Finale

itself for nourishment.
    But it wasn’t food I needed.
    I pulled over and called Scott. “I need Dante’s address.”
    “You’ve never been to his place before? Aren’t you his girlfriend?”
    It irritated me that he was slowing the conversation. I needed Dante’s address; I didn’t have time to chitchat. “Do you have it or not?”
    “I’ll text you the address. Something wrong? You sound antsy. Have for a few days now.”
    “I’m fine,” I said, then hung up and slouched in my seat. Sweat beaded my upper lip. I clenched the steering wheel, trying to fend off the cravings that seemed to grip me by
the throat and rattle me. My thoughts were glued to one word—devilcraft. I tried to swat the temptation away. I’d just taken devilcraft this morning. A
whole
bottle. I could
beat these cravings. I decided when I needed more devilcraft. I decided when, and how much.
    The prickly sweat spread to my back, little rivulets scurrying beneath my shirt. The bottoms of my thighs, hot and moist, seemed to stick to the seat cushions. Even though it was October, I
blasted the AC.
    I steered back onto the road, but the blare of a passing horn caused me to brake abruptly. A white van sped past, its driver making an obscene gesture through the window.
    Get a grip,
I told myself.
Pay attention.
    After a few head-clearing breaths, I uploaded the address to Dante’s house onto my cell phone. I studied the map, gave an ironic laugh, and flipped a U-turn. Dante, it seemed, lived less
than five miles from Patch’s townhouse.
    Ten minutes later I’d driven under a lush arch of trees canopying the road, crossed a cobblestone bridge, and parked the Volkswagen on a quaint and curving tree-lined street. Houses were
predominantly white Victorians with gingerbread detail and steeply pitched roofs. All were flamboyant and excessive. I identified Dante’s—a Queen Anne at 12 Shore Drive—that was
all spindles and towers and gables. The door was painted red with a big brass knocker. I skipped the knocker and went straight for the bell, pushing it repeatedly.
If he didn’t hurry and
answer . . .
    Dante cracked the door, his face registering surprise. “How’d you find this place?”
    “Scott.”
    He frowned. “I don’t like people showing up at my door unexpectedly. A lot of foot traffic looks suspicious. I’ve got nosy neighbors.”
    “It’s important.”
    He jerked his chin back toward the road. “That piece of junk you drive is an eyesore.”
    I wasn’t in the mood to exchange witty insults. If I didn’t get devilcraft into my system soon—just a few drops—my heart was going to gallop right out of my chest. Even
now my pulse raced and I was laboring to draw breath. I might as well have spent the past hour running up a steep hill, I was so winded.
    I said, “I changed my mind. I want devilcraft. As a backup,” I quickly added. “In case I find myself in a situation where I’m outnumbered and I need it.” I
couldn’t focus long enough to tell if my reasoning sounded flimsy. Red spots flashed across my vision. I desperately wanted to wipe my brow, but I didn’t want to draw extra attention to
how profusely I was sweating.
    Dante gave me a questioning look I couldn’t quite interpret, then led me inside. I stood in the foyer, darting my eyes over the clean white walls and lush Oriental rugs. A hallway led back
to the kitchen. Formal living room on my left, and dining room, painted the same oxblood red as my eye spots, on my right. As far as I could see, every furnishing was antique. A crystal-droplet
chandelier hung overhead.
    “Nice,” I managed to choke out between my skittering pulse and tingling extremities.
    “The house belonged to friends. They left it to me in their will.”
    “Sorry they passed.”
    He strode into the dining room, tilted a large painting of a haystack to one side, and revealed the time-honored hidden wall safe. He punched in the code and opened the box.
    “Here you go. It’s a new prototype. Incredibly concentrated, so drink it in low doses,” he cautioned. “Two bottles. If you decide to start taking it now, it should last a
week.”
    I nodded, trying to hide my watering mouth as I took the blue-glowing bottles. “There’s something I want to tell you, Dante. I’m leading the Nephilim to war. So if you can
spare more than two bottles, I could use them.” I’d fully intended to tell Dante about my decision to go into battle, but I had not meant to tell him