Finale

CHAPTER 37

I HEARD SCOTT’S BARRACUDA RUMBLE DOWN THE road toward me long before the headlights flashed through the murky darkness. I flagged him down and swung into the passenger seat.

“Thanks for coming.”

He shoved the car in reverse and floored it the same way he’d approached. “You kept your call short. Tell me what I need to know.”

I explained the situation as quickly, yet comprehensively, as possible. When I finished, Scott let out a low whistle of astonishment. “Pepper’s got every fallen angel feather, ever?”

“Surreal, right? He is supposed to meet us at Patch’s studio. He’d better not leave the feathers unguarded,” I muttered mostly to myself.

“I can get you safely beneath Delphic. The park gates are closed, so we’ll go into the tunnels using the cargo elevators. After that, we’ll have to use my map. I’ve never been to Patch’s place.”

The “tunnels” referred to an underground network of convoluted, mazelike passageways that operated like streets and neighborhoods beneath Delphic. I’d had no idea they existed until I met Patch. They served as the primary residence for fallen angels living in Maine, and until recently, Patch had lived among them.

Scott steered the Barracuda down an access road short of the park’s main entrance. The road opened to a loading dock with truck ramps, and a warehouse. We entered the warehouse through a side door, crossed an open space stacked wall to wall with boxes, and at last reached the cargo elevators. Once inside, Scott ignored the normal buttons indicating floors one, two, and three, and pressed a small, unmarked yellow button at the bottom of the panel. րlI’d known there were entrances to the tunnels all over Delphic, but this was my first time using this particular one.

The elevator, which was almost as large as my bedroom, clanged lower and lower, at last grinding to a stop. The heavy steel door rose, and Scott and I walked out onto a loading dock. The ground and walls were dirt, and the only light came from the single bulb swinging like a pendulum overhead.

“Which way?” I asked, peering into the tunnel ahead.

I was grateful to have Scott as a guide through the underbelly of Delphic Amusement Park. It was immediately clear that he traversed the tunnels regularly; he led at a hurried pace, sweeping down the dank corridors as though they had long ago been committed to memory. We referenced the map, using it to make our way beneath the Archangel, Delphic’s newest roller coaster. From there, I took over, glancing down corridors randomly, until at last we came to what I recognized as the entrance to Patch’s old living quarters.

The door was locked from the inside.

I rapped on it. “Pepper, it’s Nora Grey. Open up.” I gave him a few moments, then tried again. “If you’re not opening because you sense someone else, it’s Scott. He’s not going to beat you up. Now open the door.”

“Is he alone?” Scott asked quietly.

I nodded. “Should be.”

“I don’t sense anybody,” Scott said skeptically, bending his ear toward the door.

“Hurry up, Pepper,” I called.

Still no response.

“We’re going to have to break down the door,” I told Scott. “On the count of three. One, two—three.”

In unison, Scott and I landed forceful kicks to the door.

“Again,” I grunted.

We continued to drive our soles into the wood, striking it until it splintered and the door slammed inward. I strode across the foyer and into the living room, looking for Pepper.

The sofa had been knifed multiple times, stuffing spewing from each incision. Picture frames that had once decorated the walls now lay shattered on the ground. The glass coffee table was tipped on its side, with an ominous crack down the center. Clothes from Patch’s wardrobe had been dragged out and thrown like confetti. I didn’t know if this was evidence of a recent struggle, or left over from Patch’s hasty departure nearly two weeks ago, when Pepper had hired thugs to destroy the place.

“Can you call Pepper?” Scott suggested. “Do you have his number?”

I punched Pepper’s number into my phone, but he didn’t pick up. “Where is he?” I demanded angrily to no one in particular. Everything was riding on his end of the bargain. I needed those feathers, and I needed them now. “And what is that smell?” I asked, wrinkling my nose.

I walked deeper into the living room. Sure enough, I detected a noxious, acrid smell wafting in the air. A rotten smell. A smell almost like hot tar, but not quite.

Something was burning.

I ran from room to room, trying to find the feathers. They weren’t here. I shoved open the door to Patch’s old bedroom and was immediately overwhelmed by the smell of burning organic material.

Without pausing to think, I ran to the far wall of the bedroom—the one that slid open to reveal a secret passageway. The moment I cracked the sliding door, a thunderhead of black smoke rolled into the room. The greasy, charred stench was unbearable.

Sealing my mouth and nose with the collar of my shirt, I called to Scott, “I’m going in.”

He strode through the doorway behind me, batting the smoke with his hand.

I’d been down the passageway once before, when Patch had momentarily detained Hank Millar before I’d killed him, and I tried to remember the way. Dropping to my knees to avoid the worst of the smoke, I crawled quickly, coughing and gagging every time I drew breath. At last my hands struck a door. Fumbling for the ring pull, I jerked on it. The door swung slowly open, sending a fresh wave of smoke billowing into the corridor.

The light from a blazing fire flashed through the smoke, flames leaping and dancing like an exquisite magic show: brazen gold and molten orange and great plumes of black smoke. An awful crackling and snapping sounded in my ears as the flames devoured the massive hill of fuel beneath it. Scott vised my shoulders protectively, forcing his body in front of mine like a shield. The heat from the fire broiled our faces.

It only took me a moment to howl in terror.