Crescendo

I deleted the message and climbed upstairs to my bedroom. Since I’d missed my morning shower, and my hair had frizzed to maximum height during the day, I figured I’d change into clean clothes by way of damage control. Every single memory I had of Scott Parnell was unpleasant, but company was company. I had my cardigan halfway unbuttoned when there was a rap at the front door.

I found Patch on the other side of it, hands in his pockets.

Normally I would have greeted him by bounding straight into his arms. Today I held back. Last night I’d said I loved him, and he’d bolted and allegedly headed straight for Marcie’s house. My mood fell somewhere between injured pride, anger, and insecurity. I hoped my reserved silence sent him a message that something was off, and would be until he made a move to correct it, either by apology or explanation.

“Hey,” I said, assuming casualness. “You forgot to call last night. Where did you end up going?”

“Around. You going to invite me in?”

I didn’t. “I’m glad to hear Marcie’s house is just, you know, around.”

A momentary flick of surprise in his eyes confirmed what I didn’t want to believe: Marcie had been telling the truth.

“Want to tell me what’s going on?” I said in a slightly more hostile tone. “Want to tell me what you were doing at her place last night?”

“You sound jealous, Angel.” There might have been a note of teasing behind it, but unlike usual, there was nothing affectionate or playful about it.

“Maybe I wouldn’t be jealous if you didn’t give me a reason to be,” I shot back. “What were you doing at her house?”

“Taking care of business.”

I swept my eyebrows up. “I didn’t realize you and Marcie had business.”

“We do, but it’s just that. Business.”

“Care to elaborate?” There was a heavy dose of allegation crammed between my actual words.

“Are you accusing me of something?”

“Should I be?”

Patch was usually expert at hiding his emotions, but the line of his mouth tightened. “No.”

“If being at her house last night was so innocent, why are you having such a hard time explaining what you were doing there?”

“I’m not having a hard time,” he said, each word carefully measured. “I’m not telling you, because what I was doing at Marcie’s has nothing to do with us.”

How could he think this didn’t have anything to do with us? Marcie was the one person who took every opportunity to attack and belittle me. Over the past eleven years, she’d teased me, spread horrible rumors about me, and humiliated me publicly. How could he think this wasn’t personal? How could he think I’d just accept this, no questions asked? Above all, couldn’t he see I was terrified that Marcie would use him to hurt me? If she suspected he was even remotely interested, she’d do everything in her power to steal him for herself. I couldn’t stand the thought of losing Patch, but it would kill me if I lost him to her.

Overwhelmed by that sudden fear, I said, “Don’t come back until you’re ready to tell me what you were doing at her place.”

Patch impatiently pushed his way inside and closed the door behind him. “I didn’t come here to argue. I wanted to let you know Marcie ran into some trouble this afternoon.”

Marcie again? Did he think he hadn’t dug a deep enough hole already? I tried to stay calm long enough to hear him out, but I wanted to yell across him. “Oh?” I said coolly.

“She was caught in the crossfire when a group of fallen angels tried to force a Nephil to swear fealty inside the men’s room at Bo’s Arcade. The Nephil wasn’t sixteen, so they couldn’t force him, but they had fun trying. They cut him up pretty bad, and broke a few ribs. Enter Marcie. She’d had too much to drink and walked into the wrong restroom. The fallen angel standing guard pulled a knife on her. She’s at the hospital, but they’ll release her soon. Flesh wound.”

My pulse jumped, and I knew I was upset that Marcie had been knifed, but that was the last thing I wanted to reveal to Patch. I crossed my arms stiffly. “Gee, is the Nephil okay?” I vaguely remembered Patch explaining, some time ago, that fallen angels can’t force Nephilim to swear fealty until they’re sixteen. Likewise, he couldn’t sacrifice me to get a human body of his own until I turned sixteen. Sixteen was a darkly magical, even crucial age in the world of angels and Nephilim.

Patch gave me a look that held the tiniest glare of disgust. “Marcie may have been drunk, but chances are she remembers what she saw. Obviously you know fallen angels and Nephilim try to stay under the radar, and someone like Marcie, with a big mouth, can threaten their secrecy. The last thing they want is for her to announce to the world what she saw. Our world operates a lot more smoothly when humans are ignorant of it. I know the fallen angels involved.” His jaw tensed. “They’ll do whatever it takes to keep Marcie quiet.”

I felt a shiver of fear for Marcie but flushed it away. Since when did Patch care one way or the other what happened to Marcie? Since when was he more worried about her than me? “I’m trying to feel bad,” I said, “but it sounds like you’re concerned enough for the both of us.” I jerked on the doorknob and held the door wide. “Maybe you should go check on Marcie, see if her flesh wound is healing properly.”

Patch pried my hand loose and shut the door with his foot. “Bigger things than you, me, and Marcie are going on.” He hesitated, as if he had more to say, but closed his mouth at the last moment.

“You, me, and Marcie? Since when did you start putting the three of us in the same sentence? Since when does she mean anything to you?” I snapped.

He cupped a hand over the back of his neck, looking very much like he knew he should choose his words carefully before answering.

“Just tell me what you’re thinking!” I blurted. “Spit it out! It’s bad enough that I have no idea what you’re feeling, let alone what you’re thinking!”

Patch looked around, as if he was wondering whether I was talking to someone else. “Spit it out?” he said, his tone darkly incredulous. Maybe even annoyed. “What does it look like I’m trying to do? If you’d calm down, I could. Right now you’re going to turn hysterical, regardless of what I say.”

I felt my eyes narrow. “I have a right to be angry. You won’t tell me what you were doing at Marcie’s last night.”

Patch threw his hands up. Here we go again, the gesture said.

“Two months ago,” I began, trying to inject pride into my voice to hide the quaver in it, “Vee, my mom— everyone—warned me that you were the kind of guy who sees girls as conquests. They said I was just another notch on your belt, another stupid girl you’d seduce for your own satisfaction. They said the moment I fell in love with you was the moment you’d leave.” I swallowed hard. “I need to know they weren’t right.”

Even though I didn’t want to recall it, the memory of last night resurfaced with perfect clarity. I remembered the whole humiliating scene in vivid detail. I’d said I loved him, and he’d left me hanging. There were a hundred different ways to analyze his silence, none of them good.

Patch wagged his head in disbelief. “You want me to tell you they’re wrong? Because I get the feeling you aren’t going to believe me, no matter what I say.” He glared at me.

“Are you as committed to this relationship as I am?” I couldn’t not ask it. Not after watching everything come tumbling down since last night. I suddenly realized I had no idea how Patch really felt about me. I thought I meant everything to him, but what if I’d only seen what I wanted? What if I’d grossly exaggerated his feelings? I held his eyes, not about to make this easy on him, not about to give him a second chance to skirt the issue. I needed to know. “Do you love me?”

I can’t answer that, he said, startling me by speaking to my thoughts. It was a gift all angels possessed, but I didn’t understand why he was choosing now to use it. “I’ll stop by tomorrow. Sleep well,” he added curtly, heading for the door.

“When we kiss, are you faking it?”

He stopped short. Another disbelieving shake of his head. “Faking it?”

“When I touch you, do you feel anything? How far does your desire go? Do you feel anything close to what I feel for you?”

Patch watched me in silence. “Nora—,” he began.