“See, when you lie to me it hurts," Rixon said, swiping an imaginary tear. "I thought we had something special. I thought our joint eternal sentences of damnation were our bond.”

“You're mine, Angel, and don't you forget it. Your fights are my fights. What if something bad had happened today? It was bad enough when I thought your ghost was haunting me; I don't think I can handle the real thing.”

“This isn't your fight, Patch," I said quietly.His eyes burned with an intensity I'd never seen before. "You're mine, Angel, and don't you forget it. Your fights are my fights. What if something had happened today? It was bad enough when I thought your ghost was haunting me; I don't think I could handle the real thing.”

“Did you hear something, Nora?” Vee asked. “I thought I heard something.” “You definitely heard something,” I agreed. “Could that be … a dog fart I heard?” Vee asked me.”

“I watched him pitch the ball at a table neatly lined with six bowling pins, my stomach giving a little flutter when his T-shirt crept up in the back, revealing a stripe of skin. I knew from experience that every inch of him was hard, defined muscle. His back was smooth and perfect too, the scars from when he’d fallen once again replaced with wings—wings I, and every other human, couldn’t see.“Five dollars says you can’t do it again,” I said, coming up behind him.Patch looked back and grinned. “I don’t want your money, Angel.”“Hey now, kids, let’s keep this discussion PG-rated,” Rixon said.“All three remaining pins,” I challenged Patch.“What kind of prize are we talking about?” he asked.“Bloody hell,” Rixon said. “Can’t this wait until you’re alone?”Patch gave me a secret smile, then shifted his weight back, cradling the ball into his chest. He dropped his right shoulder, brought his arm around, and sent the ball flying forward as hard as he could. There was a loud crack! and the remaining three pins scattered off the table.“Aye, now you’re in trouble, lass,” Rixon shouted at me over the commotion caused by a pocket of onlookers, who were clapping and whistling for Patch. Patch leaned back against the booth and arched his eyebrows at me. The gesture said it all: Pay up.“You got lucky,” I said.“I’m about to get lucky.”

“Cheshvan starts tonight," Rixon said, "What are you doing arsing around in a graveyard?""Thinking.""Thinking?""A process by which I use my brain to make a rational decision.”

“And here I thought they were called Peeping Toms." I didn't need to see him to know he wore a smile. "Stop laughing," I said, my cheeks hot with humiliation. "Get me down.""Jump.""What?""I'll catch you.""Are you crazy? Go inside and open the window. Or get a ladder.""I don't need a ladder. Jump. I'm not going to drop you.”