The Fallen Sequence (77 page)

The late morning had turned gusty, and Luce had to crouch down and hold on to the slanting wooden shingles to keep her balance. Her hands were cold. Her heart felt numb. She closed her eyes. Every time she tried to summon an Announcer, she remembered how little training she’d had. She’d always just been lucky—if watching your boyfriend look down at someone he’d just murdered could be considered luck.

A damp brushing crept along her arms. Was it the brown shadow, the ugly thing that showed her an even uglier thing? Her eyes shot open.

It was. Creeping up her shoulder like a snake. She yanked it off and held it in front of her, trying to spin it into a ball with her hands. The Announcer rejected her touch, floating backward, out of her reach just past the roof’s edge.

She looked down two stories to the ground below. A trail of students were leaving the dorm to head to the mess hall for brunch, a stream of color moving along a sheet of bright green grass. Luce teetered. Vertigo hit, and she felt herself falling forward.

But then the shadow rushed like a football player, knocking her back against the slope of the roof. There
she stayed, stuck against the shingles, panting as the Announcer yawned open again.

The smoky veil diffused into light, and Luce was back with Daniel and his bloody branch. Back to the caw of seagulls circling overhead and the stench of rotting surf along the shore, the sight of icy waves crashing on the beach. And back to the two figures huddled on the ground. The dead one was all tied up. The living one stood to face Daniel.

Cam.

No
. It had to be a mistake. They hated one another. Had just waged a huge battle against one another. She could accept that Daniel did dark things to protect her from the people who were after her. But what foul thing would ever make him seek out Cam? Work alongside Cam—who took pleasure in killing?

They were in a heated discussion of some sort, but Luce couldn’t make out the words. She couldn’t hear anything over the clock in the middle of the terrace, which had just struck eleven. She strained her ears, waiting for the gongs to cease.

“Let me take her to Shoreline,” she finally heard Daniel plead.

This must have been right before she arrived in California. But why should Daniel have to ask Cam’s permission? Unless—

“Fine,” Cam said evenly. “Take her as far as the
school and then find me. Don’t screw up; I’ll be watching.”

“And then?” Daniel sounded nervous.

Cam ran his eyes over Daniel’s face. “You and I have work to do.”

“No!” Luce screamed, slashing at the shadow with her fingers in anger.

But as soon as she felt her hands break through the cold, slippery surface, she regretted it. It broke into spent fragments, settling into an ashy pile at her side. Now she couldn’t see anymore. She tried to gather the fragments up the way she’d seen Miles do, but they were quivering and unresponsive.

She grabbed a fistful of the worthless pieces, sobbing into them.

Steven had said that sometimes the Announcers distorted what was real. Like the shadows cast on the cave wall. But that there was always some truth to them too. Luce could feel the truth in the cold, soggy pieces, even as she wrung them out, trying to squeeze out all her agony.

Daniel and Cam weren’t enemies. They were partners.

FIFTEEN

FOUR DAYS

“M
ore Tofurky?” Connor Madson—a towheaded kid from Luce’s biology class and one of Shoreline’s student waiters—stood over her with a silver platter at the Harvest Fest on Monday night.

“No, thanks.” Luce pointed down at the thick stack of lukewarm fake meat slices still on her plate.

“Maybe later.” Connor and the rest of the scholarship wait staff at Shoreline were suited up for the Harvest Fest in tuxedos and ridiculous pilgrim hats. They
glided past each other on the terrace, which was nearly unrecognizable as the swanky-casual place to grab some pancakes before class; it had been transformed into a full-fledged outdoor banquet hall.

Shelby was still grumbling as she moved from table to table, adjusting place cards and relighting candles. She and the rest of the Decorations Committee had done a beautiful job: Red-and-orange silk leaves had been strewn across the long white tablecloths, fresh-baked dinner rolls were arranged inside gold-painted cornucopias, heat lamps took the edge off the brisk ocean breeze. Even the paint-by-number turkey centerpieces looked stylish.

All the students, the faculty, and about fifty of the school’s biggest donors had turned out in their finest for the dinner. Dawn and her parents had driven up for the night. Though Luce hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to Dawn yet, she looked recovered, even happy, and had waved to Luce cheerfully from her seat next to Jasmine.

Most of the twenty or so Nephilim were seated together at two adjacent circular tables, with the exception of Roland, who was sitting in a faraway corner with a mysterious date. Then the mysterious date stood up, lifted her broad rosebud-shaped hat, and gave Luce a sneaky little wave.

Arriane.

Despite herself, Luce smiled—but a second later, she
felt close to tears. Watching those two snickering together reminded Luce of the sickeningly sinister scene she had glimpsed in the Announcer the day before. Like Cam and Daniel, Arriane and Roland were supposed to be on opposite sides, but everybody knew they were a team.

Still, that felt different somehow.

Harvest Fest was supposed to be a last pre-Thanksgiving hurrah before classes were dismissed. Then everyone else would have another Thanksgiving, a real Thanksgiving, with their families. For Luce, it was the
only
Thanksgiving she was going to get. Mr. Cole hadn’t written her back. After yesterday’s grounding and then the rooftop revelation, she was having a hard time feeling thankful for much of anything.

“You’re hardly eating,” Francesca said, spooning a great dollop of shiny mashed potatoes onto Luce’s plate. Luce was growing more attuned to the thrilling glow that fell over everything when Francesca was talking to her. Francesca possessed an otherworldly charisma, simply by virtue of being an angel.

She beamed at Luce like there’d been no meeting in her office yesterday, like Luce wasn’t under lock and key.

Luce had been given the seat of honor at the expansive faculty head table, next to Francesca. All the donors came by in a stream to shake hands with the faculty. The three other students at the head table—Lilith, Beaker
Brady, and a Korean girl with a dark bob Luce didn’t know—had applied for their seats in an essay contest. All Luce had had to do was piss off her teachers enough that they were afraid to let her out of their sight.

The meal was finally wrapping up when Steven leaned forward in his chair. Like Francesca, he displayed none of yesterday’s venom. “Make sure Luce introduces herself to Dr. Buchanan.”

Francesca popped the last bite of a buttered corn bread muffin into her mouth. “Buchanan’s one of the biggest supporters of the school,” she told Luce. “You might have heard of his Devils Abroad program?”

Luce shrugged as the waiters reappeared to clear the plates.

“His ex-wife had angel lineage, but after the divorce he shifted some of his alliances. Still”—Francesca glanced at Steven—“a very good person to know. Oh, hello, Ms. Fisher! How nice of you to come.”

“Yes, hello.” An elderly woman with an affected British accent, a bulky mink coat, and more diamonds around her neck than Luce had ever seen before extended a white-gloved hand to Steven, who stood up to greet her. Francesca rose too, leaning forward to greet the woman with a kiss on either cheek. “Where’s my Miles?” the woman asked.

Luce jumped up. “Oh, you must be Miles’s … grandmother?”

“Good heavens, no.” The woman recoiled. “Don’t have children, never married, boo-hoo-hoo. I am Ms. Ginger Fisher, from the NorCal branch of the family tree. Miles is my great-nephew. And you are?”

“Lucinda Price.”

“Lucinda Price, yes.” Ms. Fisher looked down her nose at Luce, squinting. “Read about you in one or another of the histories. Though I can’t recall what it was exactly that you did—”

Before Luce could respond, Steven’s hands were on her shoulders. “Luce is one of our newest students,” he boomed. “You’ll be happy to know that Miles has really gone out of his way to make her feel comfortable here.”

Ms. Fisher’s squinty eyes were already looking past them, searching the crowded lawn. The guests had mostly finished eating, and now Shelby was lighting the tiki torches staked into the ground. When the torch closest to the head table grew bright, it illuminated Miles, leaning over the next table to clear away some plates.

“Is that my grand-nephew—
waiting tables?
” Ms. Fisher pressed a gloved hand to her forehead.

“Actually,” Shelby said, butting into the conversation, the torch lighter in one hand, “he’s the trash—”

“Shelby.” Francesca cut her off. “I think that tiki torch near the Nephilim tables has just burned out. Could you fix it?
Now?
”

“You know what?” Luce said to Ms. Fisher. “I’ll go
get Miles and bring him over. You must be eager to catch up.”

Miles had traded in the Dodgers cap and sweatshirt for a pair of brown tweed slacks and a bright orange button-down shirt. Kind of a bold choice, but it looked good.

“Hey!” He waved her over with the hand that wasn’t balancing a stack of dirty plates. Miles didn’t seem to mind busing tables. He was grinning, in his element, chatting with everyone at the banquet as he cleared their plates.

When Luce approached, he put the plates down and gave her a big hug, squeezing her closer at the end.

“Are you okay?” he asked, tilting his head to one side so that his brown hair flopped over his eyes. He didn’t seem used to the way his hair moved without his cap on, and he flicked it quickly back. “You don’t look so good. I mean—you
look
great, that’s not what I meant.
At all
. I really like that dress. And your hair looks pretty. But you also look kind of”—he frowned—“down.”

“That’s disturbing.” Luce kicked the grass with the toe of her black high heel. “Because this is the best I’ve felt all night.”

“Really?” Miles’s face lit up just long enough for him to take it as a compliment. Then it fell. “I know it must suck being grounded. If you ask me, Frankie and Steven are blowing this way out of proportion. Keeping you under their thumbs all night—”

“
I know.
”

“Don’t look now, I’m sure they’re watching us. Oh, great.” He groaned. “Is that my aunt Ginger?”

“I just had the pleasure.” Luce laughed. “She wants to see you.”

“I’m sure she does. Please don’t think all my relatives are like her. When you meet the rest of the clan at Thanksgiving—”

Thanksgiving with Miles. Luce had completely forgotten about that.

“Oh.” Miles was watching her face. “You don’t think Frankie and Steven are going to make you stay
here
on Thanksgiving?”

Luce shrugged. “I figured that was what ‘until further notice’ meant.”

“So that’s what’s making you sad.” He put a hand on Luce’s bare shoulder. She’d been regretting the sleeveless dress until now, until his fingers lay across her skin. It was nothing like Daniel’s touch—which was electrifying and magical every time—but it was comforting nonetheless.

Miles stepped closer, lowering his face to hers. “What is it?”

She looked up into his dark blue eyes. His hand was still on her shoulder. She felt her lips parting with the truth, or what she knew of the truth, ready to pour out from inside her.

That Daniel wasn’t who she’d thought he was.
Which maybe meant
she
wasn’t who she’d thought she was. That everything she’d felt about Daniel at Sword & Cross was still there—it made her dizzy to think about it—but now everything was also so different. And that everyone kept saying that this lifetime was different, that it was time to break the cycle—but no one could tell her what that meant. That maybe it didn’t end with Luce and Daniel together. That maybe she was supposed to shake herself free and do something on her own.

“It’s hard to put it all into words,” she said finally.

“I know,” Miles said. “I have a hard time with that myself. Actually, there’s something I’ve sort of been wanting to tell you—”

“Luce.” Francesca was suddenly standing there, practically wedging herself between them. “It’s time to go. I’ll be escorting you back to your room now.”

So much for doing something on her own.

“And Miles, your aunt Ginger and Steven would like to see you.”

Miles tossed Luce one last sympathetic smile before trudging across the terrace toward his aunt.

The tables were clearing out, but Luce could see Arriane and Roland cracking up near the bar. A cluster of Nephilim girls crowded around Dawn. Shelby was standing beside a tall boy with bleached-blond hair and pale, almost white skin.

SAEB
. It had to be. He was leaning into Shelby, clearly still interested, but she was clearly still pissed off.
So pissed off, she didn’t even notice Luce and Francesca walking nearby—but her ex-boyfriend did. His gaze hung on Luce. The pale not-quite-blue of his eyes was eerie.