“Nora!” Marcie cried. “What’s going on?”
I didn’t have a chance to answer. ce h? JusAn invisible force seemed to smack me back a step, rendering me paralyzed. Cold, crisp energy coiled up my body. The air crackled and flexed with the power of multiple fallen angels. Their sudden appearance in the farmhouse was as tangible as a gust of arctic wind. I didn’t know how many there were, or what they wanted, but I could feel them move deeper into the house, spreading out to fill every room.
“Nora, Nora. Come out and play,” a male voice singsonged. Unfamiliar and eerily falsetto.
I drew two shallow breaths. At least now I knew what they were after.
“I’ll find you my sweet, my pet,” he continued to croon in chilling tones.
He was close, so close. I crawled behind the family room sofa, but someone had beat me to the hiding place.
“Nora? Is that you? What’s going on?” Andy Smith asked me. He sat two chairs behind me in math and was Marcie’s friend Addyson’s boyfriend. I could feel the heat of his sweat rising off him.
“Quiet,” I instructed him softly.
“If you won’t come to me, I’ll come to you,” the fallen angel sang out.
His mental power sliced into me like a hot knife. I gasped as he felt around inside my mind, probing every which way, analyzing my thoughts to determine where I was hiding. I threw up wall after wall to stop him, but he plowed through them like I’d constructed them from dust. I tried to recall every defense mechanism Dante had taught me against mind-invasion, but the fallen angel moved too fast. He was always two—dangerous—steps ahead. I’d never had a fallen angel have this effect on me before. There was only one way to describe it. He was directing all his mental energy at me through a magnifying glass, amplifying the effect.
Without warning, an orange glow flared in my mind. A great furnace of energy blasted across my skin. I felt the heat of it melt my clothes. Flames chewed through the fabric, raking my skin with hot torment. In unimaginable agony, I coiled into a ball. I tucked my head between my knees, grinding my teeth to keep from screaming. The fire wasn’t real. It had to be a mind-trick. But I didn’t really believe it. The heat was so blistering, I was sure he really had lit me on fire.
“Stop!” I finally cried out, lunging into the open and writhing on the floor—anything to suffocate the flames devouring my flesh.
In that instant, the fiery heat vanished, though I hadn’t felt the water that had surely extinguished it. I lay on my back, my face bathed in sweat. It hurt to breathe.
“Everyone out,” the fallen angel commanded.
I’d almost forgotten there were others in the room. They would never forget this. How could they? Did they understand what was happening? Did they know this hadn’t been staged for the party? I prayed someone would go for help. But the farmhouse was so remote. It would take time to bring help.
And the only person who could help was Patch, and I had no way to reach him.
Legs and feet scrabbled across the floor, darting for the exit. Andy Smith dodged from behind the sofa and plowed frantically through the doorway.
es ewedI lifted my head just high enough to look at the fallen angel. It was dark, but I saw a towering, skeletal, half-naked silhouette. And two savage, glittering eyes.
The bare-chested fallen angel from the Devil’s Handbag and the woods watched me. His disfiguring hieroglyphics seemed to twitch and flutter over his skin, as though attached to invisible strings. In realty, I was sure they moved with the rise and fall of his breathing. I couldn’t peel my eyes away from the small, raw wound on his chest.
“I’m Baruch.” He pronounced it Ba-rewk.
I scooted to the corner of the room, wincing in pain.
“Cheshvan has started, and I don’t have a Nephil vassal,” he said. He kept his tone conversational, but there was no light in his eyes. No light, and no warmth.
Too much adrenaline made my legs feel twitchy and weighted. I didn’t have many options. I wasn’t strong enough to barrel past him. I couldn’t fight him—if I tried, one call to his buddies would leave me outnumbered in seconds. I cursed my mom for kicking Patch out. I needed him. I couldn’t do this on my own. If Patch were here, he’d know what to do.
Baruch traced his tongue along the inside of his lip. “The leader of the Black Hand’s army, and what am I to do with her?”
He plunged into my mind. I felt him do it, but I was powerless to prevent it. I was too exhausted to fight. The next thing I knew, I had crawled obediently over and lay at his feet like a dog. He kicked me onto my back, gazing predatorily down at me. I wanted to bargain with him, but my teeth were clenched so tightly, it was as if my jaw had been sewn shut.
You can’t argue with me, he whispered hypnotically to my mind. You can’t refuse me. Whatever I command, you must do.
I tried unsuccessfully to shut out his voice. If I could break his control, I could fight back. It was my only shot.
“How does it feel to be a brand-new Nephil?” he murmured in a cold, scornful voice. “The world is no place for a Nephil without a master. I’ll protect you from other fallen angels, Nora. From now on, you belong to me.”
“I don’t belong to anyone,” I spat, the words slamming out of me with grueling effort.
He exhaled, slow and deliberate. It came out like a chastising whistle between his teeth. “I’ll break you, my pet. Just see if I won’t,” he growled.
I looked at him square on. “You made a big mistake coming here tonight, Baruch. You made a big mistake coming after me.”
He grinned, a flash of sharp white teeth. “I’m going to enjoy this.” He took a step closer, power spilling off him. He was almost as strong as Patch, but there was a bloodthirsty edge to his power that I’d never felt with Patch. I didn’t know how long ago Baruch had fallen from heaven, but I knew without any doubt that he had given himself over to evil, wholeheartedly.
“Swear your oath of fealty, Nora Grey,” he ordered.
CHAPTER 21
I WOULD NOT SWEAR THE OATH. AND I WOULD NOT allow him to drag the words out of me. No matter how much pain he heaped on me, I had to stay strong. But a resilient defense alone wasn’t going to be enough to endure this. I needed an offense, and fast.
Counter his mind-tricks with a few of your own, I commanded myself. Dante had said mind-tricks were my best weapon. He’d said I was better at it than almost any Nephil he knew of. I’d fooled Patch. And I would fool Baruch now. I’d create my own reality and shove him so hard inside it, he wouldn’t know what hit him.
Squeezing my eyes shut to block out Baruch’s insidious chant to swear my oath, I catapulted myself inside his head. My greatest confidence came from knowing I’d consumed devilcraft earlier today. I didn’t trust my own strength, but the devilcraft made me a more powerful version of myself. It heightened my natural talents, including my aptitude for mind-tricks.
I fled down the dark, twisted corridors of Baruch’s mind, planting one explosion after another. I worked as quickly as I could, knowing that if I made one mistake, if I gave him any reason to think I was reconstructing his thoughts, if I left any evidence of my presence . . .
I chose the one thing I knew would alarm Baruch. Nephilim.
The Black Hand’s army! I thought explosively at Baruch. I assailed his thoughts with an image of Dante rushing into the room, followed by twenty, thirty, no—forty Nephilim. I leaked pictures of their enraged eyes and hard fists into his subconscious. To make the vision even more convincing, I made Baruch think he was watching his own men being dragged away captive by Nephilim.
Despite all this, I felt Baruch’s resistance. He stood nailed to the spot, not reacting as he should have at being surrounded by Nephilim. I feared that he suspected something was off, and plunged ahead.
Mess with our leader, mess with us—all of us. I flung Dante’s venomous words into Baruch’s mind. Nora isn’t going to swear fealty now. Not now, not ever. I created a picture of Dante picking up the poker from the fir
eplace toolkit and plunging it into Baruch’s wing scars. I shoved the vivid image deep inside Baruch’s brain.
I heard Baruch fall to his knees before I opened my eyes. He was down on all fours, shoulders hunched. An expression of utter shock seized his features. His eyes glazed, and spittle pooled in the corners of his mouth. His hands reached for his back, grasping at air. He was trying to remove the poker.
I exhaled in weary relief. He’d bought it. He’d bought my mind-trick.
A figure moved near the doorway.
I shot to my feet and snatched the real poker from the fireplace. I raised it off my shoulder, readying to swing, when Dabria stepped into view. In the semidarkness, her hair glowed glacial white. Her mouth was a grim line. “You mind-tricked him?” she guessed. “Nice. But we have to get out of here now,” she told me.
I almost laughed, cold and disbelieving. “What are you doing here?”
She stepped over Baruch’s unmoving body. “Patch asked me to take you somewhere safe.”
I shook my head. “You’re lying. Patch didn’t send you. He knows you’re the last person I’d ever go with.” I tightened my grip on the poker. If she came another step closer, I’d gladly shove it in her wing scars. And like Baruch, she’d be in a near-comatose state until she found a way to dislodge it.
“He didn’t have much of a choice. Between chasing out the other fallen angels who raided your party, and erasing the minds of your panic-stricken friends who are fleeing down the street as we speak, I’d say he’s a little preoccupied. Don’t the two of you have a secret code word for situations like this?” Dabria asked without a crack in her icy composure. “When I was with Patch, we had one. I would have trusted anyone Patch gave it to.”
I didn’t take my eyes off her. Secret code word? My, my, but she was good at worming under my skin.
“In fact, we do have a secret code,” I said. “It’s ‘Dabria’s a pathetic leech who doesn’t know when to move on.’” I covered my mouth. “Oh. I just realized why Patch probably failed to share our secret code”—scorn dripped from the words—“with you.”
Her lips thinned further.
“Either tell me what you really came here for, or I’m going to shove this thing in your scars so deep, it will be your new permanent appendage,” I told her.
“I don’t have to put up with this,” Dabria said, turning on her heel.
I followed her through the vacant house and out to the driveway. “I know you’re blackmailing Pepper Friberg,” I said. If I’d taken her by surprise, she didn’t show it. Her stride never faltered. “He thinks Patch is blackmailing him, and he’s doing everything he can to put Patch on the fast track to hell. Credit goes to you, Dabria. You claim you’re still in love with Patch, but you have a funny way of showing it. Because of you, he’s in danger of exile. Is that your plan? If you can’t have him, no one can?”
Dabria beeped her key chain, and taillights flashed on the most exotic sports car I’d ever seen.
“What is that?” I asked.
She shot me a condescending look. “My Bugatti.”
A Bugatti. Flashy, sophisticated, and in a class of its own. Just like Dabria. She dropped behind the wheel. “Might want to get that fallen angel out of your living room before your mom gets back.” She paused. “And you might want to check the validity of your accusations.”
She started to pull her door closed, but I wrenched it back open. “Are you denying blackmailing Pepper?” I asked angrily. “I saw the two of you arguing behind the Devil’s Handbag.”
Dabria wrapped a silk driving scarf around her head, flinging the ends over her shoulders. “You shouldn’t eavesdrop, Nora. And Pepper is one archangel you’d do well to stay away from. He doesn’t play nice.”
“Neither do I.”
She locked eyes with me. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Pepper searched me out that night because he knows I have connections to Patch. He’s looking for Patch, and mistakenly thought I’d help him.” She started the ignition, flooring the gas to drown out my response.
I glared at Dabria, not buying that her interaction with Pepper had been that innocent. Dabria had a solid track record of lying. On top of that, we had bad blood. She stood as an awful reminder that Patch had been with someone before me. It wouldn’t have been so nettling if she would stay in his past where she belonged. Instead she kept popping up like the villain with multiple lives in a slasher film.
“You’re a poor judge of character,” she said, thrusting the Bugatti in gear.
I leaped to the front bumper, slamming my palms on the hood. I wasn’t finished with her yet. “When it comes to you, I’m not wrong,” I called over the engine. “You’re a conniving, backstabbing, selfish, and egotistical narcissist.”
Dabria’s jaw clenched visibly. She smoothed a few flyaways off her face, shoved out of the car, and stalked over to me. In heels, she matched my height. “I want to clear Patch’s name too, you know,” she said in her witch-cool voice.
“Now there’s an Oscar-worthy line.”
She stared at me. “I told Patch you were immature and impulsive and couldn’t get over your jealousy of what he and I had long enough to make this work.”
My cheeks flushed, and I grabbed her arm before she could avoid me. “Don’t talk to Patch about me again. What’s more, don’t talk to him period.”
“Patch trusts me. That should be good enough for you.”
“Patch doesn’t trust you. He’s using you. He’ll string you along, but in the end, you’re expendable. The minute you’re no longer useful, it’s over.”
Dabria’s mouth pinched into something ugly. “Since we’re giving each other advice, here’s mine. Get off my back.” Her eyes raked over me warningly.
She was threatening me.
She had something to hide.
I was going to dig up her secret, and I was going to bring her down.
CHAPTER 22
TURNING AWAY FROM THE ROAD DUST DABRIA’S tires kicked up, I jogged back inside. My mom would be home any minute now, and not only would I have some serious explaining to do about the party’s abrupt ending, but I needed to dump Baruch’s body. If he truly believed I’d rammed a poker into his wing scars, he’d resign his body to a near-comatose state for several more hours, making moving it considerably easier. Finally, a lucky break.
I found Patch in the living room, crouched over Baruch’s body. Relief surged through me at the sight of him. “Patch!” I exclaimed, running over.
“Angel.” His face was etched with worry. He rose to his feet, opening his arms as I flung myself into them. He squeezed me hard.
I nodded to alleviate any concern he might have over my well-being, and swallowed the lump in my throat. “I’m fine. I’m not hurt. I mind-tricked him into thinking there was a Nephilim raid. And I made him believe I jammed a poker into his scars for good measure.” I blew out a shaky sigh. “How did you know fallen angels crashed the party?”
“Your mom kicked me out, but I wasn’t going to leave you unprotected. I took up guard down the street. There was a lot of traffic heading toward your place, but I assumed it was for the party. When I saw people running out the front door looking like they’d seen a monster, I came as fast as I could. There was a fallen angel standing guard outside your door who thought I’d shown up to steal his spoils of war. Needless to say, I had to stab him, and a few others, in their wing scars. Hope your mom doesn’t notice I pruned a few branches off the tree outside. They made excellent stakes.” His mouth twitched mischievously.
“She’ll be home any minute.”
Patch nodded. “I’ll take care of the body. Can you get the electricity running? Fuse box is in the garage. Check to see if any of the switches are tripped. If they cut the wires to the house, we’re going to have a lot more work on our hands.”
“I’m on it.” I stopped halfway to the garage and turned back. “Dabria showed up. She offered me a flimsy story, saying you told her to get me out. Do you think s
he could have been helping them?”
To my astonishment, he said, “I called her. She was in the area. I went after the fallen angels and told her to get you out.”
I was speechless, both from shocked disbelief and irritation. I didn’t know if I was angrier that Dabria had been telling the truth, or that she was clearly following Patch, since “in the area” was hard to pull off when you considered my street was one mile long, ours was the only house on it, and it dead-ended into the woods. She probably had a tracking device on him. When he’d called her, she’d probably been parked a hundred feet back, clutching a pair of binoculars.
I didn’t doubt Patch was faithful to me. Likewise, I didn’t doubt Dabria hoped to change that.
Figuring now wasn’t the time to blow this into an argument, I said, “What are we going to tell my mom?”
“I’ll—I’ll take care of it.”
Patch and I turned toward the mouselike squeak coming from the doorway. Marcie stood there, wringing her hands. As if she sensed how weak this made her look, she dropped them to her sides. Flinging her hair off her shoulders, she jutted her chin and said with more self-assurance, “The party was my idea, which makes this just as much my mess as yours. I’ll tell your mom some losers showed up to crash the party and started destroying furniture. We did the only responsible thing: canceled the party.” It looked to me like Marcie was working hard to avoid gazing at Baruch’s body lying facedown on the rug. If she didn’t see it, it couldn’t be true.
“Thanks, Maruo;lyincie,” I said, and I sincerely meant it.
“Don’t sound so surprised. I’m in this too, you know. I’m not—I mean—I am non—” Deep breath. “I am one of—you.” She opened her mouth to say more, then abruptly shut it. I didn’t blame her. “Nonhuman” was a difficult word to think, let alone say aloud.
Finale hh-4 Page 18
