Patch slurred in an unmistakably inebriated voice, “One beautiful redhead, preferably tall and slim, with legs a man can’t seem to find the end of.” He traced his finger down my cheekbone, and I tensed and pulled away.

“Not interested,” I said, taking a sip of Sprite and keeping my eyes steadfastly on the mirrored wall behind the bar. I let just enough anxiety leak into my words to pique the bartender’s attention.

He leaned across the bar, resting his massive forearms on the slab of granite, and stared Patch down. “Next time review the menu before you waste my time. We don’t offer disinterested females, red hair or otherwise.” He paused with menacing effect, then started toward the next waiting customer.

“And if she’s Nephilim, all the better,” Patch announced drunkenly.

The bartender stopped, eyes glittering with malice. “Mind keeping your voice down, pal? We’re in mixed company. This place is open to humans, too.”

Patch brushed this off with an uncoordinated wave of his arm. “Sweet of you to worry about the humans, but one quick mind-trick later, and they won’t remember a word I’ve said. Done the trick so many times I can do it in my sleep,” he said, letting a bit of swagger creep into his tone.

“You want this lowlife gone?” the bartender asked me. “Say the word and I’ll get the bouncer.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I can handle myself,” I told him. “You’ll have to excuse my ex for being a total jerk-off.”

Patch laughed. “Jerk-off? That’s not what you called me last time we were together,” he implied suggestively.

I just stared at him, disgusted.

“She wasn’t always Nephilim, you know,” Patch informed the bartender with wistful nostalgia. “Maybe you’ve heard of her. The Black Hand’s heir. Liked her better when she was human, but there’s a certain cachet in running around with the most famous Nephil on Earth.”

The bartender eyed me speculatively. “You’re the Black Hand’s kid?”

I glared at Patch. “Thanks for that.”

“Is it true the Black Hand is dead?” the bartender asked. “Can’t hardly comprehend it. A great man, rest his soul. My respects to your family.” He paused, bewildered. “But dead as in . . . dead?”

“Word has it,” I murmured quietly. I couldn’t quite bring myself to shed a tear for Hank, but I did speak with a melancholic reverence that seemed to satisfy the bartender.

“A free round of drinks to the fallen angel who got him,” Patch interrupted, raising my glass in a toast. “I think we can all agree that’s what happened. Immortal just doesn’t have the same ring anymore.” He laughed, banging his fist on the bar in high spirits.

“And you used to date this pig?” the bartender asked me.

I flicked my eyes to Patch and frowned. “A repressed memory.”

“You know he’s a”—the bartender lowered his voice—“fallen angel, right?”

Another sip and a hard swallow. “Don’t remind me. I’ve made amends—my new boyfriend is Dante Matterazzi, one hundred percent Nephilim. Maybe you’ve heard of him?” No time like the present to start a rumor.

His eyes lit up, impressed. “Sure, sure. Great guy. Everyone knows Dante.”

Patch closed his hand over my wrist too firmly to be affectionate. “She’s got it all wrong. We’re still together. What do you say we get out of here, sugar?”

I jumped at his touch, as if shocked. “Get your hands off me.”

“I’ve got my bike out back. Let me take you for a ride. For old time’s sake.” He stood, then dragged me off my barstool so roughly it toppled.

“Get the bouncer,” I ordered the bartender, letting full-fledged anxiety flood my voice. “Now.”

Patch hauled me toward the front doors, and while I put on a convincing show of trying to wrench free, I knew the worst was still to come.

The club’s bouncer, a Nephil who had the advantage not only of several inches over Patch, but also a hundred pounds, elbowed his way toward us. He grabbed Patch by the collar, tearing him off me and sending him flying into the wall. Serpentine had worked up to a fever pitch, drowning out the scuffle, but those in the immediate vicinity parted, forming a semicircle of curious onlookers around the two men.

Patch raised his hands level with his shoulders. He flashed a brief, intoxicated smile. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“Too late,” the bouncer said, and smashed his fist into Patch’s face. The skin above Patch’s eyebrow split, seeping blood, and I forced myself not to wince or reach for him.

The bouncer jerked his head at the doors. “If you ever show your face here again, you and trouble gonna be fast friends. You understand?”

Patch stumbled toward the door, giving a sloppy salute to the bouncer. “Aye, aye, sir.”

The bouncer planted his foot in the crook of Patch’s knee, sending him tripping down the cement stoop. “Would you look at that. My foot slipped.”

A man just inside the door laughed, low and harsh, and the sound snatched my attention. This wasn’t the first time I’d heard the laugh. When I was human, I wouldn’t have recognized it, but all my senses were heightened now. I squinted through the darkness, trying to match the rankling laugh to a face.

There.

Cowboy Hat. He wasn’t wearing a hat or sunglasses tonight, but I could place those hunched shoulders and that caustic smile anywhere.

Patch! I shouted, unable to see whether he was still within hearing range as the crowd closed around me, filling in the empty spaces now that the fight was over. One of the Nephilim from the cabin. He’s here! He’s just inside cs jsed around the doorway, wearing a red-and-black flannel shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots.

I waited, but there was no response.

Patch! I tried again, using all the mental power I possessed. I couldn’t follow him outside—not if I wanted to keep my cover.

Vee appeared at my side. “What’s going on here? Everyone’s talking about a fight. I can’t believe I missed it. Did you see any of it?”

I pulled her aside. “I need you to do something for me. See the guy just inside the doors, in the hick flannel shirt? I need you to find out his name.”

Vee frowned. “What’s this all about?”

“I’ll explain later. Flirt, steal his wallet, whatever it takes. Just don’t mention my name, okay?”

“If I do this, I want a favor in return. A double date. You and your whack-job boyfriend, and me and Scott.”

With no time to explain that Patch and I were finished, I said, “Yes. Now hurry before we lose him in the crowd.”

Vee cracked her knuckles and sashayed off. I didn’t hang around to see how she fared. I threaded my way through the crowd, ducking out the back door and jogging to the top of the alley. I rounded the building, looking both ways for Patch.

Patch! I cried out to the shadows.

Angel? What are you doing? It’s not safe for us to be seen together.

I spun around, but Patch wasn’t there. Where are you?

Across the street. In the van.

I looked across the street, and sure enough, there was a rusty brown Chevy van parked at the curb. It blended into the backdrop of dilapidated buildings. The windows were tinted, shielding the inner cab from prying eyes.

One of the Nephilim from the cabin is inside the Devil’s Handbag!

A thick beat of silence.

Did he see the fight? Patch asked after a moment.

Yes.

What does he look like?

He’s wearing a black-and-red flannel shirt and cowboy boots.

Get him to leave the building. If the others from the cabin are with him, get them out too. I want to talk to them.

Coming from Patch it sounded ominous, but then again, they had it coming. They’d lost my sympathies the moment they’d stuffed me inside their van.

I jogged back inside the Devil’s Handbag and worked my way into the thick crowd packed around the stage. Serpentine was still going strong, rocking out a ballad that had everyone riled up. I didn’t know how to get Cowboy Hat to leave the premises, but I knew one person who could help me clear the whole place.

Scott! I yelled. But it was useless. He couldn’t hear me over the thunderous music. It probably didn’t help that he was deep ct h from th in concentration.

I rose up on my tiptoes and looked for Vee. She was heading this way.

“I put the ol’ Vee charm on him, but he wasn’t having any of it,” she told me. “Maybe I need a new haircut.” She sniffed her underarms. “Far as I can tell, deodorant’s still working.”

“He blew you off?”

“Yup, and I didn’t get his name, either. Does this mean our double date is off?”

“I’ll be right back,” I said, and fought my way to the alley once again. I had every intention of getting close enough to Patch to mind-speak to him that forcing our Nephil friend out of the Devil’s Handbag was going to be harder than I anticipated, when two shadowy figures standing on the back stoop of the next building down, and conversing in hushed tones, brought me to an abrupt stop.

Pepper Friberg and . . . Dabria.

Dabria used to be an angel of death, and dated Patch before both were banished from heaven. Patch had sworn up and down that the relationship was boring, chaste, and more of a convenience than anything. Still. After deciding I was a threat to her plans to rekindle their relationship here on Earth, Dabria had tried to kill me. She was cool, blond, and sophisticated. I’d never seen her have a bad hair day, and her smile had a way of filling my veins with ice. Now a fallen angel, she made her living swindling victims on the false pretense of having the gift of foresight. She was one of the most dangerous fallen angels I knew, and I had no doubt I was right at the top of her hate list.

Instantly I drew back against the Devil’s Handbag. I held my breath for five seconds, but neither Pepper nor Dabria seemed to have noticed me. I inched closer but didn’t dare press my luck. By the time I’d get close enough to hear what they were saying, one or both would have sensed my presence.

Pepper and Dabria talked a few minutes longer before Dabria turned on her heel and strolled away down the alley. Pepper made an obscene gesture at her back. Was it just me, or did he look especially disgruntled?

I waited until Pepper left too before I stepped out of the shadows. I went directly inside the Devil’s Handbag. I found Vee at our booth and slid in beside her.

“I need to clear this place out right now,” I said.

Vee blinked. “Come again?”

“What if I shout ‘fire’? Will that work?”

“Shouting ‘fire’ seems a little old-school to me. You could try shouting ‘police,’ but that falls into the same category. Not that I have anything against old-school. But what’s the big rush? I didn’t think Serpentine sucked that bad.”

“I’ll explain—”

“Later.” Vee nodded. “Saw that coming from a mile away. If it were me, I’d go with shouting ‘police.’ Bound to be more than a few someones doing illegal activity in this place. Scream ‘cops!’ and you’ll see movement.”