysterical voice. She hiked up the stairs, using the banister to pull herself faster. “Stop, Rixon! You’re going to kill him!”
Rixon let go of Scott’s collar and stepped away. “Patch would kill me if I didn’t.” He turned his attention to me. “You okay?”
Scott’s face was splattered with blood, and it made my stomach roll. “I’m fine,” I said numbly.
“You sure? You need something to drink? A blanket? You want to lie down?”
I looked between Rixon and Vee. “What are we going to do now?”
“I’m going to call Patch,” Rixon said, flipping his cell open and pressing it to his ear. “He’s going to want to be here for this.”
I was too much in shock to argue otherwise.
“We should call the cops,” Vee said. She stole a brief look at Scott’s unconscious and battered body. “Should we tie him up? What if he wakes up and tries to get away?”
“I’ll tie him in the back of the truck as soon as I finish this call,” Rixon said.
“Come here, babe,” said Vee, pulling me into her arms. She guided me down the stairs, her arm curled around my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I answered automatically, still in a daze. “How did you guys get here?”
“Rixon came over, and we were hanging out in my bedroom when I got one of those creepy feelings that we should check on you. When we pulled up, Scott’s Mustang was parked in the driveway. I figured his being here couldn’t be good, especially since we’d been snooping around his bedroom. I told Rixon something was wrong, and he told me to wait in the car while he went in. I’m just glad we made it before something worse happened. Holy freak show. What was he thinking, pulling a knife on you?”
Before I could tell her I’d pulled the knife first, Rixon jogged downstairs, joining us in the foyer. “I left a message for Patch,” he said. “He should be here soon. I also called the cops.”
Twenty minutes later, Detective Basso braked at the bottom of the driveway, a Kojak light flashing on the roof of his car. Scott was slowly regaining consciousness, stirring and groaning in the bed of Rixon’s truck. His face was a swollen, blotchy mess, and his hands were roped at his lower back. Detective Basso hauled him out and swapped the rope for handcuffs.
“I didn’t do anything,” Scott protested, his lip a blubbery mess of blood and tissue.
“Breaking and entering is nothing?” Detective Basso echoed. “Funny, the law disagrees.”
“She stole something from me.” Scott jerked his chin in my direction. “Ask her. She was in my bedroom earlier tonight.”
“What did she steal?”
“I—I can’t talk about it.”
Detective Basso looked to me for confirmation.
“She’s been with us all night,” Vee inserted quickly. “Right, Rixon?”
“Absolutely,” Rixon said.
Scott nailed me with a look of betrayal. “Not so goody-two-shoes now, are you?”
Detective Basso ignored him. “Let’s talk about this knife you pulled.”
“She pulled it first!”
“You broke into my house,” I said. “Self-defense.”
“I want a lawyer,” Scott said.
Detective Basso smiled, but there was no patience in it. “A lawyer? You sound guilty, Scott. Why’d you try to knife her?”
“I didn’t try to knife her. I took the knife out of her hand. She was the one trying to knife me.”
