“I’ll give you five minutes. If you haven’t come back, I’ll pull your hand off my scars. That will break the connection.”
I bit my lip. This is your chance, I told myself. Don’t run away, not when you’ve made it this far.
The truth is scary, but knowing nothing is crippling. You of all people understand that.
“Give me a half hour,” I told Jev firmly.
Then I cleared my mind, trying to calm my racing thoughts. I didn’t have to understand everything right now. I only had to take a leap of faith. I held my hand out, part of the way. I squeezed my eyes shut, summoning courage. I was grateful when Jev’s hand closed over mine, guiding me the rest of the way.
CHAPTER 20
MY FIRST CONSCIOUS THOUGHT WAS OF BEING nailed down. No. Nailed inside. Locked in the snuggest of coffins. Tangled in a net. Defenseless and dictated by another body. A body that looked like my own—same hands, same hair, identical down to the finest detail—but one I had no control over. A strange phantom body that acted against my will, dragging me into its tide.
My second thought was Patch.
Patch was kissing me. Kissing me in a way that terrified me even more than the phantom body and its unbreakable hold over me. His mouth, everywhere. The rain, warm and sweet. The swell of distant thunder. And his body, taking up space, standing so very close, radiating heat.
Patch.
Astonished and shaken, I clawed at the memory. I begged to be let out.
I gasped as if coming up from a lengthy and punishing stay under water. At the same time, my eyes flew open.
“What is it?” Jev asked, grasping me protectively by the shoulders as I slumped against him.
We were back in his granite studio, the same candles flickering along the walls. The familiarity of it flooded me with relief. I was terrified of being trapped down there. Terrified of the sensation of being held captive in a body that I couldn’t command.
“Your memory was of me,” I choked. “But there wasn’t a double. I was trapped inside my body, but I couldn’t control it. I couldn’t move it. It was—terrifying.”
“What did you see?” he asked, his body tense enough to be made of stone. One hard push in the wrong direction, and he might well shatter.
“We were above here. In the shed. When I said your name, I didn’t say Jev. I called you Patch. And you were—kissing me.” I was too shocked to think about blushing.
Jev smoothed hair off my face, stroking my cheek. “Nothing is wrong,” he murmured. “Back then you knew me as Patch. That was the name I was going under when we met. I dropped the name when I lost you. I’ve been going by Jev ever since.”
I felt stupid for crying, but I couldn’t stop myself. Jev was Patch. My old boyfriend. It suddenly made sense. No wonder no one had recognized Jev’s name—he’d changed it after I disappeared.
“I kissed you back,” I said, still crying softly. “In the memory.” The tightness in his face softened. “That bad?”
I wondered if I could ever tell him just what his kiss had done to me. It was so pleasurable it had single-handedly frightened me out of his memory.
To avoid having to answer him, I said, “You told me earlier that you tried to bring me here to your home once before, but Hank stopped us. I think that was the memory I saw. But I didn’t see Hank. I didn’t make it that far. I broke the connection. I couldn’t handle being inside my body but not being able to control it. I wasn’t prepared for just how real it would feel.”
“The girl in control of your body was you,” he reminded me. “You in the past. Before you lost your memory.”
I jumped up, pacing the room. “I have to go back.”
“Nora—”
“I have to face Hank. And I can’t face him here until I’ve faced him in there,” I said, thrusting my finger at Jev’s scars. And face yourself, I thought. You have to face the part of you that knows the truth.
Jev gave me a measured look. “Do you want me to pull you out?”
“No. This time I’m going all the way.”
The moment I arrived back inside Jev’s memory, I felt a switch being thrown, and the next thing I knew, I was reliving the flashback through the eyes of the girl I’d been before my memory was damaged. Her body overtook mine, and her thoughts overshadowed my own. I breathed through the panic, opening myself up to her—to me.
Outside, the rain made a metal ic ping as it pattered the shed. Patch and I were both wet from it, and he sucked a drop of rainwater from my lip. I hung my fingertips on the waistband of his jeans and tugged him closer. Our mouths slipped over each other, a warm distraction from the chil in the air.
He nuzzled my neck affectionately. “I love you. I’m happier right now than I ever remember being.” I was about to answer when a man’s voice, unaccountably familiar, carried out of the darkest part of the shed. “How very touching. Seize the angel.”
A handful of overly tall young men, undoubtedly Nephilim, rushed out of the shadows and surrounded Patch, twisting his arms behind his back.
I hardly had time to absorb what was happening when Patch’s voice broke into my thoughts as clearly as if he’d spoken in my ear. When I start fighting, run. Take the Jeep. Don’t go home. Stay in the Jeep and keep driving until I find you.
The man who lingered at the back of the shed, commanding the others, stepped forward into the eerie carnival light slicing through the shed’s many cracks. He was unnaturally young for his age, with crisp blue eyes and a ruthless curl to his mouth.
“Mr. Mill ar,” I whispered.
How could he possibly be here? After everything I’d gone through this night, a near-fatal attempt on my life, learning the sordid truth about my heritage, and overcoming it all to be with Patch, now this? It didn’t seem real.
“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 at me. “You’re not the girl I thought you’d grow up to be, Nora. Fraternizing with the enemy, making a mockery of your heritage. But I can forgive that.” He paused with significance. “Tell me, Nora. Was it you who killed my dear friend and associate, Chauncey Langeais?” My blood ran cold. I was caught between the impulse to lie and the knowledge that it wouldn’t do any good. He knew I’d killed Chauncey. The cold twist of his mouth frowned at me in judgment.
Now! Patch shouted, cutting into my thoughts. Run!
I bolted for the shed door. But I only made it a few steps before a Nephil hooked my elbow. Just as fast, he yanked my other arm behind my back. I tried to wrench free, every movement a desperate lunge for the shed door.
Hank Mill ar’s footfalls crossed the shed behind me. “I owe this to Chauncey.” Any chil I’d felt from the rain had vanished; rivulets of sweat trickled beneath my shirt.
“We shared a vision. One we intended to see through to the end,” Hank continued. “Who would’ve guessed you of all people would be the one to nearly destroy it?” A slew of spiteful responses sprang to mind, but I didn’t dare set off Hank. My only asset was time, and I needed to keep it on my side. The Nephil spun me around just as Hank retrieved a long, thin dagger from the waist of his pants.
Touch my back.
Patch’s voice cut through the panic clanging between my ears. Frantically, I looked sideways at him.
Go inside my memory. Touch the place where my wings fuse into my back. He nodded, urging me to act.
Easier said than done, I thought at him, even though I knew he couldn’t hear me. A span of five or six feet separated us, and both of us were held captive by Nephilim.
“Let go of me,” I snapped at the Nephil pinning my arms. “We both know I’m not going anywhere. I can’t outrun all of you.”
The Nephil glanced at Hank, who confirmed my request with a slight nod. Then he sighed, almost bored. “I’m sorry to do this, Nora. But justice must be served. Chauncey would have done the same for me.”
I rubbed the insides of my elbows, my skin burning from where the Nephil had gripped me.
“Justice? What about family? I’m your daughter by blood.” And nothing more.
“You’re a blight on my heritage,” he dismissed. “A turncoat. A humiliation.” I gave him the blackest look I had inside me, even though my stomach roiled in fear. “Are you here to avenge Chauncey, or is this an attempt to save face? Couldn’t handle your daughter dating a fall en angel and embarrassing you in front of your little Nephilim army? Am I getting warm?” So much for not setting him off.
Hank frowned slightly.
Think you could get inside my memory before he snaps your neck? Patch hissed to my mind.
I didn’t look at Patch, afraid I’d lose my resolve if I did. We both knew escaping into his memory wasn’t going to get me out of here. It would merely transport my mind into his past. And I supposed that was what Patch wanted; for me to be in some other place when Hank killed me. Patch knew this was the end, and he was saving me the pain of being conscious at my own execution. A ridiculous image of an ostrich with its head in the sand came distinctly to mind.
If I was going to die in the next few moments, it wouldn’t be before I said the words that I hoped would haunt Hank for the rest of eternity.
“I guess it’s a good thing you chose to keep Marcie as your daughter instead of me,” I said. “She’s cute, popular, dates the right boys, and is too dumb to question anything you do. But I know for a fact the dead can come back. I saw my dad earlier tonight—my real dad.” The frown on Hank’s face deepened.
“If he can visit me, there’s nothing preventing me from visiting Marcie—or your wife. And I won’t stop there. I know you’re dating my mom on the sly again. I’ll tell her the truth about you, dead or alive. How many dates do you think you can squeeze in before I let her know you killed me?” That was all I had time to say before Patch rammed his knee into the gut of the Nephil holding his right arm. The Nephil slumped, and Patch swung his free fist at the nose of the Nephil pinning his left arm. There was an awful crunch, and a blubbering yowl.
I ran for Patch, throwing myself against him.
“Hurry,” he said, forcing my hand up the back of his shirt.
I splayed my hand blindly on Patch’s back, hoping I’d make contact with the place where his wings fused into his skin. His wings were made of spiritual matter and I couldn’t see or feel them, but it only made sense that they’d span a good portion of his back and be hard to miss.
Someone—Hank or one of the other Nephilim—tore at my shoulders, but I only slipped a little; Patch’s arms were around me, locking me against him. With no time to spare, I plunged my hand a second time up the smooth, toned skin of Patch’s back. Where were his wings?
He kissed my forehead roughly and murmured something unintel igible. There was no time for more. A searing white light exploded at the back of my mind. The very next moment, I was suspended in a dark universe speckled with pricks of colorful light. I knew I had to move toward any of the millions of light pricks—each one a stored memory—but they seemed miles away.
