Immediately, I looked both ways out the window. I shoved the devilcraft under my seat. “Where are you?”
“Three cars back.”
My eyes flew to the rearview mirror. Patch swung off his motorcycle and strolled toward me, phone pressed to his ear. I wiped my face with the neck of my shirt.
I cranked down my window. “Following me?” I asked Patch.
“Tracking device.”
I was starting to hate that thing.
Patch leaned a forearm on the roof of my car, bending close. “Who lives on Shore Drive?”
“That tracking device is pretty specific.”
“I only buy the best.”
“Dante lives at 12 Shore Drive.” No use lying when it sounded like he’d already done his research.
“I don’t like finding you in another man’s home, but I hate finding you in his.” His expression was calm enough, but I could tell he wanted an explanation.
“I needed to confirm our workout time for tomorrow morning. I was in the area and figured I might as well stop by.” The lie slipped out easy, so easy. All I could think of was getting rid of Patch. My throat filled with the taste of devilcraft. I swallowed impatiently.
Gently, Patch pushed my sunglasses higher on my nose, then bent through the window and kissed me. “I’m on my way to research a few more leads into Pepper’s blackmailer. Need anything before I head out?”
I shook my head no.
“If you need to talk, you know I’m here for you,” he added softly.
“Talk about what?” I asked, almost defensively. Could he know about the devilcraft? No. No, he couldn’t.
He studied me a moment. “Anything.”
I waited until Patch drove off before I drank, one greedy sip at a time, until I was full.
CHAPTER
20
THURSDAY EVENING ARRIVED, AND WITH IT, THE complete transformation of the farmhouse. Garlands of autumn leaves in scarlet, gold, and chestnut spilled off the eaves. Bushels of dried cornstalks framed the door. Marcie had purchased what appeared to be every pumpkin and gourd in all of Maine, and lined them up along the sidewalk, the driveway, and every last square inch of porch. Some were carved into jack-o’-lanterns, flickering candlelight in their spooky expressions. A vindictive part of me wanted to tell her it looked like a craft store had thrown up on our lawn, but the truth was, she’d done a nice job.
Inside, haunted music played from the stereo. Skulls, bats, cobwebs, and ghosts cluttered the furniture. Marcie had rented a dry-ice machine—as if we didn’t have enough authentic fog in the yard.
I had two paper bags filled with last-minute items in my arms, and I carted them into the kitchen.
“I’m back!” I yelled. “Plastic cups, one bag of spider rings, two bags of ice, and more skeleton confetti—just like you asked. Soda is still in the trunk. Any volunteers to help carry it in?”
Marcie sashayed into the room, and I did a jaw drop. She wore a black vinyl bra and matching leggings. Nothing more. Her ribs poked through her skin, and she had total Popsicle-stick thighs. “Put the soda in the fridge, the ice in the freezer, and sprinkle the skeleton confetti on the dining room table, but don’t get any in the food. That’s it for now. Stay close in case I need anything else. I have to go finish my costume.”
“Well, that’s a relief. For a minute there, I thought that was all you planned on wearing,” I said, gesturing at the skimpy vinyl.
Marcie glanced down. “It is. I’m Catwoman. I just need to hot-glue black felt ears to my headband.”
“You’re wearing a bra to the party? Just a bra?”
“A bandeau.”
Oh, this was going to be good. I couldn’t wait for Vee’s commentary. “Who’s Batman?”
“Robert Boxler.”
“I guess that means Scott bailed?” It was more of a rhetorical question. Just to give the proverbial knife one last twist.
Marcie gave her shoulders a pompous little hike. “Scott who?” she said, and marched upstairs.
“He chose Vee over you!” I called triumphantly after her.
“I don’t care,” Marcie singsonged back. “You probably made him. It’s no secret he does everything you say. Put the soda in the fridge before the turn of the century.”
I stuck my tongue out, even though she couldn’t see it. “I have to get ready too, you know!”
• • •
At seven, the first guests arrived. Romeo and Juliet, Cleopatra and Mark Anthony, Elvis and Priscilla. Even a bottle of ketchup and mustard strolled through the front door. I let Marcie play hostess and moseyed into the kitchen, stacking my plate with deviled eggs, cocktail wieners, and candy corn. I’d been too busy granting Marcie’s every pre-party command to eat dinner. That, and the new formula of devilcraft Dante had given me, seemed to curb my appetite for the first several hours after I took it.
I’d done a reasonably good job of rationing it and still had enough to last a few more days. The night sweats, headaches, and strange tingling sensation that would seize me at the oddest moments when I’d first started taking the new formula had gone away. I was sure this meant that the dangers of addiction had passed and I’d learned to use devilcraft safely. Moderation was key. Blakely might have tried to hook me on devilcraft, but I was strong enough to set my own limits.
The effects of devilcraft were unbelievable. I’d never felt so mentally and physically superior. I knew I had to stop taking it eventually, but with the stress and dangers of Cheshvan and war looming, I was glad I was being cautious. If another of my doubting Nephilim soldiers attacked me, this time I’d be ready.
After filling up on appetizers and Sprite served from a black cauldron, I elbowed my way into the living room, looking to see whether Vee and Scott had arrived. The lights were dimmed, everyone was in costume, and I had a hard time picking faces out of the crowd. Plus, I’d peeked at the guest list. It was heavily weighted in favor of Marcie’s friends.
“Love the costume, Nora. But you’re anything but a devil.”
I looked sideways at Morticia Addams. I squinted in confusion, then smiled. “Oh, hey, Bailey. I almost didn’t recognize you with black hair.” Bailey sat beside me in math, and we’d been friends since junior high. I picked up my devil tail, with the little red spade at the tip, to save it from the guy behind me, who kept accidentally stepping on it, and said, “Thanks for coming tonight.”
“Did you finish your math homework? I didn’t understand a single thing Mr. Huron tried to teach us today. Every time he started working a problem on the chalkboard, he’d stop halfway through, erase his work, and start over. I don’t think he knows what he’s doing.”
“Yeah, I’m probably going to spend hours on it tomorrow.”
Her eyes lit up. “We should meet at the library and do it together.”
“I promised my mom I’d clean out the cellar after school,” I hedged. Truth be told, homework had slipped a few notches on my list of priorities as of late. It was hard to stress about school when I feared that any day now the eerie cease-fire between fallen angels and Nephilim was going to snap. Fallen angels were up to something. And I’d give anything to find out what.
“Oh. Maybe next time,” Bailey said, sounding disappointed.
“Have you seen Vee?”
“Not yet. Who is she coming as?”
“A babysitter. Her date is Michael Myers from Halloween,” I explained. “If you see her, tell her I’m looking for her.”
When I made it across the living room, I bumped into Marcie and her date, Robert Boxler.
“Food status?” Marcie asked me authoritatively.
“My mom’s handling it.”
“Music?”
“Derrick Coleman is DJ.”
“Are you working the crowd? Is everyone having fun?”
“I just finished a round.” More or less.
Marcie eyed me with criticism. “Where’s your date?”
“Does it matter?”
“I heard yo
u’re dating some new guy. I heard he doesn’t go to school. Who is he?”
“Who’d you hear that from?” Guess word about Dante and me was getting around after all.
“Does it matter?” she echoed snidely. She scrunched her nose in distaste. “What are you dressed up as?”
“She’s a devil,” Robert said. “Pitchfork, horns, red vamp dress.”
“Don’t forget the black combat boots,” I said, showing them off. I had Vee to thank for them, as well as the red glitter laces.
“I can see that,” Marcie said. “But the party’s theme is famous couples. A devil doesn’t go with anything.”
Just then Patch ambled through the front door. I did a double take to make sure it was really him. I hadn’t expected him to come. We’d never resolved our fight, and I’d pridefully refused to take the first step, forcing myself to lock my cell phone in a drawer every time I was tempted to call him and apologize, despite my increasing distress that he might never call either. My pride immediately turned to relief at the sight of him. I hated fighting. I hated not having him close. If he was ready to mend this, so was I.
A smile flickered over my face at the sight of his costume: black jeans, black T-shirt, black face mask. The latter concealed all but his cool, assessing gaze.
“There’s my date,” I said. “Fashionably late.”
Marcie and Robert turned. Patch gave me a low wave and handed his leather jacket to some poor freshman Marcie had roped into coat duty. The price some girls would pay to attend an upperclassman party was almost shameful.
“No fair,” Robert said, taking off his Batman mask. “The dude didn’t dress up.”
“Whatever you do, don’t call him dude,” I told Robert, smiling at Patch as he made his way over.
“Do I know him?” Marcie asked. “Who is he supposed to be?”
“He’s an angel,” I said. “A fallen angel.”
“That isn’t what a fallen angel looks like!” Marcie protested.
Shows how much you know, I thought, just as Patch slung his arm around my neck and pulled me into a light kiss.
I’ve missed you, he spoke to my thoughts.
Same here. Let’s not fight anymore. Can we put it behind us?
Consider it done. How’s the party going? he asked.
I haven’t felt like jumping off the roof yet.
Glad to hear it.
“Hi there,” Marcie said to Patch, her tone more flirtatious than I would have thought with her date standing inches away.
“Hey,” Patch returned, extending acknowledgment with a brief nod.
“Do I know you?” she asked, tilting her head inquisitively to one side. “Do you go to CHS?”
“No,” he said without elaborating.
“Then how do you know Nora?”
“Who doesn’t know Nora?” he returned mildly.
“This is my date, Robert Boxler,” Marcie told him with an air of superiority. “He plays quarterback for the football team.”
“Impressive,” Patch answered, his tone just polite enough to scrape by as interested. “How’s the season shaping up, Robert?”
“We’ve had a few rough games, but it’s nothing we can’t bounce back from,” Marcie cut in, patting Robert’s chest consolingly.
“What gym do you use?” Robert asked Patch, eyeing his physique with open admiration. And envy.
“Haven’t had a lot of time lately for the gym.”
“Well, you look great, man. If you ever want to lift weights together, call me.”
“Good luck with the rest of the season,” Patch told Robert, giving him one of those tricky handshakes all guys seem to know instinctively.
Patch and I wandered deeper into the house, winding through hallways and rooms, trying to find a secluded corner. At last he pulled me inside the powder room, kicked the door shut, and locked it. He leaned me back against the wall and fingered one of my red devil ears, his eyes deep black with desire.
“Nice costume,” he said.
“Ditto. I can tell you put a lot of thought into yours.”
Amusement curled his mouth. “If you don’t like it, I can take it off.”
I tapped my chin thoughtfully. “That just might be the best proposal I’ve had all night.”
“My offers are always the best, Angel.”
“Before the party started, Marcie asked me to lace up the back of her Catwoman pants.” I raised and lowered my hands in a weighing gesture. “Between both offers, it’s a tough call.”
Patch removed his mask and laughed softly into my neck, brushing my hair back off my shoulders. He smelled incredible. He felt warm and solid and so very close. My heart beat faster, squeezing with guilt. I’d lied to Patch. I couldn’t forget. I shut my eyes, letting his mouth explore mine, trying to lose myself in the moment. All the while, the lies beat, beat, beat, in my head. I’d taken devilcraft, and I’d mind-tricked him. I was still taking devilcraft.
“Trouble with your costume is, it doesn’t hide your identity very well,” I said, pulling back. “And we’re not supposed to be seen together in public, remember?”
“Just stopping by for a minute. Couldn’t miss my girl’s party,” he murmured. He lowered his head to kiss me again.
“Vee’s still not here,” I said. “I tried her cell. And Scott’s. I got sent to voice mail both times. Should I worry?”
“Maybe they don’t want to be disturbed,” he spoke into my ear, his voice deep and gravelly. He pushed my dress higher up my leg, stroking his thumb over my bare thigh. The warmth of his caress overrode my bad conscience. Sensation shivered through me. I shut my eyes again, this time involuntarily. All the knots loosened. My breath came a little faster. He knew just how to touch me.
Patch lifted me onto the sink’s ledge, his hands splayed on my hips. I got warm and woozy inside, and when he put his mouth on mine, I could have sworn sparks went off. His touch seared me with passion. The fluttery, intoxicating liquid heat of being near him never grew old, no matter how many times we touched, flirted, kissed. If anything, that electric jolt intensified. I wanted Patch, and I didn’t trust myself when I did.
I don’t know how long the bathroom door stood open before I noticed. I jerked away from Patch, mouth gaping. My mom stood in the shadowy entrance, muttering about how the lock had never worked properly, and she’d been meaning to fix it for ages, when her eyes must have adjusted to the dimness, because she stopped mid-apology.
Her mouth snapped shut. Her face blanched . . . then flushed a deep, sizzling red. I’d never seen her look so enraged. “Out!” She flung her finger away. “Out of my house this instant, and don’t think of coming back, or touching my daughter again!” she hissed at Patch, livid.
I jumped off the sink. “Mom—”
She turned on me. “Not a word from you!” she sputtered. “You said you broke up with him. You said it—this thing—between you and him—it was over. You lied to me!”
“I can explain,” I started, but she’d swiveled back to Patch.
“Is this what you do? Seduce young girls in their own homes, with their own mothers standing feet away? You should be ashamed of yourself!”
Patch laced his hand in mine, gripping it tightly. “Quite the opposite, Blythe. Your daughter means everything to me. Completely and wholly. I love her—it’s as simple as that.” He spoke with calm assurance, but his jaw was as rigid as if cut from stone.
“You destroyed her life! From the moment she met you, everything fell apart. You can deny it all you want, but I know you were involved in her kidnapping. Get out of my house,” she snarled.
I clung to Patch’s hand fiercely, murmuring, I’m sorry, so sorry, over and over in mind-speak. I’d spent the summer locked away against my will in a remote cabin. Hank Millar was the mastermind behind my imprisonment, but my mom didn’t know that. Her mind had erected a wall around his memory, trapping in everything good and casting out the rest. I blamed Hank, and I blamed devilcraft. She’d worked it out in her mind
that Patch had been responsible for my kidnapping, and it was as much a truth to her as the sun rising each morning.
“I should get going,” Patch told me, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. I’ll call you later, he added privately to my thoughts.
“I should think so!” my mom snapped, her shoulders rising from the exertion of breathing heavily.
She stepped aside, allowing Patch to exit, but closed off the doorway before I could escape.
“You’re grounded,” she said in a voice like iron. “Enjoy the party while it lasts, because it’s going to be your last social event for a long, long time.”
“Are you even interested in hearing me out?” I shot back, enraged by the way she’d treated Patch.
“I need time to cool down. It’s in your best interest to give me some space. I might be in the mood to talk tomorrow, but that’s the last thing I’m interested in right now. You lied to me. You went behind my back. Worse, I had to find you stripping off your clothes with him in our bathroom. Our bathroom! He wants one thing from you, Nora, and he’ll take it wherever he can get it. There’s nothing special about losing your virginity over a toilet.”
“I wasn’t—we weren’t—my virginity?” I shook my head and made a disgusted gesture. “Forget it. You’re right—you don’t want to listen. You never have. Not when it comes to Patch.”
“Everything okay here?”
My mom and I turned to find Marcie standing just outside the door. She held an empty cauldron in her arms and hitched her shoulders apologetically. “Sorry to interrupt, but we’ve run out of monster eyeballs, aka peeled grapes.”
My mom shoved some hair off her face, trying to collect herself. “Nora and I were just finishing up. I can make a quick run to the store for grapes. Anything else we’re low on?”
“Nacho cheese dip,” Marcie said in this timid mouse voice, as if she hated imposing on my mom’s kindness. “But it’s really no big deal. I mean, it’s only nacho dip. There will be nothing to go with the chips, of course, and it is my favorite, but really and truly—no big deal.” The tiniest sigh escaped her.
“Fine. Grapes and nacho dip. Anything else?” my mom asked.
Marcie hugged the cauldron and beamed. “Nope. That’s it.”
The Complete Hush, Hush Saga Page 108