She locked eyes with me. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Pepper searched me out that night because he knows I have connections to Patch. He’s looking for Patch, and mistakenly thought I’d help him.” She started the ignition, flooring the gas to drown out my response.

I glared at Dabria, not buying that her interaction with Pepper had been that innocent. Dabria had a solid track record of lying. On top of that, we had bad blood. She stood as an awful reminder that Patch had been with someone before me. It wouldn’t have been so nettling if she would stay in his past where she belonged. Instead she kept popping up like the villain with multiple lives in a slasher film.

“You’re a poor judge of character,” she said, thrusting the Bugatti in gear.

I leaped to the front bumper, slamming my palms on the hood. I wasn’t finished with her yet. “When it comes to you, I’m not wrong,” I called over the engine. “You’re a conniving, backstabbing, selfish, and egotistical narcissist.”

Dabria’s jaw clenched visibly. She smoothed a few flyaways off her face, shoved out of the car, and stalked over to me. In heels, she matched my height. “I want to clear Patch’s name too, you know,” she said in her witch-cool voice.

“Now there’s an Oscar-worthy line.”

She stared at me. “I told Patch you were immature and impulsive and couldn’t get over your jealousy of what he and I had long enough to make this work.”

My cheeks flushed, and I grabbed her arm before she could avoid me. “Don’t talk to Patch about me again. What’s more, don’t talk to him period.”

“Patch trusts me. That should be good enough for you.”

“Patch doesn’t trust you. He’s using you. He’ll string you along, but in the end, you’re expendable. The minute you’re no longer useful, it’s over.”

Dabria’s mouth pinched into something ugly. “Since we’re giving each other advice, here’s mine. Get off my back.” Her eyes raked over me warningly.

She was threatening me.

She had something to hide.

I was going to dig up her secret, and I was going to bring her down.

Chapter 22

TURNING AWAY FROM THE ROAD DUST DABRIA’S tires kicked up, I jogged back inside. My mom would be home any minute now, and not only would I have some serious explaining to do about the party’s abrupt ending, but I needed to dump Baruch’s body. If he truly believed I’d rammed a poker into his wing scars, he’d resign his body to a near-comatose state for several more hours, making moving it considerably easier. Finally, a lucky break.

I found Patch in the living room, crouched over Baruch’s body. Relief surged through me at the sight of him. “Patch!”I exclaimed, running over.

“Angel.” His face was etched with worry. He rose to his feet, opening his arms as I flung myself into them. He squeezed me hard.

I nodded to alleviate any concern he might have over my well-being, and swallowed the lump in my throat. “I’m fine. I’m not hurt. I mind-tricked him into thinking there was a Nephilim raid. And I made him believe I jammed a poker into his scars for good measure.” I blew out a shaky sigh. “How did you know fallen angels crashed the party?”

“Your mom kicked me out, but I wasn’t going to leave you unprotected. I took up guard down the street. There was a lot of traffic heading toward your place, but I assumed it was for the party. When I saw people running out the front door looking like they’d seen a monster, I came as fast as I could. There was a fallen angel standing guard outside your door who thought I’d shown up to steal his spoils of war. Needless to say, I had to stab him, and a few others, in their wing scars. Hope your mom doesn’t notice I pruned a few branches off the tree outside. They made excellent stakes.” His mouth twitched mischievously.

“She’ll be home any minute.”

Patch nodded. “I’ll take care of the body. Can you get the electricity running? Fuse box is in the garage. Check to see if any of the switches are tripped. If they cut the wires to the house, we’re going to have a lot more work on our hands.”

“I’m on it.” I stopped halfway to the garage and turned back. “Dabria showed up. She offered me a flimsy story, saying you told her to get me out. Do you think she could have been helping them?”

To my astonishment, he said, “I called her. She was in the area. I went after the fallen angels and told her to get you out.”

I was speechless, both from shocked disbelief and irritation. I didn’t know if I was angrier that Dabria had been telling the truth, or that she was clearly following Patch, since “in the area” was hard to pull off when you considered my street was one mile long, ours was the only house on it, and it dead-ended into the woods. She probably had a tracking device on him. When he’d called her, she’d probably been parked a hundred feet back, clutching a pair of binoculars.

I didn’t doubt Patch was faithful to me. Likewise, I didn’t doubt Dabria hoped to change that.

Figuring now wasn’t the time to blow this into an argument, I said, “What are we going to tell my mom?”

“I’ll—I’ll take care of it.”

Patch and I turned toward the mouselike squeak coming from the doorway. Marcie stood there, wringing her hands. As if she sensed how weak this made her look, she dropped them to her sides. Flinging her hair off her shoulders, she jutted her chin and said with more self-assurance, “The party was my idea, which makes this just as much my mess as yours. I’ll tell your mom some losers showed up to crash the party and started destroying furniture. We did the only responsible thing: canceled the party.” It looked to me like Marcie was working hard to avoid gazing at Baruch’s body lying facedown on the rug. If she didn’t see it, it couldn’t be true.

“Thanks, Maruolyincie,” I said, and I sincerely meant it.

“Don’t sound so surprised. I’m in this too, you know. I’m not—I mean—I am non—” Deep breath. “I am one of—you.” She opened her mouth to say more, then abruptly shut it. I didn’t blame her. “Nonhuman” was a difficult word to think, let alone say aloud.

A knock at the front door caused Marcie and me to jump. We exchanged a brief look of uncertainty before Patch spoke.

“Pretend we were never here,” he said, slinging Baruch over his shoulders and hefting him toward the back door. And Angel? he added in mind-speak. Erase Marcie’s memory of seeing me here tonight. We need to keep our secret watertight.

Consider it done, I responded.

Marcie and I went to answer the door. I’d just turned the knob when Vee sashayed inside, pulling Scott with her, their fingers entwined.

“Sorry we’re late,” Vee announced. “We got a little, ahem . . .” She shared a secret, knowing look with Scott, and they both burst out laughing.

“Distracted,” Scott finished for her, grinning.

Vee fanned herself. “You can say that again.”

When Marcie and I simply stared at them in somber silence, Vee glanced around, becoming aware of the vacant and trashed house for the first time. “Hold up. Where is everyone? The party can’t be over yet.”

“We got crashed,” Marcie said.

“They were wearing Halloween masks,” I explained. “Could have been anyone.”

“They started destroying furniture.”

“We sent everyone home,” I added.

Vee examined the damage in wordless shock.

Crashed? Scott spoke to my mind, clearly not buying my acting skills and sensing there was more to the story.

Fallen angels, I answered. One in particular tried his best to make me swear fealty. It’s okay, I added quickly when I saw his face contort with anxiety. He didn’t succeed. I need you to get Vee out of here. If she hangs around, she’s only going to start asking questions I can’t answer. And I need to clean up before my mom gets home.

When are you going to tell her?

I flinched, Scott’s straightforward question catching me off guard. I can’t tell Vee. Not if I want to keep her safe. Advice I’m asking you to heed as well. She’s my best friend, Scott. Nothing can happen to her.

She deserves the truth.

She deserves a lot more, but right now, her safety matters most to me.

What do you think matters most to her? Scott said. She cares about you and trusts you. Show her the same respect.

I didn’t have time to argue. Please, Scott, I begged him.

He gave me a long, considering look. I could tell he wasn’t pleased, but I could also tell he was going to let me win this battle—for now.

“Tell you what,” he told Vee. “I’ll make it up to you. Let’s go see a movie. Your choice. Not to sway your opinion, but there’s a new superhero movie out. Crappy reviews, which is always a sign it’s going to be sweet.”

“We should stay and help Nora clean up this mess,” Vee said. “I’m going to find out who did this and teach them some manners. Maybe a dead fish will just happen to find its way inside their locker. And they’d better keep an eye on their tires, because I’ve got a knife just itching to stab rubber.”

“Take the night off,” I told Vee. “Marcie will help me clean up, won’t you, Marcie?” I slung my arm over her shoulder and said it sweetly enough, but there was a note of superciliousness underscoring my words.

Vee caught my gaze, and we shared a moment of understanding.

“Well, isn’t that big of you,” Vee told Marcie. “Dustpan is under the kitchen sink. Trash bags, too.” She gave Marcie’s shoulder a slug. “Have fun, and don’t break too many fingernails.”

After the door shut behind them, Marcie and I slumped against the wall. At the same time, we breathed a sigh of relief.

Marcie smiled first. “Jinx.”

I cleared my throat. “Thanks for your help tonight,” I said, and I honestly meant it. For once in her life, Marcie had been . . .

Helpful, I realized with a start. And I was going to repay her by erasing her memory.

She pushed up from the wall, dusting her hands. “Night’s not over yet. Dustpan is under the sink?”

Chapter 23

THE FOLLOWING MORNING CAME EARLY. THE rap at my bedroom window acted as my alarm, and I rolled over to see Dante behind the glass, crouched on a tree branch, beckoning me outside. I held up five fingers, signaling that I’d be out in as many minutes.

Technically, I was grounded. But I didn’t think the excuse would hold much sway with Dante.

Outside, the dark morning air held the crisp tang of autumn, and I rubbed my hands together briskly to warm them. A slice of the moon still hung overhead. Far away, an owl cried out with a plaintive hoot.

“An unmarked car with radar equipment made several passes by your house this morning,” Dante told me, blowing on his hands. “Pretty sure he was a cop. Dark hair and a few years older than me, from what I could see. Any thoughts on that?”

Detective Basso. What had I done to get on his radar this time?