Finale

The greasy, charred stench was unbearable.
    Sealing my mouth and nose with the collar of my shirt, I called to Scott, “I’m going in.”
    He strode through the doorway behind me, batting the smoke with his hand.
    I’d been down the passageway once before, when Patch had momentarily detained Hank Millar before I’d killed him, and I tried to remember the way. Dropping to my knees to avoid the
worst of the smoke, I crawled quickly, coughing and gagging every time I drew breath. At last my hands struck a door. Fumbling for the ring pull, I jerked on it. The door swung slowly open, sending
a fresh wave of smoke billowing into the corridor.
    The light from a blazing fire flashed through the smoke, flames leaping and dancing like an exquisite magic show: brazen gold and molten orange and great plumes of black smoke. An awful
crackling and snapping sounded in my ears as the flames devoured the massive hill of fuel beneath it. Scott vised my shoulders protectively, forcing his body in front of mine like a shield. The
heat from the fire broiled our faces.
    It only took me a moment to howl in terror.

C HAPTER

38
    I SHOT TO MY FEET FIRST. OBLIVIOUS TO THE HEAT, I charged the fire while sparks rained down like fireworks. I clawed at
the towering hill of feathers, shrieking with panic. Only two of Patch’s feathers from his days as an archangel remained. One feather we held for safekeeping. The other had been taken and
meticulously stored by the archangels when they’d banished Patch from heaven. That feather was somewhere in the pile before me.
    Patch’s feather could be anywhere. Maybe already burned. There were so many. And an even greater number of ash flecks floated like singed pieces of paper around the fire.
    “Scott! Help me find Patch’s feather!” Think. I had to think. Patch’s feather. I’d seen it before. “It’s black, all black,” I blurted.
“Start looking—I’ll go get blankets to smother the fire!”
    I raced back toward Patch’s studio, the smoke forming a screen across my eyes. Suddenly I came up short, detecting another body in the tunnel, just ahead. I blinked against the smoke
grinding into my eyes.
    “It’s too late,” Marcie said. Her face was puffy from crying, and the tip of her nose glowed red. “You can’t put out the fire.”
    “What have you done?” I yelled at her.
    “I’m my dad’s rightful heir. I should be leading the Nephilim.”
    “Rightful heir? Are you listening to yourself? Do you want this job? I don’t—your dad forced it on me!”
    Her lip wobbled. “He loved me more. He would have chosen me. You stole this from me.”
    I said, “You don’t want this job, Marcie. Who put these ideas in your head?”
    Tears tumbled down her cheeks, and her breathing became choppy. “It was my mom’s idea for me to move in with you—she and her Nephilim friends wanted me to keep an eye on you. I
agreed to do it because I thought you knew something about my dad’s death that you weren’t telling me. If I got close to you, I thought maybe—” For the first time, I noticed
the pearly dagger in her hands. It shined a lustrous white, as if the sun’s purest rays were trapped beneath the surface. It could only be Pepper’s enchanted dagger. The nitwit
hadn’t been careful enough, and had allowed Marcie to follow him here. Then he’d dumped the feathers and the dagger and bolted, leaving them to fall into Marcie’s possession.
    I reached for her. “Marcie—”
    “Don’t touch me!” she shrieked. “Dante told me you killed my dad. How could you do it? How could you! I was sure it was Patch, but all along it was
you
!”
she screeched hysterically.
    Despite the heat, a shiver of fear whipped up my spine.
    “I—can explain.” But I didn’t think I could. Marcie’s wild, overwrought expression hinted that she was spiraling into shock. I doubted she’d care to know that
her dad had forced my hand when he’d attempted to send Patch to hell. “Give me the dagger.”
    “Get away from me!” She scrabbled out of reach. “Dante and I are going to tell everyone. What will the Nephilim do to you once they know you murdered the Black Hand?”
    I studied her carefully. Dante must have only just learned I’d killed Hank. Otherwise, he would have told the Nephilim long ago. Patch hadn’t given up my secret, which left Pepper.
Somehow, Dante had gotten to him.
    “Dante was right,” Marcie spat, cold rage bubbling up in her voice. “You stole the