Suddenly a lot more of them believe they can cheat fate too.

Either by saving a human and getting their wings back”—he exhaled—“or by killing their Nephil vassal and transforming their body from fall en angel to human.”

I reviewed in my mind everything I knew about fall en angels and Nephilim. The Book of Enoch told of a fall en angel who became human after killing his Nephil vassal—by sacrificing one of the vassal’s female descendants. Two months ago, Patch had attempted this very thing by intending to use me to kill Chauncey. Now, if the fall en angel who’d forced Hank Mill ar to swear fealty wanted to become human, well, he’d have to …

Sacrifice Marcie.

I said, “You mean it’s your job to make sure the fall en angel who forced Hank Mill ar to swear fealty doesn’t sacrifice Marcie to get a human body.”

As if he thought he knew me well enough to guess my next question, he said, “Marcie doesn’t know. She’s completely in the dark.”

I didn’t want to talk about this. I didn’t want Patch here. He’d killed my dad. He’d ripped away, forever, someone I loved.

Patch was a monster. Nothing he could say could make me feel otherwise.

“Chauncey formed the Nephilim blood society,” Patch said.

My attention snapped back. “What? How do you know?” He looked reluctant to answer. “I’ve accessed a few memories. Other people’s memories.”

“Other people’s memories?” I was shocked when I shouldn’t have been. How could he justify all the horrible things he’d done? How could he come here and tell me he’d secretly examined people’s most private and intimate thoughts, and expect me to admire him for it? Or even expect me to listen to him?

“A successor picked up where Chauncey left off. I haven’t been able to get a name yet, but rumor has it he isn’t happy about Chauncey’s death, which doesn’t make sense. He’s in charge now—that alone should have wiped away any remorse he felt over Chauncey’s death. Which makes me wonder if the successor was a close friend of Chauncey’s, or a relative.” I shook my head. “I don’t want to hear this.”

“The successor has a contract out on Chauncey’s killer.” Any further protesting on my part died forming. Patch and I shared a look. “He wants the killer to pay.”

“You mean he wants me to pay,” I said, my voice barely pushing through.

“Nobody knows you killed Chauncey. He didn’t know you were his female descendant until moments before he died, so there’s little chance anyone else knew. Chauncey’s successor might try to track down Chauncey’s descendants, but I wish him luck. It took me a long time to find you.” He took a step toward luck. It took me a long time to find you.” He took a step toward me, but I backed up. “When you wake up, I need you to say you want me as your guardian angel again. Say it like you mean it, so the archangels hear it, and hopefully grant your request. I’m doing everything I can to keep you safe, but I’m restricted. I need heightened access to the people around you, your emotions, everything in your world.”

What was he saying? That the archangels had finally found my replacement guardian angel? Was this why he’d forced his way inside my dream tonight? Because he’d been cut off, and no longer had the access to me that he wanted?

I felt his hands slide to my hips, holding me protectively against him. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” I stiffened and shrugged free. My mind was in a tempest. He wants the killer to pay. I couldn’t shake off the thought. The idea that someone out there wanted to kill me was numbing. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to know these things. I wanted to feel safe again.

Realizing that Patch had no intention of leaving my dream, I made my own move. I fought against the invisible barriers of the dream by forcing myself awake. Open your eyes, I told myself.

Open them!

Patch gripped my elbow. “What are you doing?” I could feel myself becoming more lucid. I could feel the warmth of my sheets, my pillowcase soft against my cheek. All the familiar smells associated with my room comforted me.

“Don’t wake up, Angel.” He smoothed his hands against my hair, trapping my face, forcing me to look him in the eye.

“There’s more you need to know. There’s a very important reason why you need to see these memories. I’m trying to tell you something that I can’t tell you any other way. I need you to figure out what I’m trying to tell you. I need you to stop blocking me.”

I jerked my face away. My feet seemed to rise up from the grass, drifting toward the stirring funnel cloud. Patch grabbed for me, swearing under his breath, but his hold on me was featherlight, imaginary.

Wake up, I ordered myself. Wake up.

I let the cloud consume me.

CHAPTER 18

I WOKE UP WITH A SHARP INTAKE OF AIR. MY ROOM was settled in shadow, the moon glowing like a crystal ball on the far side of the window. My sheets were hot and damp, tangled around my legs. The clock read nine thirty.

I flung myself out of bed and went to the bathroom, filling a cold glass of water. I gulped it down, then leaned against the wall. I couldn’t fall back asleep. Whatever I did, I couldn’t let Patch back in my dreams. I paced the upstairs hall, frantically trying to keep myself wide awake, but I was so worked up, I doubted I could have slept if I’d wanted to.

Several minutes later the throb of my pulse had died down, but my mind wasn’t as easy to settle. The Black Hand. Those three words haunted me. They were elusive, menacing, taunting. I couldn’t bring myself to look them straight on. Not without feeling my already flimsy world start to shatter. I knew I was avoiding finding a way to let the archangels know Patch was the Black Hand, and my father’s killer, to protect myself from the shameful truth: I’d fall en in love with a killer. I’d let him kiss me, lie to me, betray me. When he touched me in my dreams, all my strength crumbled, and I felt myself being tangled up in his net all over again. He still held my heart in his hand, and that was the biggest betrayal of all. What kind of person was I, when I couldn’t bring my own father’s killer to justice?

Patch had said I could tell the archangels I wanted him as my guardian angel again through the simple act of saying it out loud. It seemed logical, then, that I could shout out, “Patch killed my dad!” and be done with it. Justice would be served. Patch would be sent to hell, and I could slowly start to rebuild my life.

But I couldn’t pull the words up, as if they were chained down someplace deep inside me.

Too many things weren’t adding up. Why was Patch, an angel, mixed up with a Nephilim blood society? If he was the Black Hand, why was he branding Nephilim recruits? Why was he recruiting them in the first place? It wasn’t just odd—it was illogical. The Nephilim race hated angels, and vice versa. And if the Black Hand was Chauncey’s successor and the new leader of the society … how could that person possibly be Patch?

I squeezed the bridge of my nose, feeling like my head might crack from chasing the same questions over and over. Why was it that everything surrounding the Black Hand seemed to be an endless maze of trapdoor, after trapdoor, after trapdoor?

Right now Scott was my only reliable link left to the Black Hand. He knew more than he was letting on, I was sure of it, but he was too scared to talk. The tone of his voice when he’d spoken of the Black Hand carried sheer panic. I needed him to tell me what he knew, but he was running from his past, and nothing I said was going to make him turn back and face it. I pressed my forehead into the palms of my hands, trying to think pressed my forehead into the palms of my hands, trying to think clearly.

I called Vee.

“Good news,” she said before I could get a word in edgewise. “I talked my dad into driving back to the beach with me and paying the fine to get the boot off my car. I’m back in business.”

“Good, because I need your help.”

“Help is my middle name.”

I was pretty sure she’d already told me bad was her middle name, but I kept my opinion to myself. “I need someone to help me look through Scott’s bedroom.” Chances were, Scott wasn’t going to keep any evidence detailing his involvement with the Nephilim blood society out in the open, but what alternative did I have? He had done a terrific job of not giving me direct answers in the past, and after our last encounter, I knew he was wary of me. If I wanted to find out what he knew, I was going to have to do a little legwork.

“Apparently Patch canceled our double date, so my schedule is wide open,” Vee said, a little too eagerly. I’d expected her to ask what we were snooping for in Scott’s bedroom.

“Going through Scott’s bedroom isn’t going to be dangerous or exciting,” I told her, just to make sure we were both on the same page. “All you’re going to do is sit in the Neon outside his apartment and call me if you see him coming home. I’m the one who’s going inside.”

“Just because I’m not doing the spying doesn’t mean it’s not exciting. It’ll be like watching a movie. Only, in the movies the good guy almost never gets caught. But this is real life, and there’s a strong chance you’ll get caught. See what I mean? The excitement factor is through the roof.”

Personally, I thought Vee was a little overanxious to see me caught.

“You are going to warn me if Scott comes home, right?” I asked.

“Heck yeah, babe. I’ve got you covered.”

My next call was to Scott’s home line. Mrs. Parnel picked up.

“Nora, so good to hear your voice! Scott tells me things have been heating up between the two of you,” she added in a conspirator’s voice.

“Well, uh—”

“I always thought it would be real nice if Scott married a local girl. I don’t much like the idea of him marrying into a family of strangers. What if his in-laws are nutcases? Your mom and I are such close friends, can you imagine the fun we’d have planning a wedding together? But I’m getting ahead of myself! All in good time, as they say.”

Oh boy.

“Is Scott there, Mrs. Parnell? I have some news I think he’ll be interested in.”

I heard her cup a hand over the mouthpiece and shout,

“Scott! Pick up the phone! It’s Nora!”

A moment later Scott came on. “You can hang up now, Mom.” His voice held a drop of wariness.

“Just making sure you got it, hon.”

“I’ve got it.”

“Nora has some interesting news,” she said.

“Then hang up so she can tell me.”

There was a sigh of disappointment, and a click.

“I thought I told you to stay away from me,” Scott said.

“Have you found a band yet?” I asked, pushing forward, hoping to take control of the conversation and pique his interest before he hung up on me.

“No,” he said with that same guarded skepticism.

“I mentioned to a friend that you play the guitar—”

“I play bass.”