Finale

personal irritation aside and concentrated on the task at hand. With my nets still swimming through Dante’s mind, I envisioned first ensnaring his thoughts, and then pulling them apart one small thread at a time. The image in my head wasn’t all that different from peeling apart string cheese, one thin ribbon after another.

Work faster, Dante ordered. I feel you in my head, but you’re not causing any turbulence. Make waves, Nora. Rock the boat. Hit me before I even see it coming. Think of this as an ambush. If I were a real opponent, all this would accomplish is letting me know you’re dabbling in my head. And that will put you face-to-face with one very pissed-off fallen angel.

I backed out of Dante’s mind, drew a deep breath, and threw my nets again—farther this time. Shutting my eyes to block out any distractions, I created a new image. Scissors. Giant, gleaming scissors. I snipped apart Dante’s thoughts—

“Faster,” Dante barked. “I can feel your hesitancy. You’re so unsure of yourself, I can practically smell your self-doubt. Any fallen angel worth his weight will pounce on that. Take control!”

I retreated again, balling my hands into fists as I grew more frustrated. With Dante, and myself. He pushed too hard and set expectations too high. And I couldn’t banish the voices of doubt sniggering in my head. I berated myself for being the very thing Dante believed I was. Weak.

I’d come out this morning to keep up relations with Dante, motivated by using him to get to Blakely and his devilcraft lab, but that meant nothing to me now. I wanted to own this. Fury and resentment popped behind my eyes like little red dots. My vision narrowed. I didn’t want to be inadequate anymore. I didn’t want to be smaller, slower, weaker. Fierce determination seemed to set my blood to boil. My entire body quaked with obstinate resolve as I leveled my gaze on Dante. Everything else dropped away. There was only me, and him.

I cast a mental net into Dante’s mind with all the fervor I had. I threw my anger at Hank, my insecurities with myself, and the awful tug-of-war sensation ripping me apart every time I thought about choosing between Patch and the Nephilim into Dante’s mind. Instantly I envisioned a massive explosion, clouds of smoke and debris mushrooming higher, endlessly higher. I set off another explosion, and another. I wreaked havoc on any hope he had at keeping his thoughts orderly.

Dante rocked back on his heels, visibly shaken. “How did you do that?” he finally managed to ask. “I—couldn’t see. I’m not even sure where I was.” He blinked several times in succession, staring at me like he wasn’t sure I was real. “It was like—hanging between two moments in time. There was nothing. Nothing. It was like I didn’t exist. I’ve never had anything like that happen before.”

“I imagined I was setting off bombs in your head,” I confessed.

“Well, it worked.”

“So I passed?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Dante told me, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’ve been doing this a long time, and I’ve never seen anything like that.”

I wasn’t sure whether I should feel elated over finally doing something right, or guilty over having been surprisingly good at invading Dante’s mind. It wasn’t the most honorable talent to excel at. If I could have any trophy displayed on my dresser, I wouldn’t voluntarily choose one for corrupting people’s minds.

“Then I guess we’re done here?” I asked.

“Until tomorrow,” Dante said, his expression still dazed. “Good work, Nora.”

I jogged the rest of the way home at a normal human pace—an excruciatingly lagging six miles per hour— because the sun had started to rise, and while I didn’t sense any humans in the vicinity, it didn’t hurt to be prudent. I came out of the woods, crossed the street to the farmhouse, and stopped abruptly at the base of the driveway.

Marcie Millar’s red Toyota 4Runner was parked directly ahead.

With an ever-increasing tightening of my stomach, I jogged up the porch. Several moving boxes were stacked by the door. I shoved my way into the house, but before I could get a word out, my mom jumped up from the kitchen table.

“There you are!” she exclaimed impatiently. “Where have you been? Marcie and I have spent the past half hour trying to figure out where you could have run off to at this hour.”

Marcie sat at my kitchen table, hands cupped around a mug of coffee. She gave me an innocent smile.

“I went jogging,” I said.

“I can see that,” Mom stated. “I just wish you would have told me. You didn’t even bother to leave a note.”

“It’s seven in the morning. You’re supposed to be in bed. What is she doing here?”

“I’m right here,” Marcie said sweetly. “You can talk to me.”

I settled my eyes on her. “Fine. What are you doing here?”

“I told you. I’m not getting along with my mom. We need some breathing room. For the time being, I think it’s better if I move in with you guys. My mom doesn’t have a problem with it.” Not looking the least bit disconcerted, she took a sip of coffee.

“Why would you think that was a good idea, let alone a reasonable one?”

Marcie rolled her eyes. “Hello. We’re family.”

My jaw fell open, and my eyes immediately cut to my mom. To my disbelief, she didn’t look rattled.

“Oh, come on, Nora,” she said. “We all knew it, even if no one was willing to say it. Under the circumstances, Hank would want me to take Marcie in with open arms.”

I was speechless. How could she be kind to Marcie? Could she not remember our history with the Millars?

This was Hank’s fault, I seethed inwardly. I’d hoped his grip on my mom would end with his death, but every time I tried to talk to her about him, she adopted the same serene attitude: Hank was coming back to her, she wanted him to, and she’d wait stalwartly until he did. Her bizarre behavior was further evidence of my theory: Hank had employed some crazy devilcraft mind-trick on her before he died. No amount of arguing on my part would penetrate her picture-perfect recollection of one of the vilest men to ever inhabit our planet.

“Marcie is family, and while the circumstances are a bit sticky, she was right to come to us for help. If you can’t count on family, who can you count on?” Mom went on.

I was still staring at my mom, frustrated by her sedate attitude, when a second light went on. Of course. Hank wasn’t the only one to blame in this charade. How had it taken me this long to catch on? I swiveled my eyes to Marcie.

Are you mind-tricking her? I said accusingly to her mind. Is that it? I know you’re doing something, because there is no way my mom in her rational mind would let you move in with us.

Marcie’s hand flew to her head, and she yelped. “Ow! How did you do that?”

Don’t play dumb with me. I know you’re a Nephil, remember? You can perform mind-tricks and you can mind-speak. Whatever this little act is? I see right through it. And there is no way you’re moving in.

Fine, Marcie fired back. I know about mind-speak. And I know about mind-tricks. But I’m not using them on your mom. My mom justifies all her crazy behavior by saying my dad would have wanted it that way too, you know. He probably mind-tricked both our moms before he died. He wouldn’t have wanted our families fighting. Don’t blame me just because I’m an available target for your anger.

“Marcie, I’ll have the spare bedroom cleared out for you by the time you get home from school this afternoon,” Mom said, looking daggers at me. “You’ll have to forgive Nora for being so ungracious. She’s used to being an only child and getting her way. Maybe this new living arrangement will give her a new outlook.”

“I’m used to getting my way?” I challenged. “Marcie’s an only child too. If we’re going to point fingers, let’s be fair about it.”

Marcie smiled, clasping her hands together in delight. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Grey. I really appreciate it.” She had the audacity to bound over and hug my mom.

“Kill me now,” I muttered.