Finale

backward. “What’s going on here?”
    “You did it,” he repeated. “Devilcraft is eradicated.”
    “Tell me I’m dreaming.”
    “I’m an archangel.” The corners of his mouth crooked, almost, but not quite, sheepishly.
    “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.”
    “I’ve been on Earth for months, working undercover. We suspected that Chauncey Langeais and Hank Millar were summoning devilcraft, and it was my job to keep a close eye on Hank, his
dealings, and his family—including you.”
    Basso. Archangel. Working undercover. I shook my head. “I’m still not sure what is happening here.”
    “You did what I’ve been trying to do. Get rid of devilcraft.”
    I digested this in silence. After what I’d seen these past few weeks, it took a lot to surprise me. But this certainly did. Good to know I wasn’t entirely jaded yet.
    “Fallen angels are gone. It won’t last forever, but enjoy it while we can, right?” he grunted. “I’m closing this case and heading home. Congratulations.”
    My brain hardly heard him. Fallen angels, gone.
Gone.
The word yawned inside me like an endless hole.
    “Good work, Nora. Oh, and you might like to know we’ve got Pepper in custody and we’re dealing with him. He claims you put him up to stealing the feathers, but I’m going
to pretend I didn’t hear it. One last thing. Consider this a thank-you of sorts: Go for a nice, clean cut through the middle of the mark on your wrist,” he said, sawing his own wrist
with the side of his hand in demonstration.
    “What?”
    A knowing smile. “For once, just trust me.”
    And he was gone.
    I leaned back against a tree, trying to slow the world long enough to make sense of it. Dante, dead. Devilcraft, demolished. The war, nonexistent. My oath, fulfilled. And Scott. Oh, Scott. How
would I tell Vee? How would I help her get through the loss, the heartache, the despair? Down the road, how would I encourage her to move on, when I had no such plans for myself? Trying to replace
Patch—even trying to find happiness, however small, with someone else—would be a lie. I was Nephilim now, blessed to live forever, cursed to do so without Patch.
    Footsteps rustled ahead, cutting through the grass, a familiar sound. I stiffened, poised to attack, as a dark outline emerged through the fog. The figure’s eyes raked the ground, clearly
hunting for something. He crouched at every body, inspecting it with a hurried fervor, then kicked it aside with an impatient curse.
    “Patch?”
    Hunched over a decaying body, he froze. His head whipped up, his eyes narrowing, as if disbelieving what he’d heard. His gaze locked with mine, and something undecipherable moved in his
black eyes. Relief? Solace? Deliverance.
    I ran in a frenzy the last several feet separating us and threw myself into his embrace, digging my fingers into his shirt, burying my face into his neck. “Let this be real. Let this be
you. Don’t let me go. Don’t ever let me go.” I started crying freely. “I fought Dante. I killed him. But I couldn’t save Scott. He’s dead. Devilcraft is gone,
but I failed Scott.”
    Patch murmured soft sounds in my ear, but his hands shook where they held me. He guided me to sit on a stone bench, but he never released me, holding me as though he were afraid I’d drain
through his fingers like sand. His eyes, weary and red, told me he’d been crying.
    Keep talking,
I told myself.
Keep the dream going. Anything to keep Patch here.
    “I saw Rixon.”
    “He’s dead,” Patch said bluntly. “So are the rest of them. Dante released us from hell, but not before taking our oaths of loyalty and injecting us with a devilcraft
prototype. It was the only way out. We left hell with it swimming in our veins, our lifeblood. When you destroyed devilcraft, every fallen angel being sustained by it died.”
    It can’t be a dream. It must be, and at the same time, it’s too real.
His touch, so familiar, caused my heartbeat to soar and my blood to melt— I couldn’t
fabricate such a forceful response to him in a dream.
    “How did you survive?”
    “I didn’t swear an oath to Dante, and I didn’t let him inject me with devilcraft. I possessed Rixon just long enough to escape hell. I didn’t trust Dante or devilcraft. I
trusted
you
to finish them both off.”
    “Oh, Patch,” I said, my voice trembling. “You were gone. I saw your motorcycle. You never came back. I thought—” My heart twisted, a deep ache expanding to