Finale

CHAPTER 19

I LEFT PATCH’S PLACE, INTENDING TO DRIVE HOME, all the while combating a violent wrenching in my stomach that felt part guilt, part genuine illness. I couldn’t remember a single time in my life when I’d felt more ashamed.

Or more ravenous.

My stomach contracted, spiking with hunger pangs. They were so sharp, they left me doubled over against the steering wheel. It was as though I’d swallowed nails, and they were scraping my insides raw. I had the strangest sensation of feeling my organs shrivel. It was followed by the frightening question of whether my body would eat itself for nourishment.

But it wasn’t food I needed.

I pulled over and called Scott. “I need Dante’s address.”

“You’ve never been to his place before? Aren’t you his girlfriend?”

It irritated me that he was slowing the conversation. I needed Dante’s address; I didn’t have time to chitchat. “Do you have it or not?”

“I’ll text you the address. Something wrong? You sound antsy. Have for a few days now.”

“I’m fine,” I said, then hung up and slouched in my seat. Sweat beaded my upper lip. I clenched the steering wheel, trying to fend off the cravings that seemed to grip me by the throat and rattle me. My thoughts were glued to one word—devilcraft. I tried to swat the temptation away. I’d just taken devilcraft this morning. A whole bottle. I could beat these cravings. I decided when I needed more devilcraft. I decided when, and how much.

The prickly sweat spread to my back, little rivulets scurrying beneath my shirt. The bottoms of my thighs, hot and moist, seemed to stick to the seat cushions. Even though it was October, I blasted the AC.

I steered back onto the road, but the blare of a passing horn caused me to brake abruptly. A white van sped past, its driver making an obscene gesture through the window.

Get a grip, I told myself. Pay attention.

After a few head-clearing breaths, I uploaded the address to Dante’s house onto my cell phone. I studied the map, gave an ironic laugh, and flipped a U-turn. Dante, it seemed, lived less than five miles from Patch’s townhouse.

Ten minutes later I’d driven under a lush arch of trees canopying the road, crossed a cobblestone bridge, and parked the Volkswagen on a quaint and curving tree-lined street. Houses were predominantly white Victorians with gingerbread detail and steeply pitched roofs. All were flamboyant and excessive. I identified Dante’s—a Queen Anne at 12 Shore Drive—that was all spindles and towers and gables. The door was painted red with a big brass knocker. I skipped the knocker and went straight for the bell, pushing it repeatedly. If he didn’t hurry and answer . . .

Dante cracked the door, his face registering surprise. “How’d you find this place?”

“Scott.”

He frowned. “I don’t like people showing up at my door unexpectedly. A lot of foot traffic looks suspicious. I’ve got nosy neighbors.”

“It’s important.”

He jerked his chin back toward the road. “That piece of junk you drive is an eyesore.”

I wasn’t in the mood to exchange witty insults. If I didn’t get devilcraft into my system soon—just a few drops—my heart was going to gallop right out of my chest. Even now my pulse raced and I was laboring to draw breath. I might as well have spent the past hour running up a steep hill, I was so winded.

I said, “I changed my mind. I want devilcraft. As a backup,” I quickly added. “In case I find myself in a situation where I’m outnumbered and I need it.” I couldn’t focus long enough to tell if my reasoning sounded flimsy. Red spots flashed across my vision. I desperately wanted to wipe my brow, but I didn’t want to draw extra attention to how profusely I was sweating.

Dante gave me a questioning look I couldn’t quite interpret, then led me inside. I stood in the foyer, darting my eyes over the clean white walls and lush Oriental rugs. A hallway led back to the kitchen. Formal living room on my left, and dining room, painted the same oxblood red as my eye spots, on my right. As far as I could see, every furnishing was antique. A crystal-droplet chandelier hung overhead.

“Nice,” I managed to choke out between my skittering pulse and tingling extremities.

“The house belonged to friends. They left it to me in their will.”

“Sorry they passed.”

He strode into the dining room, tilted a large painting of a haystack to one side, and revealed the time-honored hidden wall safe. He punched in the code and opened the box.

“Here you go. It’s a new prototype. Incredibly concentrated, so drink it in low doses,” he cautioned. “Two bottles. If you decide to start taking it now, it should last a week.”

I nodded, trying to hide my watering mouth as I took the blue-glowing bottles. “There’s something I want to tell you, Dante. I’m leading the Nephilim to war. So if you can spare more than two bottles, I could use them.” I’d fully intended to tell Dante about my decision to go into battle, but I had not meant to tell him with the intent of hoping to score extra devilcraft. It seemed like a sneaky maneuver, but I was too hungry to feel much more than a pinch of guilt.

“War?” Dante repeated, sounding startled. “Are you sure?”

“You can tell the Nephilim higher-ups that I’m devising plans to go against fallen angels.”

“This is—great news,” Dante said, still sounding shell-shocked as he stuffed an extra bottle of devilcraft into my hands. “What made you change your mind?”

“A conversion of heart,” I said, because I thought it sounded good. “I’m not just leading the Nephilim. I am one.”

Dante saw me out, and it took every ounce of control to walk calmly to the Volkswagen. I kept our farewell short, then drove around the corner, immediately parked, and twisted the cap off the bottle. I was about to tip it back when the sound of Patch’s ringtone caused me to jump, splashing blue liquid on my lap.

It evaporated instantly, rising into the air like smoke from a snuffed match. I cursed under my breath, furious that I’d lost even a few precious drops.

“Hello?” I answered. The red spots streaked my vision.

“I don’t like finding you in another man’s house, Angel.”

Immediately, I looked both ways out the window. I shoved the devilcraft under my seat. “Where are you?”

“Three cars back.”

My eyes flew to the rearview mirror. Patch swung off his motorcycle and strolled toward me, phone pressed to his ear. I wiped my face with the neck of my shirt.

I cranked down my window. “Following me?” I asked Patch.

“Tracking device.”

I was starting to hate that thing.

Patch leaned a forearm on the roof of my car, bending close. “Who lives on Shore Drive?”

“That tracking device is pretty specific.”

“I only buy the best.”

“Dante lives at 12 Shore Drive.” No use lying when it sounded like he’d already done his research.

“I don’t like finding you in another man’s home, but I hate finding you in his.” His expression was calm enough, but I could tell he wanted an explanation.

“I needed to confirm our workout time for tomorrow morning. I was in the area and figured I might as well stop by.” The lie slipped out easy, so easy. All I could think of was getting rid of Patch. My throat filled with the taste of devilcraft. I swallowed impatiently.

y.

Gently, Patch pushed my sunglasses higher on my nose, then bent through the window and kissed me. “I’m on my way to research a few more leads into Pepper’s blackmailer. Need anything before I head out?”

I shook my head no.

“If you need to talk, you know I’m here for you,” he added softly.

“Talk about what?” I asked, almost defensively. Could he know about the devilcraft? No. No, he couldn’t.

He studied me a moment. “Anything.”

I waited until Patch drove off before I drank, one greedy sip at a time, until I was full.