Read Online Finale by Becca Fitzpatrick - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Becca Fitzpatrick
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don’t we go somewhere more quiet?”
As if reading my mind, Marcie grabbed my wrist and propelled me out the back door and into the alley. After glancing both ways to make sure we were alone, she said, “Did my dad tell you
anything about me?” She dropped her voice further. “About being Nephilim, I mean. I’ve been feeling funny lately. Tired and crampy. Is this some kind of weird Nephilim
menstruation thing? Because I thought I already went through that.”
How was I supposed to tell Marcie that purebred Nephilim, like her parents, rarely mated together successfully, and when they did, the offspring were weak and sickly, and that some of
Hank’s final words to me included the somber truth that Marcie would in all likelihood not live much longer?
In short, I couldn’t.
“Sometimes I feel tired and crampy too,” I said. “I think it’s normal—”
“Yeah, but did my dad
say
anything about it?” she pressed. “What to expect, how to cope, that kind of thing.”
“I think your dad loved you and would want you to keep living your life, not stressing about the whole Nephilim thing. He’d want you to be happy.”
Marcie looked at me incredulously. “Happy? I’m a freak. I’m not even human. And don’t think for one minute I’ve forgotten you aren’t either. We’re in
this together.” She jabbed her finger accusingly at me.
Oh boy. Just what I needed. Solidarity . . . with Marcie Millar.
“What do you really want from me, Marcie?” I asked.
“I want to make sure you understand that if you so much as hint to anyone that I’m not human, I will burn you. I will bury you alive.”
I was running out of patience. “First off, if I wanted to announce to the world that you’re Nephilim, I already would have. And second, who would believe me? Think about it.
‘Nephilim’ isn’t an everyday word in the vocabulary of most people we know.”
“Fine,” Marcie huffed, apparently satisfied.
“Are we done here?”
“What if I need someone to talk to?” she persisted. “It’s not like I can dump this on my psychiatrist.”
“Um, your mom?” I suggested. “She’s a Nephil too, remember?”
“Ever since my dad disappeared, she’s refused to accept the truth about him. Big-time denial issues going on there. She’s convinced he’s coming back, that he still loves
her, that he’ll annul the divorce, and our lives will go back to being peachy keen.”
Denial issues, maybe. But I wouldn’t put Hank above mind-tricking his ex-wife with a memory-altering enchantment so powerful that its effects lasted beyond his death. Hank and vanity went
together like matching socks. He wouldn’t have wanted anyone speaking ill of his memory. And as far as I knew, no one in Coldwater had. It was as if a numbing fog had settled over the
community, keeping human and Nephilim residents alike from asking the big question of what had happened to him. There wasn’t a single story going around town. People, when they spoke of him,
simply murmured, “What a shock. Rest his soul. Poor family, ought to ask how I can help . . .”
Marcie continued, “But he’s not coming back. He’s dead. I don’t know how or why or who did it, but there is no way my dad would drop off the grid unless something
happened. He’s dead. I know it.”
I tried to keep my expression sympathetic, but my palms started to sweat again. Patch was the only other person on Earth who knew I’d sent Hank to the grave. I had no intention of adding
Marcie’s name to the insider list.
“You don’t sound too broken up about it,” I said.
“My dad was messed up in some pretty bad stuff. He deserved what he got.”
I could have opened up to Marcie then and there, but something didn’t feel right. Her cynical gaze never wavered from my face, and I got the feeling she suspected I knew vital information
about her father’s death, and her indifference was an act to get me to divulge.
I wasn’t going to walk into a trap, if
As if reading my mind, Marcie grabbed my wrist and propelled me out the back door and into the alley. After glancing both ways to make sure we were alone, she said, “Did my dad tell you
anything about me?” She dropped her voice further. “About being Nephilim, I mean. I’ve been feeling funny lately. Tired and crampy. Is this some kind of weird Nephilim
menstruation thing? Because I thought I already went through that.”
How was I supposed to tell Marcie that purebred Nephilim, like her parents, rarely mated together successfully, and when they did, the offspring were weak and sickly, and that some of
Hank’s final words to me included the somber truth that Marcie would in all likelihood not live much longer?
In short, I couldn’t.
“Sometimes I feel tired and crampy too,” I said. “I think it’s normal—”
“Yeah, but did my dad
say
anything about it?” she pressed. “What to expect, how to cope, that kind of thing.”
“I think your dad loved you and would want you to keep living your life, not stressing about the whole Nephilim thing. He’d want you to be happy.”
Marcie looked at me incredulously. “Happy? I’m a freak. I’m not even human. And don’t think for one minute I’ve forgotten you aren’t either. We’re in
this together.” She jabbed her finger accusingly at me.
Oh boy. Just what I needed. Solidarity . . . with Marcie Millar.
“What do you really want from me, Marcie?” I asked.
“I want to make sure you understand that if you so much as hint to anyone that I’m not human, I will burn you. I will bury you alive.”
I was running out of patience. “First off, if I wanted to announce to the world that you’re Nephilim, I already would have. And second, who would believe me? Think about it.
‘Nephilim’ isn’t an everyday word in the vocabulary of most people we know.”
“Fine,” Marcie huffed, apparently satisfied.
“Are we done here?”
“What if I need someone to talk to?” she persisted. “It’s not like I can dump this on my psychiatrist.”
“Um, your mom?” I suggested. “She’s a Nephil too, remember?”
“Ever since my dad disappeared, she’s refused to accept the truth about him. Big-time denial issues going on there. She’s convinced he’s coming back, that he still loves
her, that he’ll annul the divorce, and our lives will go back to being peachy keen.”
Denial issues, maybe. But I wouldn’t put Hank above mind-tricking his ex-wife with a memory-altering enchantment so powerful that its effects lasted beyond his death. Hank and vanity went
together like matching socks. He wouldn’t have wanted anyone speaking ill of his memory. And as far as I knew, no one in Coldwater had. It was as if a numbing fog had settled over the
community, keeping human and Nephilim residents alike from asking the big question of what had happened to him. There wasn’t a single story going around town. People, when they spoke of him,
simply murmured, “What a shock. Rest his soul. Poor family, ought to ask how I can help . . .”
Marcie continued, “But he’s not coming back. He’s dead. I don’t know how or why or who did it, but there is no way my dad would drop off the grid unless something
happened. He’s dead. I know it.”
I tried to keep my expression sympathetic, but my palms started to sweat again. Patch was the only other person on Earth who knew I’d sent Hank to the grave. I had no intention of adding
Marcie’s name to the insider list.
“You don’t sound too broken up about it,” I said.
“My dad was messed up in some pretty bad stuff. He deserved what he got.”
I could have opened up to Marcie then and there, but something didn’t feel right. Her cynical gaze never wavered from my face, and I got the feeling she suspected I knew vital information
about her father’s death, and her indifference was an act to get me to divulge.
I wasn’t going to walk into a trap, if
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