The Fallen Sequence (66 page)

But it was never really about the toaster, Callie had told her. The toaster was just a symptom, something that represented everything else that was wrong between them.

Luce hated that she and Daniel kept getting into fights. The one on the beach, over her dye job, reminded
her of Callie’s story. It felt like a preview of some bigger, uglier argument on the way.

Bracing herself against the wind, Luce realized she’d come down here to try to trace where they’d gone wrong the other night. She was idiotically looking for signs in the water, some clue carved into the rough volcanic rock. She was looking everywhere except inside herself. Because what was inside Luce was just the vast enigma of her past. Maybe the answers were still somewhere in the Announcers, but for now, they remained frustratingly out of her grasp.

She didn’t want to blame Daniel. She was the one who’d been naïve enough to assume that their relationship had been exclusive across time. But he’d never told her otherwise. So he’d practically set her up to walk right into this shock. It was embarrassing. And one more item to tick off on the long list of things that Luce thought she deserved to know and that Daniel didn’t see fit to tell her.

She felt something she thought was rain, a drizzly sensation on her cheeks and her fingertips. But it was warm instead of cold. It was powdery and light, not wet. She turned her face toward the sky and was blinded by shimmering violet light. Not wanting to shield her eyes, she watched even when it grew so bright it hurt. The particles slowly drifted toward the water just offshore, falling into a pattern and limning the shape she’d know anywhere.

He seemed to have grown more gorgeous. His bare feet hovered inches off the water as he approached the shore. His broad white wings seemed to be edged with violet light and were pulsing nearly imperceptibly in the rough wind. It wasn’t fair. The way he made her feel when she looked at him—awed and ecstatic and a little bit afraid. She could hardly think of anything else. Every annoyance or nagging frustration vanished. There was just that undeniable pull toward him.

“You keep turning up,” she whispered.

Daniel’s voice carried over the water. “I told you I wanted to talk to you.”

Luce felt her mouth pucker up. “About Shelby?”

“About the danger you keep putting yourself in.” Daniel spoke so plainly. She’d been expecting her mention of Shelby to elicit some reaction. But Daniel just cocked his head. He reached the wet edge of the beach, where the water foamed and rolled away, and floated just above the sand in front of her. “What about Shelby?”

“Are you really going to pretend like you don’t know?”

“Hold on.” Daniel lowered his feet to the ground, bending his knees in a deep plié when his bare soles touched the sand. When he straightened, his wings pulled backward, away from his face, and sent a wave of wind back with them. Luce got her first sense of how heavy they must be.

It took less than two seconds for Daniel to reach her, but when his arms slipped around her back and pulled her to him, he couldn’t have come quickly enough.

“Let’s not get off to another bad start,” he said.

She closed her eyes and let him lift her off the ground. His mouth found hers and she tilted her face to the sky, letting the feel of him overwhelm her. There was no darkness, no more cold, just the lovely sensation of being bathed in his violet glow. Even the rush of the ocean was canceled out by a soft hum, the energy Daniel carried in his body.

Her hands were wrapped tight around his neck, then stroked the firm muscles on his shoulders, brushing the soft, thick perimeter of his wings. They were strong and white and shimmering, always so much bigger than she remembered. Two great sails extending from his sides, every inch of them perfect and smooth. She could feel a tension against her fingers, like touching a tightly stretched canvas. But silkier, and deliciously velvet soft. They seemed to respond to her touch, even extending forward to rub against her, pulling her closer, until she was buried in them, nestling deeper and deeper, and still never getting enough. Daniel shuddered.

“Is this okay?” she whispered, because sometimes he grew nervous when things between them started to heat up. “Does it hurt you?”

Tonight his eyes looked greedy. “It feels wonderful. Nothing compares.”

His fingers glided along her waist, slipping inside her sweater. Usually, the softest caress from Daniel’s hands made her go weak. Tonight his touch was more forceful. Almost rough. She didn’t know what had gotten into him, but she liked it.

His lips traced hers, then drifted higher, following the bridge of her nose, coming down tenderly on each of her eyelids. When he pulled back, she opened her eyes and gazed at him.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered.

It was exactly what most girls would have wanted to hear—only, as soon as he said it, Luce felt ripped out of her body, replaced by someone else’s.

Shelby’s.

But not just Shelby’s, because what were the odds that she had been the only one? Had other eyes and noses and cheekbones taken Daniel’s kisses? Had other bodies huddled with him on a beach? Other lips tangled, other hearts pounded? Had other whispered compliments been exchanged?

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Luce felt sick. They could steam up windows with their kisses, but as soon as they started using their mouths for other things—like talking—everything got so complicated.

She turned her face away. “You lied to me.”

Daniel didn’t scoff or get angry, as she was expecting
him to—almost wanting him to. He sat down on the sand. He propped his hands on his knees and stared out at the frothy waves. “About
what
, exactly?”

Even as the words came out, Luce regretted where she was going. “I could take
your
approach—not tell you anything, ever.”

“I can’t tell you whatever it is you want to know if you won’t tell me what’s bothering you.”

She thought about Shelby, but when she imagined playing the jealousy card, only to have him treat her like a child, Luce felt pathetic. Instead, she said, “I feel like we’re strangers. Like I don’t know you any better than anyone else.”

“Oh.” His voice was quiet, but his face was so infuriatingly stoic, Luce wanted to shake him. Nothing riled him up.

“You’re holding me hostage out here, Daniel. I know nothing. I know no one. I’m lonely. Every time I see you, you’ve put up some new wall, and you never let me in. You never let me in. You dragged me all the way out here—”

She was thinking
to California
, but it was more than that. Her past, what limited conception of it that she had, rolled out in her mind like the dropped reel of a movie, unwinding onto the floor.

Daniel had dragged her much, much further than California. He’d dragged her through centuries of fights
like this one. Through agonizing deaths that caused pain to everyone around her—like those nice old people she’d visited last week. Daniel had ruined that couple’s life. Killed their daughter. All because he’d been some hotshot angel who saw something he wanted and went after it.

No, he hadn’t just dragged her to California. He’d dragged her into a cursed eternity. A burden that should have been his alone to bear. “I am suffering—me and everyone who loves me—for your curse. For all time. Because of you.”

He winced as though she’d struck him. “You want to go home,” he said.

She kicked the sand. “I want to go back. I want you to take back whatever it was you did to get me into this. I just want to live and die a normal life and break up with normal people over normal things like toasters, not the supernatural secrets of the universe that you don’t even trust me with.”

“Hold on.” Daniel’s face had gone completely white. His shoulders stiffened and his hands were shaking. Even his wings, which moments ago had seemed so powerful, looked frail. Luce wanted to reach out and touch them, as if somehow they would tell her whether the pain she saw in his eyes was real. But she held her ground.

“Are we breaking up?” he asked, his voice weak and low.

“Are we even together, Daniel?”

He got to his feet and cupped her face. Before she could jerk away, she felt the heat subside from her cheeks. She closed her eyes, trying to resist the magnetic force of his touch, but it was so strong, stronger than anything else.

It erased her anger, left her identity in tatters. Who was she without him? Why did the pull toward Daniel always defeat anything that pulled her away? Reason, sensibility, self-preservation: None of them could ever compete. It must have been part of Daniel’s punishment. That she was bound to him forever, like a marionette to its puppeteer. She knew she shouldn’t want him with every fiber of her being, but she couldn’t help herself. Gazing at him, feeling his touch—the rest of the world faded into the background.

She just wished loving him didn’t always have to be so hard.

“What’s this business about wanting a toaster?” Daniel whispered in her ear.

“I guess I don’t know what I want.”

“I do.” His eyes were intent, holding hers. “I want you.”

“I know, but—”

“Nothing will ever change that. No matter what you hear. No matter what happens.”

“But I need more than to be wanted. I need for us to be together—actually together.”

“Soon. I promise. All of this is only temporary.”

“So you’ve said.” Luce saw that the moon had risen overhead. It was brilliant orange and waning, a quiet blaze. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Daniel tucked her blond hair behind her ear, examining the lock for way too long. “School,” he said with a hesitancy that made her think he was being less than truthful. “I asked Francesca to look after you, but I wanted to see for myself. Are you learning anything? Are you having an okay time?”

She felt the sudden urge to brag to him about her work with the Announcers, about her talk with Steven and the glimpses she’d had of her parents. But Daniel’s face looked more eager and open than she had seen it all evening. He seemed to be trying to avoid a fight, so Luce decided to do the same.

She closed her eyes. She told him what he needed to hear. School was fine. She was fine. Daniel’s lips came down on hers again, briefly, hotly, until her whole body was tingling.

“I have to go,” he said at last, getting to his feet. “I shouldn’t even be here, but I cannot keep myself away from you. I worry about you in every waking moment. I love you, Luce. So much it hurts.”

She closed her eyes against the beat of his wings and the sting of the sand he raised in his wake.

TEN

NINE DAYS

A
n echoing series of whooshes and clangs cut through the song of ospreys. A long, singing note of metal scraping metal, then the clash of the thin silver blade glancing off its opponent’s guard.

Francesca and Steven were fighting.

Well, no—they were fencing. A demonstration for the students who were about to stage matches of their own.

“Knowing how to wield a sword—whether it’s the light foils we’re using today, or something as dangerous
as a cutlass—is an invaluable skill,” Steven said, slicing the point of his sword through the air in short, whiplike movements. “The armies of Heaven and Hell rarely engage in battle, but when they do”—without looking, he snapped his blade sideways toward Francesca, and without looking, she brought her sword up and parried the blow—“they remain untouched by modern warfare. Daggers, bows and bolts, giant flaming swords, these are our eternal tools.”

The duel that followed was for show, merely a lesson; Francesca and Steven weren’t even wearing masks.

It was late in the morning on Wednesday, and Luce was seated on the deck’s wide bench between Jasmine and Miles. The entire class, including their two teachers, had changed out of their regular clothes into the white outfits fencers always wore. Half the class held black mesh face masks in their hands. Luce had arrived at the supply closet just after the last face mask had been snagged, which hadn’t bothered her at all. She was hoping to avoid the embarrassment of having the entire class witness her cluelessness: It was obvious from the way the others were making lunges at the sides of the deck that they had been through these practices before.

“The idea is to present as small a target for your opponent as possible,” Francesca explained to the circle of students surrounding her. “So you set your weight
on one foot and lead with your sword foot, and then rock back and forth—into striking range and then away.”

She and Steven were suddenly engaged in a rush of jabs and parries, making a dense clatter as they expertly fought off each other’s blows. When her blade glanced wide to the left, he lunged forward, but she rocked back, sweeping her sword up and around and onto his wrist. “
Touché,
” she said, laughing.

Steven turned to the class. “
Touché
, of course, is French for ‘touched.’ In fencing, we count points by touches.”

“Were we fighting for real,” Francesca said, “I’m afraid that Steven’s hand would be lying bloody on the deck. Sorry, darling.”