Finale

mausoleum. To my surprise, the dog raced ahead, peering back every few steps as though to make sure I was still following.
    “Scott!” I called out, flinging open the mausoleum’s door as I burst inside.
    There were no windows. I couldn’t see. Impatiently, I swept my hands out, trying to feel my surroundings. I tripped on a small object and heard it roll away. Patting my hands across the
cold stone floor, I grasped the flashlight Scott had taken with him and obviously dropped, and switched it on.
    There.
In the corner. Scott was on his back, eyes open but dazed. I scrambled over, tugging at the blue-glowing whip scorching his wrists until it fell free. His skin blistered and
oozed. He gave a pained moan.
    “I think Dante is gone, but stay alert just the same,” I told him. “There’s a dog guarding the door—he’s on our side. Stay here until I come back. I have to
find Patch.”
    Scott groaned again, this time cursing Dante’s name. “Didn’t see it coming,” he muttered.
    That made two of us.
    I rushed outside, sprinting across the cemetery, which had fallen into near-perfect darkness. I batted my way through a hedge of bushes, plowing my own shortcut to the parking lot. I leaped the
wrought-iron fence and ran straight for the lone black truck parked in the lot.
    I saw the eerie blue light glowing behind the windows when I was still several feet away. Wrenching the door open, I dragged Patch out, laid him on the pavement, and began the laborious process
of uncoiling the whip, which snaked the width of his chest, pinning his arms at his sides like a torturous corset. His eyes were shut, his skin emanating a faint blue. At last I jerked the whip
loose and flung it aside, oblivious to my burned fingers.
    “Patch,” I said, shaking him. Tears jumped to my eyes, and my throat clogged with emotion. “Wake up, Patch.” I shook him harder. “You’re going to be fine.
Dante is gone, and I untied the whip. Please wake up.” I pushed resolve into my voice. “You’re going to be okay. We’re together now. I need you to open your eyes. I need to
know you can hear me.”
    His body felt feverish, heat pouring through his clothes, and I ripped open his shirt. I gasped at the bubbled skin, patterned where the whip had coiled. The worst wounds curled up like
blackened, scorched paper. A blowtorch would have produced as much damage.
    I knew he couldn’t feel it, but
I
did. My jaw tightened with venomous hatred toward Dante even as tears streamed down my face. Dante had made a massive, unforgivable mistake.
Patch was everything to me, and if the devilcraft left any lasting damage, I would see to it that Dante regretted this single assault as long as he lived, which if I had anything to say about it,
wouldn’t be long. But my seething rage was pushed aside by a consuming distress for Patch. Grief and guilt and ice-cold apprehension plummeted inside me.
    “Please,” I whispered, my voice rattling. “Please, Patch, wake up,” I begged, kissing his mouth and wishing it would miraculously wake him. I gave my head a hard shake to
dislodge the worst thoughts. I wouldn’t allow them to form. Patch was a fallen angel. He couldn’t be hurt. Not this way. I didn’t care how potent devilcraft was—it
couldn’t cause Patch permanent harm.
    I felt Patch’s fingers grip mine a moment before his low voice vibrated weakly in my mind.
Angel.
    At that one word, my heart soared with joy.
I’m here! I’m right here. I love you, Patch. I love you so much!
I sobbed back. Before I could restrain myself, I flung my mouth
against his. I was straddling his hips, elbows planted on either side of his head, not wanting to cause him any more damage, but unable to restrain myself from embracing him. Then, just like that,
he hugged me in such a tight embrace, I collapsed on top of him.
    “I’ll injure you worse!” I shrieked, squirming to roll off him. “The devilcraft— Your skin—”
    “You’re just the thing to make me feel better, Angel,” he murmured, finding my mouth and effectively cutting off my protest. His eyes were shut, lines of exhaustion and stress
tightening his features, and yet the way he kissed me melted away every other worry. I relaxed my posture, sinking down on top of his long, lean form. His hand moved up the back of my shirt,
feeling warm and solid as he held me close.
    “I was terrified of what might have happened to you,” I choked out.
    “I was terrified thinking the same