The front door closed with a soft click. Solid footsteps crossed the linoleum in the kitchen. Seeing no other choice, I boosted myself onto the windowsill, swung my legs out, and dropped as silently as possible onto the fire escape. I tried to pull the window shut behind me, but the sliders stuck, refusing to budge. I ducked all but my eyes below the window, keeping them trained inside the apartment.
A shadow appeared on the hall wall, stretching closer. I ducked out of sight.
I was scared that this was it—I was going to be caught—when the footsteps retreated. Less than a minute later, the front door opened, closed. An eerie silence once again settled over the apartment.
Slowly I brought myself back to standing. I stayed that way another minute, and when I was certain the apartment was in fact empty, I crawled back inside. Feeling suddenly conspicuous and vulnerable, I strode down the hall. I needed to go somewhere quiet, where I could sort through my thoughts. What was I missing? Patch was clearly the Black Hand, but how did he play into the Nephilim blood society? What was his role?
I had my hand on the doorknob when a strange noise penetrated my thoughts. A clock. The soft, rhythmic tick of a clock. I frowned and turned back to the kitchen. The sound hadn’t been there when I came in—at least, I didn’t think it had. Listening intently, I followed the muffled tick across the room. I crouched down in front of the cabinet below the kitchen sink.
With growing alarm, I opened the cabinet. Through all the panic and confusion, I made sense of the contraption sitting inches from my knees. Sticks of dynamite. Duct tape. White, blue, and yellow wires.
I stumbled to my feet and ran out the front door. My feet clattered down the stairs so fast I had to hold the handrail to keep from falling. At the bottom, I shoved my way out to the street and kept running. Flipping my head back once, I saw a snap of light an instant before fire erupted from the windows of the third floor of the building. Smoke billowed up in the night. Debris of bricks and wood, glowing orange with heat, hailed down to the street.
The far-away sound of sirens ricocheted off the buildings, and I alternately speed-walked and ran to the next block, terrified of drawing attention, but too distraught not to flee the scene. When I rounded the corner, I broke into a wild sprint. I didn’t know where I was going. My pulse was all over the place, my thoughts reeling. If I’d stayed in the apartment another few minutes, I’d be dead.
A shuddering sob escaped me. My nose was running, my stomach cramping. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and tried to focus on the shapes jumping out of the darkness ahead: street signs, parked cars, the curb—the deceptive shimmer of lamplight on windows. In a matter of seconds, the world had turned into a confusing labyrinth; the truth there and not there, shifting out beneath my feet, vanishing when I tried to look it head-on.
Had someone tried to blow up evidence left in the apartment? Like the Black Hand’s rings? Was Patch responsible?
Ahead, a gas station came into view. I staggered around to the outside bathroom and locked myself inside. My legs were wobbly, and my fingers trembled so hard it was all I could do to coordinate turning on the faucet. I splashed frigid water on my face to startle me out of sliding into shock. Bracing my arms on the sink, I breathed in gulps and gasps.
CHAPTER 21
I HADN’T SLEPT IN OVER THIRTY-SIX HOURS, EXCEPT FOR very briefly Thursday evening, when Patch had met me inside my dream.
Staying awake through the night hadn’t been a struggle; every time I felt my eyes dipping closed, the explosion would blaze across my mind, jolting me upright. Unable to sleep, I’d spent the night thinking about Patch.
When Rixon had told me Patch was the Black Hand, he’d planted a seed of doubt inside me that had swollen and blossomed with the worst kind of violation of trust, but it hadn’t choked me completely. Not yet. There was still a part of me that wanted to weep and shake my head adamantly at the idea that Patch could have killed my dad. I bit my lip hard, concentrating on the pain there, rather than remembering all the times he’d stroked my mouth with his finger, or kissed the curve of my ear. I couldn’t think about those things.
I hadn’t bothered crawling out of bed at seven for summer school. I’d left a series of phone messages for Detective Basso throughout the morning, then the afternoon, and on into the evening, one call every hour, none of which he’d returned. I told myself I was calling to check on Scott, but deep down, I suspected I just wanted to know the police were close. As much as I disliked Detective Basso, I felt a tiny bit safer believing he was only a phone call away. Because a small part of me was beginning to believe maybe last night wasn’t about destroying evidence.
What if someone had tried to kill me?
In the middle of all the thinking I’d done last night, I’d shifted around the fragments of information I had, trying to make something fit. The one clear fragment I kept coming back to was the Nephilim blood society. Patch said Chauncey’s successor wanted to avenge his death. Patch swore nobody could trace Chauncey’s death back to me, but I was beginning to fear otherwise. If the successor knew about me, maybe last night had been his first stab at revenge.
It seemed unlikely that anyone had followed me to Patch’s apartment so late last night, but if there was one thing I knew about Nephilim, it was that they were very good at doing the unlikely.
My cell rang in my pocket and I whipped it out before the first ring had time to finish.
“Let’s go to Summer Solstice,” Vee said. “We’ll eat a little cotton candy, catch a few rides, maybe get hypnotized and do stuff that would make
My heart, which had been up in my throat, slid back into place. Not Detective Basso, then. “Hey.”
“What say you? You in the mood for some action? You in the mood for Delphic?”
Honestly, I wasn’t. I’d planned on redialing Detective Basso at sixty-minute intervals until he picked up one of my calls.
“Earth to babe.”
“I’m not feeling well,” I said.
“Not feeling well how? Stomachache? Headache? Cramps? Food poisoning? Delphic is the cure for just about all those things.”
“I’m going to pass, thanks anyway.”
“Is this because of Scott? Because he’s in jail. He can’t get to you. Come have fun. Rixon and I won’t kiss in front of you, if that’s what’s bothering you.”
“I’m going to put on my pj’s and watch a movie.”
“Are you saying a movie is more fun than me?”
“Tonight it is.”
“Huh. Movie this. You know I’m not going to stop harassing you until you come.”
“I know.”
“So make this easy and just say yes.”
I blew out a sigh. I could sit home all night and wait for Detective Basso to get around to answering my calls, or I could take a small break and start up again when I got back. Besides, he had my cell phone number and could reach me anywhere.
“All right,” I told Vee. “Give me ten.”
In my bedroom, I squeezed into a pair of toothpick jeans, pulled on a graphic tee and cardigan, and finished the look with suede driving mocs. I smoothed my hair into a low ponytail, offsetting it so it hung over my right shoulder. Having not slept in more than a full day, my eyes were ringed by smoky circles. I brushed on mascara, silver eye shadow, and lip gloss, hoping I looked more pulled-together than I felt. I left a rather bland note on the kitchen counter for my mom, telling her I’d gone to Summer Solstice at Delphic. She wasn’t due back until tomorrow morning, but she surprised me more often than not by coming home early. If she did make it home tonight, this was probably going to be one time when she wished she’d drawn out her trip. I’d been practicing
