by Lauren Kate
"I'm sure Chloe King's available," Lilith said.
"Speaking of which," Cam said, "how about that prom theme? Battle of the Bands?" He tossed his head. "Could be cool."
"Cool is the very last thing it could ever be," Lilith said.
"I'll sign up if you sign up."
Lilith burst out laughing. "That's supposed to entice me? Has anyone ever told you you're a little bit conceited?"
"Not in the past five minutes," Cam said. "Just think about it. We've got two weeks to throw a decent band together. We could do it." He paused. "You could do it. And you know what they say about Revenge."
"What?" she said, waiting to hear what he'd say next to piss her off.
He gazed into the distance, at something that seemed to make him sad. When he spoke, his voice was soft. "It's sweet."
Fourteen Days
The next morning, as the sun broke over the hills, Cam peeled himself off the roof of the Trumbull gym, where he'd slept the night before. His neck was stiff, and he needed a hot shower to loosen it. He glanced around, making sure the coast was clear, then swooped down until he was level with the high windows of the gym. He found an unlocked pane and slipped inside.
It was quiet in the boys' locker room, and Cam paused for a moment to stare at his reflection in the mirror. His face looked...older--his features more angular, his eyes more recessed. Over the millennia he had changed his appearance many times to blend in to his surroundings, letting the sun bronze his pale skin or adding muscle to his naturally slim frame, but he was always the one to make those changes. They didn't just happen. Never before had he been startled by his own reflection.
What was going on?
The question nagged at him as he showered, stole a clean white T-shirt from some kid's locker, slipped into his jeans and motorcycle jacket, and headed outside to wait for Lilith's bus.
Near the cul-de-sac where the buses pulled in, Cam leaned against a glass-encased bulletin board promoting the school's various extracurricular activities. There was a German club meeting at three o'clock. LEARN HOW TO ASK YOUR DATE TO PROM IN GERMAN!, the flyer boasted. Another held details for cross-country tryouts. GET IN SHAPE AND LOOK GREAT IN YOUR PROM DRESS!, it promised. In the center was a glittery flyer promoting a gig for Chloe King's band, the Perceived Slights, the following week. They were opening for a local band called Ho Hum. BE ABLE TO SAY YOU SAW THEM BEFORE THEY WON THE BATTLE OF THE BANDS AT PROM!
Cam had only been in Crossroads one full day and already he was feeling the school's prom-mania. He had been to a prom before, once, decades ago, with a cool girl from Miami who'd had a crush on him. Even though they'd disabled the fire alarm and spent most of the night up on the roof watching shooting stars, they'd also danced to a few fast songs, and Cam had enjoyed himself. Of course, he'd had to fly before anything got too serious.
He wondered what Lilith thought of prom, whether she had any desire to go. It dawned on him that he would need to ask her to be his date. The idea was thrillingly old-fashioned. He would have to make it special. He'd have to do everything just right.
At the moment, winning Lilith's love was looking like a losing bet. Lucifer was right, she hated him. But the girl he'd fallen in love with was there, somewhere, buried underneath all that pain. He just had to reach her somehow.
The squeal of brakes startled him, and Cam turned to watch the caravan of yellow buses lining up. Students filed down their steps. Most of them walked toward the building in clusters of twos and threes.
Only Lilith walked alone. She had her head down, her red hair covering her face, the white wires of her earbuds dangling. Her shoulders were hunched forward, which made her look smaller than she was. When he couldn't see the fire in her eyes, Lilith looked so defeated Cam could hardly stand it. He caught up to her as she walked through the doors to the school's main hallway.
He tapped her shoulder. She spun around.
"Hey," he said, suddenly breathless.
He wasn't used to having her so close, after all this time spent so far away. She was different from the girl he'd loved in Canaan, but just as wondrous. When he'd made this wager with Lucifer, he hadn't anticipated how difficult it would be not to touch her as he used to. He had to restrain every impulse to reach for her, to caress her cheek, to take her into his arms and kiss her and never let her go.
Lilith looked at him and flinched. Her face twisted with disgust or something worse as she removed her earbuds. He'd done nothing to her in this life, but she was hardwired to despise him.
"What?" Lilith asked.
"What are you listening to?" he asked.
"Nothing you'd like."
"Try me."
"No thanks," she said. "Can I go now, or did you want to make more painfully awkward small talk?"
Cam's eyes caught another flyer for the Perceived Slights gig taped to a nearby locker. He ripped it off and thrust it at her. "This band's playing next week," he said. "Wanna go together?"
She glanced briefly at the flyer and shook her head. "Not really my kind of music. But if you like bubblegum pop, have a blast."
"The Slights are just the opening act. I've heard Ho Hum is pretty good," he lied. "I think it'd be fun." He paused. "I think it'd be fun to go with you."
Lilith squinted, adjusting the strap of her backpack on her shoulder. "Like a date?"
"Now you're feeling me," Cam said.
"I am absolutely not feeling you," she said, walking away. "The answer is no."
"Come on," Cam said, following. The halls were a chaos of students at their lockers getting ready for the day, tossing in books, putting on lip gloss, and gossiping about prom. "What if I can get us backstage?"
Cam doubted there was a backstage at this gig, but he'd pull whatever strings needed pulling if Lilith would say yes.
"Did somebody say 'backstage'?" came a sibilant voice. "I've got passes to whatever backstage you want."
Lilith and Cam stopped and turned. Behind them, in the middle of the hallway, stood a boy with auburn hair and a smirk on his square, almost handsome face. He wore distressed jeans, an argyle-printed T-shirt with subtle gray skulls inside its diamonds, and a thin gold chain around his neck. In one hand he held a tablet.
Lucifer wasn't supposed to be here. This wasn't part of their bet.
"Who are you?" Lilith asked.
"I'm Luc," Lucifer said. "I'm with King Media. We've partnered with Trumbull Prep to put on the best prom this school has ever seen. I'm the intern, but I think they might take me on full-time--"
"I'm not going to prom," Lilith said drily. "You're wasting your time."
"But you are interested in music, right?" Lucifer asked.
"How'd you know that?" Lilith asked.
Luc smiled. "You just have that look." He tapped a password into his tablet and pulled up an electronic sign-up sheet. "I'm facilitating the student sign-up for the Battle of the Bands." He glanced at Cam. "You gonna sign up, bro?"
"Isn't this beneath even you?" Cam asked.
"Oh, Cam," Luc said, "if you refuse to do things that are beneath you, you'll never get much accomplished in this world."
Lilith studied Cam. "You know this guy?"
"We're old friends," Luc said. "But where are my manners?" He extended his hand. "Nice to meet you, Lilith."
"You know my name?" Lilith stared at Luc with a look of equal parts wonder and disgust. Cam knew the perverse appeal of the devil. It was what kept Lucifer's ranks overflowing.
"What else could your name be?" Luc asked. "Or...King Media does its research," he added with a smile as Lilith awkwardly shook his hand.
Cam tensed. This wasn't fair. He had two weeks to get Lilith to fall in love with him. He didn't have time for Lucifer's interference.
"What are you doing here?" Cam asked Lucifer, unable to hide the venom in his voice.
"Let's just say I wasn't being challenged enough," Luc said. "Then I landed this internship with King Media--"
"I have no idea what that means," C
am said.
Luc's smirk deepened. "Any questions or concerns about prom and the Battle of the Bands go through me. I want the students here to get to know me, to see me as a friend, not an authority figure. By the time prom rolls around, we'll all feel like besties."
The intercom clicked on, filling the hall with even more noise. "Good morning, Bulls!"
Luc pointed a finger at the ceiling. "You two should really listen to this announcement."
"At six o'clock this evening," Tarkenton said, "there will be an open mic in the cafeteria. It's open to all, but mandatory for students in Mr. Davidson's poetry class."
Lilith groaned. "I'd rather die than read some dreary poem in public," she said, miserable. "But Mr. Davidson's class is the only one I'm passing--and I'm only barely doing that."
"You heard Tarkenton," Cam said to Lilith. "Open mic. You don't have to read a poem--you could sing one. We could make tonight Revenge's first gig."
"We're not doing anything, because we don't have a band," Lilith said.
By now the hallways had mostly emptied out. In another minute, they'd be late for class. But Cam felt glued to the ground: He was close enough to smell her skin, and it made him dizzy with desire. "Screw homeroom," he said. "Let's sneak out right now and go practice."
Long ago, in Canaan, music had connected Lilith and Cam; Cam needed it to perform its magic a second time, here, in Crossroads. If they could just perform together, the chemistry between them would break down Lilith's defenses for long enough for him to win her heart again. He knew it would. And if he had to attend a high school prom to play with her again, so be it.
"I, for one, would love to hear you sing, Lilith," Luc chimed in.
"Stay out of this," Cam said. "Don't you have somewhere to go? Freshmen to corrupt or something?"
"Sure," Luc said. "But not before I add Lilith to my list." He held the tablet out to her again, waiting until she keyed in her email address. Then he flipped its cover closed and headed for the door. "Later, loser," he called to Cam. "And, Lilith, you'll be hearing from me."
The day passed quickly. Too quickly.
Lilith had ignored Cam in homeroom and in poetry, and he didn't see her for the rest of the school day. He'd snuck out to Rattlesnake Creek at lunch, hoping he would find her there, strumming her guitar, but all he'd found was the tuneless trickle of April water in the creek bed.
No Lilith.
He'd hung around the band room after the bell, hoping she might return there after class.
She hadn't.
As the sun sank in the sky, he made his way alone to the Trumbull open mic. He walked across the bleak campus toward the cafeteria, coughing from the smoky air. The burning hillsides--the barely disguised flames of Lilith's Hell--encircled all of Crossroads, and no one here seemed to care. Cam had seen a fire truck drive toward the blaze that morning and noted the blank expressions on the firefighters' faces. They probably spent every day hosing water on those smoldering trees, unconcerned that the fire never dwindled.
Everyone in this town was one of Lucifer's pawns. Nothing and no one would change in Crossroads until the devil wanted it to change.
Except, Cam hoped, for Lilith.
When he reached the cafeteria, Cam held the door open for a couple holding hands. The boy whispered something in the girl's ear, and she laughed and pulled him in for a kiss. Cam looked away, feeling a stab in his chest. He stuffed his hands inside his jacket pockets and ducked inside.
The cafeteria's daytime drabness was barely disguised. A makeshift stage had been set up at one end, with ragged black curtains hanging between two poles for a backdrop. Mr. Davidson stood center stage behind a microphone.
"Welcome," he said, adjusting his glasses. He appeared to be in his thirties, with a mop of dark brown hair and a rail-thin frame that radiated nervousness. "There's nothing more exciting than discovering vital new pieces of art. I can't wait for you all to share your work with each other tonight."
Above the audience's groans and grumbles, he added, "Also, you have to perform or else you'll get a zero. So without further ado, put your hands together for our first performer, Sabrina Burke!"
As the audience applauded weakly, Cam slid into an empty seat next to Jean Rah, who offered Cam his fist to bump. Jean was Cam's kind of guy--dark, funny, with a kindness you had to dig for. Cam wondered what Jean had done to end up in Lucifer's domain. Some of the most interesting mortals--and angels--had a way of pissing off the Throne.
On the stage, Sabrina's hands shook as she reached for the microphone. She whispered, "Thank you," as she unfolded a handwritten poem. "This poem is called...'Matrimony.' Thank you, Mr. Davidson, for your help. You're the best teacher ever." She cleared her throat and began:
"A wedding is a prehistoric ritual for two people
a man and a woman--
OR SO THEY SAY!"
She looked up from her paper.
"YOU CANNOT TAKE AWAY MY FREEDOM! FREE? DUMB!
I am woman, watch me soar!"
She looked down. "Thank you."
The rest of the students applauded. "So brave," a girl sitting next to Cam said. "So true."
Cam's eyes wandered over the audience until he found Lilith in the third row, chewing her nails. He knew she was imagining herself up there, alone. The Lilith he remembered was a natural performer, once she got past the initial panic of stepping onto a stage.
But this Lilith was different.
Now the audience was clapping for a towering black boy who walked confidently onstage. He didn't bother to adjust the microphone, which was way too short for him. He just opened his notebook and projected.
"This one's sort of like a haiku," he said.
"Some birds never land.
They've got to do all of their
Business in the clouds."
A contingent of girls in the back row hooted and cheered, calling out to the boy, "You're so fine, James!" He waved at them, as if he got that kind of reaction buying a soda or getting out of his car, and exited the stage.
A spoken-word performance and three poets later, Mr. Davidson took the stage again. "Good job, everyone. Next up? Lilith."
A few boos echoed across the cafeteria, and Mr. Davidson attempted to shush them. Lilith took her place on the stage. The spotlight made her hair look brighter, her face paler as she held her black journal under her arm, ready to read her poem. She cleared her throat. The microphone howled with feedback.
Several of the students covered their ears. One yelled, "Get off the stage! Loser!"
"Hey, now!" Mr. Davidson called out. "That's not nice."
"Um--" Lilith tried to adjust the microphone but only got a squeal of feedback.
Cam was off his seat by then and rushing up to the stage.
Lilith glared as he approached. "What are you doing?" she whispered.
"This," he said. With a deft twist of his wrist, he adjusted the microphone so it was the perfect distance from Lilith's lips. Now she wouldn't have to hunch. She could speak in her low, natural voice and be heard clearly throughout the cafeteria.
"Get off the stage." She cupped her palm over the mic. "You're embarrassing me." She turned out to the audience. "Um, I'm Lilith, and I--"
"And you suck!" shouted a girl at the back of the cafeteria.
Lilith sighed and flipped through the pages of her notebook. It was clear to Cam how much the other students hated Lilith, and how terrible she felt because of it. He didn't want to be one more thing making her miserable right now.
He started backing off the stage when the look in her eyes made him stop.
"What is it?" he asked.
"I can't do this," she mouthed.
Cam came close again, stopping before instinct took over and he embraced her. "Yes, you can."
"I'll take the zero." She backed away from the microphone, clutching her journal. "I can't read in front of all these people who hate me."
"Then don't," Cam said. At the foot of the chair where Lilith had bee
n sitting in the audience, Cam had spied her guitar case. Luckily she hadn't stowed it at the creek today.
"Huh?" she asked.
"Lilith," Mr. Davidson called from the back of the cafeteria. "Is there a problem?"
"Yes," Lilith said.
"No," Cam said at the same time.
He jumped off the stage, opened the silver clasps of her guitar case, and raised the lovely, cracked instrument in his arms. He heard snickering from the crowd and saw the flash of someone photographing Lilith as she stood caught in the grip of her stage fright.
Cam ignored them all. He pressed the guitar into Lilith's hands and eased the strap over her shoulder, taking care not to catch her long red hair beneath it. He took her journal from her, and it felt warm where her hands had been.
"This is a disaster," she said.
"Most great things start out that way," he said, so that only she could hear. "Now, close your eyes. Imagine you're alone. Imagine it's sunset, and you've got all night."
"Get a room!" someone yelled out. "You both suck!"
"This isn't going to work," Lilith said, but Cam noticed the way her fingers naturally moved into strumming position. The guitar was like a shield between her and the audience. Already she was more comfortable than she'd been a moment before.
So Cam kept going.
"Imagine you've just thought up this new song, and you're proud of it--"
Lilith started to interrupt. "But--"
"Let yourself be proud," Cam told her. "Not because you think it's better than any other song, but because it comes as close as anything ever could to expressing how you feel right now, what you're about."
Lilith closed her eyes. She leaned in to the mic. Cam held his breath.
"Boo," someone hooted.
Lilith's eyes shot open. Her face went white.
Cam homed in on Luc in the center of the audience, hands cupped around his mouth, jeering at Lilith. Cam had never punched the devil, but he wasn't afraid to change that tonight. He stared out coolly at the audience, raised both his fists, and flipped them off.
"That's enough, Cam," Mr. Davidson said. "Please exit the stage."
The sound of very quiet laughter made Cam turn to Lilith. She was watching him, chuckling, the ghost of a smile on her face.
"Showing them who's boss?" she asked.
He shook his head. "Play that guitar and show them yourself."