Finale

with the intent of hoping to score
extra devilcraft. It seemed like a sneaky maneuver, but I was too hungry to feel much more than a pinch of guilt.
    “War?” Dante repeated, sounding startled. “Are you sure?”
    “You can tell the Nephilim higher-ups that I’m devising plans to go against fallen angels.”
    “This is—great news,” Dante said, still sounding shell-shocked as he stuffed an extra bottle of devilcraft into my hands. “What made you change your mind?”
    “A conversion of heart,” I said, because I thought it sounded good. “I’m not just leading the Nephilim. I
am
one.”
    Dante saw me out, and it took every ounce of control to walk calmly to the Volkswagen. I kept our farewell short, then drove around the corner, immediately parked, and twisted the cap off the
bottle. I was about to tip it back when the sound of Patch’s ringtone caused me to jump, splashing blue liquid on my lap.
    It evaporated instantly, rising into the air like smoke from a snuffed match. I cursed under my breath, furious that I’d lost even a few precious drops.
    “Hello?” I answered. The red spots streaked my vision.
    “I don’t like finding you in another man’s house, Angel.”
    Immediately, I looked both ways out the window. I shoved the devilcraft under my seat. “Where are you?”
    “Three cars back.”
    My eyes flew to the rearview mirror. Patch swung off his motorcycle and strolled toward me, phone pressed to his ear. I wiped my face with the neck of my shirt.
    I cranked down my window. “Following me?” I asked Patch.
    “Tracking device.”
    I was starting to hate that thing.
    Patch leaned a forearm on the roof of my car, bending close. “Who lives on Shore Drive?”
    “That tracking device is pretty specific.”
    “I only buy the best.”
    “Dante lives at 12 Shore Drive.” No use lying when it sounded like he’d already done his research.
    “I don’t like finding you in another man’s home, but I hate finding you in his.” His expression was calm enough, but I could tell he wanted an explanation.
    “I needed to confirm our workout time for tomorrow morning. I was in the area and figured I might as well stop by.” The lie slipped out easy, so easy. All I could think of was
getting rid of Patch. My throat filled with the taste of devilcraft. I swallowed impatiently.
    Gently, Patch pushed my sunglasses higher on my nose, then bent through the window and kissed me. “I’m on my way to research a few more leads into Pepper’s blackmailer. Need
anything before I head out?”
    I shook my head no.
    “If you need to talk, you know I’m here for you,” he added softly.
    “Talk about what?” I asked, almost defensively. Could he know about the devilcraft? No. No, he couldn’t.
    He studied me a moment. “Anything.”
    I waited until Patch drove off before I drank, one greedy sip at a time, until I was full.

C HAPTER

20
    T HURSDAY EVENING ARRIVED, AND WITH IT, THE complete transformation of the farmhouse. Garlands of autumn leaves in
scarlet, gold, and chestnut spilled off the eaves. Bushels of dried cornstalks framed the door. Marcie had purchased what appeared to be every pumpkin and gourd in all of Maine, and lined them up
along the sidewalk, the driveway, and every last square inch of porch. Some were carved into jack-o’-lanterns, flickering candlelight in their spooky expressions. A vindictive part of me
wanted to tell her it looked like a craft store had thrown up on our lawn, but the truth was, she’d done a nice job.
    Inside, haunted music played from the stereo. Skulls, bats, cobwebs, and ghosts cluttered the furniture. Marcie had rented a dry-ice machine—as if we didn’t have enough authentic fog
in the yard.
    I had two paper bags filled with last-minute items in my arms, and I carted them into the kitchen.
    “I’m back!” I yelled. “Plastic cups, one bag of spider rings, two bags of ice, and more skeleton confetti—just like you asked. Soda is still in the trunk. Any
volunteers to help carry it in?”
    Marcie sashayed into the room, and I did a jaw drop. She wore a black vinyl bra and matching leggings. Nothing more. Her ribs poked through her skin, and she had total Popsicle-stick thighs.
“Put the soda in the fridge, the ice in the freezer, and sprinkle the skeleton confetti on the dining room table, but don’t get any in the food. That’s it for now. Stay close in
case I need anything else. I have to go finish my costume.”
    “Well, that’s