Finale

If the others from the cabin are with him, get them out too. I want to talk to them.
    Coming from Patch it sounded ominous, but then again, they had it coming. They’d lost my sympathies the moment they’d stuffed me inside their van.
    I jogged back inside the Devil’s Handbag and worked my way into the thick crowd packed around the stage. Serpentine was still going strong, rocking out a ballad that had everyone riled up.
I didn’t know how to get Cowboy Hat to leave the premises, but I knew one person who could help me clear the whole place.
    Scott!
I yelled. But it was useless. He couldn’t hear me over the thunderous music. It probably didn’t help that he was deep in concentration.
    I rose up on my tiptoes and looked for Vee. She was heading this way.
    “I put the ol’ Vee charm on him, but he wasn’t having any of it,” she told me. “Maybe I need a new haircut.” She sniffed her underarms. “Far as I can
tell, deodorant’s still working.”
    “He blew you off?”
    “Yup, and I didn’t get his name, either. Does this mean our double date is off?”
    “I’ll be right back,” I said, and fought my way to the alley once again. I had every intention of getting close enough to Patch to mind-speak to him that forcing our Nephil
friend out of the Devil’s Handbag was going to be harder than I anticipated, when two shadowy figures standing on the back stoop of the next building down, and conversing in hushed tones,
brought me to an abrupt stop.
    Pepper Friberg and . . . Dabria.
    Dabria used to be an angel of death, and dated Patch before both were banished from heaven. Patch had sworn up and down that the relationship was boring, chaste, and more of a convenience than
anything. Still. After deciding I was a threat to her plans to rekindle their relationship here on Earth, Dabria had tried to kill me. She was cool, blond, and sophisticated. I’d never seen
her have a bad hair day, and her smile had a way of filling my veins with ice. Now a fallen angel, she made her living swindling victims on the false pretense of having the gift of foresight. She
was one of the most dangerous fallen angels I knew, and I had no doubt I was right at the top of her hate list.
    Instantly I drew back against the Devil’s Handbag. I held my breath for five seconds, but neither Pepper nor Dabria seemed to have noticed me. I inched closer but didn’t dare press
my luck. By the time I’d get close enough to hear what they were saying, one or both would have sensed my presence.
    Pepper and Dabria talked a few minutes longer before Dabria turned on her heel and strolled away down the alley. Pepper made an obscene gesture at her back. Was it just me, or did he look
especially disgruntled?
    I waited until Pepper left too before I stepped out of the shadows. I went directly inside the Devil’s Handbag. I found Vee at our booth and slid in beside her.
    “I need to clear this place out right now,” I said.
    Vee blinked. “Come again?”
    “What if I shout ‘fire’? Will that work?”
    “Shouting ‘fire’ seems a little old-school to me. You could try shouting ‘police,’ but that falls into the same category. Not that I have anything against
old-school. But what’s the big rush? I didn’t think Serpentine sucked
that
bad.”
    “I’ll explain—”
    “Later.” Vee nodded. “Saw that coming from a mile away. If it were me, I’d go with shouting ‘police.’ Bound to be more than a few someones doing illegal
activity in this place. Scream ‘cops!’ and you’ll see movement.”
    I gnawed nervously at my lip, debating. “Are you sure?” This seemed like a plan with high potential for blowing up in my face. Then again, I was out of options. Patch wanted to have
a chat with Cowboy Hat, and that’s what I wanted too. I also wanted to get the interrogation wrapped up quickly so I could tell Patch about Dabria and Pepper.
    Vee said, “Thirty-five percent sure . . .”
    Her voice trailed off as cold air blasted the room. At first I couldn’t tell if the sudden temperature drop came from the doors, which had been kicked open, or my own physical response to
intuitively sensing trouble—of the worst kind.
    Fallen angels flooded into the Devil’s Handbag. I lost count of them at ten, with no sign to an end in their numbers. They moved so fast, I saw only blurs of motion. They’d come
prepared to fight, swinging knives and knuckles bearing steel hardware at anything standing in their path. Among