Finale

dad.”

Marcie almost flinched, but caught herself at the last moment. Her eyes stared ahead without blinking, giving away nothing to her thoughts. “I want to be there when you ask him.”

“Sure,” I lied again. “No problem.”

I watched Marcie back down the driveway. As soon as she cleared the curb, I shoved the key into the Volkswagen’s ignition. Six attempts later, it still hadn’t whined to life. I brushed aside my impatience; nothing could sour my mood, not even the Volkswagen. I’d just found the lead I’d so desperately needed.

After school I drove to Patch’s. I did the safety-conscious thing and circled the block a few times before parking in the freshly paved lot with extra-wide parking spaces. I didn’t like feeling like I constantly had to watch my back, but I liked surprise visits from unfriendly Nephilim and devious archangels even less. And as far as the outside world knew, Patch and I were Splitsville. Using my key, I let myself inside.

“Hello?” I called out. The place felt empty. The couch cushions weren’t indented from a recent sitting, and the TV remote hadn’t moved since yesterday. Not that I could picture Patch sitting around watching ESPN all afternoon. If I had to guess, he’d probablyquo when you spent the day trying to find Pepper’s real blackmailer or tracking down Cowboy Hat and Co.

I walked deeper into the townhome. Half bath on the right, spare bedroom on the left, master bedroom at the back. Patch’s lair.

His bed had a navy duvet with matching navy sheets and decorative pillows that also didn’t appear touched. I opened the shutters and drank in the breathtaking panoramic views of Casco Bay and Peaks Island under an overcast sky. If Marcie got to be too much, I could always move in with Patch. My mom would love that.

I sent Patch a text. GUESS WHERE I AM?

I DON’T HAVE TO GUESS. YOU’RE WEARING THE TRACKING DEVICE, he answered.

I looked down. Sure enough, I’d worn the jean jacket today.

GIVE ME 20 AND I’LL BE THERE, Patch texted. WHICH ROOM SPECIFICALLY ARE YOU IN?

YOUR BEDROOM.

MAKE THAT TEN MINUTES.

I smiled and tucked my cell phone inside my purse. Then I flopped back on the king-size bed. The mattress was soft, but not too soft. I imagined Patch lying here, stretched out on this very bed, wearing who knew what. Boxers? Briefs? Nothing at all? I had the means and the method to find out, but going down that route didn’t feel like the safest option. Not when I was doing my best to keep my relationship with Patch as uncomplicated as possible. I needed our lives to calm down before I figured out when and if I wanted to take that next big step . . .

Ten minutes later Patch strolled in to find me channel surfing on the couch. I clicked off the TV.

“You moved rooms,” he said.

“It’s safer this way.”

“I’m that scary?”

“No, but the consequences might be.” Who was I kidding? Yes, Patch was that scary. At six foot two, he was the embodiment of male physical perfection. I had a slim, well-proportioned figure, and I knew I was attractive, but I was no supergoddess. I didn’t suffer from low self-esteem, but I was susceptible to intimidation, thank you very much.

“I heard about Cheshvan,” I said. “I heard it was a little anticlimactic.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear. Things are still pretty tense out there.”

“Any idea what fallen angels are waiting for?”

“Who wants to know?”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “I’m not spying for Dante.”

“Happy to hear it.” Patch’s tone was carefully noncommittal.

I sighed, hating this tension between us. “In case you’re wondering, I made my choice. I’m yours,” I said softly. “All yours.”

Patch tossed his keys in the dish. “But?”

“But this morning, I basically told Dante the same thing. I thought about what you said—that we need to find Blakely and eradicate devilcraft. I decided Dante was probably my best shot at getting anywhere near Blakely, so I sort of . . .” It was hard to say it out loud and not feel like total slime.

“You’re playing him.”

“It sounds horrible when you put it that way, but yeah. I guess that’s what I’m doing.” Coming clean didn’t make me feel any better. Dante and I didn’t always see eye to eye on things, but he didn’t deserve to be manipulated, either.

“Is he still pretending to date you?” Patch’s tone chilled a degree.

“If I had to guess, he’s been planting seeds about our relationship for days now. Either way, it’s a hoax, and he knows that better than anyone.”

Patch sat down beside me. Unlike usual, he didn’t lace his fingers through mine.

I tried not to let it bother me, but a lump caught in my throat. “Cheshvan?” I prompted again.

“I know about as much as you. I’ve made it clear to fallen angels that I want nothing to do with this war. They resent me and clam up when I’m around. I’m not going to be the best source of information on fallen angel activity anytime soon.” He tilted his head back to take advantage of the sofa’s headrest and covered his face with his ball cap. I half expected him to start snoring, he looked so tired.

“Long day?” I asked.

He made a grunt of agreement. “I chased around a few leads on Pepper, hoping to shed some light on the identity of his blackmailer, but ended up back at square one. I can handle a lot of things, but an unproductive day isn’t one of them.”

“This from the guy who’s constantly trying to convince me to spend the day in bed with him,” I teased, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Angel, that would be a very productive day.” His words were playful, but his tone sounded more worn out than anything.

“Any chance Dabria is the blackmailer?” I asked. “The other night at the Devil’s Handbag, I saw her arguing with Pepper in the alley. He didn’t look happy.”

Patch grew still, pondering this news.

“Do you think it’s possible?” I pressed.

“Dabria isn’t blackmailing Pepper.”

“How do you know?” I didn’t like that he’d taken all of two seconds to make up his mind. Blackmailing seemed to fit Dabria to a T.

“I just do. How was your day?” he asked, clearly not going to elaborate.

I told him about Marcie’s executive decision to move in, and about my mom’s compliance. The more I talked, the more worked up I got. “She has an agenhe boutda in this,” I told Patch. “I have this nagging feeling that Marcie suspects I know who killed her dad. And moving in is a ploy to spy on me.”

Patch rested his hand on my thigh, and I felt a surge of hope. I hated feeling like there was a divide between us. “There are only two people in the world who know you killed Hank, and it’s a secret I’ll carry to hell and back if I have to. No one will find out.”

“Thank you, Patch,” I told him sincerely. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings earlier. I’m sorry about Dante, and about this whole mess. I just want to feel close to you again.”

Patch kissed the palm of my hand. Then he laid it on his heart, holding it there. I want you close too, Angel, he murmured to my mind.

I snuggled in beside him, resting my head on his shoulder. Just touching him made the string of knots inside me loosen. I’d been waiting all day for this moment. I could stand tension between us about as well as I could tolerate being away from him. Someday it will just be you and Patch, I told myself. Someday you’ll escape Cheshvan, war, fallen angels, and Nephilim. Someday . . . just the two.

“I found out something interesting,” I said, and I told Patch about Blakely’s football-star little brother, and Blakely’s perfect home game attendance record.

Patch tipped his hat up and looked into my eyes. “Good work, Angel,” he said, clearly impressed.