Finale

disgusted glance at my current tennis shoes, he’d remarked, “Those won’t make it through a day of training.” So here I was, using my allowance to buy cross-trainers.

I didn’t think the threat of war was as serious as Dante had made it sound, especially since Patch and I secretly had plans to pull the Nephilim out of the doomed uprising, but his words on my size, speed, and agility had struck a chord. I was smaller than every other Nephil I knew. Unlike them, I had been born into a human body—average weight, average muscle tone, average in every single aspect—and it had taken a blood transfusion and the swearing of a Changeover Vow to turn me into a Nephil. I was one of them in theory, but not in practice. I didn’t want the discrepancy to paint a target on my back, but a little voice at the back of my mind whispered it might.

And I had to do whatever it took to stay in power.

“Why do we have to start so early?” should have been my first question to Dante, but I suspected I knew the answer. The world’s fastest humans would appear as though out for a leisurely stroll if racing beside Nephilim. At top speed, I suspected that Nephilim in their prime could run upward of fifty miles per hour. If Dante and I were seen using that speed on the high school track, it would draw a lot of unwanted attention. But in the predawn hours of Monday morning most humans were fast asleep, giving Dante and me the perfect opportunity to have a worry- free workout.

I tucked the money in my pocket and headed downstairs. “I’ll be back in a few hours!” I called to my mom.

“Pot roast comes out at six, so don’t be late,” she returned from the kitchen.

Twenty minutes later I strolled through the doors of Pete’s Locker Room and headed toward the shoe department. I tried on a few pairs of cross-trainers, settling on a pair from the clearance rack. Dante might have my Monday morning—a day off school, due to a district-wide teacher in-service day—but I wasn’t going to give him the sum total of my allowance, too.

I paid for the shoes and checked the time on my cell. Not even four yet. As a precaution, Patch and I had agreed to keep calls in public to a minimum, but a hasty look both ways down the sidewalk outside confirmed I was alone. I dug the untraceable phone Patch had given me out of my handbag and dialed his number.

“I have a free couple of hours,” I told him, walking toward my car, which was parked on the next block. “There’s a very private, very secluded barn in Lookout Hill Park behind the carousel. I could be there in fifteen minutes.”

I heard the smile in his voice. “You want me bad.”

“I need an endorphin boost.”

“And making out in an abandoned barn with me will give you one?”

“No, it will probably put me in an endorphin coma, and I’m more than happy to test the theory. I’m leaving Pete’s Locker Room now. If the stoplights are in my favor, I might even make it in ten—”

I didn’t get to finish. A cloth bag dropped over my head, and I was wrestled into a bear hug from behind. In my surprise, I dropped the cell phone. I screamed and tried to swing my arms free, but the hands shoving me forward and into the street were too strong. I heard a large vehicle rumble down the street, then come to a screeching halt beside me.

A door opened, and I was thrust inside.

The air inside the van held the tang of sweat masked by lemon air freshener. The heat was cranked up to high, blasting through vents at the front, making me sweat. Maybe that was the intent.

“What’s going on? What do you want?” I demanded angrily. The full weight of what was going on hadn’t hit yet, leaving me more outraged than frightened. No answer came, but I heard the steady breathing of two nearby individuals. Those two, plus the driver, meant three of them. Against one of me.

My arms had been twisted behind my back, pinned together by what felt like a tow chain. My ankles were secured by a similar heavy-duty chain. I was stretched out on my stomach, the bag still over my head, my nose pushed into the roomy floor of the van. I tried to rock onto my side but felt as though my shoulder joint would tear from its socket. I screamed out in frustration and received a swift kick in the thigh.

“Keep it down,” a male voice growled.

We drove for a long time. Forty-five minutes, maybe. My mind jumped in too many directions to keep track accurately. Could I escape? How? Outrun them? No. Outwit them? Maybe. And then there was Patch. He would know I’d been taken. He’d track my cell phone to the street outside Pete’s Locker Room, but how would he know where to go from there?

At first the van stopped repeatedly for stoplights, but eventually the road cleared. The van climbed higher, weaving back and forth on switchbacks, which made me believe we were moving into the remote, hilly areas far outside of town. Sweat trickled beneath my shirt, and I couldn’t seem to force a single deep breath. Each inhalation came shallow, panic clamping my chest.

The tires popped over gravel, steadily rolling uphill, until at last the engine died. My captors unchained my feet, dragged me outside and through a door, and yanked the bag off my head.

I was right; there were three of them. Two males, one female. They’d brought me to a log cabin, and they rechained my arms to a decorative wooden post that ran from the main level up to the tie beams at the ceiling. No lights, but that may have well been because the power had been shut off. Furniture was sparse, and covered in white sheets. The air couldn’t have been more than a degree or two warmer than outside, telling me the furnace wasn’t on. Whoever the cabin belonged to had closed up for winter.

“Don’t bother screaming,” the bulkiest of them told me. “There isn’t another warm body around for miles.” He hid behind a cowboy hat and sunglasses, but Knglm there his precaution was unnecessary; I was positive I’d never seen him before. My heightened sixth sense identified all three as Nephilim. But what they wanted from me . . . I didn’t have a clue.

I jerked against the chains, but other than producing a weak grinding sound, they didn’t budge.

“If you were a real Nephil, you’d be able to break out of the chains,” the Nephil in the cowboy hat snarled. He seemed to be the spokesman for the other two, who hung back, limiting their communication with me to glares of disgust.

“What do you want?” I repeated icily.

Cowboy Hat’s mouth curled into a sneer. “I want to know how a little princess like yourself thinks she can pull off a Nephilim revolution.”

I held his hateful gaze, wishing I could fling the truth in his face. There wasn’t going to be a revolution. Once Cheshvan started in less than two days, he and his friends would be possessed by fallen angels. Hank Millar had had the easy part: filling their heads with notions of rebellion and freedom. And now I was left to work the actual miracle.

And I wasn’t going to.

“I looked into you,” Cowboy Hat said, pacing in front of me. “I asked around and found out you’re dating Patch Cipriano, a fallen angel. How’s that relationship working out for you?”

I swallowed discreetly. “I don’t know who you’ve been talking to.” I knew the danger I faced if my relationship with Patch were found out. I’d been careful, but it was starting to look like not careful enough. “But I ended things with Patch,” I lied. “Whatever we had is in the past. I know where my loyalties lie. As soon as I became a Nephil—”

He thrust his face in mine. “You aren’t Nephilim!” His eyes raked over me with contempt. “Look at you. You’re pathetic. You don’t get the right to call yourself Nephilim. When I look at you, I see human. I see a weak, sniveling, entitled little girl.”

“You’re angry because I’m not as physically strong as you,” I stated calmly.

“Who said anything about strength! You don’t have pride. There’s no sense of loyalty inside you. I respected the Black Hand as a leader because he earned that respect. He had a vision. He took action. He named you his successor, but that means nothing to me. You want my respect? Make me give it to you.” He snapped his fingers savagely in my face. “Earn it, princess.”

Earn his respect? So I could be like Hank? Hank was a cheat and a liar. He’d promised his people the impossible with smooth words and flattery. He’d used and deceived my mom and turned me into a pawn in his agenda. The more I thought about the position he’d put me in, leaving me to carry out his demented vision, the more maddened I grew.

I met Cowboy Hat’s eyes coldly . . . then bucked my foot up with all the force I had and planted it squarely in