The Fallen Sequence (53 page)

“Boo-hoo,” Shelby said, chomping on her own bowl of macaroni. “Let me guess, your parents are still happily married.”

“That’s not fair,” Luce said, sitting up. “You have no idea what I’ve been through.”

“And you have some idea what
I’ve
been through?” Shelby stared Luce down. “Didn’t think so. Look, here’s me: Only child raised by a single mom. Daddy issues? Maybe. A pain in the ass to live with because I hate to share? Almost certainly. But what I can’t stand is some sweet-faced, spoon-fed sweetheart with a happy home life and some fancy boyfriend showing up on my turf to moan about her poor long-distance love affair.”

Luce sucked in her breath. “That’s not it at all.”

“Oh no? Enlighten me.”

“I’m a fake,” Luce said. “I’m … lying to the people I love.”

“Lying to your fancy boyfriend?” Shelby’s eyes narrowed, in a way that made Luce think her roommate might actually be interested.

“No,” Luce muttered. “I’m not even speaking to him.”

Shelby leaned back on Luce’s bed and propped her feet up so they rested on the underside of the top bunk. “Why not?”

“It’s long, stupid, and complicated.”

“Well, every girl with half a brain knows there’s only one thing to do when you break up with your man—”

“No, we didn’t break up—” Luce said, at the exact same time as Shelby said:

“Change your hair.”

“
Change my hair?
”

“Fresh start,” Shelby said. “I’ve dyed mine orange, chopped it off. Hell, once I even shaved it after this jerk really broke my heart.”

There was a small oval mirror with an ornate wooden frame attached to the dresser across the room. From her position on the bed, Luce could see her reflection. She put down the bowl of pasta and stood up to move closer.

She had chopped her hair off after Trevor, but that was different. Most of it had been singed, anyway. And when she’d arrived at Sword & Cross, it had been Arriane’s hair she cut. Yet Luce thought she understood what Shelby meant when she said “fresh start.” You could turn into someone else, pretend you weren’t the person who’d just been through so much heartache. Even though—thank God—Luce wasn’t mourning the permanent loss of her relationship with Daniel, she was mourning all sorts of other losses. Penn, her family, the life she used to have before things got so complicated.

“You’re really thinking about it, aren’t you? Don’t make me bust out the peroxide from under the sink.”

Luce ran her fingers through her short black hair. What would Daniel think? But if he wanted her to be happy here until they could be together again, she had to let go of who she’d been at Sword & Cross.

She turned around to face Shelby. “Get the bottle.”

FOUR

FIFTEEN DAYS

S
he wasn’t
that
blond.

Luce wet her hands in the sink and tugged her short bleached waves. She’d made it through a full load of classes on Thursday, which included an unexpectedly stiff two-hour safety lecture from Francesca to reiterate why the Announcers were not to be messed with casually (it almost seemed like she’d been addressing Luce directly); back-to-back pop quizzes in her “regular” biology and math classes in the main school building; and what felt like eight straight hours of aghast
stares from her classmates, Nephilim and non-Neph kids alike.

Even though Shelby had acted cool about Luce’s new look in the privacy of their dorm room the night before, she wasn’t effusive with compliments the way Arriane was or reliably supportive the way Penn had been. Stepping out into the world this morning, Luce had been overcome by nerves. Miles had been the first to see her, and he’d given her a thumbs-up. But he was so nice, he’d never let on if he really thought she looked terrible.

Of course, Dawn and Jasmine had flocked to her side right after humanities, eager to touch her hair, asking Luce who her inspiration had been.

“Very Gwen Stefani,” Jasmine had said, nodding.

“No, it’s Madge, right?” Dawn said. “Like, ‘Vogue’ era.” Before Luce could answer, Dawn gestured between Luce and herself. “But I guess we aren’t Twinkies anymore.”

“Twinkies?” Luce shook her head.

Jasmine squinted at Luce. “Come on, don’t say you never noticed? You two look … well,
looked
so much alike. You practically could have been sisters.”

Now, standing alone before the main school building’s bathroom mirror, Luce gazed at her reflection and thought about wide-eyed Dawn. They had similar coloring: pale skin, flushed lips, dark hair. But Dawn was smaller than she was. She wore bright colors six days a
week. And she was way more chipper than Luce could ever be. A few superficial aspects aside, Luce and Dawn couldn’t have been more different.

The bathroom door swung open and a wholesome-looking brunette in jeans and a yellow sweater entered. Luce recognized her from European history class. Amy Something. She leaned against the sink next to Luce and began to fidget with her eyebrows.

“Why’d you do that to your hair?” she asked, eyeing Luce.

Luce blinked. It was one thing to talk about it with her sort-of friends at Shoreline, but she’d never even spoken to this girl before.

Shelby’s answer,
fresh start
, popped into her mind, but who was she kidding? All that bottle of peroxide had done last night was make Luce look as phony on the outside as she already felt on the inside. Callie and her parents would hardly recognize her right now, which wasn’t the point at all.

And Daniel. What would Daniel think? Luce suddenly felt so transparently fake; even a stranger could see through her.

“I don’t know.” She pushed past the girl and out the bathroom door. “I don’t know why I did it.”

Bleaching her hair wouldn’t wash away the dark memories of the past few weeks. If she really wanted a fresh start, she’d have to make one. But how? There was
so little she actually had control over at the moment. Her whole world was in the hands of Mr. Cole and Daniel. And they were both far away.

It was scary how quickly and how much she’d come to rely on Daniel, scarier still that she didn’t know when she’d see him next. Compared to the bliss-filled days with him she’d been expecting in California, this was the loneliest she’d ever been.

She trudged across the campus, slowly realizing that the only time she’d felt any independence since she’d arrived at Shoreline had been …

Alone in the woods with the shadow.

After yesterday’s in-class demonstration, Luce had been expecting more of the same from Francesca and Steven. She had hoped that maybe the students would have a chance to experiment with the shadows on their own today. She’d even had the briefest fantasy of being able to do what she’d done in the forest in front of all the Nephilim.

None of that had happened. In fact, class today had felt like a big step back. A boring lecture about Announcer etiquette and safety, and why the students should never, under any circumstances, try on their own what they’d seen the day before.

It was frustrating and regressive. So now, instead of heading back to the dorm, Luce found herself jogging behind the mess hall, down the trail to the edge of the
bluff, and up the wooden stairs of the Nephilim lodge. Francesca’s office was in the annex on the second floor, and she’d told the class to feel free to come by anytime.

The building was remarkably different without the other students to warm it up. Dim and drafty and almost abandoned-feeling. Every noise Luce made seemed to carry, echoing off the sloping wooden beams. She could see a lamp on the landing one floor up and smell the rich aroma of brewing coffee. She didn’t know yet whether she was going to tell Francesca what she’d been able to do in the forest. It might seem insignificant to someone as skilled as Francesca. Or it might seem like a violation of her instructions to the class today.

Part of Luce just wanted to feel her teacher out, to see whether she might be someone Luce could turn to when, on days like today, she started to feel as if she might fall apart.

She reached the top of the stairs and found herself at the head of a long, open hallway. On her left, beyond the wooden banister, she looked down at the dark, empty classroom on the second story. On her right was a row of heavy wooden doors with stained-glass transoms over them. Walking quietly along the floorboards, Luce realized she didn’t know which office was Francesca’s. Only one of the doors was ajar, the third one from the right, with light emanating from the pretty stained-glass scene in the transom. She thought she heard a male
voice inside. She was poised to knock when a woman’s sharp tone made her freeze.

“It was a mistake to even try,” Francesca practically hissed.

“We took a chance. We got unlucky.”

Steven.

“
Unlucky?
” Francesca scoffed. “You mean reckless. From a purely statistical standpoint, the odds of an Announcer bearing bad news were far too great. You saw what it did to those kids. They weren’t ready.”

A pause. Luce inched a little closer along the Persian rug in the hall.

“But she was.”

“I won’t sacrifice all the progress an entire class has made just because some, some—”

“Don’t be shortsighted, Francesca. We came up with a beautiful curriculum. I know that as well as you. Our students outperform every other Nephilim program in the world. You did all that. You have a right to feel a sense of pride. But things are different now.”

“Steven’s right, Francesca.” A third voice. Male. Luce thought it sounded familiar. But who was it? “Might as well throw your academic calendar out the window. The truce between our sides is the only timeline that matters anymore.”

Francesca sighed. “You really think—”

The unknown voice said, “If I know Daniel, he’ll be
right on time. He’s probably counting down the minutes already.”

“There’s something else,” Steven said.

A pause, then what sounded like a drawer sliding open, then a gasp. Luce would have killed to be on the other side of the wall, to see what they could see.

“Where did you get that?” the other male voice asked. “Are you trading?”

“Of course he’s not!” Francesca sounded stung. “Steven found it in the forest during one of his rounds the other night.”

“It’s authentic, isn’t it?” Steven asked.

A sigh. “Been too long for me to say,” the stranger hedged. “I haven’t seen a starshot in ages. Daniel will know. I’ll take it to him.”

“That’s all? What do you suggest we do in the meantime?” Francesca asked.

“Look, this isn’t my thing.” The familiarity of that male voice was like an itch at the back of Luce’s brain. “And it’s really not my style—”

“Please,” Francesca pleaded.

The office was silent. Luce’s heart was pounding.

“Okay. If I were you? Step things up around here. Tighten their supervision and do everything you can to get
all
of them ready. End Times aren’t supposed to be very pretty.”

End Times. That was what Arriane had said would
happen if Cam and his army won that night at Sword & Cross. But they hadn’t won. Unless there’d already been another battle. But then, what would the Nephilim need to get ready for?

The sound of heavy chair legs scraping along the floor made Luce jump back. She knew she should not be caught eavesdropping on this conversation. Whatever it was about.

For once, she was glad of the endless supply of mysterious alcoves in the Shoreline architecture. She ducked under a decorative wood-shingled cornice between two bookshelves and pressed herself into the recess of the wall.

A single set of footsteps exited the office, and the door closed firmly. Luce held her breath and waited for the figure to descend the stairs.

At first, she could see only his feet. Brown European leather boots. Then a pair of dark-wash jeans came into view as he curved around the banister toward the second story of the lodge. A blue-and-white-striped button-down shirt. And finally, the distinctly recognizable mane of black-and-gold dreadlocks.

Roland Sparks had turned up at Shoreline.

Luce jumped out from her hidden perch. She might still be on nervous best behavior in front of Francesca and Steven, who were dauntingly gorgeous and powerful and mature … and her teachers. But Roland didn’t
intimidate her—not much, anyway—not anymore. Besides, he was the closest to Daniel she had been in days.

She slunk down the interior steps as silently as she could, then burst through the lodge door to the deck. Roland was moseying toward the ocean like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Roland!” she shouted, thundering down the last flight of stairs to the ground and breaking into a jog. He stood where the path ended and the bluff dropped down to steep and craggy rocks.

He was standing so still, looking out at the water. Luce was surprised to feel butterflies in her stomach when, very slowly, he began to turn around.

“Well, well.” He smiled. “Lucinda Price discovers peroxide.”

“Oh.” She clutched at her hair. How stupid she must look to him.

“No, no,” he said, stepping toward her, fluffing her hair with his fingers. “It suits you. A hard edge for hard times.”