Finale

CHAPTER 6

NO,” I BLURTED AUTOMATICALLY. “NO, NO, NO. YOU can’t just—move in with me.” A feeling of pure panic escalated from my toes to the tips of my ears, blowing up faster than I could contain it. I needed an argument. Now. But my brain kept spitting out the same frantic and completely unhelpful thought—No.

“I’ve made up my mind,” Marcie said, and disappeared inside.

“What about me?” I called out. I kicked the door, but what I really felt like doing was kicking myself around for an hour or two. I’d done Vee a favor and look where it had gotten me.

I flung open the door and marched inside. I found Vee at our booth.

“Which way did she go?” I demanded.

“Who?”

“Marcie!”

“I thought she was with you.”

I shot Vee my best bristled look. “This is all your fault! I have to find her.”

Without further explanation, I pushed through the crowd, eyes alert and attentive for any sign of Marcie. I needed to sort this out before it got wildly out of hand. She’s testing you, I told myself. Putting feelers out. Nothing is set in stone. Besides, my mom had final say in this. And she wouldn’t let Marcie move in with us. Marcie had her own family. She was short one parent, sure, but I was a living testament that family was about more than numbers. Buoyed by this line of thinking, I felt my breathing start to relax.

The lights dimmed and the lead singer for Serpentine grabbed the mic, pounding his head in a silent cadence. Taking the cue, the drummer hammered out an intro, and Scott and the other guitarist joined in, kicking off the show with a violent and angsty number. The crowd went wild, head-banging and chanting the lyrics.

I gave one last frustrated glance around for Marcie, then dropped it. I’d have to sort things out with her later. The start of the show was my signal to meet Patch at the bar, and just like that, my heart was back to lurching in my chest.

I made my way over to the bar and took the first bar stool I saw. I sat down a little too hard, losing my balance at the last second. My legs felt like they were made of rubber, and my fingers shook. I didn’t know how I was going to get through this.

“ID, sweetheart?” the bartender asked. An electric-like current vibrated off him, alerting me that he was Nephilim. Just as Patch had said he’d be.

I shook my head. “Just a Sprite, please.”

Not a moment later, I felt Patch move behind me. The energy radiating off him was far stronger than the bartender’s, skimming like heat under my skin. He always had that effect on me, but unlike usual, tonight the sizzling current made me sick with anxiety. It meant Patch had arrived, and I was out of time. I didn’t want to go through with this, but I understood that I didn’t really have a choice. I had to play this smart and factor in my safety, and that of those I loved most dearly.

Ready? Patch asked me in the privacy of our thoughts.

If feeling like I’ll throw up at any minute constitutes ready, sure.

I’ll come over to your place later and we’ll talk it over. Right now, let’s just get through this.

I nodded.

Just like we rehearsed, he spoke calmly to my mind.

Patch? Whatever happens, I love you. I wanted to say more, those three words pitifully inadequate for the way I felt about him. And at the same time, so simple and accurate, nothing else would do.

No regrets, Angel.

None, I returned solemnly.

The bartender finished up with a customer and walked over to take Patch’s order. His eyes raked over Patch, and by the scowl that immediately appeared on his face, it was obvious he’d discerned that Patch was a fallen angel. “What’ll it be?” he asked, his tone clipped, as he wiped his hands on a dish towel.

Patch slurred in an unmistakably inebriated voice, “One beautiful redhead, preferably tall and slim, with legs a man can’t seem to find the end of.” He traced his finger down my cheekbone, and I tensed and pulled away.

“Not interested,” I said, taking a sip of Sprite and keeping my eyes steadfastly on the mirrored wall behind the bar. I let just enough anxiety leak into my words to pique the bartender’s attention.

He leaned across the bar, resting his massive forearms on the slab of granite, and stared Patch down. “Next time review the menu before you waste my time. We don’t offer disinterested females, red hair or otherwise.” He paused with menacing effect, then started toward the next waiting customer.

“And if she’s Nephilim, all the better,” Patch announced drunkenly.

The bartender stopped, eyes glittering with malice. “Mind keeping your voice down, pal? We’re in mixed company. This place is open to humans, too.”

Patch brushed this off with an uncoordinated wave of his arm. “Sweet of you to worry about the humans, but one quick mind-trick later, and they won’t remember a word I’ve said. Done the trick so many times I can do it in my sleep,” he said, letting a bit of swagger creep into his tone.

“You want this lowlife gone?” the bartender asked me. “Say the word and I’ll get the bouncer.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I can handle myself,” I told him. “You’ll have to excuse my ex for being a total jerk-off.”

Patch laughed. “Jerk-off? That’s not what you called me last time we were together,” he implied suggestively.

I just stared at him, disgusted.

“She wasn’t always Nephilim, you know,” Patch informed the bartender with wistful nostalgia. “Maybe you’ve heard of her. The Black Hand’s heir. Liked her better when she was human, but there’s a certain cachet in running around with the most famous Nephil on Earth.”

The bartender eyed me speculatively. “You’re the Black Hand’s kid?”

I glared at Patch. “Thanks for that.”

“Is it true the Black Hand is dead?” the bartender asked. “Can’t hardly comprehend it. A great man, rest his soul. My respects to your family.” He paused, bewildered. “But dead as in . . . dead?”

“Word has it,” I murmured quietly. I couldn’t quite bring myself to shed a tear for Hank, but I did speak with a melancholic reverence that seemed to satisfy the bartender.

“A free round of drinks to the fallen angel who got him,” Patch interrupted, raising my glass in a toast. “I think we can all agree that’s what happened. Immortal just doesn’t have the same ring anymore.” He laughed, banging his fist on the bar in high spirits.

“And you used to date this pig?” the bartender asked me.

I flicked my eyes to Patch and frowned. “A repressed memory.”

“You know he’s a”—the bartender lowered his voice—“fallen angel, right?”

Another sip and a hard swallow. “Don’t remind me. I’ve made amends—my new boyfriend is Dante Matterazzi, one hundred percent Nephilim. Maybe you’ve heard of him?” No time like the present to start a rumor.

His eyes lit up, impressed. “Sure, sure. Great guy. Everyone knows Dante.”

Patch closed his hand over my wrist too firmly to be affectionate. “She’s got it all wrong. We’re still together. What do you say we get out of here, sugar?”

I jumped at his touch, as if shocked. “Get your hands off me.”

“I’ve got my bike out back. Let me take you for a ride. For old time’s sake.” He stood, then dragged me off my barstool so roughly it toppled.

“Get the bouncer,” I ordered the bartender, letting full-fledged anxiety flood my voice. “Now.”

Patch hauled me toward the front doors, and while I put on a convincing show of trying to wrench free, I knew the worst was still to come.

The club’s bouncer, a Nephil who had the advantage not only of several inches over Patch, but also a hundred pounds, elbowed his way toward us. He grabbed Patch by the collar, tearing him off me and sending him flying into the wall. Serpentine had worked up to a fever pitch, drowning out the scuffle, but those in the immediate vicinity parted, forming a semicircle of curious onlookers around the two men.

Patch raised his hands level with his shoulders. He flashed a brief, intoxicated smile. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“Too late,” the bouncer said, and smashed his fist into Patch’s face. The skin above Patch’s eyebrow split, seeping blood, and I forced myself not to wince or reach for him.

The bouncer jerked his head at the doors. “If you ever show your face here again, you and trouble gonna be fast friends. You understand?”

Patch stumbled toward the door, giving a sloppy salute to the bouncer. “Aye, aye, sir.”

The bouncer planted his foot in the crook of Patch’s knee, sending him tripping down the cement stoop. “Would you look at that. My foot slipped.”

A man just inside the door laughed, low and harsh, and the sound snatched my attention. This wasn’t the first time I’d heard the laugh. When I was human, I wouldn’t have recognized it, but all my senses were heightened now. I squinted through the darkness, trying to match the rankling laugh to a face.

There.

Cowboy Hat. He wasn’t wearing a hat or sunglasses tonight, but I could place those hunched shoulders and that caustic smile anywhere.

Patch! I shouted, unable to see whether he was still within hearing range as the crowd closed around me, filling in the empty spaces now that the fight was over. One of the Nephilim from the cabin. He’s here! He’s just inside around the doorway, wearing a red-and-black flannel shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots.

I waited, but there was no response.

Patch! I tried again, using all the mental power I possessed. I couldn’t follow him outside—not if I wanted to keep my cover.

Vee appeared at my side. “What’s going on here? Everyone’s talking about a fight. I can’t believe I missed it. Did you see any of it?”

I pulled her aside. “I need you to do something for me. See the guy just inside the doors, in the hick flannel shirt? I need you to find out his name.”

Vee frowned. “What’s this all about?”

“I’ll explain later. Flirt, steal his wallet, whatever it takes. Just don’t mention my name, okay?”

“If I do this, I want a favor in return. A double date. You and your whack-job boyfriend, and me and Scott.”

With no time to explain that Patch and I were finished, I said, “Yes. Now hurry before we lose him in the crowd.”

Vee cracked her knuckles and sashayed off. I didn’t hang around to see how she fared. I threaded my way through the crowd, ducking out the back door and jogging to the top of the alley. I rounded the building, looking both ways for Patch.

Patch! I cried out to the shadows.

Angel? What are you doing? It’s not safe for us to be seen together.

I spun around, but Patch wasn’t there. Where are you?

Across the street. In the van.

I looked across the street, and sure enough, there was a rusty brown Chevy van parked at the curb. It blended into the backdrop of dilapidated buildings. The windows were tinted, shielding the inner cab from prying eyes.

One of the Nephilim from the cabin is inside the Devil’s Handbag!

A thick beat of silence.

Did he see the fight? Patch asked after a moment.

Yes .

What does he look like?

He’s wearing a black-and-red flannel shirt and cowboy boots.

Get him to leave the building. If the others from the cabin are with him, get them out too. I want to talk to them.

Coming from Patch it sounded ominous, but then again, they had it coming. They’d lost my sympathies the moment they’d stuffed me inside their van.

I jogged back inside the Devil’s Handbag and worked my way into the thick crowd packed around the stage. Serpentine was still going strong, rocking out a ballad that had everyone riled up. I didn’t know how to get Cowboy Hat to leave the premises, but I knew one person who could help me clear the whole place.

Scott! I yelled. But it was useless. He couldn’t hear me over the thunderous music. It probably didn’t help that he was deep ct h from th in concentration.

I rose up on my tiptoes and looked for Vee. She was heading this way.

“I put the ol’ Vee charm on him, but he wasn’t having any of it,” she told me. “Maybe I need a new haircut.” She sniffed her underarms. “Far as I can tell, deodorant’s still working.”

“He blew you off?”

“Yup, and I didn’t get his name, either. Does this mean our double date is off?”

“I’ll be right back,” I said, and fought my way to the alley once again. I had every intention of getting close enough to Patch to mind-speak to him that forcing our Nephil friend out of the Devil’s Handbag was going to be harder than I anticipated, when two shadowy figures standing on the back stoop of the next building down, and conversing in hushed tones, brought me to an abrupt stop.

Pepper Friberg and . . . Dabria.

Dabria used to be an angel of death, and dated Patch before both were banished from heaven. Patch had sworn up and down that the relationship was boring, chaste, and more of a convenience than anything. Still. After deciding I was a threat to her plans to rekindle their relationship here on Earth, Dabria had tried to kill me. She was cool, blond, and sophisticated. I’d never seen her have a bad hair day, and her smile had a way of filling my veins with ice. Now a fallen angel, she made her living swindling victims on the false pretense of having the gift of foresight. She was one of the most dangerous fallen angels I knew, and I had no doubt I was right at the top of her hate list.

Instantly I drew back against the Devil’s Handbag. I held my breath for five seconds, but neither Pepper nor Dabria seemed to have noticed me. I inched closer but didn’t dare press my luck. By the time I’d get close enough to hear what they were saying, one or both would have sensed my presence.

Pepper and Dabria talked a few minutes longer before Dabria turned on her heel and strolled away down the alley. Pepper made an obscene gesture at her back. Was it just me, or did he look especially disgruntled?

I waited until Pepper left too before I stepped out of the shadows. I went directly inside the Devil’s Handbag. I found Vee at our booth and slid in beside her.

“I need to clear this place out right now,” I said.

Vee blinked. “Come again?”

“What if I shout ‘fire’? Will that work?”

“Shouting ‘fire’ seems a little old-school to me. You could try shouting ‘police,’ but that falls into the same category. Not that I have anything against old-school. But what’s the big rush? I didn’t think Serpentine sucked that bad.”

“I’ll explain—”

“Later.” Vee nodded. “Saw that coming from a mile away. If it were me, I’d go with shouting ‘police.’ Bound to be more than a few someones doing illegal activity in this place. Scream ‘cops!’ and you’ll see movement.”

I gnawed nervously at my lip, debating. “Are you sure?” This seemed like plan with high potential for blowing up in my face. Then again, I was out of options. Patch wanted to have a chat with Cowboy Hat, and that’s what I wanted too. I also wanted to get the interrogation wrapped up quickly so I could tell Patch about Dabria and Pepper.

Vee said, “Thirty-five percent sure . . .”

Her voice trailed off as cold air blasted the room. At first I couldn’t tell if the sudden temperature drop came from the doors, which had been kicked open, or my own physical response to intuitively sensing trouble—of the worst kind.

Fallen angels flooded into the Devil’s Handbag. I lost count of them at ten, with no sign to an end in their numbers. They moved so fast, I saw only blurs of motion. They’d come prepared to fight, swinging knives and knuckles bearing steel hardware at anything standing in their path. Among the fray, I stared helplessly as two Nephil boys sank to their knees, futilely resisting the fallen angels who stood over them, clearly demanding their oaths of fealty.

One fallen angel, bony and pale as the moon, chopped his arm so viciously at a Nephil girl’s neck, he broke it in the middle of her scream.

He inspected the girl’s face, which eerily resembled my own face from this distance. Same long, curly hair. She was also about my height and build.

He studied her face and growled impatiently. His cold eyes scanned the crowd, and I got the feeling he was hunting for his next victim.

“We need to get out of here,” Vee said urgently, gripping my hand tightly. “This way.”

Before I could wonder if Vee, too, had seen the fallen angel break the girl’s neck, and if she had, how she was possibly remaining so calm, she shoved me forward into the crowd.

“Don’t look back,” she yelled in my ear. “And hurry.”

Hurry. Right. Trouble was, we were fighting at least a hundred other people to the doors. In a matter of seconds, the crowd had turned into a frantic mob, shoving and scrambling to reach an exit. Serpentine had stopped mid-song. There was no time to go back for Scott. I could only hope he’d escaped through the stage doors.

Vee stayed on my heels, bumping me from behind so often, I had to wonder if she was trying to shield my body. Little did she know, I would be trying to protect her if the fallen angels caught up to us. And despite my single yet grueling training session with Dante this morning, I didn’t think I stood a chance at succeeding.

The temptation to turn back and fight ballooned suddenly inside me. Nephilim had rights. I had rights. Our bodies didn’t belong to fallen angels. They had no just cause to possess us. I’d hastily promised the archangels I would stop the war, but I had a personal stake in the outcome. I wanted war, and I wanted freedom, so that I would never, ever have to bend on one knee and swear my body over to anyone else.

But how could I get what I wanted, and appease the archangels?

At last Vee and I plunged into the cold night air. The crowd fled into the darkness both ways down the street. Without stopping to catch our breath, we raced toward the Neon.