Finale

than Tristan and Isolde.” I gazed at Patch hopefully.
    He merely looked at me. “We can’t be seen together.”
    “You’d be in costume. Think of it as a challenge to be really sneaky. You have to admit, all this sneaking around is kind of hot.”
    “I don’t do costume parties.”
    “Pretty please with a cherry on top?” I batted my lashes.
    “You’re killing me.”
    “I know of only one guy who is better-looking than Scott. . . .” I let the idea tempt his ego.
    “Your mom isn’t going to let me step foot inside this place. I’ve seen the gun she keeps on the top shelf of the pantry.”
    “Again, you’ll be in disguise, silly. She won’t know it’s you.”
    “You aren’t going to let this go, are you?”
    “Nope. What do you think of John Lennon and Yoko Ono? Or Samson and Delilah? Robin Hood and Maid Marian?”
    He lifted an eyebrow. “Ever consider Patch and Nora?”
    I laced my fingers over my stomach and eyed the ceiling deviously. “Marcie is going down.”
    Patch’s cell phone rang, and he looked at the readout. “Unknown number,” he murmured, and my blood chilled.
    “Do you think it’s Blakely?”
    “One way to find out.” He answered the phone, his voice calm but not inviting. Right away, I felt Patch’s body tense beside mine, and I knew it had to be Blakely. The call
lasted only a handful of seconds.
    “It’s our guy,” Patch told me. “He wants to meet. Now.”
    “That’s it? It almost feels too easy.”
    Patch locked eyes with me, and I knew there was more. I couldn’t quite interpret his expression, but the way he watched me made anxiety bubble up inside me. “If we give him the
knife, he’ll give us the antidote.”
    “What antidote?” I asked.
    “When he stabbed you, he infected you. He didn’t say with what. He only said if you don’t get the antidote soon—” He broke off, swallowing. “He said
you’re going to regret it. We both are.”

C HAPTER

17
    H E’S BLUFFING. IT’S A TRAP. HE’S TRYING TO make us panic so we’ll be too busy concentrating on
whatever fictitious disease he put inside me to play this smart.” I jumped out of bed and paced my room. “Oh, he’s good.
Real
good. I say we call him back and tell him
he’ll get the knife after he swears an oath to stop using devilcraft. That’s a trade I’ll agree to.”
    “And if he’s not lying?” Patch asked quietly.
    I didn’t want to think about that. If I did, I’d play right into Blakely’s hands. “He is,” I said with more conviction. “He was Hank’s
protégé, and if Hank was good at one thing, it was lying. I’m sure the vice rubbed off. Call him back. Tell him there’s no deal. Tell him my wound has healed, and if there
was anything wrong with me, we’d know by now.”
    “This is devilcraft we’re talking about. It doesn’t play by the rules.” There was both worry and frustration behind Patch’s words. “I don’t think we can
make assumptions, and I don’t think we can risk underestimating him. If he did anything to hurt you, Angel . . .” A muscle in Patch’s jaw contracted with emotion, and I feared he
was doing exactly what Blakely wanted. Thinking with his anger and not with his head.
    “Let’s wait this out. If we’re wrong, and I don’t think we are, but
if
that’s the case, Blakely is still going to want the knife back two, four, six days
from now. We’re holding the cards. If we begin to suspect that he really did infect me with something, we’ll call him. He’ll still meet us, because he needs the knife. We have
nothing to lose.”
    Patch didn’t look sold. “He said you’d need the antidote soon.”
    “Notice how vague
soon
sounds. If he was telling the truth, he’d have a more specific time frame.” My bravery wasn’t an act. Not one part of me believed Blakely
was being forthright. My wound had healed, and I’d never felt better. He hadn’t injected me with a disease. I wasn’t going to fall for that. And it frustrated me that Patch was
being so cautious, so gullible. I wanted to stick to our original plan: drag Blakely in and curtail the production of devilcraft. “Did he set up a meeting place? Where did he want to make the
switch?”
    “I’m not going to tell you,” Patch answered in a calm, measured tone.
    I flinched in confusion. “Sorry. What did you just say?”
    Patch walked over and cupped his hands around the back of my neck. His expression was immovable. He was serious—he intended to hold