Hush, Hush
Page 38

“I’ll make it quick,” she continued. “I’m an angel of death. I carry souls to the afterlife. As soon as I finish, I’ll carry your soul through the veil. You have nothing to be afraid of.”
I wanted to scream out, but my voice was trapped at the back of my throat. I edged around the sideboard, putting the kitchen table between us. “If you’re an angel, where are your wings?”
“No more questions.” Her voice had grown impatient, and she began closing the distance between us in earnest.
“How long has it been since you left heaven?” I asked, stalling. “You’ve been down here for several months, right? Don’t you think the other angels have noticed you’re missing?”
“Not another step,” she snapped, raising the knife, scattering light off the blade.
“You’re going to a lot of trouble for Patch,” I said, my voice not nearly as devoid of panic as I wanted.
“I’m surprised you don’t resent him for using you when it suits his purpose. I’m surprised you want him to get his wings back at all. After what he did to you, aren’t you happy he’s banished here?”
“He left me for a worthless human girl!” she spat, her eyes a fiery blue.
“He didn’t leave you. Not really. He fell—”
“He fell because he wanted to be human, like her! He had me— he had me!” She gave a scoffing laugh, but it didn’t mask the anger or sorrow. “At first I was hurt and angry, and I did everything in my power to forget about him. Then, when the archangels figured out he was seriously attempting to become human, they sent me down here to change his mind. I told myself I wasn’t going to fall for him all over again, but what good did it do?”
“Dabria … ,” I began softly.
“He didn’t even care that the girl was made from the dust of the earth! You—all of you—are selfish and slovenly! Your bodies are wild and undisciplined. One moment you’re at the peak of joy, the next you’re on the brink of despair. It’s deplorable! No angel will aspire to it!” She flung her arm in a wild arc across her face, wiping away tears. “Look at me! I can barely control myself! I’ve been down here too long, submerged in human filth!”
I turned and ran from the kitchen, knocking over a chair and leaving it behind me in Dabria’s path. I raced down the hall, knowing I was trapping myself. The house had two exits: the front door, which Dabria could reach before me by cutting through the living room, and the back door off the dining room, which she blocked.
I was shoved hard from behind, and I pitched forward. I skidded down the hall, coming to a stop on my stomach. I rolled over. Dabria hovered a few feet above me— in the air—her skin and hair ablaze in blinding white, the knife pointed down at me.
I didn’t think. I kicked my leg up with all my strength. I arched into the kick, bracing with my nonkicking leg, and aimed for her lower arm. The knife was knocked out of her hand. As I got my feet under me, Dabria pointed at the lamp on a small entryway table, and with a sharp fling of her finger, sent it flying at me. I rolled away, feeling shards of glass slide under me as the lamp shattered on the floor.
“Move! ” Dabria commanded, and the entry bench slid to barricade the front door, blocking my exit.
Scrambling forward, I took the stairs two at a time, using the banister to propel me faster. I heard Dabria laugh behind me, and the next instant the banister broke free, crashing to the hall below. I threw my weight back to keep from falling over the unguarded edge. Catching my balance, I raced up the final stairs. At the top I flung myself into my mom’s bedroom and slammed the French doors shut.
Racing to one of the windows flanking the fireplace, I looked down two stories to the ground. There were three bushes in a rock bed directly below, all their foliage gone since autumn. I didn’t know if I’d survive a jump.
“Open! ” Dabria commanded from the other side of the French doors. A crack split up the wood as the door strained against the lock. I was out of time.
I ran to the fireplace and ducked under the mantel. I had just pulled my feet up, bracing them against the inside of the flue, when the doors swung open, slamming back against the wall. I heard Dabria stride to the window.
“Nora!” she called in her delicate, chilling voice. “I know you’re close! I sense you. You can’t run and you can’t hide—I’ll burn this house down room by room if that’s what it takes to find you! And then I’ll burn my way through the fields behind. I’m not leaving you alive!”
A glow of bright gold light sizzled to life outside the fireplace, along with the roaring whoosh of fire igniting. The flames sent shadows dancing in the pit below. I heard the snap and crackle of fire eating up fuel—most likely the furniture or wood floors.
I stayed cramped in the flue. My heart throbbed, sweat leaking from my skin. I drew several breaths, exhaling slowly to manage the burn in my tightly contracted leg muscles. Patch had said he was going to the school. How long until he came back?
Not knowing if Dabria was still in the room, but fearing that if I didn’t leave now, the fire would trap me in, I lowered one leg into the pit, then the other. I came out from under the mantel. Dabria was nowhere in sight, but the flames were licking up the walls, smoke choking all air from the room.
I hurried down the hall, not daring to go downstairs, thinking Dabria would expect me to try to escape through one of the doors. In my bedroom I opened the window. The tree outside was close enough and sturdy enough to climb. Maybe I could lose Dabria in the fog behind the house. The nearest neighbors were just under a mile away, and running hard, I could be there in seven minutes. I was about to swing my leg out the window when a creak sounded down the hall.
Quietly closing myself inside the closet, I dialed 911.
“There’s someone in my house trying to kill me,” I whispered to the operator. I had just given my address when the door to my room eased open. I held perfectly still.
Through the slats in the closet door, I watched a shadowy figure enter the room. The lighting was low, my angle was off, and I couldn’t see a single distinguishing detail. The figure parted the window blinds, peering out. It fingered the socks and underwear in my open drawer. It picked up the silver comb on my bureau, studied it, then returned it. When the figure turned in the direction of the closet, I knew I was in trouble.
Sliding my hand over the floor, I felt for anything I could use in my defense. My elbow bumped a stack of shoe boxes, toppling them. I mouthed a curse. The footsteps trod closer.
The closet doors opened, and I hurled a shoe out. I grabbed another and threw it.
Patch swore in an undertone, yanked a third shoe out of my hands, and hurled it behind him. Wrestling me out of the closet, he got me on my feet. Before I could register relief at discovering him and not Dabria in front of me, he pulled me against him and wrapped his arms around me.
“Are you okay?” he murmured in my ear.
“Dabria’s here,” I said, my eyes brimming with tears. My knees trembled, and Patch’s hold was the only thing keeping me up. “She’s burning down the house.”
Patch handed me a set of keys and curled my fingers around them. “My Jeep’s parked on the street. Get in, lock the doors, drive to Delphic, and wait for me.” He tipped my chin up to face him. He brushed a kiss across my lips and sent a flash of heat through me.
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
“Take care of Dabria.”
“How?”
He slid me a look that said, Do you really want details?
The sound of sirens wailed in the distance.
Patch looked to the window. “You called the police?”
“I thought you were Dabria.”
He was already on his way out the door. “I’ll go after Dabria. Drive the Jeep to Delphic and wait for me.”
“What about the fire?”
“The police will handle it.”
I tightened my grip on the keys. The decision­making part of my brain was split, running in opposite directions. I wanted to get out of the house and away from Dabria, and meet up with Patch later, but there was one nagging thought I couldn’t shake free. Dabria had said Patch needed to sacrifice me to become human.
She hadn’t said it lightly, or to get under my skin. Or even to harden me against him. Her words had come out cold and serious. Serious enough that she tried to kill me to stop Patch from getting to me first.
I found the Jeep parked on the street, just like Patch had said. I put the keys in the ignition and floored the Jeep down Hawthorne. Figuring it was pointless to try Vee’s cell again, I dialed her home phone instead.
“Hi, Mrs. Sky,” I said, trying to sound like nothing was out of the ordinary. “Is Vee there?”
“Hi, Nora! She left a few hours ago. Something about a party in Portland. I thought she was with you.”
“Um, we got separated,” I lied. “Did she say where she was going after the party?”
“She was thinking about seeing a movie. And she isn’t answering her cell, so I assume she has it turned off for a show. Is everything okay?”
I didn’t want to frighten her, but at the same time, I wasn’t about to say everything was okay. Not one bit of it felt okay to me. The last time I’d heard from Vee, she was with Elliot. And now she wasn’t answering her cell.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “I’m going to drive around and look for her. I’ll start at the movie theater. Will you search the promenade?”
CHAPTER 26
IT WAS THE SUNDAY NIGHT BEFORE THE START OF SPRING break, and the movie theater was packed. I got in the ticket line, continually looking around for signs that I’d been followed. Nothing alarming so far, and the press of bodies offered good cover. I told myself Patch would take care of Dabria and that I had nothing to worry about, but it didn’t hurt to be vigilant.
Of course, deep inside, I knew Dabria wasn’t my biggest worry. Sooner or later Patch was going to figure out I wasn’t at Delphic. Based on past experience, I didn’t have any illusions about being able to hide long­term from him. He would find me. And then I’d be forced to confront him with the question I was dreading. More specifically, I dreaded his answer. Because there was a shadow of doubt at the back of my mind, whispering that Dabria had been telling the truth about what it would take for Patch to get a human body.
I stepped up to the ticket window. The nine­thirty movies were just starting.
“One for The Sacrifice,” I said without thinking. Immediately I found the title eerily ironic. Not wanting to reflect further on it, I fished in my pockets and pushed a wad of small bills and coins under the window, praying it was enough.
“Jeez,” the teller said, staring at the coins spilling under the window. I recognized her from school. She was a senior, and I was pretty sure her name was Kaylie or Kylie. “Thanks a lot,” she said. “It’s not like there’s a line or anything.”
Everyone behind me muttered a collective expletive.
“I cleaned out my piggy bank,” I said, attempting sarcasm.