Dante winced as he tried unsuccessfully to roll onto his back. “Can’t you untie the whip so we can have a civil talk?”
“You threw civility out the window the minute you tried to strangle me.”
“I’ll need a lot more than three minutes to tell you what’s going on,” Dante returned without sounding the least bit concerned by my threat. I decided it was time to show him just how serious I was.
Food, I told the black dog, which had hung around to watch the proceedings with interest. With his fur lying flat, I could tell he was scrawny and half-starved, and if I’d needed more evidence of his hunger, his anxious pacing and the routine licking of his lips would have been plenty. To clarify my command, I sent to his mind a picture of Dante’s flesh, then stepped back, relinquishing my claim on Dante. The dog loped over and sank his teeth into the back of Dante’s arm.
Dante cursed and attempted to squirm away. “I couldn’t have Pepper muddling up my plans!” he spat finally. “Call off the dog!”
“What plans?”
Dante writhed, hitching up his shoulder to fend off the dog. “Pepper was sent down to Earth by the archangels to run a full-fledged investigation into me and Blakely.”
I worked this scenario out in my head, then nodded. “Because the archangels suspect that devilcraft didn’t disappear with Hank, and that you’re still using it, but they want to know for sure before they act. re they Makes sense. Keep talking.”
“So I needed a way to distract Pepper, all right? Get your dog off me!”
“You still haven’t told me why you’re blackmailing him.”
Dante squirmed once again to avoid my new favorite dog’s snapping jaws. “Give me a break here.”
“The faster you talk, the sooner I give my new best friend here something else to snack on.”
“Fallen angels need Pepper to enchant several objects using the powers of heaven. They know about devilcraft, and they know Blakely and I control it, so they want to harness the powers of heaven—they want to make sure Nephilim don’t stand a chance at winning the war. They’re blackmailing Pepper.”
Okay. This also seemed plausible. There was just one thing that still didn’t make sense. “How are you messed up in this?”
“I’m working for the fallen angels,” he said so quietly I was sure I’d heard wrong.
I leaned closer. “Care to repeat that?”
“I’m a sellout, all right? The Nephilim aren’t going to win this war,” he added defensively. “Any way you size it up, when all is said and done, fallen angels are going to come out of this on top. And not just because they intend to harness the powers of heaven. The archangels are sympathetic to fallen angels. Old ties run deep. Not so for us. The archangels consider our race an abomination, always have. They want us gone, and if that means temporarily siding with fallen angels to accomplish it, they’ll do it. Only those of us who form an alliance with fallen angels early on have any chance at survival.”
I stared at Dante, unable to digest his words. Dante Matterazzi, in bed with the enemy. The same Dante who’d stood by the Black Hand’s side. The same Dante who’d trained me so faithfully. I couldn’t grasp it. “What about our Nephilim army?” I said, my anger surging.
“It’s doomed. Deep down, you know it. There isn’t a lot of time left before fallen angels make their move and we’re thrust into war. I’ve agreed to give devilcraft to them. They’ll have the powers of heaven and hell—and the backing of the archangels. The whole thing will be over in less than a day. If you help me get Pepper to enchant the objects, I’ll vouch for you. I’ll make sure some of the most influential fallen angels know you helped out and are loyal to the cause.”
I took a step back, seeing Dante through new eyes. I didn’t even know who he was. He couldn’t have been more of a stranger to me at that moment. “I don’t— This whole revolution— All lies?” I finally managed to choke out.
“Self-preservation,” he said. “I did it to save myself.”
“And the rest of the Nephilim race?” I sputtered.
His silence told me just how concerned he was about their well-being. A disinterested shrug couldn’t have been more telling. Dante was in this for himself, end of story.
“They believe in you,” I said with a sick feeling swelling in mywelling heart. “They’re counting on you.”
“They’re counting on you.”
I flinched. The full impact of the responsibility weighing on my shoulders seemed to crush me at that moment. I was their leader. I was the face on this campaign. And now my most trusted adviser was defecting. If the army had been standing on weak legs before, one of those knees had just been kicked out.
“You can’t do this to me,” I said threateningly. “I’ll expose you. I’ll tell everyone what you’re really up to. I don’t know everything about Nephilim law, but I’m pretty sure they have a system to take care of traitors, and I somehow doubt it will be very judicial!”
“And who’s going to believe you?” said Dante simply. “If I argue that you’re the real traitor, who do you think they’ll believe?”
He was right. Who would Nephilim believe? The young, inexperienced imposter placed in power by her dead father, or the strong, capable, and charismatic man who had both the looks and skill of a fabled Roman god?
“I have pictures,” Dante said. “Of you with Patch. Of you with Pepper. Even some of you looking friendly with Dabria. I’ll pin this on you, Nora. You’re sympathetic to the fallen angel cause. That’s how I’ll frame it. They will destroy you.”
“You can’t do this,” I said, rage sizzling in my chest.
“You’re walking down a dead-end road. This is your last chance to turn around. Come with me. You’re stronger than you think you are. We’d make an unstoppable team. I could use you—”
I gave a harsh laugh. “Oh, I’m quite finished with you using me!” I grabbed a large stone from the rubble wall, intending to smash it against Dante’s skull, knock him unconscious, and recruit Patch’s help in deciding what to do with him next, when a cruel and twisted smirk transformed Dante’s dark features, making him appear decidedly more demon than fabled Roman god.
“What a waste of talent,” he muttered in a chastising tone. His expression was too smug, given that I held him captive, and that was when an awful suspicion began to form in my mind. The whip binding his wrists wasn’t causing his skin to blister the way it had mine. In fact, other than having his face planted in gravel, he didn’t look uncomfortable.
The whip snapped free from Dante’s wrists, and in an instant, he sprang to his feet.
“Did you really think I’d allow Blakely to create a weapon that could be used against me?” he jeered, his upper lip curling over his teeth. Commanding the whip, he cracked it at me. Scorching heat sliced across my body, pitching me off my feet. I landed hard, robbed of breath. Dizzy from the impact, I scuttled backward, trying to bring Dante into focus.
“You might like to know I have every intention of taking over your position as commander of the Nephilim army,” Dante sneered. “I have the backing of the entire fallen angel race. I plan to lead the Nephilim right into the hands of fallen angels. They won’t know what I’ve done until it’s too late.”
The only as Dante would be telling me any of this was if he sincerely believed I had no chance at stopping him. But I wasn’t throwing in the towel now, or ever. “You swore an oath to Hank to help me lead his army to freedom, you arrogant idiot. If you try to steal my title, we’ll both see the consequences of having broken our oaths. Death, Dante. Not exactly a minor complication,” I reminded him cynically.
Dante chuckled with derision. “About that oath. A complete and utter lie. When I said it, I thought it might convince you to trust me. Not that I needed to make the effort. The devilcraft prototypes I gave you have been doing a fine job of compelling you to trust me.”
There was no time for his deception to fully sink in. The whip lashed fire through my clothes a second time. Urged to action solely out of self-preservation, I scrabbled over the wall, hearing the dog bark and attack behind me, and dropped to the opposite side. The steep hill, slick with dew, sent me rolling and skidding toward the gravestones far below.
Chapter 30
AT THE BOTTOM OF THE HILL I LOOKED UP, BUT I didn’t see Dante. The black dog bounded after me, circling me with what almost appeared to be concern. I pulled myself up to sitting. Thick clouds blotted the moon, and I shivered violently as frost nipped my skin. Suddenly acutely aware of my surroundings, I jumped to my feet and ran through the maze of graves toward the mausoleum. To my surprise, the dog raced ahead, peering back every few steps as though to make sure I was still following.
“Scott!” I called out, flinging open the mausoleum’s door as I burst inside.
There were no windows. I couldn’t see. Impatiently, I swept my hands out, trying to feel my surroundings. I tripped on a small object and heard it roll away. Patting my hands across the cold stone floor, I grasped the flashlight Scott had taken with him and obviously dropped, and switched it on.
There. In the corner. Scott was on his back, eyes open but dazed. I scrambled over, tugging at the blue-glowing whip scorching his wrists until it fell free. His skin blistered and oozed. He gave a pained moan.
“I think Dante is gone, but stay alert just the same,” I told him. “There’s a dog guarding the door—he’s on our side. Stay here until I come back. I have to find Patch.”
Scott groaned again, this time cursing Dante’s name. “Didn’t see it coming,” he muttered.
That made two of us.
I rushed outside, sprinting across the cemetery, which had fallen into near-perfect darkness. I batted my way through a hedge of bushes, plowing my own shortcut to the parking lot. I leaped the wrought-iron fence and ran straight for the lone black truck parked in the lot.
I saw the eerie blue light glowing behind the windows when I was still several feet away. Wrenching the door open, I dragged Patch out, laid him on the pavement, and began the laborious process of uncoiling the whip, which snaked the width of his chest, pinning his arms at his sides like a torturous corset. His eyes were shut, his skin emanating a faint blyue. At last I jerked the whip loose and flung it aside, oblivious to my burned fingers.
“Patch,” I said, shaking him. Tears jumped to my eyes, and my throat clogged with emotion. “Wake up, Patch.” I shook him harder. “You’re going to be fine. Dante is gone, and I untied the whip. Please wake up.” I pushed resolve into my voice. “You’re going to be okay. We’re together now. I need you to open your eyes. I need to know you can hear me.”
His body felt feverish, heat pouring through his clothes, and I ripped open his shirt. I gasped at the bubbled skin, patterned where the whip had coiled. The worst wounds curled up like blackened, scorched paper. A blowtorch would have produced as much damage.
