Finale

CHAPTER 20

THURSDAY EVENING ARRIVED, AND WITH IT, THE complete transformation of the farmhouse. Garlands of autumn leaves in scarlet, gold, and chestnut spilled off the eaves. Bushels of dried cornstalks framed the door. Marcie had purchased what appeared to be every pumpkin and gourd in all of Maine, and lined them up along the sidewalk, the driveway, and every last square inch of porch. Some were carved into jack-o’-lanterns, flickering candlelight in their spooky expressions. A vindictive part of me wanted to tell her it looked like a craft store had thrown up on our lawn, but the truth was, she’d done a nice job.

Inside, haunted music played from the stereo. Skulls, bats, cobwebs, and ghosts cluttered the furniture. Marcie had rented a dry-ice machine—as if we didn’t have enough authentic fog in the yard.

I had two paper bags filled with last-minute items in my arms, and I carted them into the kitchen.

“I’m back!” I yelled. “Plastic cups, one bag of spider rings, two bags of ice, and more skeleton confetti—just like you asked. Soda is still in the trunk. Any volunteers to help carry it in?”

Marcie sashayed into the room, and I did a jaw drop. She wore a black vinyl bra and matching leggings. Nothing more. Her ribs poked through her skin, and she had total Popsicle-stick thighs. “Put the soda in the fridge, the ice in the freezer, and sprinkle the skeleton confetti on the dining room table, but don’t get any in the food. That’s it for now. Stay close in case I need anything else. I have to go finish my costume.”

“Well, that’s a relief. For a minute there, I thought that was all you planned on wearing,” I said, gesturing at the skimpy vinyl.

Marcie glanced down. “It is. I’m Catwoman. I just need to hot-glue black felt ears to my headband.”

“You’re wearing a bra to the party? Just a bra?”

“A bandeau.”

Oh, this was going to be good. I couldn’t wait for Vee’s commentary. “Who’s Batman?”

“Robert Boxler.”

“I guess that means Scott bailed?” It was more of a rhetorical . IacRomaquestion. Just to give the proverbial knife one last twist.

Marcie gave her shoulders a pompous little hike. “Scott who?” she said, and marched upstairs.

“He chose Vee over you!” I called triumphantly after her.

“I don’t care,” Marcie singsonged back. “You probably made him. It’s no secret he does everything you say. Put the soda in the fridge before the turn of the century.”

I stuck my tongue out, even though she couldn’t see it. “I have to get ready too, you know!”

At seven, the first guests arrived. Romeo and Juliet, Cleopatra and Mark Anthony, Elvis and Priscilla. Even a bottle of ketchup and mustard strolled through the front door. I let Marcie play hostess and moseyed into the kitchen, stacking my plate with deviled eggs, cocktail wieners, and candy corn. I’d been too busy granting Marcie’s every pre-party command to eat dinner. That, and the new formula of devilcraft Dante had given me, seemed to curb my appetite for the first several hours after I took it.

I’d done a reasonably good job of rationing it and still had enough to last a few more days. The night sweats, headaches, and strange tingling sensation that would seize me at the oddest moments when I’d first started taking the new formula had gone away. I was sure this meant that the dangers of addiction had passed and I’d learned to use devilcraft safely. Moderation was key. Blakely might have tried to hook me on devilcraft, but I was strong enough to set my own limits.

The effects of devilcraft were unbelievable. I’d never felt so mentally and physically superior. I knew I had to stop taking it eventually, but with the stress and dangers of Cheshvan and war looming, I was glad I was being cautious. If another of my doubting Nephilim soldiers attacked me, this time I’d be ready.

After filling up on appetizers and Sprite served from a black cauldron, I elbowed my way into the living room, looking to see whether Vee and Scott had arrived. The lights were dimmed, everyone was in costume, and I had a hard time picking faces out of the crowd. Plus, I’d peeked at the guest list. It was heavily weighted in favor of Marcie’s friends.

“Love the costume, Nora. But you’re anything but a devil.”

I looked sideways at Morticia Addams. I squinted in confusion, then smiled. “Oh, hey, Bailey. I almost didn’t recognize you with black hair.” Bailey sat beside me in math, and we’d been friends since junior high. I picked up my devil tail, with the little red spade at the tip, to save it from the guy behind me, who kept accidentally stepping on it, and said, “Thanks for coming tonight.”

“Did you finish your math homework? I didn’t understand a single thing Mr. Huron tried to teach us today. Every time he started working a problem on the chalkboard, he’d stop halfway through, erase his work, and start over. I don’t think he knows what he’s doing.”

“Yeah, I’m probably going to spend hours on it tomorrow.”

Her eyes lit up. “We should meet at the library and do it together.”

“I promised my mom I’d clean out the cellar after school,” I hedged. uo;d do it Truth be told, homework had slipped a few notches on my list of priorities as of late. It was hard to stress about school when I feared that any day now the eerie cease-fire between fallen angels and Nephilim was going to snap. Fallen angels were up to something. And I’d give anything to find out what.

“Oh. Maybe next time,” Bailey said, sounding disappointed.

“Have you seen Vee?”

“Not yet. Who is she coming as?”

“A babysitter. Her date is Michael Myers from Halloween,” I explained. “If you see her, tell her I’m looking for her.”

When I made it across the living room, I bumped into Marcie and her date, Robert Boxler.

“Food status?” Marcie asked me authoritatively.

“My mom’s handling it.”

“Music?”

“Derrick Coleman is DJ.”

“Are you working the crowd? Is everyone having fun?”

“I just finished a round.” More or less.

Marcie eyed me with criticism. “Where’s your date?”

“Does it matter?”

“I heard you’re dating some new guy. I heard he doesn’t go to school. Who is he?”

“Who’d you hear that from?” Guess word about Dante and me was getting around after all.

“Does it matter?” she echoed snidely. She scrunched her nose in distaste. “What are you dressed up as?”

“She’s a devil,” Robert said. “Pitchfork, horns, red vamp dress.”

“Don’t forget the black combat boots,” I said, showing them off. I had Vee to thank for them, as well as the red glitter laces.

“I can see that,” Marcie said. “But the party’s theme is famous couples. A devil doesn’t go with anything.”

Just then Patch ambled through the front door. I did a double take to make sure it was really him. I hadn’t expected him to come. We’d never resolved our fight, and I’d pridefully refused to take the first step, forcing myself to lock my cell phone in a drawer every time I was tempted to call him and apologize, despite my increasing distress that he might never call either. My pride immediately turned to relief at the sight of him. I hated fighting. I hated not having him close. If he was ready to mend this, so was I.

A smile flickered over my face at the sight of his costume: black jeans, black T-shirt, black face mask. The latter concealed all but his cool, assessing gaze.

“There’s my date,” I said. “Fashionably late.”

Marcie and Robert turned. Patch gave me a low wave and handed his leather jacket to some poor freshman Marcie had roped into coat duty. The price some girls would pay to attend an upperclassman party was almost shameful.

“No fair,” Robert said, taking off his Batman mask. “The dude didn’t dress up.”

“Whatever you do, don’t call him dude,” I told Robert, smiling at Patch as he made his way over.

“Do I know him?” Marcie asked. “Who is he supposed to be?”

“He’s an angel,” I said. “A fallen angel.”

“That isn’t what a fallen angel looks like!” Marcie protested.

Shows how much you know, I thought, just as Patch slung his arm around my neck and pulled me into a light kiss.

I’ve missed you, he spoke to my thoughts.

Same here. Let’s not fight anymore. Can we put it behind us?

Consider it done. How’s the party going? he asked.

I haven’t felt like jumping off the roof yet.

Glad to hear it.

“Hi there,” Marcie said to Patch, her tone more flirtatious than I would have thought with her date standing inches away.

“Hey,” Patch returned, extending acknowledgment with a brief nod.

“Do I know you?” she asked, tilting her head inquisitively to one side. “Do you go to CHS?”

“No,” he said without elaborating.

“Then how do you know Nora?”

“Who doesn’t know Nora?” he returned mildly.

“This is my date, Robert Boxler,” Marcie told him with an air of superiority. “He plays quarterback for the football team.”

“Impressive,” Patch answered, his tone just polite enough to scrape by as interested. “How’s the season shaping up, Robert?”

“We’ve had a few rough games, but it’s nothing we can’t bounce back from,” Marcie cut in, patting Robert’s chest consolingly.

“What gym do you use?” Robert asked Patch, eyeing his physique with open admiration. And envy.

“Haven’t had a lot of time lately for the gym.”

“Well, you look great, man. If you ever want to lift weights together, call me.”

“Good luck with the rest of the season,” Patch told Robert, giving him one of those tricky handshakes all guys seem to know instinctively.

Patch and I wandered deeper into the house, winding through hallways and rooms, trying to find a secluded corner. At last he pulled me inside the powder room, kicked the door shut, and locked it. He leaned me back against the wall and fingered one of my red devil ears, his eyes deep black with desire.

“Nice costume,” he said.

“Ditto. I can tell you put a lot of thought into yours.”

Amusement curled his mouth. “If you don’t like it, I can take it off.”

I tapped my chin thoughtfully. “That just might be the best proposal I’ve had all night.”

“My offers are always the best, Angel.”

“Before the party started, Marcie asked me to lace up the back of her Catwoman suit.” I raised and lowered my hands in a weighing gesture. “Between both offers, it’s a tough call.”

Patch removed his mask and laughed softly into my neck, brushing my hair back off my shoulders. He smelled incredible. He felt warm and solid and so very close. My heart beat faster, squeezing with guilt. I’d lied to Patch. I couldn’t forget. I shut my eyes, letting his mouth explore mine, trying to lose myself in the moment. All the while, the lies beat, beat, beat, in my head. I’d taken devilcraft, and I’d mind-tricked him. I was still taking devilcraft.

“Trouble with your costume is, it doesn’t hide your identity very well,” I said, pulling back. “And we’re not supposed to be seen together in public, remember?”

“Just stopping by for a minute. Couldn’t miss my girl’s party,” he murmured. He lowered his head to kiss me again.

“Vee’s still not here,” I said. “I tried her cell. And Scott’s. I got sent to voice mail both times. Should I worry?”

“Maybe they don’t want to be disturbed,” he spoke into my ear, his voice deep and gravelly. He pushed my dress higher up my leg, stroking his thumb over my bare thigh. The warmth of his caress overrode my bad conscience. Sensation shivered through me. I shut my eyes again, this time involuntarily. All the knots loosened. My breath came a little faster. He knew just how to touch me.

Patch lifted me onto the sink’s ledge, his hands splayed on my hips. I got warm and woozy inside, and when he put his mouth on mine, I could have sworn sparks went off. His touch seared me with passion. The fluttery, intoxicating liquid heat of being near him never grew old, no matter how many times we touched, flirted, kissed. If anything, that electric jolt intensified. I wanted Patch, and I didn’t trust myself when I did.

I don’t know how long the bathroom door stood open before I noticed. I jerked away from Patch, mouth gaping. My mom stood in the shadowy entrance, muttering about how the lock had never worked properly, and she’d been meaning to fix it for ages, when her eyes must have adjusted to the dimness, because she stopped mid-apology.

Her mouth snapped shut. Her face blanched . . . then flushed a deep, sizzling red. I’d never seen her look so enraged. “Out!” She flung her finger away. “Out of my house this instant, and don’t think of coming back, or touching my daughter again!” she hissed at Patch, livid.

I jumped off the sink. “Mom—”

She turned on me. “Not a word from you!” she sputtered. “You said you broke up with him. You said it—this thing—between you and him—it was over. You lied to me!”

“I can explain,” I started, but she’d swiveled back to Patch.

“Is this what you do? Seduce young girls in their own homes, with their own mothers standing feet away? You should be ashamed of yourself!”

Patch laced his hand in mine, gripping it tightly. “Quite the opposite, Blythe. Your daughter means everything to me. Completely and wholly. I love her—it’s as simple as that.” He spoke with calm assurance, but his jaw was as rigid as if cut from stone.

“You destroyed her life! From the moment she met you, everything fell apart. You can deny it all you want, but I know you were involved in her kidnapping. Get out of my house,” she snarled.

I clung to Patch’s hand fiercely, murmuring, I’m sorry, so sorry, over and over in mind-speak. I’d spent the summer locked away against my will in a remote cabin. Hank Millar was the mastermind behind my imprisonment, but my mom didn’t know that. Her mind had erected a wall around his memory, trapping in everything good and casting out the rest. I blamed Hank, and I blamed devilcraft. She’d worked it out in her mind that Patch had been responsible for my kidnapping, and it was as much a truth to her as the sun rising each morning.

“I should get going,” Patch told me, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. I’ll call you later, he added privately to my thoughts.

“I should think so!” my mom snapped, her shoulders rising from the exertion of breathing heavily.

She stepped aside, allowing Patch to exit, but closed off the doorway before I could escape.

“You’re grounded,” she said in a voice like iron. “Enjoy the party while it lasts, because it’s going to be your last social event for a long, long time.”

“Are you even interested in hearing me out?” I shot back, enraged by the way she’d treated Patch.

“I need time to cool down. It’s in your best interest to give me some space. I might be in the mood to talk tomorrow, but that’s the last thing I’m interested in right now. You lied to me. You went behind my back. Worse, I had to find you stripping off your clothes with him in our bathroom. Our bathroom! He wants one thing from you, Nora, and he’ll take it wherever he can get it. There’s nothing special about losing your virginity over a toilet.”

“I wasn’t—we weren’t—my virginity?” I shook my head and made a disgusted gesture. “Forget it. You’re right—you don’t want to listen. You never have. Not when it comes to Patch.”

“Everything okay here?”

My mom and I turned to find Marcie standing just outside the door. She held an empty cauldron in her arms and hitched her shoulders apologetically. “Sorry to interrupt, but we’ve run out of monster eyeballs, aka peeled grapes.”

My mom shoved some hair off her face, trying to collect herself. “Nora and I were just finishing up. I can make a quick run to the store for grapes. Anything else we’re low on?”

“Nacho cheese dip,” Marcie said in this timid mouse voice, as if she hated imposing on my mom’s kindness. “But it’s ut youreally no big deal. I mean, it’s only nacho dip. There will be nothing to go with the chips, of course, and it is my favorite, but really and truly—no big deal.” The tiniest sigh escaped her.

“Fine. Grapes and nacho dip. Anything else?” my mom asked.

Marcie hugged the cauldron and beamed. “Nope. That’s it.”

My mom fished her keys out of her pocket and walked off, her every movement harsh and stiff. Marcie, however, stayed put.

“You could always mind-trick her, you know. Make her think Patch was never here.”

I turned cool eyes on Marcie. “How much did you hear?”

“Enough to know you’re in deep crapola.”

“I’m not going to mind-trick my own mom.”

“If you want, I could talk to her.”

I breathed a laugh. “You? My mom doesn’t care what you think, Marcie. She took you in under some misguided sense of hospitality. And probably to prove something to your mom. The only reason you’re living under this roof is so my mom can throw it in your mom’s face: She was the better lover, and now she’s the better mother.” It was a horrible thing to say. It had sounded better in my head, but Marcie didn’t give me time to amend my statement.

“You’re trying to make me feel bad, but it won’t work. You’re not going to ruin my party.” But I thought I saw her lip wobble. With an intake of air, she seemed to collect herself.

Suddenly, as if nothing had happened, she said in a bizarrely cheerful voice, “I think it’s time to play Bob-for-a-Date.”

“Bob-for-a-what?”

“It’s like bobbing for apples, except every apple has a name of someone from the party attached. Whoever you draw is your next blind date. We play it every year at my Halloween party.”

I frowned. We hadn’t gone over this game idea beforehand. “Sounds tacky.”

“It’s a blind date, Nora. And since you’re grounded for eternity, what have you got to lose?” She pushed me into the kitchen, toward the giant tub of water with red and green apples floating in it. “Hey, everyone, listen up!” Marcie called over the music. “Time to play Bob-for-a-Date. Nora Grey goes first.”

Applause broke out across the kitchen, along with catcalls and a few shouts and whistles of encouragement. I stood there, mouth moving but emitting no words, cursing Marcie fluently in my mind.

“I don’t think I’m the best person for this,” I yelled at her over the noise. “Can I pass?”

“Not a chance.” She gave me what looked like a playful shove, but it was forceful enough to send me stumbling to my knees in front of the tub of apples.

I shot her a look of pure indignation. I’ll make you pay for this, I told her.

“Pull your hair back. Nobody wants nasty stray hairs floating in the watingthis,

In agreement, the crowd roared a collective “Booo.”

“Red apples are matched to boys’ names,” Marcie added. “Green to girls’.”

Fine! Whatever! Just get this over with, I told myself. It wasn’t like I had anything to lose: Starting tomorrow, I was grounded. There were no blind dates in my future, game or no.

I dipped my face into the cold water. My nose bumped into one apple after another, but I couldn’t sink my teeth into any of them. I came up for air, and my ears rang with boos and jeering hisses.

“Give me a break!” I said. “I haven’t done this since I was five. That should say a lot about this game!” I added.

“Nora hasn’t had a blind date since she was five,” Marcie said, misinterpreting my meaning and adding her own commentary.

“You are so next up,” I told Marcie, glaring at her from my knees.

“If there is a next. Looks to me like you might be sucking face with apples all night,” she returned sweetly, and the crowd howled with amusement.

I plunged my head into the tub, snapping my teeth at apples. Water sloshed over the rim, drenching the front of my red devil costume. I came this close to grabbing an apple with my hand and pressing it into my mouth, but figured Marcie would disqualify the move. I wasn’t in the mood for a do-over. Just as I was about to come up for another breath, my front teeth crunched into a bloodred apple.

I surfaced, shaking water out of my hair to the sounds of cheering and applause. I chucked the apple at Marcie and grabbed a towel, patting my face dry.

“And the lucky guy who gets a blind date with our drowned rat here is . . .” Marcie pulled a sealed tube from the center of the cored apple. She uncurled the scroll of paper inside the tube, and her nose wrinkled. “Baruch? Just Baruch?” She pronounced it like Bar-ooch. “Am I saying that right?” she asked the audience.

No response. Already people were shuffling away now that the immediate entertainment had ended. I was grateful that Bar-ooch, whoever he was, appeared to be a fake entry. Either that, or he was too mortified to own up to a date with me.

Marcie stared me down, as though expecting me to admit I knew the guy.

“He’s not one of your friends?” I asked her as I scrunched the tips of my hair in the towel.

“No. I thought he was one of yours.”

I was on the verge of wondering whether this was another one of her bizarre games, when the lights in the house flickered. Once, twice, then they shut off completely. The music faded to eerie silence. There was a moment of stupefied confusion, and then the screaming started. Baffled and jumbled at first, rising to a hair-raising note of terror. The screams preceded the unmistakable thud of bodies being thrown against the living room walls.

“Nora!” Marcie cried. “What’s going on?”

I didn’t have a chance to answer. ce h? JusAn invisible force seemed to smack me back a step, rendering me paralyzed. Cold, crisp energy coiled up my body. The air crackled and flexed with the power of multiple fallen angels. Their sudden appearance in the farmhouse was as tangible as a gust of arctic wind. I didn’t know how many there were, or what they wanted, but I could feel them move deeper into the house, spreading out to fill every room.

“Nora, Nora. Come out and play,” a male voice singsonged. Unfamiliar and eerily falsetto.

I drew two shallow breaths. At least now I knew what they were after.

“I’ll find you my sweet, my pet,” he continued to croon in chilling tones.

He was close, so close. I crawled behind the family room sofa, but someone had beat me to the hiding place.

“Nora? Is that you? What’s going on?” Andy Smith asked me. He sat two chairs behind me in math and was Marcie’s friend Addyson’s boyfriend. I could feel the heat of his sweat rising off him.

“Quiet,” I instructed him softly.

“If you won’t come to me, I’ll come to you,” the fallen angel sang out.

His mental power sliced into me like a hot knife. I gasped as he felt around inside my mind, probing every which way, analyzing my thoughts to determine where I was hiding. I threw up wall after wall to stop him, but he plowed through them like I’d constructed them from dust. I tried to recall every defense mechanism Dante had taught me against mind-invasion, but the fallen angel moved too fast. He was always two—dangerous—steps ahead. I’d never had a fallen angel have this effect on me before. There was only one way to describe it. He was directing all his mental energy at me through a magnifying glass, amplifying the effect.

Without warning, an orange glow flared in my mind. A great furnace of energy blasted across my skin. I felt the heat of it melt my clothes. Flames chewed through the fabric, raking my skin with hot torment. In unimaginable agony, I coiled into a ball. I tucked my head between my knees, grinding my teeth to keep from screaming. The fire wasn’t real. It had to be a mind-trick. But I didn’t really believe it. The heat was so blistering, I was sure he really had lit me on fire.

“Stop!” I finally cried out, lunging into the open and writhing on the floor—anything to suffocate the flames devouring my flesh.

In that instant, the fiery heat vanished, though I hadn’t felt the water that had surely extinguished it. I lay on my back, my face bathed in sweat. It hurt to breathe.

“Everyone out,” the fallen angel commanded.

I’d almost forgotten there were others in the room. They would never forget this. How could they? Did they understand what was happening? Did they know this hadn’t been staged for the party? I prayed someone would go for help. But the farmhouse was so remote. It would take time to bring help.

And the only person who could help was Patch, and I had no way to reach him.

Legs and feet scrabbled across the floor, darting for the exit. Andy Smith dodged from behind the sofa and plowed frantically through the doorway.

es ewedI lifted my head just high enough to look at the fallen angel. It was dark, but I saw a towering, skeletal, half-naked silhouette. And two savage, glittering eyes.

The bare-chested fallen angel from the Devil’s Handbag and the woods watched me. His disfiguring hieroglyphics seemed to twitch and flutter over his skin, as though attached to invisible strings. In realty, I was sure they moved with the rise and fall of his breathing. I couldn’t peel my eyes away from the small, raw wound on his chest.

“I’m Baruch.” He pronounced it Ba-rewk.

I scooted to the corner of the room, wincing in pain.

“Cheshvan has started, and I don’t have a Nephil vassal,” he said. He kept his tone conversational, but there was no light in his eyes. No light, and no warmth.

Too much adrenaline made my legs feel twitchy and weighted. I didn’t have many options. I wasn’t strong enough to barrel past him. I couldn’t fight him—if I tried, one call to his buddies would leave me outnumbered in seconds. I cursed my mom for kicking Patch out. I needed him. I couldn’t do this on my own. If Patch were here, he’d know what to do.

Baruch traced his tongue along the inside of his lip. “The leader of the Black Hand’s army, and what am I to do with her?”

He plunged into my mind. I felt him do it, but I was powerless to prevent it. I was too exhausted to fight. The next thing I knew, I had crawled obediently over and lay at his feet like a dog. He kicked me onto my back, gazing predatorily down at me. I wanted to bargain with him, but my teeth were clenched so tightly, it was as if my jaw had been sewn shut.

You can’t argue with me, he whispered hypnotically to my mind. You can’t refuse me. Whatever I command, you must do.

I tried unsuccessfully to shut out his voice. If I could break his control, I could fight back. It was my only shot.

“How does it feel to be a brand-new Nephil?” he murmured in a cold, scornful voice. “The world is no place for a Nephil without a master. I’ll protect you from other fallen angels, Nora. From now on, you belong to me.”

“I don’t belong to anyone,” I spat, the words slamming out of me with grueling effort.

He exhaled, slow and deliberate. It came out like a chastising whistle between his teeth. “I’ll break you, my pet. Just see if I won’t,” he growled.

I looked at him square on. “You made a big mistake coming here tonight, Baruch. You made a big mistake coming after me.”

He grinned, a flash of sharp white teeth. “I’m going to enjoy this.” He took a step closer, power spilling off him. He was almost as strong as Patch, but there was a bloodthirsty edge to his power that I’d never felt with Patch. I didn’t know how long ago Baruch had fallen from heaven, but I knew without any doubt that he had given himself over to evil, wholeheartedly.

“Swear your oath of fealty, Nora Grey,” he ordered.