Finale

her indifference was an act to get me to divulge.

I wasn’t going to walk into a trap, if that’s what this was.

“It’s not easy losing your dad, believe me,” I said. “The pain never really goes away, but it does eventually become bearable. And somehow, life moves on.”

“I’m not looking for a sympathy card, Nora.”

“Okay,” I said with a reluctant shrug. “If you ever need to talk, I guess you can call me.”

“I won’t have to. I’m moving in with you,” Marcie announced. “I’ll bring my stuff over later this week. My mom is driving me crazy, and we both agree I need somewhere else to crash for a while. Your place is as good as any. Well, I for one am so glad we had this talk. If there’s one thing my dad taught me, it’s that Nephilim stick together.”

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.”