Finale

he said at last. “I’m not letting you out of my sight if there’s any chance things could go south.”
    There was always a chance things could go south. If I’d learned anything during my time with Patch, it was that. Patch knew this too, and I wondered if it was part of his plan to keep me
from going. I suddenly felt like Cinderella, prevented from going to the ball on a small technicality.
    “Scott is stronger than you give him credit for,” I argued. “He’s not going to let anything happen to me. I’ll make sure he understands he can’t tell a soul
that you and I are still very much together.”
    Patch’s black eyes simmered. “And I’ll make sure he understands that if a single hair on your head is lost, he’ll deal with me. If he’s got any sense, that’s
a threat he’ll take to heart.”
    I smiled tensely. “Then it’s settled. All we need now is a plan.”
    The following night was Saturday. After telling my mom that I was staying at Vee’s all weekend and we’d head to school together on Monday, Scott and I made a trip
to the Devil’s Handbag. We weren’t interested in the music or drinks, rather in the basement level. I’d heard rumors about the basement, a burgeoning gambling haven, but had never
actually stepped foot inside. Word had it Pepper couldn’t say the same. Patch had supplied us with a list of Pepper’s favorite haunts, and I hoped Scott and I would get lucky on our
first try.
    Trying to look both sophisticated and guileless, I followed Scott over to the bar. He was chewing gum, looking as relaxed and confident as ever. I, on the other hand, was sweating so bad I felt
like I needed another shower.
    I’d flat-ironed my hair for a sleek and mature look. Throw on some liquid eyeliner, lipstick, four-inch heels, and a high-end handbag on loan from Marcie, and I’d magically aged five
years. Given Scott’s fully developed and intimidating build, I didn’t think he had to worry about getting carded. He wore tiny silver hoops in his ears, and while his brown hair was
closely cropped, he still managed to look both tough
and
handsome. Scott and I were just friends, but I could easily appreciate what Vee saw in him. I linked my arm through his, a show of
being his girlfriend, as he signaled the bartender over to talk.
    “We’re looking for Storky,” Scott told the bartender, leaning close to keep his voice low.
    The bartender, who I’d never seen before, eyed us shrewdly. I met his gaze, trying to keep my eyes impassive
. Don’t look nervous,
I told myself.
And whatever you do,
don’t look like you’ve got something to hide.
    “Who’s looking?” he asked gruffly at last.
    “We heard there’s a high-stakes game tonight,” Scott said, flashing a stack of hundreds lined up neatly inside his wallet.
    The bartender hiked his shoulders and went back to wiping the bar. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    Scott laid one of the bills on the bar, covering it with his hand. He slid it toward the bartender. “That’s too bad. You sure we can’t convince you to rethink?”
    The bartender eyed the hundred-dollar bill. “Have I seen you around?”
    “I play bass for Serpentine. I’ve also played poker from Portland to Concord to Boston, and everywhere in between.”
    A nod of recognition. “That’s it. I used to work nights at the Z Pool Hall in Springvale.”
    “Fond memories of the place,” Scott said without missing a beat. “Won a lot of cash. Lost even more.” He grinned as though sharing a private joke with the bartender.
    Sliding his hand flush with Scott’s, and looking around to be sure he wasn’t under surveillance, the bartender pocketed the bill. “Got to frisk you first,” he told us.
“No weapons allowed downstairs.”
    “No problem,” Scott answered easily.
    I started to sweat even more. Patch had warned us they’d be on the lookout for guns, knives, and any other sharp object that could be used as a weapon. So we’d gotten creative. The
belt holding up Scott’s jeans, and hidden beneath his shirt, was in fact a whip enchanted with devilcraft. Scott had sworn up and down he wasn’t ingesting devilcraft, and had never
heard of the super-drink, but I figured we might as well make use of the enchanted whip he’d lifted from Dante’s car on a whim. The whip glowed the telltale shade of iridescent blue,
but as long as the bartender didn’t raise Scott’s shirt, we’d be safe.
    At the bartender’s invitation,