Crescendo

Patch studied me a moment. Then he reached into his pocket, twisted a key off his key chain, and slipped it into the front pocket of my pajama top.

“Once you’ve gone inside, you have to keep coming back.”

Forty minutes later, I discovered which door the key unlocked. Patch pulled the Jeep into Delphic amusement park’s vacant parking lot. We crossed the lot hand in hand, a cool summer breeze tangling my hair in my face. Patch creaked the gate open, holding it while I passed through.

Delphic had a completely different feel without the barrage of noise and carnival lights. A quiet, haunted, magical place. A discarded soda can scraped the pavement as the breeze pushed it along. Sticking to the walkway, I kept my eyes fastened on the dark skeleton of the Archangel rising up against the black sky. The air smelled like rain. A distant grumble of thunder reeled overhead.

Just north of the Archangel, Patch pulled me off the walkway. We climbed the steps to a utility shed. He unlocked the door just as a pattering of rain spilled from the sky, dancing on the pavement. The door swung shut behind me, shrouding us in stormy darkness. The park was eerily quiet, except for the steady rat-a- tat of rain splattering the roof. I felt Patch move behind me, his hands on my waist, his voice soft in my ear.

“Delphic was built by fallen angels, and is the one place the archangels won’t go near. It’s just you and me tonight, Angel.”

I turned, absorbing the heat of his body. Patch tipped my chin up and kissed me. The kiss was warm and sent a shiver of pleasure through me. His hair was damp from rain, and I could smell a faint trace of soap. Our mouths slipped over each other, our skin slick with rain that dripped through the low ceiling, sprinkling us with little pricks of cold. Patch’s arms enveloped me, holding me with an intensity that only made me want to sink deeper into him.

He sucked some of the rain from my bottom lip, and I felt his mouth smile against mine. He swept my hair aside and kissed me just above the collarbone. He nibbled at my ear, then sank his teeth into my shoulder.

I hung my fingertips on his waistband, tugging him closer.

Patch buried his face in the curve of my shoulder, his hands flexing over my back. He gave a low groan. “I love you,” he murmured into my hair. “I’m happier right now than I ever remember being.”

“How very touching.” A deep voice carried out of the darkest part of the shed, along the back wall. “Seize the angel.”

A handful of overly tall young men, undoubtedly Nephilim, came out of the shadows and surrounded Patch, twisting his arms behind his back. To my confusion, Patch let them do it without resistance.

When I start fighting, run, Patch spoke to my thoughts, and I realized he’d stalled fighting to speak to me, to help me find a way out. I’ll distract them. You run. Take the Jeep. Do you remember how to hot-wire it? Don’t go home. Stay in the Jeep until I find you—

The man who lingered at the back of the shed, commanding the others, stepped forward into a hazy ray of light slicing through one of the shed’s many cracks. He was tall, lean, handsome, unnaturally young-looking for his age, and dressed impeccably in a white country-club polo and cotton twill pants.

“Mr. Millar,” I whispered. I couldn’t think of anything else to call him. Hank seemed too informal; Dad seemed revoltingly intimate.

“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. “You’re not the girl I thought you’d grow up to be, Nora. Fraternizing with the enemy, making a mockery of your heritage. I believe you even blew up one of my Nephilim safe houses last night. But no matter. I can forgive that.” He paused with significance. “Tell me, Nora. Was it you who killed my dear friend Chauncey Langeais?”