Silence

value.

There was a tiny parking lot near the Devil’s Handbag, and Vee cruised through it five times, but a spot didn’t open up. She widened her search block by block. At last she parallel parked along a stretch of curb that left half the Neon hanging out in the street.

Vee got out and surveyed her parking job. She shrugged. “Five points for creativity.”

We walked the rest of the way on foot.

“So who’s this friend of the family?” Vee inquired. “Is he male? Is he hot? Is he single?”

“Yes on the first count, probably on second, I think so on the last. You want me to introduce you?”

“No siree. Just wanted to know if I should keep my evil eye trained on him. I don’t trust boys anymore, but my scary-radar goes off the charts when it comes to pretty boys.”

I gave a short laugh trying to imagine a squeaky-clean, dolledup version of Scott. “Scott Parnell is anything but pretty.”

“Whoa. Hold on. What’s this? You didn’t tell me the old family friend was Scottie the Hottie.”

I wanted to tell Vee that was because I was doing my best to keep Scott’s public appearance tonight quiet, not wanting any word of it to reach Hank’s ears, but I brushed it off with an innocent, “Sorry, I must have forgotten.”

“Our boy Scottie has a body you can’t forget. You’ve got to give him that.”

She was right. Scott wasn’t bulky, but he was very muscular and had the well-proportioned physique of a top-notch athlete. If it weren’t for the tough, almost scowl-like expression he carried everywhere, he’d probably attract throngs of girls. Possibly even Vee, who was a self-proclaimed man hater.

We rounded the final corner, and the Devil’s Handbag came into view. It was a charmless four-story brick structure with creeping ivy and blacked-out windows. On one side it neighbored a pawn shop. On the other sat a shoe repair store that I secretly suspected was the front for a thriving fake ID business. Seriously, who replaced their soles anymore?

“Are we going to get tagged?” Vee asked.

“Not tonight. They aren’t serving alcohol at the bar, since half the band is underage. Scott told me we’d only need tickets.”

We stepped into line, and five minutes later cleared the doors. The spacious layout inside consisted of a stage on one side of the room, and a bar on the other. Booth seating close to the bar, cafe tables near the stage. There was a decent crowd, with more coming in by the minute, and I experienced a squeeze of nervous anticipation for Scott. I tried to pick out Nephilim faces in the audience, but I wasn’t experienced enough to trust myself to do a thorough job. Not that I had a reason to believe the Devil’s Handbag made a likely hangout for nonhumans, particularly those with allegiance to Hank. I was simply going on the belief that it didn’t hurt to be cautious.

Vee and I went right to the bar.

“Something to drink?” the bartender, a redhead who hadn’t skimped on eyeliner or nose rings, asked us.

“Suicide,” Vee told her. “You know, when you put a little shot of everything into the glass?”

I leaned sideways. “How old are we?”

“Childhood only comes once. Live it up.”

“Cherry Coke,” I told the bartender.

As Vee and I sipped our drinks, sitting back and taking in the preshow excitement, a slender blonde with her hair stuffed into a messy — and sexy — bun sashayed over. She leaned her elbows back on the bar, giving me a cursory glance. She wore a long bohemian dress, pulling off hippie-chic flawlessly. Other than a swipe of siren-red lipstick, she was sans makeup, which drew my attention to her full, pouty mouth. Fixing her gaze on the stage, she said, “Haven’t seen you girls around before. First time?”

“What’s it to you?” Vee said.

The girl laughed, and while the sound was soft and tinkling, it made the hairs on the back of my neck rise.

“High schoolers?” she guessed.

Vee narrowed her eyes. “Maybe, maybe not. And you are …?”

The blonde flashed a smile. “Dabria.” Her eyes pinned mine. “I heard about the amnesia. Pity.”

I gagged on my cherry Coke.

Vee said, “You look familiar. But your name isn’t ringing a bell.” She pursed her lips in evaluation.

In response, Dabria cast cool eyes on Vee, and just like that, all suspicion dissipated from Vee’s expression, leaving her as blank as placid water. “I’ve never seen you before in my life. This is the first time we’ve met,” Vee said in a monotone.

I glared at Dabria. “Can we talk? Alone?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” she answered breezily.

I pushed my way over to the hallway leading to the restrooms. When we were out of the crowd, I spun on Dabria. “First, quit mind-tricking my best friend. Second, what are you doing here? And third, you’re a lot prettier than Patch led me to believe.” Probably didn’t need to throw in that last bit, but now that I had Dabria alone, I wasn’t in the mood to dance around. Best to get straight to the point.

Her mouth curled into a satisfied smirk. “And you’re quite a bit more plain than I remember.”

Suddenly I wished I’d pulled on something more sophisticated than boyfriend jeans, a graphic tee, and a military-style hat. I said, “He’s over you, just so we’re clear.”

Dabria examined her manicure before looking up at me through lowered lashes. With unmistakable regret she said, “I wish I could say I was over him.”

I told you so! I thought angrily at Patch.

“Unrequited love sucks,” I stated simply.

“Is he here?” Dabria craned her neck to search the crowd.

“No. But I’m sure you already knew that, since you’ve taken it upon yourself to stalk him.”

Something mischievous danced in her eyes. “Oh? He noticed?”

“Hard not to when you’ve clearly made it your life’s purpose to throw yourself at him.”

Her pouty smirk adopted a hardened edge. “Just so you know, if it weren’t for my feather Jev keeps tucked in his pants, I wouldn’t think twice about dragging you out to the street and giving you a front-row seat with an oncoming car. Jev might be here for you now, but I wouldn’t breathe easy. He’s made quite a few enemies over the years, and I can’t tell you how many of them would love to chain him in hell. You don’t treat people the way he has and sleep with both eyes closed,” she said, cold-blooded warning creeping into her tone. “If he wants to stay on Earth, he can’t be distracted by some”—her gaze raked over me—“childish little girl. He needs an ally. Someone who can watch his back and be useful to him.”

“And you think you’re just the girl for the job?” I seethed.

“I think you should stick to your own kind. Jev doesn’t like to be tied down. One glance at you, and I can tell you’ve got your hands full with him.”

“He’s changed,” I said. “He’s not the same person he was when you knew him.”

Her laughter rang off the walls. “I can’t decide if your naivete is adorable, or if I want to smack some sense into you. Jev will never change, and he doesn’t love you. He’s using you to get to the Black Hand. Do you know how high the price on Hank Millar’s head is? Millions. Jev wants that money as much as the next fallen angel, maybe more, because he can use it to pay off his enemies, and trust me when I say they’re snapping at his heels. He’s ahead of the game because he has you, the Black Hand’s heir. You can get close to the Black Hand in a way most fallen angels can only dream of.”

I didn’t bat an eye. “I don’t believe you.”

“I know you want the Black Hand, sweetie. Just like I know you want to be the one to destroy him. Not an easy feat, considering he’s Nephilim, but pretend for a minute it’s possible. Do you really think Jev will hand Hank over to you when he can deliver him to the right people and receive a ten-million-dollar paycheck? Think about it.”

On that note, Dabria raised a shrewd eyebrow and merged into the crowd.

When I returned to the bar, Vee said, “Don’t know about you, but I didn’t like that chick. She rivals Marcie for the number one spot on my skank-detecting meter.”

She’s worse, I thought grimly. Much worse.

“Speaking of instincts, I haven’t made up my mind yet how I feel about this particular Romeo,” Vee said,