Silence (Hush, Hush #3)

Silence (Hush, Hush #3) Page 36

Mom said, “This must be why Hank suggested you and Marcie go dress shopping together. I told him I’d be very surprised if you had any desire to go to homecoming, but he must have known what Marcie was planning. Of course, you’re under no obligation to go anywhere with Marcie,” she corrected in a rush. “I think it would be very big of you, but clearly Hank doesn’t know how you feel about Marcie. I think he dreams of seeing our families get along.” She gave a miserable little laugh.

Under the circumstances, I couldn’t bring myself to join her. I didn’t know how much of what she said was from the heart, and how much was dictated by Hank’s mind-tricks. But it was very clear that if she was thinking marriage, Patch and I needed to work faster.

“Marcie cornered me after school and told me—yes, told me—we’re going dress shopping tonight. Like I had absolutely no say in the matter whatsoever. But it’s all good. Vee and I have a plan. I texted Marcie and told her I couldn’t go shopping because I’m out of money. Then I told her how sorry I was, because I was really looking forward to her input. She texted back and said Hank gave her his credit card and she was paying.”

Mom groaned in disapproval, but her eyes crinkled with amusement. “Please tell me I raised you better than this.”

“I already picked out the dress I want,” I said cheerfully. “I’ll get Marcie to pay for it, and then Vee will just happen to bump into us as we’re leaving the store. I’ll take the dress, ditch Marcie, and go out for doughnuts with Vee.”

“What does the dress look like?”

“Vee and I found it at Silk Garden. It’s an above-the-knee party dress.”

“What color?”

“You’ll have to wait and see.” I smiled devilishly. “It’s one hundred and fifty dollars.” Mom waved this off. “I’d be surprised if Hank even notices. You should see how he burns through cash.”

I settled higher in my chair, pleased with myself. “Then I don’t suppose he’ll mind buying my shoes, too.”

I was supposed to meet Marcie at Silk Garden at seven. Silk Garden was a boutique dress shop on the corner of Asher and Tenth. From the outside it resembled a château, with an oak-and-iron door and a cobblestone walk. The trees were wrapped in blue decorative lights. In the front windows, mannequins modeled dresses beautiful enough to eat. When I was little, my dreams of grandeur included becoming a princess and claiming Silk Garden as my castle.

At twenty past seven, I paced the parking lot, scouting for Marcie’s car. Marcie drove a red Toyota 4Runner, fully loaded. Somehow I got the feeling her shifter never popped out of its socket. I doubted she’d ever had to smack her dashboard for ten minutes straight before the engine caught. And I was willing to bet her ride never broke down halfway to school. I cast a gloomy look in the direction of the Volkswagen and sighed.

A red 4Runner swerved into the parking lot, and Marcie jumped out. “Sorry I’m late,” she said, throwing her handbag up her shoulder. “My dog didn’t want me to leave.”

“Your dog?”

“Boomer. Dogs are people too, you know.”

I saw my chance. “No worries. I already looked around inside. Picked out my dress, too. We can make this real quick, and you can get back to Boomer.”

Her face fell. “What about my input? You said you valued my opinion.” I pretty much just value your dad’s credit card. “Yeah, about that. I had every intention of waiting for you, but then I saw the dress. It spoke to me.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Marcie. The heavens opened and angels sang ‘Hall elujah.’” In my mind, I smacked my head against a wall.

“Show me the dress,” she directed. “You realize you have a warm skin tone, right? The wrong color is going to wash you out.”

Inside, I walked Marcie over to the dress. It was a party dress with an all-over green-and-navy tartan print and a ruched skirt. The saleslady had said it made my legs stand out. Vee said it made me look like I actually had a chest.

“Ew,” Marcie said. “Tartan? Too schoolgirl.”

“Well, it’s the one I want.”

She flipped through the rack, grabbing one in my size. “Maybe it will look better on. But I don’t think I’ll change my mind.”

I carted the dress back to the fitting room with a bounce in my step. This was the dress. Marcie could huff all night; she wasn’t going to change my mind. I shucked off my jeans and shimmied into the dress. I couldn’t get the zipper up. I twisted the dress around and looked at the tag. Size four.

Maybe an honest mistake, maybe not. To give Marcie the finger, I stuffed the fat at my midsection into the dress. For a minute, it looked like it might work. Then reality set in.

“Marcie?” I called through the drape.

“Mmm?”

I passed the dress out to her. “Wrong size.”

“Too big?” Her voice was laced with an overkil of naïveté.

I blew hair off my face to keep from saying something cynical. “A size six will do, thank you very much.”

“Oh. Too small.”

It was a good thing I was in my underwear, or I’d have been tempted to march out and slug her.

A minute later Marcie pushed a size six through the drapes. On its heels, she passed in a floor-length red number. “Not to sway the vote, but I think red is the way to go. More glam.” I hung the red dress on the hook, stuck my tongue out at it, and zipped myself into the tartan party dress. I twirled in front of the mirror and mouthed a silent squeal. I imagined myself descending the farmhouse stairs on homecoming night while Scott looked on from below. All of a sudden I wasn’t picturing Scott. Patch leaned on the banister, dressed in a tailored black suit and silver tie.

I gave him a flirty smile. He held out his arm and escorted me to the door. He smelled warm and earthy, like sun-baked sand.

Unable to control myself, I grabbed his jacket lapels and hauled him into a kiss.

“I could get you to smile like that, and without sales tax.” I whirled around to find the real Patch standing in the fitting room behind me. He was wearing jeans and a snug white tee. His arms were folded loosely over his chest, and his black eyes smiled down at me.

Heat that wasn’t entirely uncomfortable flushed through my body. “I could make all kinds of pervert jokes right now,” I quipped.

“I could tell you how much I like you in that dress.”

“How did you get in?”

“I move in mysterious ways.”

“God moves in mysterious ways. You move like lightning—here one moment, gone the next. How long have you been standing there?” I would die of mortification if he’d watched me try to cram myself into a size four. Not to mention watching me strip down!

“I would have knocked, but I didn’t want to linger outside and risk Marcie. Hank can’t know you and I are back in business.”

I tried not to overanalyze what “back in business” meant.

“I have news,” Patch said. “I reached out to Dabria. She’s agreed to help us run interference on Hank, but first I need to come clean. Dabria is more than an old acquaintance. We knew each other before I fell. It was a relationship of convenience, but not too long ago, she caused you a fair share of inconvenience.” He paused.

“Which is a nice way of saying she tried to kill you.”

Oh boy.

“She’s over her jealousy, but I wanted you to know,” he finished.

“Well, now I know,” I said a little tartly. I wasn’t especially proud of my sudden insecurity, but couldn’t he have told me this before he called her? “How do we know she’s not going to play assassin again?”

He smiled. “I took out an insurance policy.”

“Sounds vague.”

“Have a little faith.”

“What does she look like?” And now I’d stooped from plain old insecure to superficial.

“Stringy, unwashed hair, doughy around the middle, unibrow.” He grinned. “Satisfied?” I wondered if that translated into curvy and gorgeous with the brains of an astrophysicist. “Have you met with her in person yet?”

“Won’t be necessary. What I want from her isn’t complicated. Before she fell, Dabria was an angel of death and could see the future. She claims she still has the gift and makes decent money at it from, believe it or not, her Nephilim clients.”

I figured out where he was going with this. “She’s going to keep her ear to the ground. She’s going to eavesdrop on her clients and see what pops up on Hank.”

“Good work, Angel.”

“How does Dabria expect to be paid?”

“Let me handle that.”

I stood hands on hips. “Wrong answer, Patch.”

“Dabria has no interest in me anymore. She’s motivated by cold, hard cash.” He closed the space between us, running his finger affectionately along the inside of my necklace. “And I’m not interested in her anymore. I’ve set my eyes elsewhere.”

I steered clear of his hand, knowing full well the seductive power his touch had of erasing even my most important trains of thought. “Can she be trusted?”

“I’m the one who ripped out her wings when she fell. I have one of her feathers for safekeeping, and she knows it. Unless she wants to spend the rest of eternity keeping Rixon company, she’s going to be motivated to stay on my good side.”

The insurance policy. Bingo.

His lips grazed mine. “I can’t stay long. I’m working a few other leads, and I’ll get back to you if they pan out. Will you be home tonight?”

“Yes,” I said hesitantly, “but aren’t you worried about Hank? These days, he’s about as permanent in my house as a light fixture.”

“I can work around him,” he said with a mysterious gleam in his eyes. “I’ll be coming in through your dreams.”

I cocked my head, evaluating him. “Is this a joke?”

“For it to work, you have to be open to the idea. We’re off to a promising start.” I waited for the punch line, but it quickly dawned on me that he was dead serious. “How does it work?” I asked skeptically.

“You dream, and I insert myself into it. Don’t try to block me, and we’ll be good to go.” I wondered if I should tell him I had a stel ar track record of not blocking him when it came to my dreams.

“One last thing,” he said. “I have it on good authority that Hank knows Scott is in town. I wouldn’t think twice about it if he were caught, but I know he means something to you. Tell him to keep his head down. Hank doesn’t think highly of deserters.”

Once again, having a legitimate way to reach Scott would be useful.

On the other side of the drape, I heard Marcie arguing with a saleslady. Probably over something as trivial as a smidgen of dust on the full-length mirrors. “Does Marcie know what her dad really is?”

“Marcie lives in a bubble, but Hank keeps threatening to pop it.” He inclined his head at my dress.