I had a terrible feeling churning inside me. One, I realized in retrospect, I’d been dangling at the back of my mind ever since Hank had shown up at school. What if Hank had in fact set the day’s events up? Could he have pushed my mom down the stairs? Dr. Howlett said she’d initially suffered from amnesia, a device Hank could have used to keep her from remembering the truth. Then he’d picked me up from school … for what? What was I missing?
“I smell rubber burning,” Hank said. “You’re thinking hard about something.”
His voice jerked me to the present. I stared up at him, wishing I could glean his motives from his expression. It was then that I realized his eyes were just as fixed on me. His gaze was so intent, it was almost trancelike.
Whatever conclusion I’d been about to draw swam away. My thoughts tipped sideways. Suddenly they were all out of order, and I couldn’t remember what I’d been pondering. The harder I tried to remember, the more my thoughts careened into an abyss at the back of my mind.
A cocoon stretched around my mind, wrapping any cognitive ability tightly out of reach. It was happening all over again. The muddled, heavy sensation of being unable to control my own thoughts.
“Has your friend agreed to pick you up, Nora?” he asked with that same laserlike attention.
Somewhere deep inside, I knew I shouldn’t tell Hank the truth. I knew I should say Vee was coming for me. But what reason did I have to lie to him?
“I called Vee, but she didn’t answer,” I admitted.
“I’m happy to give you a ride, Nora.”
I nodded. “Yes, thank you.”
My mind was jumbled, and I couldn’t snap out of it. I strolled down the corridor beside Hank, my hands cold and shaking. Why was I trembling? It was nice of Hank to offer me a ride. He cared about my mom enough to go out of his way for me … didn’t he?
The ride home was uneventful, and at the farmhouse, Hank followed me inside.
I stopped just inside the door. “What are you doing?”
“Your mom would want me to look after you tonight.”
“You’re staying the whole night?” My hands started to shake again, and through my cotton-filled head, I knew I had to find a way to make him leave. It wasn’t a good idea to let him sleep over. But how could I force him out? He was stronger. And even if I could get him out, my mom had recently given him a house key. He’d come right back inside.
“You’re letting cold air in,” Hank said, gently prying my hands from the door. “Let me help.”
That’s right, I thought with a smile at my own muddleheaded silliness. He wanted to help.
Hank tossed his keys on the counter and sank into the couch, kicking his feet up on the ottoman. He angled his eyes at the cushion next to him. “Want to unwind with a show?”
“I’m tired,” I said, hugging myself now that the awful quivering had spread above my elbows.
“You’ve had a long day. Sleep might be just what the doctor ordered.”
I fought through the oppressive cloud suffocating my brain, but it seemed there was no end to the thick darkness. “Hank?” I asked quizzically. “Why do you really want to stay here tonight?”
He chuckled. “You look positively frightened, Nora. Be a good girl and go up to bed. It’s not like I’m going to strangle you in your sleep.”
In my bedroom, I scooted the dresser in front of the door, effectively blocking it. I had no idea why I did it; I had no reason to fear Hank. He was keeping a promise to my mom. He wanted to protect me. If he knocked, I would push the dresser aside and open the door.
And yet …
I crawled into bed and closed my eyes. Exhaustion raked down my body, and by now I was shivering violently. I wondered if I was catching a cold. When my mind began to feel heavy, I didn’t fight it. Colors and shapes seesawed in and out of focus. My thoughts slid deeper into my subconscious. Hank was right; it had been a long day. I needed sleep.
It wasn’t until I found myself standing at the threshold of Patch’s studio that I began to sense that something wasn’t quite right. The haze scattered from my brain, and I realized Hank had mind-tricked me into submission. Flinging open Patch’s front door and dashing inside, I shouted his name.
I found him in the kitchen, slouched on a bar stool. One look at me, and he swung off and crossed to me. “Nora? How did you get here? You’re inside my head,” he said with surprise. “Are you dreaming?” His eyes flicked back and forth across my face, hunting for an answer.
“I don’t know. I think so. I crawled into bed feeling a desperate need to talk to you … and here I am. Are you asleep?”
He shook his head. “I’m awake, but you’re eclipsing my thoughts. I don’t know how you did it. Only a powerful Nephil or fallen angel could pull off something like this.”
“Something terrible happened.” I threw myself into his arms, trying to dissipate my convulsive shivers. “First my mom fell down the stairs, and on our way to the hospital to see her, Hank and I were hit. Before I blacked out, I think Hank said the other car was full of fallen angels. Hank drove me home from the hospital — and I asked him to leave, but he won’t!”
Patch’s eyes flashed with anxiety. “Slow down. Hank is alone with you right now?”
I nodded.
“Wake up. I’m coming to see you.”
Fifteen minutes later there was a soft rap on my bedroom door. Dragging aside the dresser to clear the entrance, I cracked the door to find Patch on the other side of it. I grabbed his hand and hauled him inside.
“Hank is downstairs watching TV,” I whispered. Hank had been right; sleep had done me a world of good. Upon breaking out of the dream, enough of my normal thought process had returned to make me see what I’d been unable to before: Hank had mind-tricked me into submission. I’d let him drive me home without a single complaint, let him walk inside my house, let him make himself at home, and all because I’d thought he wanted to protect me. Nothing could be further from the truth.
Patch gave the door a gentle kick closed. “I came in through the attic.” He looked me over, head to toe. “Are you okay?” His finger traced a bandage covering a thin laceration cutting across my hair-line, and his eyes blazed with anger.
“Hank has been mind-tricking me all night.”
“Play everything back, starting with your mom’s fall.”
I swallowed a deep breath, then recounted my story.
“What did the fallen angels’ car look like?” Patch asked.
“El Camino. Tan.”
Patch rubbed his chin in thought. “Do you think it was Gabe? It’s not what he usually drives, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”
“There were three of them in the car. I couldn’t see their faces. It might have been Gabe, Dominic, and Jeremiah.”
“Or it might have been any number of fallen angels targeting Hank. With Rixon gone, there’s a price on his head. He’s the Black Hand, the most powerful Nephil alive, and any number of fallen angels want him as their vassal for bragging rights alone. How long were you out before Hank drove you to the hospital?”
“If I had to guess, only a few minutes. When I came around, Hank was covered in blood, and he looked exhausted. He could barely lift me into the car. I don’t think his cuts and bruises came from the crash. Being coerced to swear fealty sounds plausible.”
A truly savage look sharpened Patch’s features. “This ends here. I want you out of this. I know you’re set on being the one to bring down Hank, but I can’t risk losing you.” He stood and paced the room, clearly upset. “Let me do this for you. Let me be the one to make him pay.”