Ignoring his request, I commanded her body to expel mine, and again, the transition was as easy as it was abrupt.

Cursing under his breath, Dante rammed the rod back into the fallen angel’s wing scars. Her body crumpled as though dead, arms and legs hitting the ground at funny angles. I wanted to look away but couldn’t. I kept wondering what her existence on Earth had been like before. If anyone missed her. If she’d ever be free again. And how bleak her outlook must be.

“That wasn’t long enough,” Dante told me, clearly annoyed. “Didn’t you hear me tell you to practice the drills again? I know it’s a little uncomfortable at first—”

“How does it work?” I asked. “Two objects can’t exist in the same space at the same time. So how does possession work?”

“It all boils down to quantum realm, wave function, and wave-particle duality.”

“I haven’t taken quantum theory yet,” I said with a touch of rancor. “Break it down into something I can actually understand.”

“From what I can tell, everything happver. &ldqens at a subatomic level. Two objects can exist in the same place at the same time. I’m not sure anyone understands exactly how it works. It’s just the way it is.”

“That’s all you can give me?”

“Have a little faith, Grey.”

“Fine. I’ll give you faith. But I want something in return,” I said, eyeing Dante shrewdly. “You’re good at surveillance, right?”

“You could do worse.”

“There’s a rogue archangel wandering around town named Pepper Friberg. He claims a fallen angel is blackmailing him, and I’m pretty sure I know which one. I want you to get me the evidence I need to nail her.”

“Her?”

“Women can be crafty too.”

“What does this have to do with leading the Nephilim?”

“This is personal.”

“All right,” Dante said slowly. “Tell me what I need to know.”

“Patch told me that any number of fallen angels out there could be blackmailing Pepper Friberg for numerous things—pages from the Book of Enoch, glimpses into the future, full pardon on a past crime, information deemed both sacred and secret, or even to be elevated to the status of guardian angel—the list of what an archangel could provide could go on and on, I think.”

“What else did Patch say?”

“Not much. He wants to find the blackmailer too. I know he’s been following leads and tracking at least one suspect. But I’m pretty sure he’s looking down the wrong holes. The other night I saw his ex talking to Pepper behind the Devil’s Handbag. I couldn’t hear what they said, but she looked confident. And Pepper looked furious. Her name is Dabria.”

I was surprised to see a shadow of recognition cloud Dante’s expression. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Dabria?”

I groaned. “Don’t tell me you know her too. I swear, she’s everywhere. If you tell me you think she’s beautiful, I’ll kick you off the ledge of the ravine behind you and send this boulder rolling down after you.”

“It’s not that.” Dante shook his head, pity creeping into his countenance. “I didn’t want to be the one to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“I know Dabria. Not personally, but—” The sympathy on his face deepened. He looked at me like he was about to break awful news.

I’d taken a seat on a tree stump to tell my story, but now I jumped to my feet. “Just tell me, Dante.”

“I have spies working for me. People I employ to keep an eye on influential fallen angels,” Dante confessed, sounding almost guilty. “It’s no secret Patch is highly respected in the fallen angel community. He’s smart, clever, and resourceful. He’s a good leader. Years as a mercenary gave him more experience in battle than mostt I was of my men combined.”

“You’ve been spying on Patch,” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I trust you, but I’m not discounting the possibility that he has influence over you.”

“Influence? Patch has never made my decisions for me—I’m capable of doing that on my own. I’m in charge of this operation. If I wanted spies sent out, I would have done it myself,” I said, my irritation evident.

“Point taken.”

I paced to the nearest tree, facing away from Dante. “Are you going to tell me why you’re divulging all this in the first place?”

He expelled a reluctant sigh. “While spying on Patch, Dabria has popped onto our radar more than once.”

I shut my eyes, wishing I could tell him to stop there. I didn’t want to hear more. Dabria followed Patch everywhere—I knew that. But the tone of Dante’s voice suggested he had much more devastating news to deliver than simply telling me that Patch had a stalker who also happened to be his gorgeous ex.

“A couple nights ago, they were together. I have evidence. Multiple photos.”

I clenched my jaw and swung around. “I want to see them.”

“Nora—”

“I can handle it,” I snapped. “I want to see this so-called evidence your men—my men—collected.” Patch with Dabria. I spun through my memory, trying to pinpoint which night it could have been. I felt frantic and jealous and unsteady. Patch hadn’t done this. There was some explanation. I owed him the benefit of the doubt. We’d been through too much for me to pounce on the first conclusion that flew my way.

I had to stay calm. I’d be foolish to pass judgment this early. Dante had pictures? Fine. I’d analyze them myself.

Dante pressed his lips together, then nodded. “I’ll have them delivered to your house later today.”

Chapter 24

I WENT THROUGH THE MOTIONS OF GETTING READY for the day, but they felt mechanical. I couldn’t flush out the image of Patch and Dabria together. At the time, I hadn’t thought to ask Dante for specifics, and now my unanswered questions seemed to burn holes in my brain. They were together. I have photos.

What did that mean? Together how? Was I naive for even asking? No. I trusted Patch. I was tempted to call him now, but of course I didn’t. I’d wait until I saw the pictures. Whether or not they were condemning . . . I’d know right away.

Marcie strolled into the kitchen and perched herself on the table’s edge. “I’m looking for a shopping buddy today after school.”

I pushed my now soggy bowl of cereal away. I’d been lost in thought for so long, any chanver. be foolce at salvaging it had expired.

“I always shop on Friday afternoon,” Marcie said. “It’s, like, a ritual.”

“You mean a tradition,” I corrected.

“I need a new fall coat. Something warm and wool, but still chic,” she said, frowning slightly in contemplation.

“Thanks for the offer, but I have some hardcore trig homework to catch up on.”

“Oh, come on. You haven’t done homework all week, why start now? And I really need a second opinion. This is an important purchase. And just when you were starting to act normal,” she muttered.

I pushed up from my chair and carried my bowl to the sink. “Flattery gets me every time.”

“Come on, Nora, I don’t want to fight,” she complained. “I just want you to come shopping with me.”

“And I want to pass trig. Plus, I’m grounded.”

“No worries, I already talked to your mom. She’s had time to cool off, and to come around. You’re not grounded anymore. I’ll hang around an extra thirty minutes after school. That should give you plenty of time to finish trig.”

I narrowed my eyes speculatively at her. “Are you mind-tricking my mom?”

“You know what I think? You’re jealous that she and I have bonded.”

Ugh.

“It’s not just math, Marcie. I also need to think. About what happened last night, and how to prevent it from happening again. I’m not going to swear fealty,” I said with resolve. “And I don’t want any more Nephilim to either.”

Marcie made a sound of exasperation. “You’re just like my dad. For once stop being such a—”

“Nephil?” I supplied. “Hybrid, freak, accident of nature? Target?”

Marcie clenched her hands so tightly they flushed pink with blood. At last she tilted her chin up. Challenge and pride flashed in her eyes. “Yeah. A mutant, a monster, a phenomenon. Just like me.”

I raised my eyebrows. “So that’s it? You’re finally going to accept what you are?”

An almost bashful smile broke across her face. “Hell’s bells, yeah.”

“I like this version of you better,” I said.

“I like this version of you better.” Marcie stood, grabbing her handbag off the counter. “Do we have a shopping date or what?”

Not two hours after the final bell dismissed us, Marcie had blown nearly four hundred dollars on a wool coat, jeans, and a few accessories. I didn’t spend four hundred on my entire wardrobe for the year. It occurred to me that if I’d grown up in Hank’s household, I wouldn’t think twice about sliding my credit card all afternoon either. In fact, I’d have a credit card.

Marcie drove, since she ve,wice abclaimed she didn’t want to be seen in my car, and while I didn’t blame her, it did drive the message home. She had money and I didn’t. Hank had left me his doomed army, and he’d left Marcie his inheritance. Unfair didn’t begin to cover it.

“Can we make a quick stop?” I asked Marcie. “It’s a little out of the way, but I need to pick up something from my friend Dante.” I felt queasy at the thought of seeing the pictures of Patch and Dabria, but I wanted to get the unknown over with. I didn’t have the patience to wait for Dante to deliver them. Since I had no way of knowing if he already had, I decided to be proactive.

“Dante? Do I know him?”

“No. He doesn’t go to school. Take your next right—he lives close to Casco Bay,” I told her.

The irony of this moment didn’t slip past me. Over the summer, I’d accused Patch of getting involved with Marcie. Now, just a few months later, I was riding shotgun in her car, on my way to investigate the same story—just with a different girl.

I pressed the heel of my hand between my eyes. Maybe I should let it go. Maybe this said a lot about my insecurities, and I should just trust Patch unconditionally. The thing was, I did trust him.

And then there was Dabria.

Besides, if Patch was innocent, and I hoped with everything I had that he was, there was no harm in looking at the pictures.

Marcie followed my instructions to Dante’s house and made an immediate sound of appreciation as she gazed at the architecture. “This Dante friend of yours has style,” she said, eyes sweeping over the quintessential Queen Anne house set back from a large apron of lawn.

“His friends left it to him in their will,” I said. “Don’t bother getting out—I’ll just run up to the door and get what I need.”