Dante had jumped to the same conclusion. I wished I could say yes, I had him fooled, but experience told me he was cunning enough to know better—he knew I was up to something.
“Big news,” Scott said excitedly over the phone. “The bigwigs—high-powered Nephilim—have accepted your request for a meeting. They’ve determined the location, and it’s not Delphic. Also, they are keeping things cozy. As might be expected, it’s an invitation-only party. Twenty Nephilim at most. No leaks, lots of guards. Every Nephil invited will be screened before entering. Good news is, I’m on the guest list. Took some schmoozing, but I’ll be there with you.”
“Just tell me the location already,” I said, trying not to sound nauseated.
“They want to meet at Hank Millar’s old house.”
My spine tingled. I would never be able to erase those arctic-blue eyes his name summoned to mind.
I pushed his ghost aside and focused. A classy Georgian colonial in a respected human neighborhood? It didn’t seem shady enough for a covert Nephilim meeting. “Why there?”
“The higher-ups thought it showed a nod of respect to the Black Hand. Good call, I say. He started this whole mess,” Scott added snidely.
“Keep talking like that, and they’re going to boot you off the guest list.”
“The meeting has been scheduled for ten tonight. Keep your cell phone close, in case I learn anything else. Don’t forget to act surprised when they call with the details. Can’t have them thinking they’ve got a spy problem already. One more thing. I’m sorry about Dante. I feel responsible. I introduced you. If I could, I’d dismember him. And then tie a brick to each of his limbs, take them to sea, and throw them overboard. Chin up. I’ve got your back.”
I hung up and turned toward Patch, who’d been leaning against the wall and watching me carefully throughout the conversation.
“Meeting is tonight,” I told him. “At the old Millar residence.” I couldn’t bring myself to finish the thought bearing down on my mind. A private home? Screenings? Guards? How on earth would Patch ever get in? To my great discouragement, it looked like I was going in without him tonight.
“That works,” Patch said calmly. “I’ll be there.”
I admired his cool confidence, but I didn’t see how he could possibly sneak in unnoticed. “The house will be highly guarded. The minute you set foot on the block, they’ll know. Maybe if they’d selected a museum or the courthouse, but not this. The Millar house is big, but not that big. They’ll have every square inch covered.”
“Which is exactly what I planned for. I’ve already worked out the details. Scott is going to let me in.”
“It won’t work. They’ll be expecting fallen angel spies, and even if Scott does unlock a window for you, they will have thought of it. Not only will they capture you, but they’ll know Scott’s a traitor—”
“I’m going to possess Scott’s body.”
I flinched. Slowly, his solution came together in my mind. Of course. It was Cheshvan. Patch would have no problem taking control of Scott’s body. And from an outsider’s perspective, there would be no way to tell the difference between the two. Patch would be welcomed into the meeting without a batted eye. It was the perfect disguise. Only one tiny little problem. “Scott will never agree to it.”
“He already has.”
I stared back in disbelief. “He has?”
“He’s doing this for you.”
My throat suddenly closed up. There was nothing in the world Scott fought harder for than to keep fallen angels from possessing him. I realized at that moment just how much my friendship must mean to him. For him to do this— The one thing he abhorred— There were no words. Just a deep, aching gratitude for Scott, and the determination not to fail him.
“Tonight, I need you to be careful,” I said.
“I’ll be careful. And I won’t overstay my welcome. The minute you’re out of the meeting safely, and I’ve stayed long enough to learn all I can, Scott will have his body back. I’ll make sure nothing happens to him.”
I squeezed Patch into a fierce hug. “Thank you,” I whispered.
Later that night, an hour before ten, I departed Patch’s home. I left alone, driving a rental car at the request of my Nephilim hmy Nephiosts. They’d dotted every i and crossed every t and weren’t taking any chances of having me followed by nosy Nephilim, or worse, any fallen angel who might have caught wind of tonight’s top secret meeting.
The streets were dark and slick under a film of fog. My headlights swept across the black ribbon of pavement that rolled over hills and around curves. I had the heater cranked, but it never quite cast out the chill dancing in my bones. I didn’t know what to expect tonight, and that made it difficult to plan. I’d have to play things by ear, my least favorite way to go. I wanted to walk into the Millar house with something to hold on to besides my own instincts, but that’s all I had. Finally I pulled up in front of Marcie’s old house.
I sat in the car a moment, gazing at the white columns and black shutters. The lawn was lost under withered leaves. Brown twigs, the remnants of hydrangeas, jutted from twin terra-cotta pots flanking the porch. Newspapers in various states of decay littered the walkway. The house had been vacated after Hank’s death and didn’t look as inviting or elegant as I remembered. Marcie’s mom had moved into a condo on the river, and Marcie, well, Marcie had taken the phrase
Faint lights glowed behind draped windows, and while they didn’t reveal silhouettes, I knew several of the Nephilim world’s most influential and powerful leaders sat just behind the front door, waiting to form judgments on the news I was about to deliver. I also knew Patch would be there, making sure no danger befell me.
Clinging to that thought, I drew a jagged breath and marched to the front door.
I knocked.
The front door opened, and I was ushered inside by a tall woman whose eyes lingered on me just long enough to confirm my identity. Her hair had been combed back in a tight braid, and there was nothing either remarkable or memorable about her face.
She murmured a polite but reserved, “Hello,” and then, with a stiff sweep of her hand, directed me deeper into the house.
The tap of my shoes echoed down the dimly lit hallway. I passed portraits of the Millar family, smiling behind dusty glass. A vase of dead lilies sat on the entryway table. The whole house smelled bottled up. I followed the trail of lights toward the dining room.
As soon as I stepped through the French doors, the hushed conversation died. There were six men and five women seated on each side of a long, polished mahogany table. A few more Nephilim stood around the table, looking both fidgety and apprehensive. I almost did a double take when I saw Marcie’s mom. I knew Susanna Millar was Nephilim, but it had always felt like an intangible thought drifting at the back of my mind. Seeing her here tonight, convening a secret meeting of immortals, made her suddenly feel . . . threatening. Marcie wasn’t with her. Maybe Marcie hadn’t wanted to come, but a more plausible explanation was that she hadn’t been invited. Susanna seemed like the kind of mother who bent over backward to keep her daughter’s life clear of even the tiniest complication.
I found Scott’s face in the crowd. Knowing Patch was possessing him, the clanging in my stomach took a momentary reprieve. He caught my eye and inclined his head, a secret nod of encouragement. A deep feeling of assurance and security flooded me. I wasn’t in this alone. Patch had my back. I should have known he’d find a way tofind a w be here, no matter the risk.
And then there was Dante. He sat at the head of the table, wearing a black cashmere turtleneck and a ponderous frown. His fingers were steepled over his mouth, and when his eyes locked with mine, his lips twitched with a sneer. His eyebrows lifted in discreet but unmistakable challenge. I looked away.
I turned my attention to the elderly woman in a purple cocktail dress and diamonds seated at the opposite end of the long table. Lisa Martin. Second to Hank, she was the most influential and respected Nephil I’d met. I didn’t like or trust her. Feelings I was going to have to suppress for the next several minutes, if I wanted to get through this.
“We’re so glad you instigated this meeting, Nora.” Her warm, regal, and accepting voice slipped like honey into my ears. My racing heart slowed. If I could get her on my side, I was halfway there.
“Thank you,” I managed at last.
She gestured at the empty seat beside her, beckoning me to sit.
I walked over to the chair, but I didn’t sit. I was afraid I’d lose my nerve if I did. Leaning my hands on the
