Crescendo

time before striking. Patch was sitting on the porch rail, head bowed, hands clasped loosely between his knees.

“Get out of my dream,” I hollered at him over the wind.

He shook his head. “Not until I tell you what’s going on.”

I pulled my pajama top tighter. “I don’t want to hear what you have to say.”

“The archangels can’t hear us here.”

I gave an accusatory laugh. “It wasn’t enough manipulating me in real life—now you have to do it here, too?”

He lifted his head. “Manipulating? I’m trying to tell you what’s going on.”

“You’re forcing your way inside my dreams,” I challenged. “You did it after the Devil’s Handbag, and you’re doing it now.”

A sudden gust of wind blew between us, causing me to take a step back. The tree branches creaked and moaned. I untangled my hair from my face.

Patch said, “After the Z, in the Jeep, you told me you’d had a dream about Marcie’s dad. The night you had the dream, I was thinking about him. I was remembering the exact memory you dreamed about, wishing there was some way I could tell you the truth. I didn’t know I was communicating with you.”

“You made me have that dream?”

“Not a dream. A memory.”

I tried to digest this. If the dream was real, Hank Millar had been living in England hundreds of years ago. My memory spun back to the dream. Tell the barkeep to send help, Hank had said. Tell him there is no man. Tell him it is one of the devil’s angels, come to possess my body and cast away my soul.

Was Hank Millar—Nephilim?

“I don’t know how I overlapped your dreams,” Patch said, “but I’ve been trying to communicate with you the same way ever since. I got through the night I kissed you after the Devil’s Handbag, but now I keep hitting walls. I’m lucky I’m here now. I think it’s you. You’re not letting me in.”

“Because I don’t want you inside my head!”

He slid off the railing, coming down to meet me in the yard. “I need you to let me in.”

I turned away.

“I was reassigned to Marcie,” he said.

Five seconds passed before everything fell into place. The sick, hot feeling that had churned in my stomach since leaving Marcie’s spread to my extremities. “You’re Marcie’s guardian angel?”

“It hasn’t been a pleasure cruise.”

“Did the archangels do this?”

“When they assigned me as your guardian, they made it clear I was supposed to have your best interests in mind. Getting involved with you wasn’t in your best interest. I knew it, but I didn’t like the idea of the archangels telling me what to do with my personal life. They were watching us the night you gave me your ring.”

In the Jeep. The night before we broke up. I remembered.

“As soon as I realized they were watching us, I took off. But the damage was done. They told me I’d be out as soon as they found a replacement. Then they assigned me to Marcie. I went to her house that night to force myself to face what I’d done.”

“Why Marcie?” I asked bitterly. “To punish me?”

He dragged a hand down over his mouth. “Marcie’s dad is a first-generation Nephilim, a purebred. Now that Marcie is sixteen, she’s in danger of being sacrificed. Two months ago, when I tried to sacrifice you to get a human body, but ended up saving your life, there weren’t many fallen angels who believed they could change what they were. I’m a guardian now. They all know it, and they all know it’s because I saved you from dying. Suddenly a lot more of them believe they can cheat fate too. Either by saving a human and getting their wings back”—he exhaled—“or by killing their Nephil vassal and transforming their body from fallen angel to human.”

I reviewed in my mind everything I knew about fallen angels and Nephilim. The Book of Enoch told of a fallen angel who became human after killing his Nephil vassal—by sacrificing one of the vassal’s female descendants. Two months ago, Patch had attempted this very thing by intending to use me to kill Chauncey. Now, if the fallen angel who’d forced Hank Millar to swear fealty wanted to become human, well, he’d have to …

Sacrifice Marcie.

I said, “You mean it’s your job to make sure the fallen angel who forced Hank Millar to swear fealty doesn’t sacrifice Marcie to get a human body.”

As if he thought he knew me well enough to guess my next question, he said, “Marcie doesn’t know. She’s completely in the dark.”

I didn’t want to talk about this. I didn’t want Patch here. He’d killed my dad. He’d ripped away, forever, someone I loved. Patch was a monster. Nothing he could say could make me feel otherwise.

“Chauncey formed the Nephilim blood society,” Patch said.

My attention snapped back. “What? How do you know?”

He looked reluctant to answer. “I’ve accessed a few memories. Other people’s memories.”

“Other people’s memories?” I was shocked when I shouldn’t have been. How could he justify all the horrible things he’d done? How could he come here and tell me he’d secretly examined people’s most private and intimate thoughts, and expect me to admire him for it? Or even expect me to listen to him?

“A successor picked up where Chauncey left off. I haven’t been able to get a name yet, but rumor has it he isn’t happy about Chauncey’s death, which doesn’t make sense. He’s in charge now—that alone should have wiped away any remorse he felt over Chauncey’s death. Which makes me wonder if the successor was a close friend of Chauncey’s, or a relative.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want to hear this.”

“The successor has a contract out on Chauncey’s killer.” Any further protesting on my part died forming. Patch and I shared a look. “He wants the killer to pay.”

“You mean he wants me to pay,” I said, my voice barely pushing through.

“Nobody knows you killed Chauncey. He didn’t know you were his female descendant until moments before he died, so there’s little chance anyone else knew. Chauncey’s successor might try to track down Chauncey’s descendants, but I wish him luck. It took me a long time to find you.” He took a step toward me, but I backed up. “When you wake up, I need you to say you want me as your guardian angel again. Say it like you mean it, so the archangels hear it, and hopefully grant your request. I’m doing everything I can to keep you safe, but I’m restricted. I need heightened access to the people around you, your emotions, everything in your world.”

What was he saying? That the archangels had finally found my replacement guardian angel? Was this why he’d forced his way inside my dream tonight? Because he’d been cut off, and no longer had the access to me that he wanted?

I felt his hands slide to my hips, holding me protectively against him. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

I stiffened and shrugged free. My mind was in a tempest. He wants the killer to pay. I couldn’t shake off the thought. The idea that someone out there wanted to kill me was numbing. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to know these things. I wanted to feel safe again.

Realizing that Patch had no intention of leaving my dream, I made my own move. I fought against the invisible barriers of the dream by forcing myself awake. Open your eyes, I told myself. Open them!

Patch gripped my elbow. “What are you doing?”

I could feel myself becoming more lucid. I could feel the warmth of my sheets, my pillowcase soft against my cheek. All the familiar smells associated with my room comforted me.

“Don’t wake up, Angel.” He smoothed his hands against my hair, trapping my face, forcing me to look him in the eye. “There’s more you need to know. There’s a very important reason why you need to see these memories. I’m trying to tell you something that I can’t tell you any other way. I need you to figure out what I’m trying to tell you. I need you to stop blocking me.”

I jerked my face away. My feet seemed to rise up from the grass, drifting toward the stirring funnel cloud. Patch grabbed for me, swearing under his breath, but his hold on me was featherlight, imaginary.