Finale

still need you to do something for me.”
    “Like what?”
    “Date a Nephil. Date Scott Parnell.”
    Scott was the first Nephil I’d ever befriended, at the tender age of five. I hadn’t known about his true heritage back then, but in recent months he’d taken on the roles of
first my tormentor, then my partner in crime, and eventually my friend. There were no secrets between us. Likewise, there was no romantic chemistry.
    I laughed. “You’re killing me, Dante.”
    “It would be for show. For the sake of appearances,” he explained. “Just until our race warms to you. You’ve only been a Nephil one day. Nobody knows you. People need a
reason to like you. We have to make them feel comfortable trusting you. Dating a Nephil is a good step in the right direction.”
    “I can’t date Scott,” I told Dante. “Vee likes him.”
    To say Vee had been unlucky in love was putting it optimistically. In the past six months she’d fallen for a narcissistic predator and a backstabbing slimeball. Not surprisingly, both
relationships made her seriously doubt her instincts in love. Lately, she had unequivocally refused to so much as smile at the opposite sex . . . until Scott came along. Early last night, just
hours before my biological father had compelled me to transform myself into a purebred Nephil, Vee and I had come to the Devil’s Handbag to watch Scott play bass for his new band, Serpentine,
and she hadn’t stopped talking about him since. To sweep in and steal Scott now, even if it was a ruse, would be the ultimate low blow.
    “It wouldn’t be real,” Dante repeated, as if that made everything just peachy.
    “Would Vee know that?”
    “Not exactly. You and Scott would have to be convincing together. A leak would be disastrous, so I’d want to limit the truth to the two of us.”
    Meaning Scott would also be a casualty of the ruse. I did the hands-on-hips thing, going for firm and immovable. “Then you’re going to have to come up with someone else.” I
wasn’t enamored with the idea of fake-dating a Nephil to boost my popularity. In fact, it seemed like a disaster in the making, but I wanted this mess behind me. If Dante thought a Nephilim
boyfriend would give me more street cred, so be it. It wouldn’t be real. Obviously Patch wouldn’t be thrilled, but tackle one problem at a time, right?
    Dante’s mouth compressed into a line, and he shut his eyes briefly. Summoning patience. It was an expression I’d grown quite accustomed to over the course of the day.
    “He’d need to be revered in the Nephilim community,” Dante said thoughtfully at last. “Someone Nephilim would admire and approve of.”
    I made an impatient gesture. “Fine. Just throw someone other than Scott at me.”
    “Me.”
    I flinched. “Sorry. What?
You?
” I was too stunned to burst into laughter.
    “Why not?” Dante asked.
    “Do you really want me to start listing reasons? Because I’ll keep you here all night. You’ve got to be at least five years older than me in human years—total scandal
fodder—you don’t have a sense of humor, and—oh yeah. We can’t stand each other.”
    “It’s a natural connection. I’m your first lieutenant—”
    “Because Hank gave you the position. I had no say in that.”
    Dante didn’t seem to hear me, charging ahead with his make-believe version of events. “We met and felt an instant and mutual attraction. I comforted you after your father’s
death. It’s a believable story.” He smiled. “Lots of good publicity.”
    “If you say the
P
word one more time, I’m going to . . . do something drastic.” Like smack him. And then smack myself for even considering this plan.
    “Sleep on it,” Dante said. “Mull it over.”
    “Mulling it over.” I counted to three on my fingers. “Okay, done. Bad idea. Really bad idea. My answer is no.”
    “You have a better idea?”
    “Yes, but I’ll need time to think it up.”
    “Sure. No problem, Nora.” He counted to three on his fingers. “Okay, time’s up. I needed a name first thing this morning. In case it isn’t painfully obvious, your
image is headed down the tubes. Word of your father’s death, and subsequently your new leadership position, is spreading like wildfire. People are talking, and the talk isn’t good. We
need the Nephilim to believe in you. We need them to trust that you have their best interests in mind, and that you can finish your father’s work and bring us out of bondage from