Finale

absurd things to worry about, I wondered if Dabria was a better kisser. If Patch wished I was more like her. Crafty, icy, sophisticated. I wondered the
precise moment he’d gone back to her. I wondered whether he hadn’t broken things off with me yet because he knew how devastated I’d be.
    Yet.
    A heavy feeling of uncertainty pressed down on me.
    I opened the door and brushed past Marcie. I’d made it five steps down the hall when I felt her eyes on my back.
    “Are you okay?” she asked.
    “I don’t want to talk about it.”
    “Hey, wait up. Nora? Are you crying?”
    I swiped my fingers under my eyes, surprised to find I had been crying. The whole moment felt frozen and distant. As if it were happening far away, in a dream.
    Without turning I said, “I’m going out. Can you cover for me? I might not make curfew.”
    I stopped once on my way to Patch’s place. I veered the Volkswagen sharply to the roadside, swung out, and paced the shoulder. It was full dark, and cold enough that I
wished I’d brought my coat. I didn’t know what I’d say when I saw him. I didn’t want to launch into a raving outburst. I didn’t want to reduce myself to bawling,
either.
    I’d brought the pictures with me, and in the end, I decided they could do the talking. I’d hand them to him and limit my question to a succinct, “Why?”
    The icy detachment that had settled over me like frost melted the moment I saw Dabria’s Bugatti parked outside Patch’s townhouse. I braked a half block away, swallowing hard. A knot
of anger swelled in my throat, and I shoved out of the car.
    I jammed my key into the house lock and marched in. The only light came from a lamp on an end table in the living room. Dabria was pacing the balcony window but stopped when she saw me.
    “What are you doing here?” she asked, visibly startled.
    I shook my head angrily. “Nope. That’s my line. This is my boyfriend’s house, which makes that my line, exclusively. Where is he?” I demanded, already striding to the
hallway leading back to the master bedroom.
    “Don’t bother. He’s not here.”
    I whirled around. I gave Dabria a look that was incredulity, disgust, and menace all wrapped into one. “Then what. Are. You. Doing. Here?” I enunciated each word. I could feel rage
bubbling up inside me, and I didn’t try to temper it. Dabria had this coming.
    “I’m in trouble, Nora.” Her lip quivered.
    “Couldn’t have said it better myself.” I flung the envelope of pictures at her. It landed near her feet. “How does it feel knowing you’re a boyfriend stealer? Is
that what makes you feel good, Dabria? Taking what doesn’t belong to you? Or is it just the act of ripping apart a good thing that you enjoy?”
    Dabria bent to retrieve the envelope, but she held my eyes the whole way. Her eyebrows furrowed with guarded uncertainty. I couldn’t believe she had the audacity to act like she
didn’t know.
    “Patch’s truck,” I raged. “You and him, some night earlier this week, together in his truck. You
kissed
him!”
    She broke eye contact just long enough to peer inside the envelope. She set it on a sofa cushion. “You don’t understand—”
    “Oh, I think I do. You’re not that hard to figure out. You have no sense of respect or dignity. You take what you want, forget everyone else. You wanted Patch, and it looks like you
got him.” Now my voice caught and my eyes burned. I tried to blink the tears away, but they were coming too fast.
    “I’m in trouble because I made a mistake while doing a favor for Patch,” Dabria said in a soft, worried voice, clearly oblivious to my accusations. “Patch told me Blakely
is developing devilcraft for Dante, and that the lab needs to be destroyed. He said if I ever came across information that might lead him to Blakely, or the lab, I was to immediately tell him.
    “A couple nights ago, very late, a group of Nephilim came to me, wanting their fortunes told. I quickly learned they were employed as bodyguards in the Black Hand’s army. Up until
that night, they had served as guards for a very powerful and important Nephil named Blakely. They had my attention. They went on to tell me their work was tedious and uneventful, and the hours
long. Earlier that night, they had agreed to play a game of poker to pass the time, even though games or distractions of any kind were forbidden.
    “One of the men left his post to buy a deck of cards. They played only a few minutes before