Finale

CHAPTER 18

MY EYES OPENED TO A SUDDEN RAP ON THE door. I sat up, disoriented. Sunlight streamed through my bedroom window, indicating that it was late morning. My skin was clammy with sweat, my sheets tangled around my legs. On my nightstand, an empty bottle lay tipped on its side.

The memory stormed back.

I’d barely made it to my bedroom before twisting off the cap, flinging it hastily aside, and draining the devilcraft in seconds. I’d choked and gagged, feeling as though I would suffocate as the liquid clogged my throat, but I knew that the faster I guzzled, the sooner it would be over. A surge of adrenaline unlike anything I’d ever felt had expanded inside me, vaulting my senses to an exhilarating high. I’d had the urge to run outside and push my body to the limit, sprinting and bounding and dodging everything in my path. Like flying. Only better.

And then, just as quickly as the urge had spiked inside me, I’d collapsed. I didn’t even remember falling into bed.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” my mom called through the door. “I know it’s the weekend, but let’s not sleep the whole day away. It’s already after eleven.”

Eleven? I’d been out cold for four hours?

“I’ll be down in a second,” I responded, my whole body shaking from what had to be a side effect of the devilcraft. I’d consumed too much, too fast. It explained my body shutting down for hours, and the peculiar, jittery sensation pulsating inside me.

I couldn’t believe I’d stolen the devilcraft from Dante. Worse, I couldn’t believe I’d drunk it. I was ashamed of myself. I had to find a way to correct it, but I didn’t know where to start. How could I tell Dante? He already thought I was as feeble as a human, and if I couldn’t control my own appetites, it only proved him right.

I should have just asked him for it. But I was disconcerted to realize that I’d enjoyed stealing it. There had been a certain thrill in doing something bad and getting away with it. Just like there had been a thrill in overindulging in the devilcraft, drinking it all immediately and refusing to ration it.

How could I be having these awful thoughts? How could I have let myself act on them? This wasn’t who I was.

Swearing that this morning would be the last time I ever used devilcraft, I buried the bottle at the bottom of the wastebasket and tried to flush the incident from my head.

I assumed that by this hour I’d be eating breakfast alone, but I found Marcie at the kitchen table, crossing off a list of phone numbers. “I’ve spent all morning inviting people to the Halloween party,” she explained. “Feel free to jump in at any time.”

“I thought you were mailing invites.”

“Not enough time. The party is Thursday.”

“A school night? What’s wrong with Friday?”

“Football game.” My face must have registered confusion, because she elaborated, “All my friends will either be playing in the game or cheering. Plus, it’s an away game, so we can’t just invite them over after.”

“And Saturday?” I asked, incredulous that we were throwing a party during the week. My mom would never go for it. Then again, Marcie had a way of talking her into just about anything these days.

“Saturday was my parents’ anniversary. We are not doing it Saturday,” she said with a note of finality. She pushed the list of phone numbers toward me. “I’m doing all the work, and it’s really starting to get on my nerves.”

“I don’t want anything to do with the party,” I reminded her.

“You’re just huffy because you don’t have a date.”

She was right. I didn’t have a date. I’d talked about bringing Patch, but that would require me to forgive him for meeting Blakely last night. The memory of what had happened came rushing back. Between sleeping last night, training with Dante this morning, and falling unconscious for several hours, I’d completely forgotten to check my phone for messages.

The doorbell chimed, and Marcie jumped up. “I’ll get it.”

I wanted to yell at her, “Quit acting like you live here!” but instead, I squeezed past her and took the stairs two at a time to my room. My handbag hung over my closet door, and I dug through it until I found my cell phone.

I drew in a sharp breath. No messages. I didn’t know what it meant, and I didn’t know if I should worry. What if Blakely had ambushed Patch? Or what if his silence was merely because we’d parted on bad terms last night? When I got angry, I wanted space, and Patch knew it.

I fired him a quick text. CAN WE TALK?

Downstairs, I heard Marcie break into a flustered argument. “I said I’ll go get her. You have to wait here. Hey! You can’t just burst in without being invited!”

“Says who?” Vee shot back, and I heard her bustle up the stairs.

I met them in the hallway outside my bedroom. “What’s going on?”

“Your fat friend elbowed her way inside without being invited,” Marcie complained.

“This skinny cow is acting like she owns the place,” Vee told me. “What is she doing here?”

“I live here now,” Marcie said.

Vee barked a laugh. “Always a funny one, you are,” she said, wagging her finger at Marcie.

Marcie’s chin jutted up. “I do live here. Go ’head. Ask Nora.”

Vee looked to me, and I sighed. “It’s temporary.”

Vee rocked back on her heels as though hit by an invisible punch. “Marcie? Living here? Am I the only one who realizes all logic just got up and walked off?”

“It was my mom’s idea,” I said.

“It was my idea, and my mom’s, but Mrs. Grey agreed it was for the best,” Marcie corrected.

Before Vee could ask more questions, I snagged her elbow and dragged her inside my bedroom. Marcie inched forward, but I shut the door on her. I was trying my hardest to be civil, but letting her in on a private conversation with Vee was taking the idea of courtesy too far.

“Why is she really here?” Vee demanded, not bothering to lower her voice.

“It’s a long story. The short of it is . . . I don’t know what she’s doing here.” Evasive, yes, but honest, too. I had no clue what Marcie was doing here. My mom had been Hank’s mistress, I was their love child, and it stood to reason that Marcie would want nothing to do with us.

“Gee, everything’s clear now,” Vee said.

Time to hit her with a distraction. “Marcie is throwing a Halloween party here at the farmhouse. Dates are required, ditto on costumes. The theme is famous couples from history.”

“And?” Vee said, not warming up at all.

“Marcie’s got dibs on Scott.”

Vee narrowed her eyes. “Like heck she does.”

“Marcie already asked him, but he didn’t sound very committed,” I offered helpfully.

Vee cracked her knuckles. “Time to work some Vee magic before it’s too late.”

My cell phone chimed with a text. GOT THE ANTIDOTE. WE NEED TO MEET, Patch’s message read.

He was okay. Tension left my shoulders.

Discreetly, I slipped my phone into my pocket and told Vee, “My mom needs me to pick up the dry cleaning and return library books. But I can swing by your place later.”

“And then we can plan how I’m going to steal Scott from the ho,” Vee said.

I gave Vee a five-minute head start, then backed the Volkswagen down the driveway.

LEAVING THE FARMHOUSE NOW, I texted to Patch. WHERE ARE YOU?

HEADING TO THE TOWNHOME, he responded.

MEET YOU THERE.

I drove to Casco Bay, too busy formulating what I’d say to Patch to take in the stunning fall scenery. I was only half-aware of the deep blue water glinting under the sun, and the waves spraying and foaming as they smashed into the craggy cliffs. I parked a few blocks from Patch’s place and let myself inside. I was first to arrive, and went out on the balcony to gather my thoughts one final time.

The air was cool and sticky with salt, with just enough breeze to raise goose bumps, and I hoped it would temper my anger and the lingering sting of betrayal. I appreciated that Patch always had my safety in mind, and I was touched by his concern and didn’t want to sound ungrateful that I was lucky enough to have a boyfriend who would go to any lengths for me, but a deal was a deal. We’d agreed to work as a team, and he’d broken my trust.

I heard the garage door glide open, followed by Patch’s motorcycle pulling in. A moment later he appeared in the living room. He kept his distance, but his eyes were all over me. His hair was wind-blown, and a dark stubble dotted his jawline. He wore the same clothes I’d last seen him in, and I knew he’d been out all night.

“Busy night?” I asked.

“I had a lot on my mind.”

“How’s Blakely?” I asked with just enough indignation to let Patch know I hadn’t forgiven or forgotten.

“He swore an oath to keep our relationship quiet.” A pause. “And he gave me the antidote.”

“So your text said.”

Patch sighed and scrubbed his hand through his hair. “So this is how it’s going to be? I get that you’re mad, but can you step back a minute and see things from my side? Blakely told me to come alone, and I didn’t trust how he’d react if I showed up with you by my side. I’m not opposed to taking risks, but not when the odds are clearly against me. He had the better hand—this time.”

“You promised we were a team.”

“I also swore to do everything in my power to protect you. I want what’s best for you. It’s as simple as that, Angel.”

“You can’t keep taking charge and then claiming that it’s for my safety.”

“Making sure you’re safe is more important to me than your goodwill. I don’t want to fight, but if you’re set on seeing me as the bad guy, so be it. Better that than lose you.” He shrugged.

I gasped at his arrogance, then promptly narrowed my eyes. “Is that really how you feel?”

“Have you ever known me to lie, especially when it comes to my feelings for you?”

I snatched my handbag off the sofa. “Forget this. I’m leaving.”

“Suit yourself. But you’re not stepping a foot outside until you’vil ut cane taken the antidote.” As if to prove his point, he leaned back against the front door, folding his arms over his chest.

Glaring at him, I said, “For all we know, the antidote could be poison.”

He shook his head. “Dabria analyzed it. It’s clean.”

I gritted my teeth. Controlling my temper was officially out of the question now. “You took Dabria, didn’t you? I guess this means the two of you are a team now,” I snapped.

“She stayed far enough off Blakely’s radar not to alert him, but got close enough to read bits and pieces of his future. Nothing there indicated foul play with regard to the antidote. He made a fair trade. The antidote is good.”

“Why don’t you try seeing things from my side?” I seethed. “I have to put up with my boyfriend choosing to work closely with his ex—she’s still in love with you, you know!”

Patch kept his steady gaze glued to me. “And I’m in love with you. Even when you’re irrational, jealous, and willful. Dabria has had substantially more practice in mind-tricks, take-downs, and fighting Nephilim in general. Sooner or later you’re going to have to start trusting me. We don’t have a lot of allies, and we need all the help we can get. As long as Dabria is contributing, I’m willing to keep her on board.”

My fists were clenched so hard, I felt my nails threaten to break skin. “In other words, I’m not good enough to be your teammate. Unlike Dabria, I don’t have any special powers!”

“That’s not it at all. We’ve been over this: If something were to happen to her, I wouldn’t consider it unfortunate. You, on the other hand—”

“Yeah, well, your actions speak for themselves.” I was hurt and angry, and determined to show Patch he was underestimating me, and all of the above led to my next startling declaration. “I’m leading the Nephilim to war against fallen angels. It’s the right thing to do. I’ll deal with the archangels later. I can live in fear of them, or I can get over myself and do what I know is best for the Nephilim. I don’t want another Nephil to swear fealty—ever. I’ve made up my mind, so don’t bother talking me out of it,” I stated bluntly.

Patch’s black eyes watched me, but he said nothing.

“I’ve been feeling this way for a while,” I said, made uncomfortable by his silence and anxious to prove my point of view. “I’m not going to let fallen angels continue to bully Nephilim.”

“Are we talking about fallen angels and Nephilim, or you and me?” Patch asked quietly at last.

“I’m tired of playing defense. Yesterday a war party of fallen angels came after me. That was the last straw. Fallen angels need to know we’re done being messed with. They’ve harassed us long enough. And the archangels? I don’t think they care. If they did, they’d have stepped in by now and put an end to devilcraft. We have to assume they know and are looking the other way.”

“Did Dante have anything to do with your decision?” Patch asked, not a single crack in his quiet composure.

His question irritated me. “I’m the leader of the Nephilim army. I call the shots.”

I expected his next question to be, “Where does this leave us?” so his ensuing words took me by surprise. “I want you by my side, Nora. Being with you is my top priority. I’ve been at war with the Nephilim a long time. It’s shaped me in ways I wish I could take back. The deception, the cheap tricks, even the brute force. There are days I wish I could go back and take a different path. I don’t want you to have the same regrets. I need to know you’re strong enough physically, but I also need to know you’re straight up here.” He touched my forehead gently. Then he caressed my cheek, holding my face in the palm of his hand. “Do you really understand what you’re getting into?”

I pulled away, but not quite so hard as I’d intended. “If you’d quit worrying about me, you’d see I’m up for this.” I thought of all the training I’d done with Dante. I thought of how gifted he believed I was at mind-tricks. Patch had no clue how far I’d come. I was stronger, faster, and more powerful than I’d ever imagined possible. I’d also been through enough over the past several months to know I was now firmly in his world. Our world. I knew what I was getting into, even if Patch didn’t like it.

“You might have stopped me from meeting Blakely, but you can’t stop the war from coming,” I pointed out. We were on the brink of a deadly and dangerous conflict. I wasn’t going to sugarcoat it, and I wasn’t about to look the other way. I was ready to fight. For Nephilim freedom. For mine.

“It’s one thing to think you’re ready,” Patch said quietly. “Jumping into war and seeing it firsthand is a different ball game. I admire your bravery, Angel, but I’m being honest when I say I think you’re rushing into this without fully weighing the consequences.”

“You think I haven’t thought this through? I’m the one who has to lead Hank’s army. I’ve spent many sleepless nights thinking this through.”

“Lead the army, yes. But no one ever said anything about fighting. You can fulfill your oath and stay far out of harm’s way. Delegate the deadliest tasks. That’s what your army is for. That’s what I’m here for.”

This argument was starting to make me bristle. “You can’t constantly protect me, Patch. I appreciate the thought, but I’m Nephilim now. I’m immortal and less in need of your protection. I’m a target of fallen angels, archangels, and other Nephilim, and there’s nothing I can do about that. Except learn to fight back.”

His eyes were clear, his tone level, but I sensed a certain sadness under his cool exterior. “You’re a strong girl, and you’re mine. But strength doesn’t always mean brute force. You don’t have to kick ass to be a fighter. Violence doesn’t equal strength. Lead your army by example. There’s a better answer to all this. War isn’t going to solve anything, but it will tear our two worlds apart, and there will be casualties, including humans. There’s nothing heroic about this war. It will lead to a destruction unlike anything you or I have ever seen.”

I swallowed. Why did Patch always have to do this? Say things that only made hathavme more conflicted. Was he telling me this because he honestly meant it, or was he trying to sweep me off the battlefield? I wanted to trust his intentions. Violence wasn’t always the way. In fact, most of the time it wasn’t. I knew that. But I saw Dante’s point of view too. I had to fight back. If I came across as weak, it only hung a larger target on my back. I had to show that I was tough and would retaliate. For the foreseeable future, physical strength mattered more than strength of character.

I pressed my fingers into my temples, trying to rub away the worry that echoed like a dull ache. “I don’t want to talk about this now. I just need—some quiet time, okay? I had a rough morning, and I’ll deal with this when I’m feeling better.”

Patch didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t say anything more on the matter.

“I’ll call you later,” I said wearily.

He retrieved a vial of milky white liquid from his pocket and handed it to me. “The antidote.”

I’d been so caught up in our argument, I’d completely forgotten about it. I scrutinized the vial suspiciously.

“I did manage to get Blakely to tell me that the knife he stabbed you with is the most powerful prototype he’s developed yet. It put twenty times the amount of devilcraft into your system than the drink Dante gave you. That’s why you need the antidote. Without it, you’ll develop an unbreakable addiction to devilcraft. In high enough doses, certain devilcraft prototypes will rot you from the inside out. They will scramble your brains same as any other lethal drug.”

Patch’s words caught me off guard. I’d woken this morning with an insatiable appetite for devilcraft because Blakely had caused me to crave it more than eating, drinking, or even breathing?

The thought of waking up every day, driven by that hunger, put a red-hot feeling of shame in my veins. I hadn’t realized how high the stakes were. Unexpectedly, I found myself grateful to Patch for getting the antidote. I’d do anything to never feel that unconquerable need again.

I unstopped the vial. “Anything I should know before I take this?” I passed the vial under my nose. No odor.

“It won’t work if you’ve had devilcraft introduced into your system in the last twenty-four hours, but that shouldn’t be a problem. It’s been well over a day since Blakely stabbed you,” Patch said.

I had the vial an inch from my lips when I stopped. Just this morning I’d consumed an entire bottle of devilcraft. If I took the antidote now, it wouldn’t work. I’d still be addicted.

“Plug your nose and tip it back. It can’t taste as bad as devilcraft,” Patch said.

I wanted to tell Patch about the bottle I’d stolen from Dante. I wanted to explain myself. He wouldn’t blame me. This was Blakely’s fault. It was the devilcraft. I’d guzzled a whole bottle of it and I’d hardly had a choice, I was so blinded by need.

I opened my mouth to confess everything, but something stopped me. A dark, foreign voice planted deep inside murmured that I didn’t want to be free of devilcraft. Not yet. I couldn’t forfeit the poford a choicwer and strength that came with it—not when we were on the brink of war. I had to keep those powers close, just in case. This wasn’t about devilcraft. It was about protecting myself.

The cravings started then, licking up my skin, watering my mouth, causing me to shudder with hunger. I pushed the feelings aside, proud of myself when I did. I wouldn’t give in the way I had this morning. I would only steal and drink devilcraft when I absolutely needed it. And I’d keep the antidote with me always, so I could break the habit whenever I wanted. I’d do it on my terms. I had a choice in this. I was in control.

Then I did something I never imagined I’d do. The impulse fired into my consciousness, and I acted without thinking. I locked eyes with Patch for the briefest of moments, summoned all my mental energy, feeling it flex inside me like a great, unleashed, and natural power, and mind-tricked him into thinking I’d taken the antidote.

Nora drank it, I whispered deceptively to his mind, planting an image there that backed up my lie. Every last drop.

Then I slipped the vial into my pocket. The whole thing was over in seconds.