Hank was dead, and the archangels were expecting me to stop the Nephilim from going to war.

This was where things got tricky. Just hours before I shot Hank, I’d sworn an oath to him, vowing to lead his Nephilim army. Failure to comply would result in my death, and my mom’s.

How to fulfill my promise to the archangels and my oath to Hank? I saw only one option. I would lead Hank’s army. To peace. Probably not what he had pictured while forcing me to swear the oath, but he wasn’t around now to argue the details. It didn’t slip my mind, however, that in turning my back on the rebellion, I was also allowing the Nephilim to remain Climhe d in bondage to fallen angels. It didn’t seem right, but life was paved with difficult decisions. As I was learning all too well. Right now, I was more concerned with keeping the archangels happy than the Nephilim.

“What do we know about my oath?” I asked Patch. “Dante said it went into effect when Hank died, but who determines if I keep it or not? Who determines what I can and can’t do in terms of carrying out my oath? Take you, for instance. I’m confiding in you, a fallen angel and the sworn enemy of Nephilim. Won’t the oath strike me dead for treason?”

“The oath you swore was about as vague as you could have made it. Luckily,” Patch said with obvious relief.

Oh, it had been vague all right. And to the point. If you die, Hank, I’ll lead your army. Not a word more.

“As long as you stay in power and lead the Nephilim, I think you’re within the terms of the oath,” Patch said. “You never promised Hank you’d go to war.”

“In other words, the plan is to stay out of war and keep the archangels happy.”

Patch sighed, almost to himself. “Some things never change.”

“After Cheshvan, after the Nephilim give up on freedom, and after we’ve put a big, fat smile of contentment on the archangels’ faces, we can put this behind us.” I kissed him. “It’ll just be you and me.”

Patch groaned. “It can’t come fast enough.”

“Hey, listen,” I told him, anxious to move on to any topic other than war, “I was approached by a man tonight. A man who wants a word with you.”

Patch gave a nod. “Pepper Friberg.”

“Does Pepper have a face as round as a basketball?”

Another nod. “He’s tailing me because he thinks I went back on an agreement we had. He doesn’t want a word with me. He wants to chain me in hell and dust his hands of me.”

“Is it just me, or does that sound kind of serious?”

“Pepper Friberg is an archangel, but he’s got his hand in more than one pot. He’s leading a double life, spending half his time as an archangel, and the other half moonlighting as a human. Up until now, he’s been living the best of both worlds. He has the power of an archangel, which he doesn’t always use for good while indulging in human vices.”

So Pepper was an archangel. No wonder I hadn’t been able to identify him. I hadn’t had a lot of experience dealing with archangels.

Patch went on, “Someone has figured out his crooked game, and word has it they’re blackmailing him. If Pepper doesn’t pay up soon, his vacation time on Earth is going to become a lot more permanent. The archangels will strip his power and tear out his wings if they find out what he’s been up to. He’ll be stuck down here for good.”

The pieces clicked together. “He thinks you’re blackmailing him.”

“A while back I figured out what he Cd os you was up to. I agreed to keep his secret, and in return he agreed to help me get my hands on a copy of the Book of Enoch. He hasn’t delivered on his promise, and it seems logical that he thinks I’m feeling hung out to dry. But I think he must have been careless and there’s another fallen angel out there looking to benefit off his misdeeds.”

“Did you tell Pepper that?”

Patch smiled. “Working on it. He’s not feeling very talkative.”

“He said he’ll burn down all of Delphic if that’s what it takes to smoke you out.” I knew archangels didn’t dare set foot inside Delphic Amusement Park, fearing for their safety in a place built by and highly populated with fallen angels, so the threat made sense.

“His neck’s on the line and he’s getting desperate. I might have to go under.”

“Go under?”

“Lie low. Keep my head down.”

I pushed myself up on one elbow and stared at Patch. “How do I fit into this picture?”

“He thinks you’re his one-way ticket to me. He’s going to be sticking to you like spandex. He’s parked down the street as we speak, eyes peeled for my car.” Patch stroked his thumb across my cheek. “He’s good, but not good enough to keep me from having quality time with my girl.”

“Promise me you’re always going to be two steps ahead.” The thought of Pepper catching Patch and putting him on the fast track to hell didn’t exactly give me a warm, fuzzy feeling.

Patch hooked a finger in my neckline and pulled me into a kiss. “Don’t worry, Angel. I’ve been doing this sneaky stuff longer.”

When I woke, the bed next to me was cold. I smiled at the memory of falling asleep curled in Patch’s arms, concentrating on that rather than the probability that Pepper Friberg, aka Mr. Archangel with a Dirty Secret, had sat outside my house all night, playing spy.

I thought back to a year ago, to the fall of my sophomore year. Back then, I hadn’t so much as kissed a guy. Never could I have imagined what lay in store. Patch meant more to me than I could put into words. His love and faith in me took the sting out of the hard decisions I’d been forced to make recently. Whenever doubt and regret crept into my conscience, all I had to do was think of Patch. I wasn’t sure I’d made the right choice every time, but I knew one thing for certain. I’d made the right choice in Patch. I couldn’t give him up. Ever.

At noon, Vee called.

“How about me and you go running?” she said. “I just got a new pair of tennis shoes, and I need to break these bad boys in.”

“Vee, I have blisters from dancing last night. And hold on. Since when do you like running?”

“It’s no secret I’m carrying around a few extra pounds,” she said. “I’m big-boned, but that’s no excuse for letting a little flab hold me back. There’s a guy out there named Scott Parnell, and if shedding some extra weight is what it’s gonna take for me to get up the courage to go a Cura a fter him, then that’s what I’m going to do. I want Scott to look at me the way Patch looks at you. I wasn’t serious about this diet and exercise stuff before, but I’m turning over a new leaf. Starting today, I love exercise. It’s my new BFF.”

“Oh? And what about me?”

“Soon as I lose this weight, you’ll be my number one girl again. I’ll pick you up in twenty. Don’t forget a sweatband. Your hair does scary stuff when it gets damp.”

I hung up, stretched a tank over my head, followed it up with a sweatshirt, and laced myself into tennis shoes.

Right on time, Vee picked me up. And right away, it became apparent we weren’t driving to the high school track. She steered her purple Neon across town, in the opposite direction from school, humming to herself.

I said, “Where are we going?”

“I was thinking we should run hills. Hills are good for the glutes.” She turned the Neon onto Deacon Road, and a light popped on in my head.

“Hang on. Scott lives on Deacon Road.”

“Come to think of it, he does.”

“We’re running by Scott’s house? Isn’t that kind of . . . I don’t know . . . stalkerish?”

“That’s a real sad-hat way of looking at it, Nora. Why not think of it as motivation? Eye on the prize.”

“What if he sees us?”

“You’re friends with Scott. If he sees us, he’ll probably come out and talk to us. And it would be rude not to stop and give him a couple minutes of our time.”

“In other words, this isn’t about running. This is a pickup.”

Vee wagged her head. “You’re no fun at all.”

She cruised up Deacon, a winding stretch of scenic road bordered on both sides by dense evergreens. In another couple of weeks, they’d be frosted with snow.

Scott lived with his mom, Lynn Parnell, in an apartment complex that came into view around the next bend. Over the summer, Scott had moved out and gone into hiding. He’d deserted Hank Millar’s Nephilim army, and Hank had searched tirelessly for him, hoping to make an example of him. After I killed Hank, Scott had been free to move home.

A cement fence caged the property, and while I was certain privacy had been the intent, it gave the place the feel of a compound. Vee pulled into the entrance, and I had a flashback to the time she had helped me snoop in Scott’s bedroom. Back when I thought he was an up-to-no-good jerk. Boy, had things changed. Vee parked near the tennis courts. The nets were long gone, and someone had decorated the turf with graffiti.

We got out and stretched for a couple of minutes.

Vee said, “I don’t feel safe leaving the Neon unattended for long in this neighborhood. Maybe we should do laps around the complex. That way I can keep my eye on my baby.”

“Uh-huh. It also gives Scott more opportunities to see us.”

Vee had on pink sweatpants with DIVA stamped across the butt in gold glitter, and a pink fleece jacket. She also had on full makeup, diamond studs in her ears, and a ruby cocktail ring, and she smelled like Pure Poison by Dior. Just your average day out running.

We picked up our feet and started a slow jog along the dirt trail circling the complex. The sun was out, and after three laps, I stripped off my sweatshirt, tying it around my waist. Vee beelined to a weathered park bench and plunked down, sucking air.

“That had to be about five miles,” she said.

I surveyed the trail. Sure . . . give or take four miles.

“Maybe we should peek in Scott’s windows,” Vee suggested. “It’s Sunday. He might be oversleeping and need a friendly wake-up call.”

“Scott lives on the third floor. Unless you have a forty-foot ladder stashed in the trunk of the Neon, window peeping is probably out.”

“We could try something more direct. Like knocking on his door.”

Just then an orange Plymouth Barracuda, circa 1970, vroomed into the parking lot. It pulled under the carport, and Scott swung out. Like most Nephilim men, Scott has the body of someone seemingly well acquainted with a weight room. He’s also unusually tall, pushing six feet six. He keeps his hair cropped as short as a prison inmate’s, and he’s good-looking—in a tough, hardened way. Today he was wearing mesh basketball shorts and a T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off.

Vee fanned herself. “Yowza.”

I stuck my hand in the air, intending to call out to Scott and flag his attention, when the Barracuda’s passenger door opened and Dante emerged.

“Check it out,” Vee said. “It’s Dante. Do the math. Two of them, and two of us. I knew I’d like running.”