Finale (37 page)

A nod. “Sweet and simple. Another ten hours of this, and you’ll be a pro.”

“If we’re doing this for ten hours, I’m going to need a little incentive to stay motivated.”

Patch hooked his elbow around my neck and dragged me into a kiss. “Every time you strip my sword, I owe you a kiss. How’s that sound?”

I bit my lip to keep from giggling. “That sounds really dirty.”

Patch waggled his brows. “Look whose mind just rolled into the gutter.
Two
kisses per strip. Any objections?”

I pulled on an innocent face. “None whatsoever.”

Patch and I didn’t stop dueling until sunset. We’d demolished five sets of swords, and stopped only for lunch and for me to receive my awarded kisses—some of which lasted long enough to draw the attention of beachcombers and a few joggers. I’m sure we looked insane, darting about on the craggy rocks while swinging wooden swords at each other hard enough to leave bruises and, very likely, a few cases of internal bleeding. ForÀbleedingtunately, my accelerated healing meant the worst of my injuries didn’t interfere with our training.

By dusk, we were covered in sweat and I was thoroughly exhausted. In just over twelve hours, I would duel Dante for real. No makeshift swords, rather steel blades sharp enough to sever a limb. The thought was sobering enough to make my skin prickle.

“Well, you did it,” I congratulated Patch. “I’m as trained as I’ll ever be—a lean, mean sword-fighting machine. I should have made you my personal trainer from day one.”

A rogue smile surfaced, slow and wicked. “No match for Patch.”

“Mmm,” I agreed, glancing up at him coyly.

“Why don’t you head back to my place for a shower, and I’ll pick up takeout from the Borderline?” Patch suggested as we trudged up the rocky embankment toward the parking lot.

He said it casually enough, but the words drew my eyes directly to his. Patch had worked as a busboy at the Borderline the first time we met. I couldn’t drive past the restaurant now and not think of him. I was touched that he remembered, and to know that the restaurant held special memories for him, too. I forced myself to put all thought of tomorrow’s duel, and Pepper’s slim chance at success, out of my mind; tonight I wanted to enjoy Patch’s company without worrying what would become of me—
us
—if I had to duel and Dante won.

“Can I put in a request for tacos?” I asked softly, remembering the first time Patch had taught me to make them.

“You read my mind, Angel.”

I let myself into Patch’s townhouse. In the bathroom, I stripped out of my clothes and untangled my braid. Patch’s bathroom was magnificent. Deep blue tiles and black towels. A freestanding tub that would easily fit two. Bar soap that smelled like vanilla and cinnamon.

I stepped into the shower, letting the water beat over my skin. I thought of Patch standing in this same shower, arms braced against the wall as water poured over his shoulders. I thought of pearls of water clinging to his skin. I thought of him using the same towels I was about to wrap around my own body. I thought of his bed, just feet away. Of how the sheets would hold his scent—

A shadow slid across the bathroom mirror.

The bathroom door w
as cracked, light spilling in from the bedroom. I held my breath, waiting for another shadow, waiting for time to tell me I’d imagined seeing one. This was Patch’s home. No one knew about it. Not Dante, not Pepper. I’d been careful—no one had followed me tonight.

W
HAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” I DEMANDED,
hitching up the bath towel to keep myself covered. “How did you find this place?”

Weapon.
I needed one. My eyes scanned Patch’s meticulous bedroom. Blakely might look compromised now, but he’d been manipulating devilcraft for months. I didn’t trust him not to have something sharp and dangerous—and blue-tinted—hidden beneath his trench coat.

“I need your help,” he said, raising his palms as he crawled to his feet.

“Don’t move,” I snapped. “On your knees. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

“Dante tried to kill me.”

“You’re immortal, Blakely. You’re also teammates with Dante.”

“Not anymore. Now that I’ve developed enough devilcraft prototypes, he wants me gone. He wants to control devilcraft exclusively. He used a sword I enhanced specifically to kill you, and tried to use it against me. I barely got away.”

“Dante ordered you to make a sword that would kill me?”

“For the duel.”

I didn’t yet know Blakely’s endgame, but I didn’t put Dante past using forbidden—and lethal—methods to win the duel. “Is it as good as you say? Will it kill me?”

Blakely looked me squarely in the eye. “Yes.”

I tried to calmly process this information. I needed a way to disqualify Dante from using his sword. But first things first. “More.”

“I suspect Dante is working for fallen angels.”

I didn’t bat an eye. “What makes you say that?”

“All these months, and he’s never allowed me to make a weapon that will kill fallen angels. Rather, I’ve developed a whole host of prototypes that were supposedly aimed at killing you. And if they can kill you, they can kill any Nephil. Since fallen angels are the enemy, why have I been developing weapons that hurt Nephilim?”

I remembered my conversation with Dante at Rollerland, over a week ago. “Dante told me that with enough time, you’d be able to develop a prototype strong enough to kill a fallen angel.&rƀddquo;

“I wouldn’t know. He’s never given me the chance.”

In a risky move, I decided to come clean with Blakely. I still didn’t trust him, but if I gave a little, he might too. And right now, I needed to know everything he did. “You’re right. Dante is working for fallen angels. I know this for a fact.”

For a moment, he shut his eyes, taking the truth hard. “I never trusted Dante, not from the beginning. Bringing him on board was your father’s idea. I couldn’t convince Hank not to do it then, but I can avenge his name now. If Dante is a traitor, I owe it to your father to destroy him.”

If nothing else, I had to give Hank credit for inspiring loyalty.

I said, “Tell me more about the devilcraft super-drink. Since Dante is working for fallen angels, why would he have you develop something that would aid our race?”

“He never distributed the drink to other Nephilim like he told me he would. It’s only strengthening him. And now he has all the prototypes. The antidote, too.” Blakely squeezed between his eyes. “Everything I worked for—he stole it.”

My damp hair clung to my skin, and chilled water dripped down my back. Goose bumps stood out on my flesh, from cold and Blakely’s words both. “Patch will be here any minute. Since you were apparently clever enough to find his home, I’m guessing you were looking for him.”

“I want to ruin Dante.” His voice vibrated with conviction.

“You mean you want Patch to ruin him for you.” What was it with evildoers trying to hire my boyfriend as a mercenary? Granted, he’d worked as one in a past life, but this was starting to get ridiculous—and irritating. What happened to taking care of one’s own problems? “What makes you think he’ll do it?”

“I want Dante to spend the rest of his life in misery. Isolated from the world, tortured to the breaking point. Patch is the only one I trust to do it. Price isn’t an issue.”

“Patch doesn’t need money—” I stopped, holding the thought. An idea had just come to me, and it was as devious as it was manipulative. I didn’t want to take advantage of Blakely, but then again, he’d hardly been gracious to me in the past. I reminded myself that when push came to shove, he’d driven a knife enhanced with devilcraft deep inside me, introducing me to a toxic addiction. “Patch doesn’t need your money, but he does need your testimony. If you agree to confess Dante’s crimes at the duel tomorrow in front of Lisa Martin and other influential Nephilim, Patch will kill Dante for you.” Just because Patch had already promised to kill Dante for Pepper didn’t mean we couldn’t take advantage of circumstances and position ourselves to gain something from Blakely as well. The expression “two birds with one stone” hadn’t come from nowhere, after all.

“Dante can’t be killed. Imprisoned eternally, yes, but not killed. None of the prototypes work against him. He’s immune because his body—”

“This is a job Patch can handle,” I fired back tersely. “If you want Dante dead, consider it done. You have your connections, and Patch has his.&rˀch has hdquo;

Blakely studied me with a contemplative, discerning gaze. “He knows an archangel?” he guessed at last.

“You didn’t hear it from me. One more thing, Blakely. This is important. Do you hold enough clout with Lisa Martin and other powerful Nephilim to turn them against Dante? Because if not, we’re both going down tomorrow.”

He only debated a minute. “Dante charmed your father, Lisa Martin, and several other Nephilim from the beginning, but he doesn’t have the history with them that I do. If I call him a traitor, they’ll listen.” Blakely reached into his pocket and offered me a small card. “I need to retrieve a few important items from my home before I relocate to my safe house. This is my new address. Give me a head start, then bring Patch. We’ll work out the details tonight.”

Patch arrived minutes after Blakely left. The first words out of my mouth were, “You’ll never believe who just stopped by.” With that captivating hook, I launched into my story, relaying to Patch every word from my conversation with Blakely.

“What do you make of it?” Patch asked when I finished.

“I think Blakely is our last hope.”

“You trust him?”

“No. But your enemy’s enemy . . .”

“Did you make him swear an oath to testify tomorrow?”

My heart sank. I hadn’t thought of it. It was an honest mistake, but it made me wonder if I’d ever be a worthy leader. I knew Patch didn’t expect perfection from me, but I wanted to impress him just the same. An idiotic voice inside my head questioned whether Dabria would have made the same mistake. Doubtful. “When we meet him tonight, it will be the first thing I take care of.”

“It makes sense that Dante would want to control devilcraft exclusively,” Patch mused. “And if Dante thought Blakely suspected him of working for fallen angels, he would kill him to keep his secret safe.”

I said, “Do you think Dante told me about devilcraft that day at Rollerland because he anticipated that I’d tell you, and you’d go after Blakely? I’ve always wondered why he told me. Looking back, it almost seems like he had a strategy: for you to snatch Blakely and bury him from the light of day, leaving Dante alone to control devilcraft.”

“Which is exactly what I had planned. Until Marcie upset those plans.”

“Dante has been undermining me from the start,” I realized.

“Not anymore. We have Blakely’s testimony.”

“Does that mean we’re meeting him?”

Patch had set the keys to his motorcycle on the kitchen counter not five minutes ago, and he reached for them again. “Never a dull moment, Angel.”

The address Blakely had given me took us to a single-story redbrick home in an older neighborhood. Two shaded windows flanked the front door. The sprawling property seemed to swallow the little cottage whole.

Patch drove around the block twice, eyes sharp, then parked down the street out of the reach of the streetlights. He gave the front door three solid raps. A light burned behind the living room window, but there were no other signs that someone was home.

“Stay here,” Patch told me. “I’m going around back.”

I waited on the stoop, glancing behind me at the street. It was too cold for the neighbors to be out walking the dog, and not a single car drove past.

The front door lock tumbled, and Patch opened the door from within. “Back door was wide open. Got a bad feeling,” he said.

I stepped inside, shutting the door behind me. “Blakely?” I called out softly. The house was small enough to make raising my voice unnecessary.

“He’s not on the first floor,” Patch said. “But there are stairs leading to a basement.”