Finale

friend.”
    His smile vanished and he lunged for my sleeve. “Don’t go.” His voice rose to a whine of desperation.
    I took several startled steps back.
    “That is— I mean— I was trying to say—” He gulped, then hardened his eyes into glittering beads. “I need to talk to your boyfriend.”
    My heart beat faster and a panicky thought seized me. What if he was Nephilim and I couldn’t detect it? What if he really did know about me and Patch? What if he’d found me tonight
to get a message across—that Nephilim and fallen angels don’t mix? I was a brand-new Nephil, no match for him if it came to a physical confrontation.
    “I don’t have a boyfriend.” I tried to stay calm as I turned back toward the Devil’s Handbag.
    “Put me in touch with Patch,” the man called after me, that same desperate squeak pinching his voice. “He’s avoiding me.”
    I picked up my pace.
    “Tell him if he doesn’t come out of hiding, I’ll—I’ll—smoke him out. I’ll burn down the whole of Delphic Amusement Park if I have to!”
    I glanced over my shoulder warily. I didn’t know what Patch had gotten himself mixed up in, but I had an uncomfortable feeling swelling in my stomach. Whoever this man was, cherubic
features aside, he meant business.
    “He can’t avoid me forever!” He scurried away on his stumpy legs until he blended into the shadows, whistling a tune that sent a jitter down my spine.

C HAPTER

2
    A HALF HOUR LATER, I PULLED INTO MY DRIVEWAY . I live with my mom in a quintessential Maine farmhouse, complete with
white paint, blue shutters, and a shroud of ever-present fog. This time of year, the trees blazed fiery shades of red and gold, and the air held the crisp smells of pine sap, burning wood, and damp
leaves. I jogged up the porch steps, where five portly pumpkins watched me like sentinels, and let myself in.
    “I’m home!” I called to my mom, the light in the living room giving away her location. I dropped my keys on the sideboard and went back to find her.
    She dog-eared her page, rose from the sofa, and squeezed me in a hug. “How did your night go?”
    “I am officially drained of every last ounce of energy.” I pointed upstairs. “If I make it up to bed, it will be by sheer mental power alone.”
    “While you were out, a man stopped by looking for you.”
    I frowned. What man?
    “He wouldn’t leave his name, and he wouldn’t tell me how he knew you,” my mom continued. “Should I be worried?”
    “What did he look like?”
    “Round face, ruddy complexion, blond hair.”
    Him
, then. The man who had a bone to pick with Patch. I fabricated a smile. “Oh, right. He’s a salesman. Keeps trying to get me to commit to senior pictures with his studio.
Next thing you know, he’ll want to sell me graduation announcements too. Would it be completely disgusting if I skipped washing my face tonight? Staying awake an extra two minutes at this
point is pushing it.”
    Mom kissed my forehead. “Sweet dreams.”
    I climbed to my bedroom, shut the door, and flopped spread-eagled on my bed. The music from the Devil’s Handbag still pulsed at the back of my head, but I was too tired to care. My eyes
were halfway shut when I remembered the window. On a groan, I staggered over and unlatched the lock. Patch could get inside, but I wished him luck trying to keep me awake long enough to elicit a
response.
    I pulled my blankets up to my chin, felt the soft, blissful tug of a dream beckoning me closer, let it drag me under—
    And then the mattress sank with the weight of another body.
    “Not sure why you’re so enamored with this bed,” Patch said. “It’s twelve inches too short, four feet too narrow, and the purple sheets aren’t doing it for
me.
My
bed, on the other hand . . .”
    I opened one eye and found him stretched out beside me, hands clasped loosely behind his neck. His dark eyes watched mine, and he smelled clean and sexy. Most of all, he felt warm pressed up
against me. Despite my best intentions, the close proximity was making it increasingly difficult to concentrate on sleep.
    “Ha,” I said. “I know you don’t care how comfortable my bed is. You’d be fine on a pallet of bricks.” One of the downsides of Patch being a fallen angel was
that he couldn’t feel physical sensation. No pain, but no pleasure either. I had to be content knowing that when I kissed him, he felt it on an emotional level only. I tried to pretend it
didn’t matter, but I