“Is this real,” I asked Patch, “or a dream?”
“Dream.”
I gave an appreciative laugh. “Wow. Could’ve fooled me. It’s so real.”
“Most dreams are. It isn’t until you wake up that you see all the plot holes.”
“Talk me through this.”
“I’m in the landscape of your dream. Imagine that your subconscious and mine walked through a door you created in your mind. We’re in the room together, but it’s not a physical place. The room is imagined, but our thoughts aren’t. You decided the setting and the clothes you’re wearing, and you decide everything you say. But since I’m actually in the dream with you, as opposed to a version of myself that you dreamed up, the things I say and do aren’t the work of your imagination. I control those things.”
I was pretty sure I understood enough to get by. “Are we safe here?”
“If you’re asking if Hank will spy on us, no, most likely not.”
“But if you can do this, what’s stopping him from doing it? I know he’s Nephilim, and unless I’m way off here, it seems like fallen angels and Nephilim have a lot of the same powers.”
“Until I tried invading your dreams a few months ago, I didn’t know much about how the process works. I’ve since learned it requires a strong connection between both subjects. I also know the dreaming subject has to be deep under. The timing can get tricky and requires patience. If you invade too early, the subject will wake up. If two angels, or Nephilim, or any combination of the two, invade a dream at the same time, pushing and pulling with their own agendas, the dreamer is far more likely to wake up. Whether or not you like it, Hank has a strong connection to you. But if he hasn’t tried invading your dreams yet, I don’t think he’ll start this late in the game.”
“How did you learn all of this?”
“Trial and error.” He hesitated, as though meaning to tread carefully with his next words. “I also got a little outside help from a fallen angel who recently fell. Unlike me, she had a strong grasp on angel law before she fell. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has the Book of Enoch, a tome about the history of angels, memorized. I knew if anyone had answers, she did. After a little arm-twisting, she told me.” His face was a mask of indifference. “She meaning Dabria.”
My heart gave an unpleasant twist. I didn’t want to be jealous of Patch’s ex — obviously I understood there was no way he didn’t have some kind of romantic history — but I felt an overpowering aversion to Dabria. Maybe residual anger — she had tried to kill me. Or maybe instinct telling me she wouldn’t hesitate to betray us again.
“So you met her in person after all?” I asked accusingly.
“We ran into each other today, and while I had her, I decided to get to the bottom of a few questions that have been weighing on my mind. I’ve been looking for a way to communicate with you undetected, and I wasn’t going to waste the opportunity that she might provide answers.”
I hardly heard him. “Why did she track you down?”
“She didn’t say, and it’s not important. We got what we wanted, and that’s what I care about. We now have a private form of communication.”
“Did she still look doughy around the middle?”
Patch rolled his eyes.
I was acutely aware that he’d dodged my question. “Has she been to your studio?”
“This is starting to feel like Twenty Questions, Angel.”
“In other words, she has.”
“No, she hasn’t,” Patch answered patiently. “Can we be done talking about Dabria?”
“When do I get to meet her?” And tell her to keep her hands off.
Patch scratched his cheek, but I thought I saw his mouth twitch. “Probably not a good idea.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? You don’t think I can handle myself, do you? Thanks for the vote of confidence!” I said, seething at him and my own stupid insecurities.
“I think Dabria is a narcissist and an egomaniac. Best to stay away.”
“Maybe you should take your own advice!”
I started to whirl away, but Patch hooked my arm and brought me around to face him. He pressed his forehead to mine. I started to pull away, but he laced his fingers through mine, effectively trapping me against him. “What do I have to do to convince you I’m using Dabria for one thing, and one thing only: to break down Hank, piece by piece if I have to, and make him pay for everything he’s done to hurt the girl I love?”
“I don’t trust Dabria,” I said, still clinging to some of my indignation.
He shut his eyes, and I thought I heard the softest of sighs. “Finally something we agree on.”
“I don’t think we should use her, even if she can get to Hank’s inner circle faster than you or me.”
“If we had more time, or another option, I’d jump on it. But for now, she’s our best chance. She won’t double-cross me. She’s too smart. She’ll take the cash I’m offering and walk away, even if it hurts her pride.”
“I don’t like it.” I snuggled into Patch, and even in the dream, the warmth of his body effectively cast away any lingering chill. “But I trust you.”
He kissed me, long and reassuring.
“Something strange happened tonight,” I said. “Someone stole my handbag from the dressing room at Silk Garden.”
Patch immediately frowned. “This happened after I left?”
“Either that, or right before you came.”
“Did you see who took it?”
“No, but the saleslady said he was male and old enough to be my father. She let him stroll right out with it, but I think he may have mind-tricked her. Do you think it’s a coincidence that an immortal stole my handbag?”
“I don’t think anything is a coincidence. What did Marcie see?”
“Apparently nothing, even though the shop was practically empty.” I gauged his eyes, cool and calculating. “You think Marcie was involved, don’t you?”
“Hard to believe she didn’t see something. It’s starting to feel like the whole night was a setup. When you went into the dressing room, she could have placed a call, letting the thief know it was safe to come in. She could have seen your bag underneath the drape, and walked him through the theft step by step.”
“Why would she want my bag? Unless—” I stopped. “She thought I was carrying the necklace Hank wants,” I realized. “He’s roped her into this. She was playing fetch for him.”
Patch’s mouth was set in a grim line. “He’s not beneath putting his daughter in harm’s way.” His eyes flickered to mine. “He proved that with you.”
“Are you still convinced Marcie doesn’t know what Hank really is?”
“She doesn’t know. Not yet. Hank could have lied to her about why he needed the necklace. He could have told her it belongs to him, and she wouldn’t ask questions. Marcie isn’t the type to ask questions. If she sees a target, she turns into a pit bull.”
Pit bull. Tell me about it. “There’s one more thing. I got a look at the car before the thief drove away. It was an Audi A6.”
From the look in his eyes, I knew the information meant something to him. “Hank’s right-hand man, a Nephil named Blakely, drives an Audi.”
A shiver chased up my spine. “I’m starting to get a little freaked out. He obviously thinks he can use the necklace to force the archangel to talk. What does he need her to tell him? What does she know that he’d risk the retaliation of the archangels for?”
“And this close to Cheshvan,” Patch murmured, a look of distraction clouding his eyes.
“We could try to break the archangel out,” I suggested. “That way, even if Hank gets a necklace, he won’t have an archangel.”
“I’d thought of that, but we’re facing two big problems. First, the archangel trusts me even less than Hank, and if she sees me anywhere near her cage, she’s going to make a lot of racket. Second, Hank’s warehouse is crawling with his men. I’d need my own army of fallen angels to go against them, and I’m going to have a hard time talking fallen angels into helping me rescue an archangel.”