even when we didn’t see eye to eye.
“So that’s it?” Dante asked, clearly not satisfied.
I cupped my hands over my mouth to amplify my voice. “You’re free to go,” I called to Cowboy Hat. “I apologize for any inconvenience.”
Cowboy Hat stared at us, his mouth parted in disbelief, but not wanting to press his luck, he scrabbled out of the woods as if being pursued by bears.
“So,” I said to Dante. “What cruel machinations do you have planned for me today? Sprint a marathon? Move mountains? Part the seas?”
An hour later my arm and leg muscles quivered from exhaustion. Dante had pushed me through grueling intervals of calisthenics: push-ups, pull-ups, sit-ups, and flutter kicks. We were on our way out of the woods, when I brought my arm up suddenly, catching Dante across the chest. I held a finger to my lips, gesturing for him not to make a sound.
In the distance, I could just make out the soft crunch of footsteps.
Dante must have heard it too.
I squinted into the darkness. The woods were still unlit, and the densely packed trees only added to my decreased visibility.
Dante tapped my shoulder and pointed toward the sky. At first I didn’t understand. Then his meaning became clear. He wanted us to climb the trees, giving us an eagle-eye view of trouble, if that was indeed what was headed our way.
Despite my exhaustion, I scaled a white cedar noiselessly with a few expert leaps and quick foot placement. Dante perched in a neighboring tree.
We didn’t wait long. Moments after climbing to safety, six fallen angels crept stealthily into the clearing below. Three males and three females. Their bare torsos were marked with strange hieroglyphics that bore a distant resemblance to the paint splatter on Patch’s wrist, and their faces were painted a deep bloodred. The effect was chilling, and I couldn’t help but think of Pawnee warriors.
I fastened my gaze on one in particular. A lanky boy with black-ringed eyes. His familiar face froze my blood. I remembered his savage march through the Devil’s Handbag, and the way his hand had flashed out. I remembered his victim. I remembered how she’d looked just like me.
A vicious snarl hardened his expression, and he stalked through the trees with purpose. His chest bore a recent wound, small and circular, as if a knife had been used to crudely cut out a piece of flesh. Something cold and unforgiving gleamed in his eyes, and I shuddered.
Dante and I stayed in the trees until the party moved on. When we were back on solid ground, I said, “How did they find us?”
His eyes turned on mine, hooded and cold. “They made a big mistake coming after you like this.”
“Do you think they’ve been spying on us?”
“I think someone tipped them off.”
“The lanky one. I’ve seen him before, at the Devil’s Handbag. He attacked a Nephilim girl who looked a lot like me. Do you know him?”
“No.” But it seemed to me he paused a half moment before answering.
Five hours later I was showered and dressed, I’d eaten a healthy breakfast of Egg Beaters with mushrooms and spinach, and as a bonus, I’d finished all my homework. Not bad, considering it wasn’t even noon.
Down the hall, Marcie’s bedroom door opened and she emerged. Her hair stuck up all over the place, and there were dark circles under her eyes. I could almost smell her morning breath from here.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey.”
“My mom wants us to rake leaves in the yard, so you might want to hold off showering until after we finish.”
Marcie’s eyebrows pulled together. “Come again?”
“Saturday chores,” I explained. I understood that this was probably a new term for Marcie. And I thoroughly enjoyed being the one to teach it to her.
“I don’t do chores.”
“You do when you live here.”
“All right,” Marcie said reluctantly. “Let me get breakfast and make a few calls.”
On a normal day I didn’t think Marcie would be so agreeable, but I was beginning to think her willingness could be an apology for her big screwup last night. Hey, I’d take it any way I could get it.
While Marcie poured cereal for breakfast, I went to the garage to find rakes. I was halfway done raking the front yard when a car rumbled up the street. Scott parked his Barracuda in the driveway and swung out. His T-shirt hugged every bulge of muscle, and for Vee’s sake, I wished I had a camera.
“What’s up, Grey?” he said. He pulled leather work gloves out of his back pocket and tugged them on. “I’m here to help. Put me to work. I’m your slave for the day. Never mind your boy Dante should be here, not me.” He kept teasing me about Dante, but I couldn’t tell if he believed in the relationship. I always detected a slight note of mockery. Of course, I detected that same mockery underscoring one out of every ten words he spoke.
I leaned on my rake. “I don’t understand. How did you know I was raking the yard?”
“Your new best friend told me.”
I didn’t have a new best friend, but I had a perennial archenemy. I narrowed my eyes. “Marcie recruited you?” I guessed.
“Said she needed help with chores. She has allergies and can’t work outdoors.”
“Total lie!” And I’d been naive enough to think she was actually going to help.
Scott grabbed the extra rake I’d propped against the front porch and came over to help. “Let’s make a really big pile and toss you in.”
“That defeats the point.”
Scott grinned and nudged my shoulder. “But it would be fun.”
Marcie opened the front door and came out on the porch. She perched herself on the steps, crossing her legs and leaning forward on them. “Hi, Scott.”
“Yo.”
“Thanks for coming to my rescue. You’re my knight in shining armor.”
“Oh, gag,” I said, rolling my eyes melodramatically.
“Anytime,” Scott told her. “I can’t pass up an excuse to torment Grey.” He came up behind me and stuffed a fistful of leaves down my shirt.
“Hey!” I shrieked. I picked up my own handful of leaves and flung them in his face.
Scott dropped his shoulder, barreled toward me, and took me down, scattering my tidy pile of leaves everywhere. I was mad that in one moment he’d obliterated my hard work, but at the same time, I couldn’t stop laughing. He was on top of me, cramming leaves down my shirt, into my pockets, and up my trouser legs. “Scott!” I giggled.
“Get a room,” Marcie said in a bored voice, but I could tell she was irritated.
When Scott finally rolled off me, I said to Marcie, “Too bad about those allergies. Raking leaves can be a lot of fun. Did I forget to mention that?”
She nailed me with a look of sheer gall, then marched inside.
CHAPTER 16
AFTER SCOTT AND I HAD SCOOPED ALL THE leaves into orange garbage sacks decorated to look like pumpkins, and placed them decoratively around the yard, he came inside for a glass of milk and my mom’s deliciously gooey mint-chocolate-chip cookies. I thought Marcie might have retreated to her room, but instead she was waiting for us in the kitchen.
“I think we should throw a Halloween party here,” she announced.
