Inside, haunted music played from the stereo. Skulls, bats, cobwebs, and ghosts cluttered the furniture. Marcie had rented a dry-ice machine—as if we didn’t have enough authentic fog in the yard.

I had two paper bags filled with last-minute items in my arms, and I carted them into the kitchen.

“I’m back!” I yelled. “Plastic cups, one bag of spider rings, two bags of ice, and more skeleton confetti—just like you asked. Soda is still in the trunk. Any volunteers to help carry it in?”

Marcie sashayed into the room, and I did a jaw drop. She wore a black vinyl bra and matching leggings. Nothing more. Her ribs poked through her skin, and she had total Popsicle-stick thighs. “Put the soda in the fridge, the ice in the freezer, and sprinkle the skeleton confetti on the dining room table, but don’t get any in the food. That’s it for now. Stay close in case I need anything else. I have to go finish my costume.”

“Well, that’s a relief. For a minute there, I thought that was all you planned on wearing,” I said, gesturing at the skimpy vinyl.

Marcie glanced down. “It is. I’m Catwoman. I just need to hot-glue black felt ears to my headband.”

“You’re wearing a bra to the party? Just a bra?”

“A bandeau.”

Oh, this was going to be good. I couldn’t wait for Vee’s commentary. “Who’s Batman?”

“Robert Boxler.”

“I guess that means Scott bailed?” It was more of a rhetorical . IacRomaquestion. Just to give the proverbial knife one last twist.

Marcie gave her shoulders a pompous little hike. “Scott who?” she said, and marched upstairs.

“He chose Vee over you!” I called triumphantly after her.

“I don’t care,” Marcie singsonged back. “You probably made him. It’s no secret he does everything you say. Put the soda in the fridge before the turn of the century.”

I stuck my tongue out, even though she couldn’t see it. “I have to get ready too, you know!”

At seven, the first guests arrived. Romeo and Juliet, Cleopatra and Mark Anthony, Elvis and Priscilla. Even a bottle of ketchup and mustard strolled through the front door. I let Marcie play hostess and moseyed into the kitchen, stacking my plate with deviled eggs, cocktail wieners, and candy corn. I’d been too busy granting Marcie’s every pre-party command to eat dinner. That, and the new formula of devilcraft Dante had given me, seemed to curb my appetite for the first several hours after I took it.

I’d done a reasonably good job of rationing it and still had enough to last a few more days. The night sweats, headaches, and strange tingling sensation that would seize me at the oddest moments when I’d first started taking the new formula had gone away. I was sure this meant that the dangers of addiction had passed and I’d learned to use devilcraft safely. Moderation was key. Blakely might have tried to hook me on devilcraft, but I was strong enough to set my own limits.

The effects of devilcraft were unbelievable. I’d never felt so mentally and physically superior. I knew I had to stop taking it eventually, but with the stress and dangers of Cheshvan and war looming, I was glad I was being cautious. If another of my doubting Nephilim soldiers attacked me, this time I’d be ready.

After filling up on appetizers and Sprite served from a black cauldron, I elbowed my way into the living room, looking to see whether Vee and Scott had arrived. The lights were dimmed, everyone was in costume, and I had a hard time picking faces out of the crowd. Plus, I’d peeked at the guest list. It was heavily weighted in favor of Marcie’s friends.

“Love the costume, Nora. But you’re anything but a devil.”

I looked sideways at Morticia Addams. I squinted in confusion, then smiled. “Oh, hey, Bailey. I almost didn’t recognize you with black hair.” Bailey sat beside me in math, and we’d been friends since junior high. I picked up my devil tail, with the little red spade at the tip, to save it from the guy behind me, who kept accidentally stepping on it, and said, “Thanks for coming tonight.”

“Did you finish your math homework? I didn’t understand a single thing Mr. Huron tried to teach us today. Every time he started working a problem on the chalkboard, he’d stop halfway through, erase his work, and start over. I don’t think he knows what he’s doing.”

“Yeah, I’m probably going to spend hours on it tomorrow.”

Her eyes lit up. “We should meet at the library and do it together.”

“I promised my mom I’d clean out the cellar after school,” I hedged do it Truth be told, homework had slipped a few notches on my list of priorities as of late. It was hard to stress about school when I feared that any day now the eerie cease-fire between fallen angels and Nephilim was going to snap. Fallen angels were up to something. And I’d give anything to find out what.

“Oh. Maybe next time,” Bailey said, sounding disappointed.

“Have you seen Vee?”

“Not yet. Who is she coming as?”

“A babysitter. Her date is Michael Myers from Halloween,” I explained. “If you see her, tell her I’m looking for her.”

When I made it across the living room, I bumped into Marcie and her date, Robert Boxler.

“Food status?” Marcie asked me authoritatively.

“My mom’s handling it.”

“Music?”

“Derrick Coleman is DJ.”

“Are you working the crowd? Is everyone having fun?”

“I just finished a round.” More or less.

Marcie eyed me with criticism. “Where’s your date?”

“Does it matter?”

“I heard you’re dating some new guy. I heard he doesn’t go to school. Who is he?”

“Who’d you hear that from?” Guess word about Dante and me was getting around after all.

“Does it matter?” she echoed snidely. She scrunched her nose in distaste. “What are you dressed up as?”

“She’s a devil,” Robert said. “Pitchfork, horns, red vamp dress.”

“Don’t forget the black combat boots,” I said, showing them off. I had Vee to thank for them, as well as the red glitter laces.

“I can see that,” Marcie said. “But the party’s theme is famous couples. A devil doesn’t go with anything.”

Just then Patch ambled through the front door. I did a double take to make sure it was really him. I hadn’t expected him to come. We’d never resolved our fight, and I’d pridefully refused to take the first step, forcing myself to lock my cell phone in a drawer every time I was tempted to call him and apologize, despite my increasing distress that he might never call either. My pride immediately turned to relief at the sight of him. I hated fighting. I hated not having him close. If he was ready to mend this, so was I.

A smile flickered over my face at the sight of his costume: black jeans, black T-shirt, black face mask. The latter concealed all but his cool, assessing gaze.

“There’s my date,” I said. “Fashionably late.”

Marcie and Robert turned. Patch gave me a low wave and handed his leather jacket to some poor freshman Marcie had roped into coat duty. The price some girls would pay to attend an upperclassman party was almost shameful.

“No fair,” Robert said, taking off his Batman mask. “The dude didn’t dress up.”

“Whatever you do, don’t call him dude,” I told Robert, smiling at Patch as he made his way over.

“Do I know him?” Marcie asked. “Who is he supposed to be?”

“He’s an angel,” I said. “A fallen angel.”

“That isn’t what a fallen angel looks like!” Marcie protested.

Shows how much you know, I thought, just as Patch slung his arm around my neck and pulled me into a light kiss.

I’ve missed you, he spoke to my thoughts.

Same here. Let’s not fight anymore. Can we put it behind us?

Consider it done. How’s the party going? he asked.

I haven’t felt like jumping off the roof yet.

Glad to hear it.

“Hi there,” Marcie said to Patch, her tone more flirtatious than I would have thought with her date standing inches away.

“Hey,” Patch returned, extending acknowledgment with a brief nod.

“Do I know you?” she asked, tilting her head inquisitively to one side. “Do you go to CHS?”

“No,” he said without elaborating.

“Then how do you know Nora?”

“Who doesn’t know Nora?” he returned mildly.

“This is my date, Robert Boxler,” Marcie told him with an air of superiority. “He plays quarterback for the football team.”

“Impressive,” Patch answered, his tone just polite enough to scrape by as interested. “How’s the season shaping up, Robert?”

“We’ve had a few rough games, but it’s nothing we can’t bounce back from,” Marcie cut in, patting Robert’s chest consolingly.

“What gym do you use?” Robert asked Patch, eyeing his physique with open admiration. And envy.

“Haven’t had a lot of time lately for the gym.”

“Well, you look great, man. If you ever want to lift weights together, call me.”

“Good luck with the rest of the season,” Patch told Robert, giving him one of those tricky handshakes all guys seem to know instinctively.

Patch and I wandered deeper into the house, winding through hallways and rooms, trying to find a secluded corner. At last he pulled me inside the powder room, kicked the door shut, and locked it. He leaned me back against the wall and fingered one of my red devil ears, his eyes deep black with desire.

“Nice costume,” he said.

“Ditto. I can tell you put a lot of thought into yours.

Amusement curled his mouth. “If you don’t like it, I can take it off.”

I tapped my chin thoughtfully. “That just might be the best proposal I’ve had all night.”

“My offers are always the best, Angel.”

“Before the party started, Marcie asked me to lace up the back of her Catwoman suit.” I raised and lowered my hands in a weighing gesture. “Between both offers, it’s a tough call.”

Patch removed his mask and laughed softly into my neck, brushing my hair back off my shoulders. He smelled incredible. He felt warm and solid and so very close. My heart beat faster, squeezing with guilt. I’d lied to Patch. I couldn’t forget. I shut my eyes, letting his mouth explore mine, trying to lose myself in the moment. All the while, the lies beat, beat, beat, in my head. I’d taken devilcraft, and I’d mind-tricked him. I was still taking devilcraft.

“Trouble with your costume is, it doesn’t hide your identity very well,” I said, pulling back. “And we’re not supposed to be seen together in public, remember?”

“Just stopping by for a minute. Couldn’t miss my girl’s party,” he murmured. He lowered his head to kiss me again.

“Vee’s still not here,” I said. “I tried her cell. And Scott’s. I got sent to voice mail both times. Should I worry?”