Finale hh-4

by Becca Fitzpatrick

  He tilted my face to look at his. He brushed his thumbs under my eyes, drying my tears. “Pepper is going to come through. He’s going to bring me the dagger, and I’m going to kill Dante. You’re going to get the feathers and win the war. And then I’m taking you away. Someplace where we’ll never hear the words ‘Cheshvan’ or ‘war’ again.” He looked like he wanted to believe it, but his voice wavered just enough.

  “Pepper promised us the feathers and dagger by Monday at midnight. But what about Dante’s announcement tonight? We can’t stop him. Pepper has to bring the dagger sooner. We have to find a way to contact him. We’ll have to risk it.”

  Patch fell silent, rubbing his hand across his mouth in thought. At last he said, “Pepper can’t solve the problem of tonight—we’re going to have to do that ourselves.” His eyes, unshaken and determined, flicked up to mine. “You’re going to request an urgent and mandatory meeting with the most prominent Nephilim, schedule it for tonight, and steal Dante’s thunder. Everyone is expecting you to launch an offensive, to catapult our races into war, and they’ll think this is it—your first military move. Your announcement will trump Dante’s. The Nephilim will come, and out of curiosity, so will Dante.

  “In front of everyone, you’ll make it very clear you’re aware there are factions in favor of putting Dante in power. Then you’ll tell them you’re going to put their doubts to rest once and for all. Convince them you want to be their ruler, and that you believe you can do a better job than Dante. Then challenge him to a duel for power.”

  I stared at Patch, confused and dubious. “A duel? With Dante? I can’t fight him—he’ll win.”

  “If we can delay the duel until Pepper gets back, the duel will be nothing more than a gimmick to stall Dante and buy us time.”

  “And if we can’t delay the duel?”

  Patch’s eyes cut sharply to mine, but he didn’t answer my question. “We have to act now. If Dante finds out you’ve also got something to say tonight, he’ll put his plans on hold until he knows what you’re up to. He has nothing to lose. He knows if you publicly denounce him, he merely has to point a finger at you. Trust me, when he finds out you’re challenging him to a duel, he’ll break out the champagne. He’s cocky, Nora. And egotistical. It will never cross his mind that you can win. He’ll agree to duel, thinking you’ve just dropped a cake in his lap. A messy public pronouncement of your treason and a drawn-out trial . . . or stealing your power with a single shot from a pistol? He’ll kick himself for not thinking of it first.”

  My joints felt as though they’d been replaced with rubber. “If the duel goes through, we’ll fight with guns?”

  “Or swords. Your preference, but I’d strongly suggest pistols. It will be easier for you to learn to shoot than to sword fight,” Patch said calmly, clearly not hearing the distress in my voice.

  I felt like throwing up. “Dante will agree to duel because he knows he can beat me. He’s stronger than I am, Patch. Who knows how much devilcraft he’s consumed? It won’t be a faquo;t beir fight.”

  Patch took my trembling hands and brushed a soothing kiss across my knuckles. “Dueling went out of fashion hundreds of years ago in human culture, but it’s still socially acceptable to Nephilim. In their eyes, it’s the fastest and most obvious way of solving a disagreement. Dante wants to be leader of the Nephilim army, and you’re going to make him and every other Nephil believe you want it just as badly.”

  “Why don’t we just tell prominent Nephilim about the feathers at the meeting?” My heart surged with hope. “They won’t care about anything else when they know I have a surefire way of winning the war and restoring peace.”

  “If Pepper fails, they’ll see it as your failure. Getting close won’t count. Either they’ll hail you as a savior for getting the feathers, or they’ll crucify you for flopping. Until we know for sure Pepper has succeeded, we can’t mention the feathers.”

  I raked my hands through my hair. “I can’t do this.”

  Patch said, “If Dante is working for fallen angels, and if he gains power, the Nephilim race will be more deeply in bondage than ever before. I worry fallen angels will use devilcraft to make Nephilim slaves long after Cheshvan ends.”

  I shook my head miserably. “There’s too much at stake. What if I fail?” And undoubtedly I would.

  “There’s more, Nora. Your oath to Hank.”

  Dread formed like chunks of ice in the pit of my stomach. Once again, I remembered every word I’d spoken to Hank Millar the night he’d pressured me to take up the reins of his doomed uprising. I’ll lead your army. If I break this promise, I understand my mom and I are both as good as dead. Which didn’t leave me much of a choice, did it? If I wanted to stay on Earth with Patch, and preserve my mom’s life, I had to keep my title as leader of the Nephilim army. I couldn’t let Dante steal it from me.

  “A duel is a rare show, and throw in two high-profile Nephilim, such as you and Dante, and this will be an event not to be missed,” Patch said. “I’m hoping for the best, that we’ll be able to push out the duel, and that Pepper won’t fail, but I think we should prepare for the worst. The duel might be your only way out.”

  “Just how large of an audience are we talking?”

  Patch’s gaze as it met mine was cool and confident. But for a moment, I saw sympathy flicker behind his eyes. “Hundreds.”

  I swallowed hard. “I can’t do this.”

  “I’ll train you, Angel. I’ll be by your side every step of the way. You’re far stronger than you were two weeks ago, and all that after a few hours of work with a trainer who was only doing enough to make you think he was invested. He wanted you to think he was training you, but I highly doubt he was doing much more than putting your muscles through the minimum resistance. I don’t think you realize just how powerful you are. With true training, you can beat him.” Patch clasped the back of my neck, pulling our faces together. He looked at me with such confidence and trust it nearly shattered my heart. You can do this. It’s a task no one would envy, and I admire and I a you even more for considering it, he spoke to my mind.

  “Isn’t there some other way?” But I’d spent the past several moments frantically analyzing the circumstances from every possible angle. With Pepper’s questionable chance at success, combined with the oath I swore to Hank, and the precarious situation of the entire Nephilim race, there was no other way. I had to go through with this.

  “Patch, I’m scared,” I whispered.

  He pulled me into his arms. He kissed the top of my head and stroked my hair. He didn’t need to say the words for me to know he was frightened too. “I’m not letting you lose this duel, Angel. I’m not letting you face Dante without knowing I control the outcome. The duel will appear fair, but it won’t be. Dante sealed his fate the moment he turned on you. I’m not letting him off the hook.” His murmured words hardened. “He won’t come out of this alive.”

  “Can you rig the duel?”

  The vengeance smoldering in his gaze told me all I needed to know.

  “If anyone were to find out—” I began.

  Patch kissed me, hard, but with an amused glint in his eye. “If I get caught, it’ll mean the end of kissing you. Do you really think I’d risk that?” His face grew serious. “I know I can’t feel your touch, but I feel your love, Nora. Inside me. It means everything to me. I wish I could feel you the same way you feel me, but I have your love. Nothing will ever outweigh that. Some people go their entire lives never feeling the emotions you’ve given me. There is no regret in that.”

  My chin quivered. “I’m scared of losing you. I’m scared of failing, and of what will happen to us. I don’t want to do this,” I protested, even though I knew there was no magic trapdoor to escape through. I couldn’t run; I couldn’t hide. The oath I’d sworn to Hank would find me, no matter how hard I tried to disappear. I had to stay in power. As long as the army existed, I had to see this through. I squeezed Patch’s hands. “Promise you’ll be with me the whole time.
Promise you won’t make me go through this alone.”

  Patch tipped my chin up. “If I could make this go away, I would. If I could stand in your place, I wouldn’t hesitate. But I’m left with one choice, and that’s to stand by your side through the end. I won’t waver, Angel, I can promise you that.” He ran his hands over my arms, unaware that his promise did more to warm me than the gesture. It nearly brought me to tears. “I’ll start leaking news that you’ve called an urgent meeting for tonight. I’ll call Scott first, and tell him to get the word out. It won’t take long for news to spread. Dante will have heard your announcement before the end of the hour.”

  My stomach took a nauseating lurch. I chewed at the inside of my cheek, then forced myself to nod. I might as well accept the inevitable. The sooner I confronted what lay ahead, the sooner I could formulate a plan to conquer my fear.

  “What can I do to help?” I asked.

  Patch studied me, frowning slightly. He stroked his thumb over my lip, then across my cheek. “You’re ice cold, Angel.” He tilted his head toward the hallway leading lway leadeeper into the townhouse. “Let’s get you into bed. I’ll light the fireplace. What you need right now is warmth and rest. I’ll draw a hot bath, too.”

  Sure enough, fierce shivers racked my body. It was as if, in an instant, all heat had been sucked from me. I supposed I was going into shock. My teeth chattered, and the tips of my fingers vibrated with a strange, involuntary tremor.

  Patch scooped me up and carried me back to his bedroom. He nudged the door open with his shoulder, peeled back the duvet, and deposited me gently in his bed. “A drink?” he asked. “Herbal tea? Broth?”

  Looking at his face, so earnest and anxious, guilt spiraled inside me. I knew right then that Patch would do anything for me. His promise to stay by my side was as good to him as a sworn oath. He was part of me, and I was part of him. He would do whatever—whatever—it took to keep me here with him.

  I forced myself to open my mouth before I chickened out. “There’s something I need to tell you,” I said, my voice sounding thin and brittle. I hadn’t planned on crying, but tears welled in my eyes. I was overcome with shame.

  “Angel?” Patch said, his tone questioning.

  I’d taken that first step, but now I froze. A voice of justification drifted across my mind, telling me I had no right to dump this on Patch. Not in his current weakened state. If I cared about him, I’d keep my mouth shut. His recovery was more important than getting a few white lies off my chest. Already I felt those same icy hands slide up my throat.

  “I— It’s nothing,” I corrected. “I just need sleep. And you need to call Scott.” I turned into the pillow so he wouldn’t see me cry. The icy hands felt all too real, ready to close on my neck if I said too much, if I told my secret.

  “I need to call him, that’s true. But more than that, I need you to tell me what’s going on,” Patch said, just enough concern slipping into his tone to tell me I was past the point where I could use a simple distraction to get out of this.

  The freezing hands curled around my throat. I was too scared to speak. Too scared of the hands, and how they would hurt me.

  Patch clicked on a bedside lamp, pulling gently on my shoulder, trying to see my face, but I only twisted farther away. “I love you,” I choked out. Shame ballooned inside me. How could I say those words and lie to him?

  “I know. Just like I know you’re holding something back. This isn’t the time for secrets. We’ve come too far to turn down that road,” Patch reminded me.

  I nodded, feeling tears slide onto the pillowcase. He was right. I knew it, but it didn’t make it any easier to come clean. And I didn’t know if I could. Those wintry hands, closing off my throat, my voice . . .

  Patch slipped into bed beside me, dragging me against him. I felt his breath on the back of my neck, the warmth of his skin touching mine. His knee fit perfectly in the crook of my own. He kissed my shoulder, his black hair falling over my ear.

  I—lied—to—you, I confessed to his thoughts, feeling as though I had to push the words out through a brick wall. I tensed, wa I tenseiting for the cold hands to seize me, but to my surprise, their grip seemed to weaken at my confession. Their chilly touch slipped and faltered. Buoyed by this small step forward, I pushed on. I lied to the one person whose trust means more to me than anything. I lied to you, Patch, and I don’t know if I can forgive myself.

  Rather than demand an explanation, Patch continued a trail of slow, steady kisses down my arm. It wasn’t until he’d pressed a kiss into the inside of my wrist that he spoke. “Thank you for telling me,” he said quietly.

  I rolled over, blinking in astonishment. “Don’t you want to know what I lied about?”

  “I want to know what I can do to make you feel better.” He rubbed my shoulders in tender circles, giving me a certain reassurance.

  I wouldn’t feel better until I came clean. It wasn’t Patch’s responsibility to lighten my burden—it was mine, and I felt every last pang of guilt as though they speared me with an iron blade.

  “I’ve been taking—devilcraft.” I hadn’t thought my shame could grow, but it seemed to swell inside me by three sizes. “All this time I’ve been taking it. I never drank the antidote you got from Blakely. I kept it, telling myself I’d take it later, after Cheshvan, when I didn’t need to be superhuman anymore, but it was an excuse. I never intended to take it. This whole time I’ve been relying on devilcraft. I’m terrified I’m not strong enough without it. I know I have to stop, and I know it’s wrong. But it gives me abilities I can’t get on my own. I mind-tricked you into thinking I drank the antidote, and—I’ve never been more sorry in my life!”

  I dropped my eyes, unable to bear the disappointment and disgust that would surely rise in Patch’s face. It was awful enough knowing the truth, but hearing myself say it aloud cut to the core. Who was I anymore? I didn’t recognize myself, and it was the worst feeling I’d ever experienced. Somewhere along the way, I’d lost myself. And as easy as it was to blame devilcraft, I had made the choice to steal that first bottle from Dante.

  At last Patch spoke. His voice was so steady, so full of quiet admiration, it made me wonder if he could have known my secret all along. “Did you know, the first time I saw you, I thought: I’ve never seen anything more captivating and beautiful?”

  “Why are you telling me this?” I said miserably.

  “I saw you, and I wanted to be close to you. I wanted you to let me in. I wanted to know you in a way no one else did. I wanted you, all of you. That wanting nearly drove me mad.” Patch paused, inhaling softly, as though breathing me in. “And now that I have you, the only thing that terrifies me is having to go back to that place. Having to want you all over again, with no hope of my desire ever being fulfilled. You’re mine, Angel. Every last piece of you. I won’t let anything change that.”

  I propped my weight on my elbow, staring at him. “I don’t deserve you, Patch. I don’t care what you say. It’s the truth.”

  “You don’t deserve me,” he agreed. “You deserve better. But you’re stuck with me, and you might as well get over it.” Scooping me under him in one agile movement, he rolled on te rolledop of me, his black eyes all pirate. “I have no intention of letting you go easily, something to keep in mind. I don’t care if it’s another man, your mother, or the powers of hell trying to pry us apart, I’m not easing up and I’m not saying good-bye.”

  I blinked my wet lashes. “I’m not letting anything come between us either. Especially not devilcraft. I have the antidote in my purse. I’ll take it right now. And, Patch?” I added with heartfelt emotion. “Thank you . . . for everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “Good thing,” he murmured. “Because I’m not letting you get away.”

  I sank back on his bed, happy to oblige.

  CHAPTER 32

  SURE ENOUGH, WORD OF MY REQUESTED MEETING with Nephilim higher-ups spread. By Sunday afternoon, Nephilim channels buzzed with ant
icipation and speculation. I was getting all the press, and news of Dante’s announcement had fizzled. I’d stolen the show, and Dante hadn’t put up any protest. I had no doubt Patch was right—Dante was putting his plans on hold until he could see my next move.

  Scott called every hour with an update, which was usually to tell me the latest theories Nephilim were churning out in regard to my first combative strike against fallen angels. Ambush, destroying lines of communication, sending in spies, and kidnapping fallen angel commanders had all made the glorified list. As Patch had predicted, the Nephilim had quickly concluded that war was the only reason I’d call a meeting. I wondered if Dante had jumped to the same conclusion. I wished I could say yes, I had him fooled, but experience told me he was cunning enough to know better—he knew I was up to something.

  “Big news,” Scott said excitedly over the phone. “The bigwigs—high-powered Nephilim—have accepted your request for a meeting. They’ve determined the location, and it’s not Delphic. Also, they are keeping things cozy. As might be expected, it’s an invitation-only party. Twenty Nephilim at most. No leaks, lots of guards. Every Nephil invited will be screened before entering. Good news is, I’m on the guest list. Took some schmoozing, but I’ll be there with you.”

  “Just tell me the location already,” I said, trying not to sound nauseated.

  “They want to meet at Hank Millar’s old house.”

  My spine tingled. I would never be able to erase those arctic-blue eyes his name summoned to mind.

  I pushed his ghost aside and focused. A classy Georgian colonial in a respected human neighborhood? It didn’t seem shady enough for a covert Nephilim meeting. “Why there?”

  “The higher-ups thought it showed a nod of respect to the Black Hand. Good call, I say. He started this whole mess,” Scott added snidely.

  “Keep talking like that, and they’re going to boot you off the guest list.”

  “The meeting has been scheduled for ten tonight. Keep your cell phone close, in case I learn anything else. Don’t forget to act surprised when they call with the details. Can’t have them thinking they’ve got a spy problem already. One more thing. I’m sorry about Dante. I feel responsible. I introduced you. If I could, I’d dismember him. And then tie a brick to each of his limbs, take them to sea, and throw them overboard. Chin up. I’ve got your back.”