Finale

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 fireplace 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.