Finale

wasn’t going to stop you. I trusted you;
it was him I worried about, and it looks like I had every reason to be. I’ll ask once more. Where is he hiding?” he nearly growled, his face darkening.
    “What makes you think he’s hiding?” I said miserably, upset that once again I felt caught between Patch and Dante. Between fallen angels and Nephilim. I hadn’t
intentionally meant to keep our training sessions from Patch; I’d simply thought it would be better not to stir up any more competition between him and Dante.
    Patch’s icy laugh sent a shiver dancing up my spine. “If he’s smart, he’s hiding.”
    “I’m angry too, Patch. Trust me, I wish I could go back and undo this morning. But I hate feeling like you’re calling the shots without me. First, you put a tracking device on
me. Next, you threatened Dante behind my back. You’re operating perpendicular to me. I want to feel like you’re on my side. I want to feel like we’re working together.”
    Patch’s new cell phone rang, and he glanced at the readout. Unusual behavior for him. These days, he let all calls go to voice mail, then carefully screened which to return.
    “Expecting an important call?” I asked.
    “Yes, and I have to take care of it now. I am on your side, Angel. I always will be. I’m sorry if you feel like I’m subverting your wishes. That’s the last thing I want,
believe me.” He brushed a kiss across my mouth, but it felt brusque. He was already striding with purpose toward the stairs leading down to the garage. “I need you to do something for
me. See if you can dig up anything on Blakely. Where he calls home these days, locations he’s visited lately, how many Nephilim bodyguards he has protecting him, any new prototypes he’s
developing, and when he plans on introducing this super-drink to the mainstream. You’re right—I don’t think devilcraft has spread beyond Dante and Blakely yet. If it had, the
archangels would have jumped on it. Talk soon, Angel.”
    “So we’ll finish this conversation later?” I called after him, still stunned by his rapid departure.
    He paused at the top of the stairs. “Dante gave you an ultimatum, but it was coming, with or without him. I can’t make the decision for you, but if you want a sounding board, let me
know. I’m happy to help. Engage the alarm before you leave. Your personal key is on the counter. You’re welcome anytime. I’ll be in touch.”
    “What about Cheshvan?” I said. I hadn’t made it through half the things I’d wanted to discuss with him, and now he was running off. “It starts tonight with the
rising moon.”
    Patch gave a brusque nod. “There’s a bad feeling in the air. I’ll be keeping tabs on you, but I want you to watch your back just the same. Don’t be out any later than
necessary. Sundown is your curfew tonight.”
    Since I didn’t see the point in going back to school without a valid excuse slip, and since, if I left now, I’d only catch the last hour before the dismissal bell,
I decided to stay at Patch’s place and do some thinking-slash-soul-searching.
    I went to the fridge to hunt down a snack, but it was bare. It was very apparent Patch had moved in quickly and the furnishings had been included. The rooms were immaculate, lacking any personal
touches. Stainless-steel appliances, taupe paint, walnut flooring. Modern American furniture in solid colors. Flat-screen TV and leather club chairs facing each other. Masculine, stylish, and
lacking warmth.
    I replayed my conversation with Patch and decided he hadn’t seemed the least bit sympathetic over Dante’s ultimatum and my big dilemma. What did that mean? That he thought I could
work things out on my own? That choosing between Nephilim and fallen angels was a no-brainer? Because it wasn’t. The choice was getting harder with each passing day.
    I mulled over what I
did
know. Namely that Patch wanted me to find out what Blakely was up to. Patch probably thought Dante was my best contact—a middleman between me and Blakely,
so to speak. And in order to keep the lines of communication open between us, it was probably best that I keep Dante thinking I was on his side. That I saw eye to eye with the Nephilim.
    And I did. In many ways. My sympathy was with them because they weren’t fighting for dominion or some other virtue-less ambition—they were fighting for their freedom. I got it. I
admired it. I’d do anything to help. But I didn’t want Blakely or