“When do I get to meet her?” And tell her to keep her hands off.
Patch scratched his cheek, but I thought I saw his mouth twitch. “Probably not a good idea.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? You don’t think I can handle myself, do you? Thanks for the vote of confidence!” I said, seething at him and my own stupid insecurities.
“I think Dabria is a narcissist and an egomaniac. Best to stay away.”
“Maybe you should take your own advice!”
I started to whirl away, but Patch hooked my arm and brought me around to face him. He pressed his forehead to mine. I started to pull away, but he laced his fingers through mine, effectively trapping me against him. “What do I have to do to convince you I’m using Dabria for one thing, and one thing only: to break down Hank, piece by piece if I have to, and make him pay for everything he’s done to hurt the girl I love?”
“I don’t trust Dabria,” I said, still clinging to some of my indignation.
He shut his eyes, and I thought I heard the softest of sighs. “Finally something we agree on.”
“I don’t think we should use her, even if she can get to Hank’s inner circle faster than you or me.”
“If we had more time, or another option, I’d jump on it. But for now, she’s our best chance. She won’t double-cross me. She’s too smart. She’ll take the cash I’m offering and walk away, even if it hurts her pride.”
“I don’t like it.” I snuggled into Patch, and even in the dream, the warmth of his body effectively cast away any lingering chill. “But I trust you.”
He kissed me, long and reassuring.
“Something strange happened tonight,” I said. “Someone stole my handbag from the dressing room at Silk Garden.”
Patch immediately frowned. “This happened after I left?”
“Either that, or right before you came.”
“Did you see who took it?”
“No, but the saleslady said he was male and old enough to be my father. She let him stroll right out with it, but I think he may have mind-tricked her. Do you think it’s a coincidence that an immortal stole my handbag?”
“I don’t think anything is a coincidence. What did Marcie see?”
“Apparently nothing, even though the shop was practically empty.” I gauged his eyes, cool and calculating. “You think Marcie was involved, don’t you?”
“Hard to believe she didn’t see something. It’s starting to feel like the whole night was a setup.
When you went into the dressing room, she could have placed a call, letting the thief know it was safe to come in. She could have seen your bag underneath the drape, and walked him through the theft step by step.”
“Why would she want my bag? Unless—” I stopped. “She thought I was carrying the necklace Hank wants,” I realized. “He’s roped her into this. She was playing fetch for him.” Patch’s mouth was set in a grim line. “He’s not beneath putting his daughter in harm’s way.” His eyes flickered to mine. “He proved that with you.”
“Are you still convinced Marcie doesn’t know what Hank really is?”
“She doesn’t know. Not yet. Hank could have lied to her about why he needed the necklace. He could have told her it belongs to him, and she wouldn’t ask questions. Marcie isn’t the type to ask questions. If she sees a target, she turns into a pit bull.” Pit bull. Tell me about it. “There’s one more thing. I got a look at the car before the thief drove away. It was an Audi A6.”
From the look in his eyes, I knew the information meant something to him. “Hank’s right-hand man, a Nephil named Blakely, drives an Audi.”
A shiver chased up my spine. “I’m starting to get a little freaked out. He obviously thinks he can use the necklace to force the archangel to talk. What does he need her to tell him? What does she know that he’d risk the retaliation of the archangels for?”
“And this close to Cheshvan,” Patch murmured, a look of distraction clouding his eyes.
“We could try to break the archangel out,” I suggested. “That way, even if Hank gets a necklace, he won’t have an archangel.”
“I’d thought of that, but we’re facing two big problems. First, the archangel trusts me even less than Hank, and if she sees me anywhere near her cage, she’s going to make a lot of racket. Second, Hank’s warehouse is crawling with his men. I’d need my own army of fall en angels to go against them, and I’m going to have a hard time talking fall en angels into helping me rescue an archangel.” Our conversation seemed to dead-end there, and we both contemplated our slim list of options in silence.
“What happened to the other dress?” Patch asked at last. I followed his gaze to the Jessica Rabbit gown.
I heaved a sigh. “Marcie thought I’d look better in red.”
“What do you think?”
“I think Marcie and Dabria would be instant friends.”
Patch laughed low, the sound of it tingling my skin as seductively as if he’d kissed it. “Do you want my opinion?”
“Might as well, since everyone else seems to have weighed in.” He sat on my bed, leaning back nonchalantly on his elbows. “Try it on.”
“It’s probably a little snug,” I said, suddenly feeling conspicuous. “Marcie tends to buy down when it comes to sizing.”
He merely smiled.
“It has a slit up the thigh.”
His smile deepened.
Locking myself in my closet, I tugged on the dress. It moved like liquid over every curve. The slit fell open halfway up my thigh, exposing my leg. Stepping out into the low light, I swept my hair off my neck. “Zip it up?”
Patch’s eyes made a slow assessment of me, sharpening to vivid black. “I’m going to have a hard time sending you off with Scott in that dress. Just a heads-up: If you come home and the dress looks even slightly tampered with, I will track Scott down, and when I find him, it won’t be pretty.”
“I’ll relay the message.”
“If you tell me where he’s hiding, I’ll relay it myself.” I had to work not to smile. “Something tells me your message would be a lot more direct.”
“Let’s just say he’d get the point.”
Patch took my wrist and reeled me in for a kiss, but something wasn’t right. His face grew hazy at the edges, dissolving into the background. When his lips met mine, I hardly felt it. Worse, I felt myself pulling away from him like a piece of tape peeling back from glass.
Patch noticed it too and swore under his breath.
“What’s happening?” I asked.
“It’s the half-breed,” he growled.
“Scott?”
“He’s knocking at your bedroom window. Any second now, you’re going to wake up. Is this the first time he’s come prowling around at night?”
I thought it might be safer not to answer. Patch was in my dream and couldn’t do anything rash, but that didn’t mean it was a good idea to stir up the competition between them any further.
“We’ll finish this tomorrow!” was all I had time to say before the dream, and Patch, swirled into the recesses of my mind.
The dream snapped apart, and sure enough, Scott stood in my bedroom, closing the window behind him.
“Rise and shine,” he said.
I groaned. “Scott, you have to stop this. I have school first thing tomorrow. Plus, I was in the middle of a really good dream,” I grumbled as an afterthought.
“About me?” he said, flashing a cocky smile.
I simply said, “This better be good.”
“Better than good. I got a gig playing bass for a band called Serpentine. We’re opening at the Devil’s Handbag next weekend. Band members get two free tickets, and you’re one of the lucky recipients.” With a flourish, he threw down two tickets on my bed.
I was growing more awake by the second. “Are you crazy? You can’t be in a band! You’re supposed to be hiding from Hank. Going to the dance with me is one thing, but this is taking things too far.”
His smile died, his expression souring. “I thought you’d be happy for me, Grey. I’ve spent the past couple months hiding. Now I’m living in a cave and scavenging for food, which is getting harder and harder to find with winter coming. I have to force myself into the ocean three times a week for a bath, and I spend the rest of the day shivering by the fire. I have no TV, no cell. I’m completely cut off. You want the truth? I’m sick of hiding. Living on the run isn’t living. I might as well be dead.” He stroked the Black Hand’s ring, still snug around his finger. “I’m glad you talked me into wearing this again. I haven’t felt this alive in months. If Hank tries anything, he’s going to be in for a big surprise. My powers have intensified.”
I kicked out of my blankets and stood up to him. “Scott, Hank knows you’re in town. He’s got his men searching for you. You have to stay hidden until—Cheshvan at least,” I threw out, believing Hank’s interest in Scott would wane once his full plans, whatever they were, unfolded.
“I keep telling myself that, but what if he’s not?” he remarked blandly. “What if he’s forgotten about me and all this is for nothing?”
“I know he’s looking for you.”
“Did you hear him say it?” he asked, calling my bluff.
“Something like that.” Given his current state, I couldn’t bring myself to tell him where the information had come from. Scott wouldn’t take Patch’s advice seriously. And then I’d have to explain why I was mixed up with Patch in the first place. “A reliable source told me.” He wagged his head back and forth. “You’re trying to scare me. I appreciate the gesture,” he said cynically, “but I’ve made up my mind. I’ve thought this over, and whatever happens, I can face it. A few months of freedom is better than a lifetime in prison.”
“You can’t let Hank find you,” I insisted. “If he does, he’ll put you in one of his reinforced prisons.
He’ll torture you. You have to ride this out a little longer. Please,” I begged. “Just a few more weeks?”
“Screw it. I’m out of here. I’m playing at the Devil’s Handbag whether you come or not.” I didn’t understand Scott’s sudden blasé attitude. Up until now, he’d been meticulous about staying away from Hank. Now he was putting his neck on the line for something as trivial as a high-school dance … and now a gig?
A horrible thought struck me. “Scott, you said the Black Hand’s ring connects you to him. Is there any way it’s drawing you closer to him? Maybe the ring does more than give you heightened powers.
Maybe it’s some kind of—beacon.”
Scott snorted. “The Black Hand isn’t going to catch me.”
“You’re wrong. And if you keep up that attitude, he’s going to catch you sooner than you think,” I said gently but firmly.