Hush Hush

Extrait CHAPTER 1 TONIGHT I’M NOT A PARTY GIRL. THE EARSPLITTING MUSIC, THE gyrating bodies, the inebriated smiles—not my thing. My ideal Saturday night would be at home, snuggling on the sofa and watching a rom-com with my boyfriend, Patch. Predictable, low-key . . . normal. My name is Nora Grey, and while I used to be an average American teen, buying my clothes at the J. Crew outlet and spending my babysitting money on iTunes, normal and I have recently become perfect strangers. As in, I wouldn’t know normal if it marched up and poked me in the eye. Normal and I parted ways when Patch strolled into my life. Patch has seven inches on me, operates on cold, hard logic, moves like smoke, and lives alone in a supersecret, superswanky studio beneath Delphic Amusement Park. The sound of his voice, low and sexy, can melt my heart in three seconds flat. He’s also a fallen angel, kicked out of heaven for his flexibility when it comes to following rules. I personally believe Patch scared the pants off normal, and it took off running for the far side of the world. I might not have normalcy, but I do have stability. Namely, in the form of my best friend of twelve years, Vee Sky. Vee and I have an unshakable bond that even a laundry list of differences can’t break. They say opposites attract, and Vee and I are proof of the validity of the statement. I am slender and tallish—by human standards—with big curly hair that tests my patience, and I’m a type A personality. Vee is even taller, with ash-blond hair, serpentine-green eyes, and more curves than a roller coaster track. Almost always, Vee’s wishes trump mine. And unlike me, Vee lives for a good party. Tonight Vee’s wish to seek out a good time took us across town to a four-story brick warehouse throbbing with club music, swimming with fake IDs, and jam-packed with bodies producing enough sweat to take greenhouse gases to a whole new level. The layout inside was standard: a dance floor sandwiched between a stage and a bar. Rumor had it that a secret door behind the bar led to the basement, and the basement led to a man named Storky, who operated a thriving pirated anything business. Community religious leaders kept threatening to board up Coldwater’s hotbed of iniquity for disorderly teens . . . also known as the Devil’s Handbag. “Groove it, baby,” Vee yelled at me over the mindless thump, thump, thump of music, lacing her fingers through mine and swaying our hands over our heads. We were at the center of the dance floor, being jostled and bumped on every side. “This is how Saturday night’s supposed to be. You and me gettin’ down, letting loose, working up good ol’-fashioned girl-sweat.” I did my best to give an enthusiastic nod, but the guy behind me kept stepping on the heel of my ballet flat, and at five-second intervals, I had to shove my foot back into it. The girl to my right was dancing with her elbows out, and if I wasn’t careful, I knew I’d get clipped. “Maybe we should get drinks,” I called to Vee. “Feels like Florida in here.” “That’s ’cause you and me are burning up the place. Check out the guy at the bar. He can’t take his eyes off your smokin’ moves.” She licked her finger and pressed it to my bare shoulder, making a sizzling noise. I followed her gaze . . . and my heart lurched. Dante Matterazzi lifted his chin in acknowledgment. His next gesture was a little more subtle. Wouldn’t have pegged you for a dancer, he spoke to my mind. Funny, I would have pegged you for a stalker, I shot back. Dante Matterazzi and I both belonged to the Nephilim race, hence the innate ability to mind-speak, but the similarities stopped there. Dante didn’t know how to give it a rest, and I didn’t know how much longer I could dodge him. I’d met him for the first time just this morning, when he’d come to my house to announce that fallen angels and Nephilim were on the brink of war and I was in charge of leading the latter, but now I needed a break from war talk. It was overwhelming. Or maybe I was in denial. Either way, I wished he’d disappear. Left a message on your cell phone, he said. Gee, I must have missed it. More like I deleted it. We need to talk. Kind of busy. To emphasize my point, I rolled my hips and swung my arms side to side, doing my best to imitate Vee, whose favorite television network was BET, and it showed. She had hiphop stamped on her soul. A faint smile quirked Dante’s mouth. While you’re at it, get your friend to give you some pointers. You’re floundering. Meet me out back in two. I glared at him. Busy, remember? This can’t wait. With a meaningful arch of his eyebrows, he disappeared into the crowd. “His loss,” Vee said. “He can’t handle the heat, that’s all.” “About those drinks,” I said. “Can I bring you a Coke?” Vee didn’t look ready to give up dancing anytime soon, and as much as I wanted to avoid Dante, I figured it was best to just get this over with. Suck it up and talk to him. The alternative was having him shadow me all night. “Coke with lime,” Vee said. I edged my way off the dance floor and, after making sure Vee wasn’t watching, ducked down a side hallway and out the back door. The alley was bathed in blue moonlight. A red Porsche Panamera was parked in front of me, and Dante leaned against it, arms folded loosely over his chest. Dante is six feet nine with the physique of a soldier fresh out of boot camp. Case in point: He has more muscle tone in his neck than I have in my entire body. Tonight he was wearing baggy khakis and a white linen shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, revealing a deep V of smooth, hairless skin. “Nice car,” I said. “It gets the job done.” “So does my Volkswagen, and it cost considerably less.” “Takes more than four wheels to be a car.” Ugh. “So,” I said, tapping my foot. “What’s so urgent?” “You still dating that fallen angel?” It was only the third time in as many hours that he’d asked. Twice by text messaging, and now face-to-face. My relationship with Patch had gone through a lot of ups and downs, but the current trend was upward. We weren’t without our issues, however. In a world where Nephilim and fallen angels would rather die than smile at each other, dating a fallen angel was a definite no-no. I stood a little taller. “You know it.” “Being careful?” “Discreet is the watchword.” Patch and I didn’t need Dante to tell us it was wise not to make a lot of public appearances together. Nephilim and fallen angels never needed an excuse to teach each other a lesson, and racial tensions between the two groups were getting hotter with each passing day. It was autumn, October to be exact, and the Jewish month of Cheshvan was just days away. Every year during Cheshvan, fallen angels possess Nephilim bodies by the droves. Fallen angels have free rein to do as they please, and since it’s the only time during the year they can actually feel physical sensation, their creativity knows no bounds. They chase after pleasure, pain, and everything in between, playing parasites to their Nephilim hosts. For Nephilim, Cheshvan is a hellish prison. If Patch and I were so much as seen holding hands by the wrong individuals, we’d pay, one way or another. “Let’s talk about your image,” Dante said. “We need to generate some positive media around your name. Boost Nephilim confidence in you.” I gave a theatrical snap of my fingers. “Don’t you just hate it when your approval ratings are low?” Dante frowned. “This isn’t a joke, Nora. Cheshvan starts in just over seventy-two hours, and that means war. Fallen angels on one side, us on the other. Everything rides on your shoulders—you’re the new leader of the Nephilim army. The blood oath you swore to Hank is in effect, and I don’t think I have to remind you that the consequences of breaking it are very, very real.” Queasiness pinched my stomach. I hadn’t exactly applied for the job. Thanks to my deceased biological father, a truly twisted man named Hank Millar, I’d been forced to inherit the position. With the help of an otherworldly blood transfusion, he’d coerced me into transforming myself from mere human into purebred Nephil so I could take over his army. I’d sworn an oath to lead his army, it had gone into effect upon his death, and if I failed to do that, my mom and I would die. Terms of the oath. No pressure. “Despite every cautious measure I intend to implement, we can’t completely erase your past. The Nephilim are digging around. There are rumors you’re dating a fallen angel, and that your loyalties are split.” “I am dating a fallen angel.” Dante rolled his eyes. “Could you say it any louder?” I shrugged. If that’s what you really want. Then I opened my mouth, but Dante was beside me in an instant, covering it with his hand. “I know it kills you, but could you make my job easy just this once?” he murmured in my ear, glancing around at the shadows with obvious uneasiness, even though I was positive we were alone. I’d only been a purebred Nephil for twenty-four hours, but I trusted my new, sharper sixth sense. If there were eavesdroppers lurking, I’d know. &... --Ce texte fait référence à l'édition Relié .

Extrait CHAPTER1DELPHIC BEACH, MAINE PRESENT DAYPATCH WAS STANDING BEHIND ME, HIS HANDS on my hips, his body relaxed. He stood two inches over six feet tall and had a lean, athletic build that even loose-fit jeans and a T-shirt couldn’t conceal. The color of his hair gave midnight a run for its money, with eyes to match. His smile was sexy and warned of trouble, but I’d made up my mind that not all trouble was bad.Overhead, fireworks lit up the night sky, raining streams of color into the Atlantic. The crowd oohed and aahed. It was late June, and Maine was jumping into summer with both feet, celebrating the beginning of two months of sun, sand, and tourists with deep pockets. I was celebrating two months of sun, sand, and plenty of exclusive time with Patch. I’d enrolled in one summer school course—chemistry—and had every intention of letting Patch monopolize the rest of my free time.The fire department was setting off the fireworks on a dock that couldn’t have been more than two hundred yards down the beach from where we stood, and I felt the boom of each one vibrate in the sand under my feet. Waves crashed into the beach just down the hill, and carnival music tinkled at top volume. The smell of cotton candy, popcorn, and sizzling meat hung thick in the air, and my stomach reminded me I hadn’t eaten since lunch.“I’m going to grab a cheeseburger,” I told Patch. “Want anything?”“Nothing on the menu.”I smiled. “Why, Patch, are you flirting with me?”He kissed the crown of my head. “Not yet. I’ll grab your cheeseburger. Enjoy the last of the fireworks.”I snagged one of his belt loops to stop him. “Thanks, but I’m ordering. I can’t take the guilt.”He raised his eyebrows in inquiry.“When was the last time the girl at the hamburger stand let you pay for food?”“It’s been a while.”“It’s been never. Stay here. If she sees you, I’ll spend the rest of the night with a guilty conscience.”Patch opened his wallet and pulled out a twenty. “Leave her a nice tip.”It was my turn to raise my eyebrows. “Trying to redeem yourself for all those times you took free food?”“Last time I paid, she chased me down and shoved the money in my pocket. I’m trying to avoid another groping.”It sounded made up, but knowing Patch, it was probably true.I hunted down the end of a long line that wrapped around the hamburger stand, finding it near the entrance to the indoor carousel. Judging by the size of the line, I estimated a fifteen-minute wait just to place my order. One hamburger stand on the entire beach. It felt un-American.After a few minutes of restless waiting, I was taking what must have been my tenth bored look around when I spotted Marcie Millar standing two spots back. Marcie and I had gone to school together since kindergarten, and in the eleven years since, I’d seen more of her than I cared to remember. Because of her, the whole school had seen more of my underwear than necessary. In junior high, Marcie’s usual MO was stealing my bra from my gym locker and pinning it to the bulletin board outside the main offices, but occasionally she got creative and used it as a centerpiece in the cafeteria—both my A cups filled with vanilla pudding and topped with maraschino cherries. Classy, I know. Marcie’s skirts were two sizes too small and five inches too short. Her hair was strawberry blond, and she had the shape of a Popsicle stick—turn her sideways and she practically disappeared. If there was a scoreboard keeping track of wins and losses between us, I was pretty sure Marcie had double my score.“Hey,” I said, unintentionally catching her eye and not seeing any way around a bare-minimum greeting.“Hey,” she returned in what scraped by as a civil tone.Seeing Marcie at Delphic Beach tonight was like playing What’s Wrong with This Picture? Marcie’s dad owned the Toyota dealership in Coldwater, her family lived in an upscale hillside neighborhood, and the Millars took pride in being the only citizens of Coldwater welcomed into the prestigious Harraseeket Yacht Club. At this very minute, Marcie’s parents were probably in Freeport, racing sailboats and ordering salmon.By contrast, Delphic was a slum beach. The thought of a yacht club was laughable. The sole restaurant came in the form of a whitewashed hamburger stand with your choice of ketchup or mustard. On a good day, fries were offered in the mix. The entertainment slanted toward loud arcades and bumper cars, and after dark, the parking lot was known to sell more drugs than a pharmacy.Not the kind of atmosphere Mr. and Mrs. Millar would have their daughter polluting herself in.“Could we move any slower, people?” Marcie called up the line. “Some of us are starving to death back here.”“There’s only one person working the counter,” I told her.“So? They should hire more people. Supply and demand.”Given her GPA, Marcie was the last person who should be spouting economics.Ten minutes later, I’d made progress, and stood close enough to the hamburger stand to read the word MUSTARD scribbled in black Magic Marker on the communal yellow squirt bottle. Behind me, Marcie did the whole shifting-weight-between-hips-and-sighing thing.“Starving with a capital S,” she complained.The guy in line ahead of me paid and carried off his food.“A cheeseburger and a Coke,” I told the girl working the stand.While she stood over the grill making my order, I turned back to Marcie. “So. Who are you here with?” I didn’t particularly care who she’d come with, especially since we didn’t share any of the same friends, but my sense of courtesy got the better of me. Besides, Marcie hadn’t done anything overtly rude to me in weeks. And we’d stood in relative peace the past fifteen minutes. Maybe it was the beginning of a truce. Bygones and all that.She yawned, as if talking to me was more boring than waiting in line and staring at the backs of people’s heads. “No offense, but I’m not in a chatty mood. I’ve been in line for what feels like five hours, waiting on an incompetent girl who obviously can’t cook two hamburgers at once.”The girl behind the counter had her head ducked low, concentrating on peeling premade hamburger patties from the wax paper, but I knew she’d heard. She probably hated her job. She probably secretly spat on the hamburger patties when she turned her back. I wouldn’t be surprised if at the end of her shift, she went out to her car and wept.“Doesn’t your dad mind that you’re hanging out at Delphic Beach?” I asked Marcie, narrowing my eyes ever so slightly. “Might tarnish the estimable Millar family reputation. Especially now that your dad’s been accepted into the Harraseeket Yacht Club.”Marcie’s expression cooled. “I’m surprised your dad doesn’t mind you’re here. Oh, wait. That’s right. He’s dead.”My initial reaction was shock. My second was indignation at her cruelty. A knot of anger swelled in my throat.“What?” she argued with a one-shoulder shrug. “He’s dead. It’s a fact. Do you want me to lie about the facts?”“What did I ever do to you?”“You were born.”Her complete lack of sensitivity yanked me inside out—so much so that I didn’t even have a comeback. I snatched my cheeseburger and Coke off the counter, leaving the twenty in its place. I wanted badly to hurry back to Patch, but this was between me and Marcie. If I showed up now, one look at my face would tell Patch something was wrong. I didn’t need to drag him into the middle. Taking a moment alone to collect myself, I found a bench within sight of the hamburger stand and sat down as gracefully as I could, not wanting to give Marcie the power to ruin my night. The only thing that could make this moment worse was knowing she was watching, satisfied she’d stuffed me into a little black hole of self-pity. I took a bite of cheeseburger, but it left a bad taste in my mouth. All I could think of was dead meat. Dead cows. My own dead father.I threw the cheeseburger into the trash and kept walking, feeling tears slip down the back of my throat.Hugging my arms tightly at the elbows, I hurried toward the shack of bathrooms at the edge of the parking lot, hoping to make it behind a stall door before the tears started falling. There was a steady line trickling out of the women’s room, but I edged my way through the doorway and positioned myself in front of one of the grime-coated mirrors. Even under the low-watt bulb, I could tell my eyes were red and glassy. I wet a paper towel and pressed it to my eyes. What was Marcie’s problem? What had I ever done to her that was cruel enough to deserve this...Drawing a few stabilizing breaths, I squared my shoulders and constructed a brick wall in my mind, placing Marcie on the far side of it. What did I care what she said? I didn’t even like her. Her opinion meant nothing. She was rude and self-centered and attacked below the belt. She didn’t know me, and she definitely didn’t know my dad. Crying over a single word that fell from her mouth was a waste.Get over it, I told myself.I waited until the red rimming my eyes faded before leaving the restroom. I roamed the crowd, looking for Patch, and found him at one of the ball toss games, his back to me. Rixon was at his side, probably wagering ... --Ce texte fait référence à l'édition Relié .

Dans la ville brumeuse de Portland, Nora tente de mener une vie ordinaire depuis la mort violente de son père quelques mois auparavant. Lors d'un cours de biologie, elle fait la connaissance de Patch, qui vient d'arriver en ville. Il est séduisant, mystérieux, toutes les filles en sont folles, mais la vie de Nora est déjà bien trop remplie. Comment Patch peut-il en savoir autant sur son compte? Pourquoi se retrouve-t-il toujours sur sa route quand elle cherche à l'éviter? Alors que les deux adolescents se rapprochent, Nora prend peur: un inconnu masqué attaque sa voiture, sa chambre est fouillée, mise à sac; et quand elle appelle la police, tout est miraculeusement rentré dans l'ordre. Sans le savoir, Nora est devenue l'objet de la guerre qui agite les anges déchus et les Nephilim. Et en tombant amoureuse de Patch, elle va découvrir que la passion peut être fatale...

Becca Fitzpatrick, née le 3 février 1979, est une romancière américaine devenue célèbre grâce au phénomène littéraire Hush, Hush, saga épique en quatre volumes. Elle vit actuellement dans le Colorado.