“Oh, I think I do. You’re not that hard to figure out. You have no sense of respect or dignity. You take what you want, forget everyone else. You wanted Patch, and it looks like you got him.” Now my voice caught and my eyes burned. I tried to blink the tears away, but they were coming too fast.
“I’m in trouble because I made a mistake while doing a favor for Patch,” Dabria said in a soft, worried voice, clearly oblivious to my accusations. “Patch told me Blakely is developing devilcraft for Dante, and that the lab needs to be destroyed. He said if I ever came across information that might lead him to Blakely, or the lab, I was to immediately tell him.
“A couple nights ago, very late, a group of Nephilim came to me, wanting their fortunes told. I quickly learned they were employed as bodyguards in the Black Hand’s army. Up until that night, they had served as guards for a very powerful and important Nephil named Blakely. They had my attention. They went on to tell me their work was tedious and uneventful, and the hours long. Earlier that night, they had agreed to play a game of poker to pass the time, even though games or distractions of any kind were forbidden.
“One of the men left his post to buy a deck of cards. They played only a few minutes before they were discovered by their commander. He immediately dismissed and dishonorably discharged them from the army. The leader of the dismissed soldiers, Hanoth, was desperate to get his job back. He has family here and worries about supporting them, and about their safety if they are punished or cast out for his crimes. He came to me, hoping I could tell him whether there was a chance he would get his job back.
“I told his fortune first. I felt a strong urge to tell Hanoth the truth: that his former commander sought to imprison and torture him, and he should leave town with his family immediately. But I also knew that if I told him that, I’d lose all hope of finding Blakely. So I lied. I lied for Patch.
“I told Hanoth he should resolve his concerns directly with Blakely. I told him if he begged forgiveness, Blakely would pardon him. I knew if Hanoth believed my prophecy, he would lead me to Blakely. I wanted to do this for Patch. After everything he has done for me, giving me a second chance when no one else would”—her teary eyes flickered to mine—“it was the least I could do. I love him,” she stated simply, meeting my hard gaze without flinching. “I always will. He was my first love, and I won’t forget him. But he loves you now.” She gave a despondent sigh. “Maybe the day will come when the two of you aren’t so serious, and I’ll be waiting.”
“Don’t count on it,” I said. “Keep talking. Get to the part where you explain those pictures.” I glanced at the envelope on the sofa. It seemed to take up far too much space in the room. I wanted to rip up the pictures and fling the remains into the fireplace.
“Hanoth appeared to believe my lie. He left with his men, and I followed them. I took every precaution not to be detected. They outnumbered me, and if they caught me, I knew I would be in great danger.
“They left Coldwater, heading northwest. I followed them over an hour. I thought I must be getting close to Blakely. Towns had thinned and we were far out in the countryside. The Nephilim turned down a narrow road, and I followed.
“Right away, I knew something was wrong. They parked in the middle of the road. Four of the five had left the car. I sensed them fanning out, to my sides and behind me, creating a net in the darkness to surround me. I don’t know how they figured out I’d followed them. I drove the whole way with my lights off and stayed back far enough that I nearly lost them several times. Fearing it was already too late, I did the only thing I could. I ran on foot toward the river.
“I called Patch, telling him everything in a message. Then I waded into the river’s current, hoping the turbulence of the water would slow their ability to hear or sense me.
“They closed in on me many times. I had to leave the river and run through the woods. I couldn’t tell which direction I was running. But even if I made it to a town, I knew I wasn’t safe. If anyone witnessed Hanoth and his men attacking me, the Nephilim would just erase their memories. So I ran as fast and as far as I could.
“When Patch finally called back, I was hiding in an abandoned sawmill. I don’t know how much longer I could have kept running. Not long.” Tears sparkled in her eyes. “He came for me. He got me out of there. Even when I failed to find Blakely.” She smoothed her hair behind her ears and sniffled. “He drove me to Portland and made sure I had a safe place to stay. Before I got out of his truck, I kissed him.” Her eyes found mine. I couldn’t tell if they blazed with challenge or apology. “I initiated it, and he immediately ended it. I know what it looks like in the pictures, but it was my way of thanking him. It was over before it began. He made sure of it.”
Dabria jerked suddenly, as though yanked by an invisible hand. Her eyes rolled back to whites for a moment, then snapped back to their usual arctic blue. “If you don’t believe me, ask him. He’ll be here in less than a minute.”
CHAPTER 26
I’D NEVER BELIEVED DABRIA TRULY HAD THE GIFT OF foresight and prophecy—not after she’d fallen, anyway—but she was doing a good job lately of convincing me to change my opinion. Less than a minute later, Patch’s garage door opened with a low hum, and he appeared at the top of the stairs. He looked a little worse for wear—tired lines etched his face, and his eyes held a jaded edge—and seeing Dabria and me standing in a face-off in his living room didn’t appear to improve his mood.
He regarded us with dark, evaluating eyes. “This can’t be good.”
“I’ll go first,” Dabria began, sucking in a rattling breath.
“Not even close,” I shot back. I faced Patch directly, cutting Dabria out of the conversation. “She kissed you! And Dante, who’s been tailing you, by the way, caught it on camera. Imagine my surprise when that’s what I got an eyeful of earlier tonight. Did you even think to tell me?”
“I told her I kissed you, and that you pushed me away,” Dabria protested shrilly.
“What are you still doing here?” I exploded at Dabria. “This is between me amesTouo; Dand Patch. Leave already!”
“What are you doing here?” Patch echoed to Dabria, his tone sharpening.
“I—broke in,” she sputtered. “I was scared. I couldn’t sleep. I can’t stop thinking about Hanoth and the other Nephilim.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” I said. I looked to Patch for corroboration, hoping he wasn’t going to fall for her damsel-in-distress ploy. Dabria had come here tonight looking for one particular brand of comfort, and I didn’t approve. Not one bit.
“Go back to the safe house,” Patch ordered Dabria. “If you’d stay there, you’d be safe.” Despite his exhaustion, his words adopted a harsh note. “This is the last time I’m going to tell you to keep your head down and stay out of trouble.”
“For how long?” Dabria practically whimpered. “I’m lonely there. Everyone else in the house is human. They look at me funny.” Her eyes pleaded with him. “I can help you. This time I won’t make any mistakes. If you let me stay here—”
“Go,” Patch commanded her sharply. “You’ve stirred up enough trouble already. With Nora, and with the Nephilim you followed. We can’t be sure what conclusions they’ve drawn, but one thing is certain. They know you’re after Blakely. If they have any brains at all, they’ve also figured out that means you know why Blakely is vital to their operation, and what he’s doing in that secret lab of his, wherever it is. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve moved the whole operation. And we’re back at square one, no closer to finding Blakely and disabling devilcraft,” Patch added with frustration.
“I was only trying to help,” Dabria whispered, her lips trembling. With one last look at Patch that resembled that of a scolded puppy, she saw herself out.
That left Patch and me alone. He strode across the room without hesitating, even though I was sure my expression was far from inviting. He rested his forehead against mine and shut his eyes. He exhaled, long and slow, as if weighed down by
an invisible force.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly and with genuine remorse.
The bitter words, “Sorry about the kiss, or merely sorry I saw it?” balanced on the tip of my tongue, ready to spring, but I swallowed them back. I was tired of dragging around my own invisible weight—comprising jealousy and doubt.
Patch’s regret was so sharp it was nearly tangible. As much as I disliked and distrusted Dabria, I couldn’t blame him for saving her butt. He was a better man than he gave himself credit for. I suspected that years ago, a very different Patch would have responded to the situation in another way. He was giving Dabria a second chance—something he, too, fought for daily.
“I’m sorry too,” I murmured into Patch’s chest. His strong arms folded me into an embrace. “I saw the pictures, and I’ve never been so upset or scared. The thought of losing you was—unimaginable. I was so angry at her. I still am. She kissed you when she shouldn’t have. For all I know, she’ll try it again.”
“She won’t, because I’m going touo;m goi make it very clear how things are to be between us from now on. She crossed a line, and I’ll make her think twice about doing it again,” Patch said with resolve. He tipped my chin up and kissed me, letting his lips linger when he spoke. “I wasn’t expecting to come home to you, but now that you’re here, I have no intention of letting you leave.”
Hot, aching guilt swept through me. I couldn’t be close to Patch and not feel my lies hanging between us. I’d lied to him about devilcraft. I was still lying. How could I have done it? Self-disgust boiled up in me, filled with shame and loathing. I wanted to confess everything, but where to start? I’d been so negligent, letting the lies blaze out of control.
I opened my mouth to tell him the truth, when icy hands seemed to slide up my neck and clench it. I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe. My throat filled with thick matter, like when I’d first taken devilcraft. A foreign voice crept into my mind and reasoned with me.
If I told Patch, he’d never trust me again. He’d never forgive me. I’d only cause him more pain if I told him. I just had to get through Cheshvan, and then I’d stop taking devilcraft. Just a little longer. Just a few more lies.
The cold hands relaxed. I drew a rocky breath.
“Busy night?” I asked Patch, wanting to move forward in our conversation—anything to forget my lies.
He sighed. “And no closer to pinning down Pepper’s blackmailer. I keep thinking it’s got to be someone I’ve looked into, but maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it’s someone else. Someone off my radar. I’ve chased down every lead, even those that seemed like a stretch. Far as I can tell, everyone’s clean.”
“Is there a chance Pepper is making it up? Maybe he isn’t really being blackmailed.” It was the first time I’d considered it. All along I’d trusted his story, when he’d proven to be anything but trustworthy.
Patch frowned. “It’s possible, but I don’t think so. Why go to the trouble of making up such an elaborate story?”
“Because he needs an excuse to chain you in hell,” I suggested quietly, just now thinking of it. “What if the archangels put him up to this? He said he’s down here on Earth on an assignment from them. I didn’t believe him at first, but what if he really is? What if the archangels gave him the task of chaining you in hell? It’s no secret they want to.”
“Legally, they’d need a reason to chain me in hell.” Patch stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Unless they’ve gone so far off the deep end, they’re not bothering to stay within the law anymore. I definitely think there are a few rotten eggs in the bunch, but I don’t think the entire archangel population has been corrupted.”
“If Pepper is on an errand from a small faction of archangels, and the others find out or suspect foul play, Pepper’s employers have the perfect cover: They can claim he’d gone rogue. They’d rip his wings out before he could testify, and they’d be off the hook. It doesn’t seem so far-fetched to me. In fact, it seems like the perfect crime.”
Patch stared at me. The plausibility of my theory seemed to settle over us like a cold fogke a col.
“You think Pepper is on assignment from a group of crooked archangels to get rid of me for good,” he said slowly at last.
“Did you know Pepper before you fell? What was he like?”
Patch shook his head. “I knew him, but not well. More like I knew of him. He had a reputation as a hard-boiled liberal, especially loose on social issues. I’m not surprised he fell hard into gambling, but if I remember right, he was involved in my trial. He must have voted to banish me; strange, since it’s at odds with his reputation.”
“Do you think we can get Pepper to turn on the archangels? His double life might be part of his cover . . . then again, he might be enjoying his time down here just a little too much. If we apply the right kind of pressure, he might talk. If he tells us that a secret faction of archangels sent him here to chain you in hell, at least we’d know what we’re up against.”
A dangerous little smile tightened Patch’s mouth. “I think it’s time to find Pepper.”
I nodded. “Fine. But you’re going to play this one from the sidelines. I don’t want you going anywhere near Pepper. For now, we have to assume he’d do anything to chain you in hell.”
Patch’s eyebrows drew together. “What are you proposing, Angel?”
“I’m meeting Pepper. And I’m taking Scott with me. Don’t even think about arguing with me,” I said warningly before he could veto the idea. “You’ve taken Dabria as backup on more occasions than I want to think about. You swore to me it was a tactical move and nothing more. Well, now it’s my turn. I’m taking Scott, and that’s final. As far as I know, Pepper isn’t holding any one-way tickets to hell with Scott’s name on them.”
Patch’s mouth thinned and his eyes darkened; I could practically feel his objection radiating off him. Patch held no warmth for Scott, but he knew he couldn’t play that card; it would make him a hypocrite.
“You’re going to need an airtight plan,” he said at last. “I’m not letting you out of my sight if there’s any chance things could go south.”
There was always a chance things could go south. If I’d learned anything during my time with Patch, it was that. Patch knew this too, and I wondered if it was part of his plan to keep me from going. I suddenly felt like Cinderella, prevented from going to the ball on a small technicality.
“Scott is stronger than you give him credit for,” I argued. “He’s not going to let anything happen to me. I’ll make sure he understands he can’t tell a soul that you and I are still very much together.”
Patch’s black eyes simmered. “And I’ll make sure he understands that if a single hair on your head is lost, he’ll deal with me. If he’s got any sense, that’s a threat he’ll take to heart.”
I smiled tensely. “Then it’s settled. All we need now is a plan.”
The following night was Saturday. After telling my mom that I was staying at Vee’s all weekend and we’d head to uo;d heaschool together on Monday, Scott and I made a trip to the Devil’s Handbag. We weren’t interested in the music or drinks, rather in the basement level. I’d heard rumors about the basement, a burgeoning gambling haven, but had never actually stepped foot inside. Word had it Pepper couldn’t say the same. Patch had supplied us with a list of Pepper’s favorite haunts, and I hoped Scott and I would get lucky on our first try.
Trying to look both sophisticated and guileless, I followed Scott over to the bar. He was chewing gum, looking as relaxed and confident as ever. I, on the other hand, was sweating so bad I felt like I needed another shower.
I’d flat-ironed my hair for a sleek and mature look. Throw on some liquid eyeliner, lipstick, four-inch heels, and a high-end handbag on loan from Marcie, and I’d magically aged five years. Given Scott’s fully developed and intimidating build, I didn’t think he had to worry about getting carded. He wore tiny silver hoops in his ears, and while his brown hair was closely cropped, he still managed to look bo
th tough and handsome. Scott and I were just friends, but I could easily appreciate what Vee saw in him. I linked my arm through his, a show of being his girlfriend, as he signaled the bartender over to talk.
“We’re looking for Storky,” Scott told the bartender, leaning close to keep his voice low.
The bartender, who I’d never seen before, eyed us shrewdly. I met his gaze, trying to keep my eyes impassive. Don’t look nervous, I told myself. And whatever you do, don’t look like you’ve got something to hide.
“Who’s looking?” he asked gruffly at last.
“We heard there’s a high-stakes game tonight,” Scott said, flashing a stack of hundreds lined up neatly inside his wallet.
The bartender hiked his shoulders and went back to wiping the bar. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Scott laid one of the bills on the bar, covering it with his hand. He slid it toward the bartender. “That’s too bad. You sure we can’t convince you to rethink?”
The bartender eyed the hundred-dollar bill. “Have I seen you around?”
“I play bass for Serpentine. I’ve also played poker from Portland to Concord to Boston, and everywhere in between.”
A nod of recognition. “That’s it. I used to work nights at the Z Pool Hall in Springvale.”
“Fond memories of the place,” Scott said without missing a beat. “Won a lot of cash. Lost even more.” He grinned as though sharing a private joke with the bartender.
Sliding his hand flush with Scott’s, and looking around to be sure he wasn’t under surveillance, the bartender pocketed the bill. “Got to frisk you first,” he told us. “No weapons allowed downstairs.”
“No problem,” Scott answered easily.
I started to sweat even more. Patch had warned us they’d be on the lookout for guns, knives, and any other sharp object that could be used as a weapon. So we’d gotten creative. The belt holding up Scott’s jeans, and hidden beneath his shirt, h his shwas in fact a whip enchanted with devilcraft. Scott had sworn up and down he wasn’t ingesting devilcraft, and had never heard of the super-drink, but I figured we might as well make use of the enchanted whip he’d lifted from Dante’s car on a whim. The whip glowed the telltale shade of iridescent blue, but as long as the bartender didn’t raise Scott’s shirt, we’d be safe.
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