Finale

fallen angel feather,
ever
?”
    “Surreal, right? He is supposed to meet us at Patch’s studio. He’d better not leave the feathers unguarded,” I muttered mostly to myself.
    “I can get you safely beneath Delphic. The park gates are closed, so we’ll go into the tunnels using the cargo elevators. After that, we’ll have to use my map. I’ve never
been to Patch’s place.”
    The “tunnels” referred to an underground network of convoluted, mazelike passageways that operated like streets and neighborhoods beneath Delphic. I’d had no idea they existed
until I met Patch. They served as the primary residence for fallen angels living in Maine, and until recently, Patch had lived among them.
    Scott steered the Barracuda down an access road short of the park’s main entrance. The road opened to a loading dock with truck ramps, and a warehouse. We entered the warehouse through a
side door, crossed an open space stacked wall to wall with boxes, and at last reached the cargo elevators. Once inside, Scott ignored the normal buttons indicating floors one, two, and three, and
pressed a small, unmarked yellow button at the bottom of the panel. I’d known there were entrances to the tunnels all over Delphic, but this was my first time using this particular one.
    The elevator, which was almost as large as my bedroom, clanged lower and lower, at last grinding to a stop. The heavy steel door rose, and Scott and I walked out onto a loading dock. The ground
and walls were dirt, and the only light came from the single bulb swinging like a pendulum overhead.
    “Which way?” I asked, peering into the tunnel ahead.
    I was grateful to have Scott as a guide through the underbelly of Delphic Amusement Park. It was immediately clear that he traversed the tunnels regularly; he led at a hurried
pace, sweeping down the dank corridors as though they had long ago been committed to memory. We referenced the map, using it to make our way beneath the Archangel, Delphic’s newest roller
coaster. From there, I took over, glancing down corridors randomly, until at last we came to what I recognized as the entrance to Patch’s old living quarters.
    The door was locked from the inside.
    I rapped on it. “Pepper, it’s Nora Grey. Open up.” I gave him a few moments, then tried again. “If you’re not opening because you sense someone else, it’s
Scott. He’s not going to beat you up. Now open the door.”
    “Is he alone?” Scott asked quietly.
    I nodded. “Should be.”
    “I don’t sense anybody,” Scott said skeptically, bending his ear toward the door.
    “Hurry up, Pepper,” I called.
    Still no response.
    “We’re going to have to break down the door,” I told Scott. “On the count of three. One, two—three.”
    In unison, Scott and I landed forceful kicks to the door.
    “Again,” I grunted.
    We continued to drive our soles into the wood, striking it until it splintered and the door slammed inward. I strode across the foyer and into the living room, looking for Pepper.
    The sofa had been knifed multiple times, stuffing spewing from each incision. Picture frames that had once decorated the walls now lay shattered on the ground. The glass coffee table was tipped
on its side, with an ominous crack down the center. Clothes from Patch’s wardrobe had been dragged out and thrown like confetti. I didn’t know if this was evidence of a recent struggle,
or left over from Patch’s hasty departure nearly two weeks ago, when Pepper had hired thugs to destroy the place.
    “Can you call Pepper?” Scott suggested. “Do you have his number?”
    I punched Pepper’s number into my phone, but he didn’t pick up. “Where is he?” I demanded angrily to no one in particular. Everything was riding on his end of the
bargain. I needed those feathers, and I needed them now. “And what is that smell?” I asked, wrinkling my nose.
    I walked deeper into the living room. Sure enough, I detected a noxious, acrid smell wafting in the air. A rotten smell. A smell almost like hot tar, but not quite.
    Something was burning.
    I ran from room to room, trying to find the feathers. They weren’t here. I shoved open the door to Patch’s old bedroom and was immediately overwhelmed by the smell of burning organic
material.
    Without pausing to think, I ran to the far wall of the bedroom—the one that slid open to reveal a secret passageway. The moment I cracked the sliding door, a thunderhead of black smoke
rolled into the room.