“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 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 feel indesperate. 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.
“Expecting an important call?” I asked.
“Yes, and I have to take care of it now. I am on your side, Angel. I always will be. I’m sorry if you feel like I’m subverting your wishes. That’s the last thing I want, believe me.” He brushed a kiss across my mouth, but it felt brusque. He was already striding with purpose toward the stairs leading down to the garage. “I need you to do something for me. See if you can dig up anything on Blakely. Where he calls home these days, locations he’s visited lately, how many Nephilim bodyguards he has protecting him, any new prototypes he’s developing, and when he plans on introducing this super-drink to the mainstream. You’re right—I don’t think devilcraft has spread beyond Dante and Blakely yet. If it had, the archangels would have jumped on it. Talk soon, Angel.”
“So we’ll finish this conversation later?” I called after him, still stunned by his rapid departure.
He paused at the top of the stairs. “Dante gave you an ultimatum, but it was coming, with or without him. I can’t make the decision for you, but if you want a sounding board, let me know. I’m happy to help. Engage the alarm before you leave. Your personal key is on the counter. You’re welcome anytime. I’ll be in touch.”
“What about Cheshvan?” I said. I hadn’t made it through half the things I’d wanted to discuss with him, and now he was running off. “It starts tonight with the igh="Tirising moon.”
Patch gave a brusque nod. “There’s a bad feeling in the air. I’ll be keeping tabs on you, but I want you to watch your back just the same. Don’t be out any later than necessary. Sundown is your curfew tonight.”
Since I didn’t see the point in going back to school without a valid excuse slip, and since, if I left now, I’d only catch the last hour before the dismissal bell, I decided to stay at Patch’s place and do some thinking-slash-soul-searching.
I went to the fridge to hunt down a snack, but it was bare. It was very apparent Patch had moved in quickly and the furnishings had been included. The rooms were immaculate, lacking any personal touches. Stainless-steel appliances, taupe paint, walnut flooring. Modern American furniture in solid colors. Flat-screen TV and leather club chairs facing each other. Masculine, stylish, and lacking warmth.
I replayed my conversation with Patch and decided he hadn’t seemed the least bit sympathetic over Dante’s ultimatum and my big dilemma. What did that mean? That he thought I could work things out on my own? That choosing between Nephilim and fallen angels was a no-brainer? Because it wasn’t. The choice was getting harder with each passing day.
I mulled over what I did know. Namely that Patch wanted me to find out what Blakely was up to. Patch probably thought Dante was my best contact—a middleman between me and Blakely, so to speak. And in order to keep the lines of communication open between us, it was probably best that I keep Dante thinking I was on his side. That I saw eye to eye with the Nephilim.
And I did. In many ways. My sympathy was with them because they weren’t fighting for dominion or some other virtue-less ambition—they were fighting for their freedom. I got it. I admired it. I’d do anything to help. But I didn’t want Blakely or Dante putting the fallen angel population at risk. If fallen angels were wiped off the face of the Earth, Patch would go with them. I wasn’t willing to lose Patch, and I’d do whatever it took to make sure his species survived.
In other words, I was no closer to answers. I was right back at square one, playing both sides of the field. The irony of it all struck me. I was just like Pepper Friberg. The only difference between me and Pepper was that I wanted to take a side. All this sneaking around and lying, and pretending to have allegiances to two opposing sides, was keeping me up at night. Pretty soon my mind would be consumed with memorizing lies so I wouldn’t get caught in my own elaborate net.
I heaved a sigh. And double-checked Patch’s freezer. No cartons of ice cream had magically appeared since I’d last checked.
Chapter 11
AT FIVE THE FOLLOWING MORNING MY MATTRESS dipped under the weight of a second body. My eyes sprang open to find Dante seated at the foot of the bed, wearing a somber expression.
“Well?” he asked simply.
I’d spent all of yesterday, into the night, trying to make up my mind, and I’d finally decided on a course of actioigh="d.
His eyebrows lifted slightly in question, his hope visible. “Does that mean what I think it does?”
“I’m not out training with fallen angels, am I?” Not exactly a straight answer, and I hoped Dante didn’t press the issue.
He smiled. “Five minutes it is.”
“But no more blue stuff,” I said, bringing him to a halt at the door. “Just so we’re clear.”
“Yesterday’s sample didn’t convince you?” To my dismay, he didn’t look remorseful. If anything, his expression revealed disappointment.
