that of a scolded puppy, she saw herself out.
That left Patch and me alone. He strode across the room without hesitating, even though I was sure my expression was far from inviting. He rested his forehead against mine and shut his eyes. He exhaled, long and slow, as if weighed down by an invisible force.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly and with genuine remorse.
The bitter words, “Sorry about the kiss, or merely sorry I saw it?” balanced on the tip of my tongue, ready to spring, but I swallowed them back. I was tired of dragging around my own invisible weight—comprising jealousy and doubt.
Patch’s regret was so sharp it was nearly tangible. As much as I disliked and distrusted Dabria, I couldn’t blame him for saving her butt. He was a better man than he gave himself credit for. I suspected that years ago, a very different Patch would have responded to the situation in another way. He was giving Dabria a second chance —something he, too, fought for daily.
“I’m sorry too,” I murmured into Patch’s chest. His strong arms folded me into an embrace. “I saw the pictures, and I’ve never been so upset or scared. The thought of losing you was—unimaginable. I was so angry at her. I still am. She kissed you when she shouldn’t have. For all I know, she’ll try it again.”
“She won’t, because I’m going touo;m goi make it very clear how things are to be between us from now on. She crossed a line, and I’ll make her think twice about doing it again,” Patch said with resolve. He tipped my chin up and kissed me, letting his lips linger when he spoke. “I wasn’t expecting to come home to you, but now that you’re here, I have no intention of letting you leave.”
Hot, aching guilt swept through me. I couldn’t be close to Patch and not feel my lies hanging between us. I’d lied to him about devilcraft. I was still lying. How could I have done it? Self-disgust boiled up in me, filled with shame and loathing. I wanted to confess everything, but where to start? I’d been so negligent, letting the lies blaze out of control.
I opened my mouth to tell him the truth, when icy hands seemed to slide up my neck and clench it. I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe. My throat filled with thick matter, like when I’d first taken devilcraft. A foreign voice crept into my mind and reasoned with me.
If I told Patch, he’d never trust me again. He’d never forgive me. I’d only cause him more pain if I told him. I just had to get through Cheshvan, and then I’d stop taking devilcraft. Just a little longer. Just a few more lies.
The cold hands relaxed. I drew a rocky breath.
“Busy night?” I asked Patch, wanting to move forward in our conversation—anything to forget my lies.
He sighed. “And no closer to pinning down Pepper’s blackmailer. I keep thinking it’s got to be someone I’ve looked into, but maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it’s someone else. Someone off my radar. I’ve chased down every lead, even those that seemed like a stretch. Far as I can tell, everyone’s clean.”
“Is there a chance Pepper is making it up? Maybe he isn’t really being blackmailed.” It was the first time I’d considered it. All along I’d trusted his story, when he’d proven to be anything but trustworthy.
Patch frowned. “It’s possible, but I don’t think so. Why go to the trouble of making up such an elaborate story?”
“Because he needs an excuse to chain you in hell,” I suggested quietly, just now thinking of it. “What if the archangels put him up to this? He said he’s down here on Earth on an assignment from them. I didn’t believe him at first, but what if he really is? What if the archangels gave him the task of chaining you in hell? It’s no secret they want to.”
“Legally, they’d need a reason to chain me in hell.” Patch stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Unless they’ve gone so far off the deep end, they’re not bothering to stay within the law anymore. I definitely think there are a few rotten eggs in the bunch, but I don’t think the entire archangel population has been corrupted.”
“If Pepper is on an errand from a small faction of archangels, and the others find out or suspect foul play, Pepper’s employers have the perfect cover: They can claim he’d gone rogue. They’d rip his wings out before he could testify, and they’d be off the hook. It doesn’t seem so far-fetched to me. In fact, it seems like the perfect crime.”
Patch stared at me. The plausibility of my theory seemed to settle over us like a cold fogke a col.
“You think Pepper is on assignment from a group of crooked archangels to get rid of me for good,” he said slowly at last.
“Did you know Pepper before you fell? What was he like?”
Patch shook his head. “I knew him, but not well. More like I knew of him. He had a reputation as a hard- boiled liberal, especially loose on social issues. I’m not surprised he fell hard into gambling, but if I remember right, he was involved in my trial. He must have voted to banish me; strange, since it’s at odds with his reputation.”
“Do you think we can get Pepper to turn on the archangels? His double life might be part of his cover . . . then again, he might be enjoying his time down here just a little too much. If we apply the right kind of pressure, he might talk. If he tells us that a secret faction of archangels sent him here to chain you in hell, at least we’d know what we’re up against.”
A dangerous little smile tightened Patch’s mouth. “I think it’s time to find Pepper.”
I nodded. “Fine. But you’re going to play this one from the sidelines. I don’t want you going anywhere near Pepper. For now, we have to assume he’d do anything to chain you in hell.”
Patch’s eyebrows drew together. “What are you proposing, Angel?”
“I’m meeting Pepper. And I’m taking Scott with me. Don’t even think about arguing with me,” I said warningly before he could veto the idea. “You’ve taken Dabria as backup on more occasions than I want to think about. You swore to me it was a tactical move and nothing more. Well, now it’s my turn. I’m taking Scott, and that’s final. As far as I know, Pepper isn’t holding any one-way tickets to hell with Scott’s name on them.”
Patch’s mouth thinned and his eyes darkened; I could practically feel his objection radiating off him. Patch held no warmth for Scott, but he knew he couldn’t play that card; it would make him a hypocrite.
“You’re going to need an airtight plan,” he said at last. “I’m not letting you out of my sight if there’s any chance things could go south.”
There was always a chance things could go south. If I’d learned anything during my time with Patch, it was that. Patch knew this too, and I wondered if it was part of his plan to keep me from going. I suddenly felt like Cinderella, prevented from going to the ball on a small technicality.
“Scott is stronger than you give him credit for,” I argued. “He’s not going to let anything happen to me. I’ll make sure he understands he can’t tell a soul that you and I are still very much together.”
Patch’s black eyes simmered. “And I’ll make sure he understands that if a single hair on your head is lost, he’ll deal with me. If he’s got any sense, that’s a threat he’ll take to heart.”
I smiled tensely. “Then it’s settled. All we need now is a plan.”
The following night was Saturday. After telling my mom that I was staying at Vee’s all weekend and we’d head to uo;d heaschool together on Monday, Scott and I made a trip to the Devil’s Handbag. We weren’t interested in the music or drinks, rather in the basement level. I’d heard rumors about the basement, a burgeoning gambling haven, but had never actually stepped foot inside. Word had it Pepper couldn’t say the same. Patch had supplied us with a list of Pepper’s favorite haunts, and I hoped Scott and I would get lucky on our first try.
Trying to look both sophisticated and guileless, I followed Scott over to the bar. He was chewing gum, looking as relaxed and confident as ever. I, on the other hand, was sweating so bad I felt like I needed another shower.
I’d flat-ironed my hair for a sleek and mature look. Throw on some liquid eyeliner, lipstick, four-inch heels, and a high-end handbag on loan from Marcie, and I’d magically aged five years. Given Scott’s fully developed and intimidating build, I didn’t think he had to worry about getting carded. He wore tiny silver hoops in his ears, and while his brown hair was closely cropped, he still managed to look both tough
“We’re looking for Storky,” Scott told the bartender, leaning close to keep his voice low.
The bartender, who I’d never seen before, eyed us shrewdly. I met his gaze, trying to keep my eyes impassive
“Who’s looking?” he asked gruffly at last.
“We heard there’s a high-stakes game tonight,” Scott said, flashing a stack of hundreds lined up neatly inside
