“Hey,” I said.

“Hey.”

“My mom wants us to rake leaves in the yard, so you might want to hold off showering until after we finish.”

Marcie’s eyebrows pulled together. “Come again?”

“Saturday chores,” I explained. I understood that this was probably a new term for Marcie. And I thoroughly enjoyed being the one to teach it to her.

“I don’t do chores.”

“You do when you live here.”

“All right,” Marcie said reluctantly. “Let me get breakfast and make a fewandu li calls.”

On a normal day I didn’t think Marcie would be so agreeable, but I was beginning to think her willingness could be an apology for her big screwup last night. Hey, I’d take it any way I could get it.

While Marcie poured cereal for breakfast, I went to the garage to find rakes. I was halfway done raking the front yard when a car rumbled up the street. Scott parked his Barracuda in the driveway and swung out. His T-shirt hugged every bulge of muscle, and for Vee’s sake, I wished I had a camera.

“What’s up, Grey?” he said. He pulled leather work gloves out of his back pocket and tugged them on. “I’m here to help. Put me to work. I’m your slave for the day. Never mind your boy Dante should be here, not me.” He kept teasing me about Dante, but I couldn’t tell if he believed in the relationship. I always detected a slight note of mockery. Of course, I detected that same mockery underscoring one out of every ten words he spoke.

I leaned on my rake. “I don’t understand. How did you know I was raking the yard?”

“Your new best friend told me.”

I didn’t have a new best friend, but I had a perennial archenemy. I narrowed my eyes. “Marcie recruited you?” I guessed.

“Said she needed help with chores. She has allergies and can’t work outdoors.”

“Total lie!” And I’d been naive enough to think she was actually going to help.

Scott grabbed the extra rake I’d propped against the front porch and came over to help. “Let’s make a really big pile and toss you in.”

“That defeats the point.”

Scott grinned and nudged my shoulder. “But it would be fun.”

Marcie opened the front door and came out on the porch. She perched herself on the steps, crossing her legs and leaning forward on them. “Hi, Scott.”

“Yo.”

“Thanks for coming to my rescue. You’re my knight in shining armor.”

“Oh, gag,” I said, rolling my eyes melodramatically.

“Anytime,” Scott told her. “I can’t pass up an excuse to torment Grey.” He came up behind me and stuffed a fistful of leaves down my shirt.

“Hey!” I shrieked. I picked up my own handful of leaves and flung them in his face.

Scott dropped his shoulder, barreled toward me, and took me down, scattering my tidy pile of leaves everywhere. I was mad that in one moment he’d obliterated my hard work, but at the same time, I couldn’t stop laughing. He was on top of me, cramming leaves down my shirt, into my pockets, and up my trouser legs. “Scott!” I giggled.

“Get a room,” Marcie said in a bored voice, but I could tell she was irritated.

When Scott finally rolled off me, I said to Marcie, “Too bad about those allergies. Raking leaves can be a lot of fun. Did I forget to mention that?”

She nailed me with a look of sheer gall, then marched inside.

Chapter 16

AFTER SCOTT AND I HAD SCOOPED ALL THE leaves into orange garbage sacks decorated to look like pumpkins, and placed them decoratively around the yard, he came inside for a glass of milk and my mom’s deliciously gooey mint-chocolate-chip cookies. I thought Marcie might have retreated to her room, but instead she was waiting for us in the kitchen.

“I think we should throw a Halloween party here,” she announced.

I snorted and set down my milk glass. “No offense, but we’re not big into parties in this family.”

Mom’s whole face lit up. “I think it’s a wonderful idea, Marcie. We haven’t hosted a party here since Harrison passed. I could swing by the party store later today and see what they have for decorations.”

I looked to Scott for help, but he merely shrugged. “Could be cool.”

“You have a milk mustache,” I told him tartly in return.

He wiped it on the back of his hand . . . then wiped it on my arm.

“Eeew!” I shrieked, giving him a shove to the shoulder.

“I think we should have a theme. Like famous couples throughout history, and tell everyone to come in pairs,” Marcie said.

“Hasn’t that been done before,” I said, “like a million times?”

“The theme should be favorite character from the Halloween movies,” Scott said with a sadistic grin.

“Whoa. Back up. Everyone just . . . chill,” I said, holding my hands out in a Stop motion. “Mom, you realize we’d have to clean the whole house, right?”

Mom gave an insulted laugh. “The house isn’t that dirty, Nora.”

“Is it BYOB, or are we providing?” Scott asked.

“No beer,” my mom and I chimed in unison.

“Well, I like the famous couples idea,” said Marcie, clearly having made up her mind. “Scott, we should go together.”

Scott didn’t miss a beat. “Could I be Michael Myers and you be one of the babysitters I mutilate?”

“No,” Marcie said. “We’re going as Tristan and Isolde.”

I stuck my tongue out. “Way to be original.”

Scott kicked my leg playfully. “Well, hello there, Little Miss Cheerful.”

I think it’s pretty frivolous to be planning a Halloween party when we’re right in the middle of Cheshvan, I said critically to his thoughts. Fallen angels might be holding their breath, but not for long. We both know war is brewing, and everyone is expecting me to do something about it. So forgive me if I seem a little cranky!

Fair enough, Scott returned. But maybe the party will help take your mind off things.

Are you seriously considering going with Marcie?

A smile surfaced on his lips. You think I should go with you instead?

I think you should go with Vee.

Before I could gauge Scott’s reaction, Marcie said, “Let’s go to the party store together, Mrs. Grey. And we can stop by the stationery store afterward so I can look for invitations. I want something spooky and festive, but cutesy, too.” She bobbed her shoulders and gave a squeal. “This is going to be so much fun!”

“Who are you going to ask to the party, Nora?” my mom asked.

I pursed my lips, unable to come up with the right answer. Scott was taken, Dante wouldn’t do—it would help fuel our relationship rumor, but I wasn’t in the mood—and my mom detested Patch. Worse, I was supposed to hate his guts. We were immortal enemies as far as the outside world was concerned.

I didn’t want to be included in this party. I had bigger problems. I had a vengeful archangel after me; I was the leader of an army, but lacked direction—despite my pact with the archangels, I was starting to feel like war might not only be inevitable, it just might be the right move; my best friend was keeping secrets, and speculating about their nature was keeping me up at night; and now this. A Halloween party. In my own home. Where I’d be expected to play hostess.

Marcie smirked. “Anthony Amowitz has a crush on you.”

“Ooh, tell me more about Anthony,” Mom prodded.

Marcie loved a good story, and she launched right into this one. “He was in our PE class last year. Every time we played softball, he played catcher and would gawk at Nora’s legs the whole time she was at bat. He couldn’t catch a single pitch, he was so distracted.”

“Nora does have lovely legs,” Mom teased me.

I hitched my thumb at the stairs. “I’m going to my room to bang my head against the wall a few thousand times. Anything has to be better than this.”

“You and Anthony could be Scarlett and Rhett,” Marcie called after me. “Or Buffy and Angel. What about Tarzan and Jane?”

That night I left my window cracked, and just after midnight, Patch crawled inside. He smelled earthy, like the woods, as he slid quietly into bed beside me. Even though I would have preferred to meet him in the open, there was something undeniably sexy about our secret rendezvous.

“I brought you something,” he said, setting a brown paper sack on my tummy.

I sat up and peeked inside. “A caramel apple from Delphic Beach!” I grinned. “No one makes them better. And you even got one dipped in coconut flakes—my favorite.”

“It’s a get-well present. How’s the wound doing?"

I lifted my nightshirt, showing him the good news myself. “All better.” The last of the blue discoloration had vanished a few hours ago, and as soon as it had, the wound had healed almost instantly. Only the palest ribbon of a scar remained.

Patch kissed me. “That is good news.”

“Any sign of Blakely?”

“No, but it’s only a matter of time.”

“Have you sensed him following you?”

“No.” An edge of frustration crept into his tone. “But I’m sure he’s keeping tabs on me. He needs the knife back.”

“Devilcraft is changing all the rules, isn’t it?”

“It’s forcing me to be inventive, I’ll give it that.”

“Did you bring Blakely’s knife with you?” I eyed his pockets, which looked empty.

He lifted his shirt just high enough to reveal the handle sticking out of his leather belt. “Never let it out of my sight.”

“Are you sure he’ll come for it? Maybe he’s calling your bluff. Maybe he knows the archangels aren’t as straitlaced as we all thought they were, and he knows he can get away with devilcraft.”

“It’s a possibility, but I don’t think so. The archangels are good at hiding things, particularly from Nephilim. I think Blakely is scared, and I think he’s going to make a move soon.”

“What if he brings backup? What if it’s you and me against twenty of them?”

“He’ll come alone,” Patch said confidently. “He screwed up, and he’s going to try to salvage this mess privately. Knowing how valuable he is to the Nephilim, there’s no way he was allowed to attend a football game by himself. I’m betting Blakely sneaked out. Worse, he left behind a knife enchanted with devilcraft. He’s sweating this, and he knows he has to fix it before anyone finds out. I’m going to use his fear and desperation to our advantage. He knows we’re still together. I’ll make him swear an oath not to breathe a word of our relationship, and I’ll tell him he won’t get the knife back until he does.”

I loosened a presliced wedge from the caramel apple and bit it in half. Might as well fake calm.

“Anything else?” Patch asked.

“Hmm . . . yeah. During training this morning, Dante and I were interrupted by a few fallen angel thugs.” I shrugged. “We hid until they went away, but you can tell Cheshvan has everyone’s blood heated up. You wouldn’t happen to know a skinny fallen angel with markings all over his chest, would you? This made the second time I’ve seen him.”