Finale

retaliate. For the foreseeable future, physical strength
mattered more than strength of character.
    I pressed my fingers into my temples, trying to rub away the worry that echoed like a dull ache. “I don’t want to talk about this now. I just need—some quiet time, okay? I had
a rough morning, and I’ll deal with this when I’m feeling better.”
    Patch didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t say anything more on the matter.
    “I’ll call you later,” I said wearily.
    He retrieved a vial of milky white liquid from his pocket and handed it to me. “The antidote.”
    I’d been so caught up in our argument, I’d completely forgotten about it. I scrutinized the vial suspiciously.
    “I did manage to get Blakely to tell me that the knife he stabbed you with is the most powerful prototype he’s developed yet. It put twenty times the amount of devilcraft into your
system than the drink Dante gave you. That’s why you need the antidote. Without it, you’ll develop an unbreakable addiction to devilcraft. In high enough doses, certain devilcraft
prototypes will rot you from the inside out. They will scramble your brains same as any other lethal drug.”
    Patch’s words caught me off guard. I’d woken this morning with an insatiable appetite for devilcraft because Blakely had caused me to crave it more than eating, drinking, or even
breathing?
    The thought of waking up every day, driven by that hunger, put a red-hot feeling of shame in my veins. I hadn’t realized how high the stakes were. Unexpectedly, I found myself grateful to
Patch for getting the antidote. I’d do anything to never feel that unconquerable need again.
    I unstopped the vial. “Anything I should know before I take this?” I passed the vial under my nose. No odor.
    “It won’t work if you’ve had devilcraft introduced into your system in the last twenty-four hours, but that shouldn’t be a problem. It’s been well over a day since
Blakely stabbed you,” Patch said.
    I had the vial an inch from my lips when I stopped. Just this morning I’d consumed an entire bottle of devilcraft. If I took the antidote now, it wouldn’t work. I’d still be
addicted.
    “Plug your nose and tip it back. It can’t taste as bad as devilcraft,” Patch said.
    I wanted to tell Patch about the bottle I’d stolen from Dante. I wanted to explain myself. He wouldn’t blame me. This was Blakely’s fault. It was the devilcraft. I’d
guzzled a whole bottle of it and I’d hardly had a choice, I was so blinded by need.
    I opened my mouth to confess everything, but something stopped me. A dark, foreign voice planted deep inside murmured that I didn’t want to be free of devilcraft. Not yet. I couldn’t
forfeit the power and strength that came with it—not when we were on the brink of war. I had to keep those powers close, just in case. This wasn’t about devilcraft. It was about
protecting myself.
    The cravings started then, licking up my skin, watering my mouth, causing me to shudder with hunger. I pushed the feelings aside, proud of myself when I did. I wouldn’t give in the way I
had this morning. I would only steal and drink devilcraft when I absolutely needed it. And I’d keep the antidote with me always, so I could break the habit whenever I wanted. I’d do it
on my terms. I had a choice in this. I was in control.
    Then I did something I never imagined I’d do. The impulse fired into my consciousness, and I acted without thinking. I locked eyes with Patch for the briefest of moments, summoned all my
mental energy, feeling it flex inside me like a great, unleashed, and natural power, and mind-tricked him into thinking I’d taken the antidote.
    Nora drank it,
I whispered deceptively to his mind, planting an image there that backed up my lie.
Every last drop.
    Then I slipped the vial into my pocket. The whole thing was over in seconds.

C HAPTER

19
    I LEFT PATCH’S PLACE, INTENDING TO DRIVE HOME, all the while combating a violent wrenching in my stomach that felt
part guilt, part genuine illness. I couldn’t remember a single time in my life when I’d felt more ashamed.
    Or more ravenous.
    My stomach contracted, spiking with hunger pangs. They were so sharp, they left me doubled over against the steering wheel. It was as though I’d swallowed nails, and they were scraping my
insides raw. I had the strangest sensation of feeling my organs shrivel. It was followed by the frightening question of whether my body would eat