Finale (12 page)

Dante leaned his head toward mine and spoke in a whisper. “Devilcraft. It’s not as bad as it sounds,” he assured me.

My spine stiffened, and the hairs at the back of my neck tingled. No, no, no. Devilcraft was supposed to be eradicated from Earth. It had disappeared with Hank. “I know what devilcraft is. And I thought it was destroyed.”

Dante’s dark eyebrows furrowed. “How do you know about devilcraft?”

“Hank used it. So did his accomplice, Chauncey Langeais. But when Hank died—” I caught myself. Dante didn’t know I’d killed Hank, and to say that it wasn’t going to help my rapport with the Nephilim, Dante included, if my secret got out, was the understatement of the year. “Patch used to spy for Hank.”

A nod. “I know. They had a deal. Patch fed us information on fallen angels.”

I didn’t know whether Dante intentionally left out that Patch had agreed to spy for Hank on one condition: that he preserve my life, or if Hank had kept those details private.

“Hank told Patch about devilcraft,” I lied, covering my tracks. “But Patch told me that when Hank died, devilcraft went with him. Patch was under the impression that Hank was the only one who knew how to manipulate it.”

Dante shook his head. “Hank put his right-hand man, Blakely, in charge of developing devilcraft prototypes. Blakely knows more about devilcraft than Hank ever did. Blakely has spent the past several months holed up in a lab, enchanting knives, whips, and studded rings with devilcraft, transforming them into deadly weapons. Most recently, he’s formulated a drink that will elevate Nephilim powers. We’re evenly matched, Nora,” he said with an excited glint in his eyes. “Used to be it took ten Nephilim to every fallen angel. Not so anymore. I’ve been testing the drink for Blakely, and when I take the enhanced drink, the playing field consistently tilts to my advantage. I can go up against a single fallen angel without any fear that he’s stronger.”

My thoughts spun wildly. Devilcraft was thriving on Earth? The Nephilim had a secret weapon, being fabricated in a secret lab? I had to tell Patch. “Is the drink you gave me the same one you’ve been testing for Blakely?”

“Yes.” A crafty smile. “Now you understand what I’m talking about.”

If he wanted accolades, he wasn’t getting them from me. “How many Nephilim know about the drink or have ingested it?”

Dante leaned back on the bench and sighed. “Are you asking for yourself?” He paused with meaning. “Or to share our secret with Patch?”

I hesitated, and Dante’s face fell.

“You have to choose, Nora. You can’t be loyal to us and Patch. You’re making an admirable go of it, but in the end, loyalty is about taking a side. You’re either with the Nephilim or against us.”

The worst part of this conversation was that Dante was right. Deep down, I knew it. Patch and I had agreed that our endgame in the war was to come out of it safely together, but i {getghtf I still maintained that that was my only goal, where did it leave the Nephilim? I was supposedly their leader, asking them to believe I was going to help them, but I really wasn’t.

“If you tell Patch about devilcraft, he won’t sit on the information,” Dante said. “He’ll go after Blakely and try to destroy the lab. Not out of a lofty sense of moral duty, but out of self-preservation. This isn’t just about Cheshvan anymore,” he explained. “My goal isn’t to push fallen angels back behind some arbitrary line, such as stopping them from possessing us. My goal is to annihilate the entire fallen angel race using devilcraft. And if they don’t already know it, they’re going to figure it out soon.”

I sputtered.
“What?”

“Hank had a plan. This was it. The extinction of their race. Blakely believes that with a little more time, he can develop a prototype of a weapon strong enough to kill a fallen angel, something that was never even considered possible. Until now.”

I jumped off the bench and began pacing the floor. “Why are you telling me this?”

“It’s time to make your choice. Are you with us or not?”

“Patch isn’t the problem. He isn’t working with fallen angels. He doesn’t want war.” Patch’s only goal was making sure I stayed in power, fulfilled my oath, and came out alive. But if I told him about devilcraft, Dante was right: Patch would do everything he could to destroy it.

“If you tell him about devilcraft, it’s over for us,” Dante said.

He was asking me to either betray him, Scott, and thousands of innocent Nephilim . . . or Patch. A heavy weight roiled my stomach. The pain was so sharp, I nearly doubled over.

“Take the afternoon to think about it,” Dante said, rising to his feet. “Unless I hear otherwise, I’ll expect you to be ready to train first thing tomorrow.” He watched me a moment, his brown eyes steady but holding a shade of doubt. “I hope we’re still on the same side, Nora,” he said quietly, then walked out.

I stayed in the building several minutes, sitting in the semidarkness, surrounded by the bizarrely cheerful squeals and laughter of children trying to do the Hokey Pokey in roller skates. I bowed my head and hid my face in my hands. This wasn’t how things were supposed to happen. I was supposed to call off the war, declare a cease-fire, and walk away from it all to be with Patch.

Instead Dante and Blakely had plowed ahead, picked up right where Hank had left off, and raised the stakes to all or nothing. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t think Dante and Blakely, and all Nephilim for that matter, stood a chance at annihilating fallen angels, but I suspected that devilcraft changed everything. And what did it mean for my half of the deal? If the Nephilim waged war without me, would the archangels still hold me accountable?

Yes. Yes, they would.

I
WAS A SHORT DISTANCE FROM THE VOLKSWAGEN WHEN I
saw a shadowy figure taking up space in the driver’s seat. I stopped, my thoughts taking an initial dive into Cowboy-Hat-back-for-round-two territory. I held my breath, debating the wisdom of running. But the longer I debated, the more my over-active imagination waned, and the figure took its true form. Patch crooked his finger, beckoning me inside. I broke into a grin, my worry dissolving instantaneously.

“Skipping school for roller-skating?” he asked as I dropped inside the car.

“You know me. Purple wheels are my weakness.”

Patch smiled. “I didn’t see your car at school. I’ve been looking for you. Can you spare a few minutes?”

I handed him my keys. “You drive.”

Patch drove us to a gorgeous luxury townhouse complex overlooking Casco Bay. The building’s historic charm—deep red brick mixed with stone from a local quarry—placed it well over a hundred years old, but it had been completely renovated with gleaming windows, black marble columns, and a doorman. Patch pulled into a single-car garage and lowered the door, leaving us in cool darkness.

“New place?” I asked.

“Pepper hired a few Nephilim thugs to redecorate my studio beneath Delphic. I needed a place on short notice with upgraded security.”

We exited the Volkswagen, climbed a narrow set of stairs, walked through a door, and came out in Patch’s new kitchen. Wall-to-wall windows offered stunning views of the bay. A few white sailboats dotted the water, and a picturesque blue fog shrouded the surrounding cliffs. Autumn foliage ringed the bay, burning in vibrant shades of red that seemed to set the landscape to flame. The dock at the base of the townhomes appeared to be valet-access.

“Swanky,” I told Patch.

He handed me a mug of hot cocoa from behind and kissed the back of my neck. “It’s more exposed than I’d like, and that’s not something you’ll hear me say often.”

I leaned back against him, sipping my drink. “I was worried about you.”

“Pepper surprised me outside the Devil’s Handbag last night. Meaning I didn’t get a chance to talk to our Nephilim friend, Cowboy Hat. But I made a few calls and did some leg-work, starting with looking into the cabin he took you to. He’s not very smart. He took you to his grandparents’ cabin. Cowboy Hat’s real name is Shaun Corbridge, and he’s two years old by Nephilim count. He swore fealty two Christmases ago and willingly enlisted in the Black Hand’s army. He has a short temper and a history of drug abuse. He’s looking for a way to make a name for himself and thinks ~p> ad a door, a you’re his ticket. His proclivity for stupidity goes without saying.” Patch kissed my neck again, this time letting his mouth linger. “I missed you, too. What have you got for me?”

Hmm, where to start.

“I could tell you how Pepper tried to kidnap me this morning and hold me hostage, or maybe you’d like to hear how Dante secretly fed me a drink enhanced with devilcraft? Turns out Blakely, Hank’s right-hand man, has been tinkering with devilcraft for months and has developed a high-performance drug for Nephilim.”

“They did
what
?” he growled in a voice that couldn’t have been more enraged. “Did Pepper hurt you? And I’m going to rip Dante to pieces!”

I shook my head no, but was surprised when tears sprang to my eyes. I knew why Dante had done it—he needed me strong enough physically to lead the Nephilim to victory—but I resented his approach. He’d lied to me. He’d tricked me into consuming a substance that was not only forbidden on Earth, but potentially dangerous. I wasn’t naive enough to think devilcraft didn’t have negative side effects. The powers might wear off, but a seed of evil had been embedded inside me.

I said, “Dante said the effects of the drink fade after a day. That’s the good news. The bad news is I think he’s planning to introduce it to countless other Nephilim soon. It will give them . . . superpowers. That’s the only way I can describe it. When I took it, I ran faster and jumped higher, and it sharpened my senses. Dante said that one-on-one, a Nephil could outfight a fallen angel. I believe him, Patch. I got away from Pepper. An
archangel
. Without the drink, he’d have me under lock and key right now.”

Cold fury burned in Patch’s eyes. “Tell me where I can find Dante,” he said crisply.

I hadn’t expected Patch to get so angry—a major oversight, in retrospect. Of course he was seething. Trouble was, if he went to find Dante now, Dante would know I’d told Patch about devilcraft. I needed to play my hand carefully. “What he did was wrong, but he thought he had my best interests in mind,” I offered.

A harsh laugh. “Do you really believe that?”

“I think he’s desperate. He doesn’t see a lot of other options.”

“Then he’s not looking for them.”

“He also gave me an ultimatum. Either I’m with him and the Nephilim, or I’m with you. He told me about devilcraft to test me. To see if I’d tell you.” I tossed my hands up and let them drop. “I’d never keep that information from you. We’re a team. But we need to think how we’re going to play this.”

“I’m going to kill him.”

I sighed, pressing my fingertips into my temples. “You’re not seeing beyond your own personal distaste of Dante—that, and your rage.”

“Rage?” Patch chuckled, but it was undeniably menacing. “Oh, Angel. That’s a bit tame for what I’m feeling. I’ve just learned that a Nephil
forced devilcraft into your body
. I don’t care if he wasn’t thinking, and I don’t care if he was areo;m feelindesperate. It’s one mistake he’s not making again. And before you’re tempted to feel sorry for him, know this. He saw it coming. I warned him if you so much as got a scratch while under his watch, I’d hold him accountable.”

“Under his watch?” I echoed slowly, trying to connect the dots.

“I know you’re training with him,” Patch announced bluntly.

“You know?”

“You’re a big girl. You can make your own decisions. You obviously had your reasons for wanting to learn self-defense from Dante, and I wasn’t going to stop you. I trusted you; it was him I worried about, and it looks like I had every reason to be. I’ll ask once more. Where is he hiding?” he nearly growled, his face darkening.

“What makes you think he’s hiding?” I said miserably, upset that once again I felt caught between Patch and Dante. Between fallen angels and Nephilim. I hadn’t intentionally meant to keep our training sessions from Patch; I’d simply thought it would be better not to stir up any more competition between him and Dante.

Patch’s icy laugh sent a shiver dancing up my spine. “If he’s smart, he’s hiding.”

“I’m angry too, Patch. Trust me, I wish I could go back and undo this morning. But I hate feeling like you’re calling the shots without me. First, you put a tracking device on me. Next, you threatened Dante behind my back. You’re operating perpendicular to me. I want to feel like you’re on my side. I want to feel like we’re working together.”

Patch’s new cell phone rang, and he glanced at the readout. Unusual behavior for him. These days, he let all calls go to voice mail, then carefully screened which to return.