by Lauren Kate
Daniel’s breath caught in his throat. It had been eons since he’d seen a starshot. His fingers quaked as he gently drew it from the sand, careful to avoid its deadly blunt end.
Now Daniel knew where that other darkness had come from in this morning’s Announcers. The news was even grimmer than he’d feared. He turned to Cam, the feather-light arrow balanced in his hands. “He wasn’t acting alone.”
Cam stiffened at the sight of the arrow. He moved toward it almost reverently, reaching out to touch it the same way Daniel had. “Such a valuable weapon to leave behind. The Outcast must have been in a great hurry to get away.”
The Outcasts: a sect of spineless, waffling angels, shunned by both Heaven and Hell. Their one great strength was the reclusive angel Azazel, the only remaining starsmith, who still knew the art of producing starshots. When loosed from its silver bow, a starshot could do little more than bruise a mortal. But to angels and demons, it was the deadliest weapon of all.
Everyone wanted them, but none were willing to associate with Outcasts, so bartering for starshots was always done clandestinely, via messenger. Which meant the guy Daniel had killed was no hit man sent by the Elders. He was merely a barterer. The Outcast, the real enemy, had spirited away—probably at the first sight of Daniel and Cam. Daniel shivered. This was not good news.
“We killed the wrong guy.”
“What ‘wrong’?” Cam brushed him off. “Isn’t the world better off with one less predator? Isn’t Luce?” He stared at Daniel, then at the sea. “The only problem is—”
“The Outcasts.”
Cam nodded. “So now they want her too.”
Daniel could feel the tips of his wings bristling under his cashmere sweater and heavy coat, a burning itch that made him flinch. He stood still, with his eyes closed and his arms at his sides, straining to subdue himself before his wings burst forth like the violently unfurling sails of a ship and carried him up and off this island and over the bay and away. Straight toward her.
He closed his eyes and tried to picture Luce. He’d had to tear himself away from that cabin, from her peaceful sleep on the tiny island east of Tybee. It would be evening there by now. Would she be awake? Would she be hungry?
The battle at Sword & Cross, the revelations, and the death of her friend—it had taken quite a toll on Luce. The angels expected her to sleep all day and through the night. But by tomorrow morning, they would need to have a plan in place.
This was the first time Daniel had ever proposed a truce. To set the boundaries, make the rules, and draw up a system of consequences if either side transgressed—it was a huge responsibility to shoulder with Cam. Of course he would do it, he would do anything for her … he just wanted to make sure he did it right.
“We have to hide her somewhere safe,” he said. “There’s a school up north, near Fort Bragg—”
“The Shoreline School.” Cam nodded. “My side has looked into it as well. She’ll be happy there. And educated in a way that won’t endanger her. And, most importantly, she’ll be shielded.”
Gabbe had already explained to Daniel the type of camouflage Shoreline could provide. Soon enough, word would spread that Luce was hidden away there, but for a time at least, within the school’s perimeter, she would be nearly invisible. Inside, Francesca, the angel closest to Gabbe, would look after Luce. Outside, Daniel and Cam would hunt down and kill anyone who dared draw near the school’s boundaries.
Who would have told Cam about Shoreline? Daniel didn’t like the idea of their side knowing more than his. He was already cursing himself for not visiting the school before they made this choice, but it had been hard enough to leave Luce when he did.
“She can start as early as tomorrow. Assuming”—Cam’s eyes ran over Daniel’s face—“assuming you say yes.”
Daniel pressed a hand to the breast pocket of his shirt, where he kept a recent photograph. Luce on the lake at Sword & Cross. Wet hair shining. A rare grin on her face. Usually, by the time he had a chance to get a picture of her in one lifetime, he had lost her again. This time, she was still here.
“Come on, Daniel,” Cam was saying. “We both know what she needs. We enroll her—and then let her be. We can do nothing to hasten this part but leave her alone.”
“I can’t leave her alone that long.” Daniel had tossed out the words too quickly. He looked down at the arrow in his hands, feeling ill. He wanted to fling it into the ocean, but he couldn’t.
“So.” Cam squinted. “You haven’t told her.”
Daniel froze. “I can’t tell her anything. We could lose her.”
“You could lose her,” Cam sneered.
“You know what I mean.” Daniel stiffened. “It’s too risky to assume she could take it all in without …”
He closed his eyes to banish the image of the agonizing red-hot blaze. But it was always burning at the back of his mind, threatening to spread like wildfire. If he told her the truth and killed her, this time she would really be gone. And it would be his fault. Daniel couldn’t do anything—he could not exist—without her. His wings burned at the thought. Better to shelter her just a little longer.
“How convenient for you,” Cam muttered. “I just hope she isn’t disappointed.”
Daniel ignored him. “Do you really believe she’ll be able to learn at this school?”
“I do,” Cam answered slowly. “Assuming we agree she’ll have no external distractions. That means no Daniel, and no Cam. That has to be the cardinal rule.”
Not see her for eighteen days? Daniel couldn’t fathom it. More than that, he couldn’t fathom Luce’s ever agreeing to it. They had only just found each other in this lifetime and finally had a chance to be together. But, as usual, explaining the details could kill her. She couldn’t hear about her past lives from the mouths of angels. Luce didn’t know it yet, but very soon, she would be on her own to figure out … everything.
The buried truth—specifically what Luce would think of it—terrified Daniel. But Luce’s uncovering it by herself was the only way to break free from this horrible cycle. This was why her experience at Shoreline would be crucial. For eighteen days, Daniel could kill as many Outcasts as came his way. But when the truce was over, everything would be in Luce’s hands again. Luce’s hands alone.
The sun was setting over Mount Tamalpais and the evening fog was rolling in.
“Let me take her to Shoreline,” Daniel said. It would be his last chance to see her.
Cam looked at him strangely, wondering whether to concede. A second time, Daniel had to physically force his aching wings back into his skin.
“Fine,” Cam said at last. “In exchange for the starshot.”
Daniel handed over the weapon, and Cam slipped it inside his coat.
“Take her as far as the school and then find me. Don’t screw up; I’ll be watching.”
“And then?”
“You and I have hunting to do.”
Daniel nodded and unfurled his wings, feeling the deep pleasure of their release all through his body. He stood for a moment, gathering energy, sensing the wind’s rough resistance. Time to flee this cursed, ugly scene, to let his wings carry him back to a place where he could be his true self.
Back to Luce.
And back to the lie he would have to live a little while longer.
“The truce begins at midnight tomorrow,” Daniel called, kicking back a great spray of sand on the beach as he lifted off and soared across the sky.
ONE
EIGHTEEN DAYS
Luce planned on keeping her eyes closed all six hours of the cross-country flight from Georgia out to California, right up until the moment when the wheels of the plane touched down in San Francisco. Half asleep, she found it so much easier to pretend she was already reunited with Daniel.
It felt like a lifetime since she’d seen him, though it had really only been a few days. Ever since they’d said goodbye at Sword & Cross on Friday morning, Luce’s whole body had felt groggy. The absence of
his voice, his warmth, the touch of his wings: it had sunk into her bones, like a strange illness.
An arm brushed against hers, and Luce opened her eyes. She was face to face with a wide-eyed, brown-haired guy a few years older than her.
“Sorry,” they both said at the same time, each retreating a few inches on either side of the plane’s armrest.
Out the window, the view was startling. The plane was making its descent into San Francisco, and Luce had never seen anything like it before. As they traced the south side of the bay, a winding blue tributary seemed to cut through the earth on its way to the sea. The stream divided a vibrant green field on one side from a swirl of something bright red and white on the other. She pressed her forehead to the double plastic pane and tried to get a better view.
“What is that?” she wondered aloud.
“Salt,” the guy answered, pointing. He leaned in closer. “They mine it out of the Pacific.”
The answer was so simple, so … human. Almost a surprise after the time she’d spent with Daniel and the other—she was still unpracticed at using the terms literally—angels and demons. She looked out across the midnight-blue water, which seemed to stretch forever west. Sun-over-water had always meant morning to Atlantic coast–raised Luce. But out here, it was almost night.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” her seatmate asked.
Luce shook her head but held her tongue. She kept staring out the window. Before she’d left Georgia this morning, Mr. Cole had coached her about keeping a low profile. The other teachers had been told that Luce’s parents had requested a transfer. It was a lie. As far as Luce’s parents, Callie, and anyone else knew, she was still enrolled at Sword & Cross.
A few weeks before, this would have infuriated her. But the things that had happened in those final days at Sword & Cross had left Luce a person who took the world more seriously. She had glimpsed a snapshot of another life—one of so many she’d shared with Daniel before. She’d discovered a love more important to her than anything she’d ever thought possible. And then she’d seen all of that threatened by a crazy, dagger-wielding old woman whom she’d thought she could trust.
There were more out there like Miss Sophia, that Luce knew. But no one had told her how to recognize them. Miss Sophia had seemed normal, up until the end. Could the others look as innocent as … this brown-haired guy sitting next to her? Luce swallowed, folded her hands on her lap, and tried to think about Daniel.
Daniel was taking her someplace safe.
Luce pictured him waiting for her in one of those gray plastic airport chairs, elbows on knees, his blond head tucked between his shoulders. Rocking back and forth in his black Converse sneakers. Standing up every few minutes to pace around the baggage carousel.
There was a jolt as the plane touched down. Suddenly she was nervous. Would he be as happy to see her as she was to see him?
She focused on the brown and beige pattern on the cloth seat in front of her. Her neck felt stiff from the long flight and her clothes had a stale, stuffy airline smell. The navy-blue-suited ground crew outside the window seemed to be taking an abnormally long time to direct the plane to its Jetway. Her knees bobbed with impatience.
“I take it you’re staying in California for a while?” The guy next to her offered a lazy smile that only made Luce more anxious to get up.
“Why would you say that?” she asked quickly. “What would make you think that?”
He blinked. “With that huge red duffel bag and all.”
Luce inched away from him. She hadn’t even noticed this guy until two minutes ago when he’d jarred her awake. How did he know about her luggage?
“Hey, nothing creepy.” He shot her a strange look. “I was just standing behind you in line when you checked in.”
Luce smiled awkwardly. “I have a boyfriend” streamed from her mouth. Instantly, her cheeks reddened.
The guy coughed. “Got it.”
Luce grimaced. She didn’t know why she’d said that. She didn’t want to be rude, but the seat belt light went off and all she wanted to do was barrel past this guy and right off the plane. He must have had the same idea, because he edged backward in the aisle and swept his hand forward. As politely as she could, Luce pushed past and bounded toward the exit.
Only to get caught in a bottleneck of agonizing slowness on the Jetway. Silently cursing all the casual Californians shuffling in front of her, Luce stood on her toes and shifted from foot to foot. By the time she stepped into the terminal, she’d driven herself half insane with impatience.
Finally, she could move. She wove expertly through the crowd and forgot all about the guy she’d just met on the plane. She forgot to feel nervous that she’d never been to California in her life—never been further west than Branson, Missouri, that time when her parents dragged her to see Yakov Smirnoff doing standup. And for the first time in days, she even briefly forgot the horrible things she’d seen at Sword & Cross. She was headed toward the only thing in the world that had the power to make her feel better. The only thing that could make her feel that all the anguish she’d been through—all the shadows, that unreal battle in the cemetery, and worst of all, the heartbreak of Penn’s death—might be worth surviving.
There he was.
Sitting exactly as she’d imagined he would, on the last in a block of sad gray chairs, next to an automatic sliding door that kept opening and closing behind him. For a second, Luce stood still and just enjoyed the view.
Daniel was wearing flip-flops and dark jeans she’d never seen before, and a stretched-out red T-shirt that was ripped near the front pocket. He looked the same, yet somehow different. More rested than he had when they’d said goodbye the other day. And was it just that she’d missed him so much, or was his skin even more radiant than she remembered? He looked up and finally saw her. His smile practically gleamed.
She took off running toward him. Within a second, his arms were around her, her face buried in his chest, and Luce let out the longest, deepest breath. Her mouth found his and they sank into a kiss. She went slack and happy in his arms.
She hadn’t realized it until now, but a part of her had wondered whether she’d ever see him again, whether the whole thing might have been a dream. The love she felt, the love that Daniel reciprocated, all still felt so surreal.
Still caught up in his kiss, Luce lightly pinched his bicep. Not a dream. For the first time in she didn’t even know how long, she felt like she was home.
“You’re here,” he whispered into her ear.
“You’re here.”
“We’re both here.”
They laughed, still kissing, eating up every bit of the sweet awkwardness at seeing each other again. But when Luce was least expecting it, her laugh turned into a sniffle. She was looking for a way to say how hard the last few days had been for her—without him, without anyone, half asleep and groggily aware that everything had changed—but in Daniel’s arms now, she failed to find the words.
“I know,” he said. “Let’s get your bag and get out of here.”
Luce turned toward the baggage carousel and found her neighbor from the plane standing in front of her, the straps of her huge duffel gripped in his hands. “I saw this go by,” he said, a forced smile on his face, like he was hell-bent on proving his good intentions. “It’s yours, isn’t it?”
Before Luce had time to answer, Daniel relieved the guy of the unwieldy bag, using only one hand. “Thanks, man. I’ll take it from here,” he said, decisively enough to end the conversation.
The guy watched as Daniel slid his other hand around Luce’s waist and steered her away. This was the first time since Sword & Cross that Luce had been able to see Daniel as the world did, her first chance to wonder whether other people could tell, just by looking, that there was something extraordinary about him.
Then they were through the sliding glass doors and she took her first real breath of the West Coast. The early-November air felt fresh and brisk and somehow heal
thy, not soggy and chilled like the Savannah air this afternoon when her plane had taken off. The sky was a brilliant bright blue, no clouds on the horizon. Everything looked new-minted and clean—even the parking lot held row after row of recently washed cars. A line of mountains framed it all, tawny brown with scraggly dots of green trees, one hill rolling into the next.
She was not in Georgia anymore.
“I can’t decide whether to be surprised,” Daniel teased. “I let you out from under my wing for two days and another guy swoops in.”
Luce rolled her eyes. “Come on. We barely spoke. Really, I slept the whole flight.” She nudged him. “Dreaming of you.”
Daniel’s pursed lips turned into a smile and he gave the top of her head a kiss. She stood still, wanting more, not even realizing that Daniel had stopped in front of a car. And not just any car.
A black Alfa Romeo.
Luce’s jaw dropped when Daniel unlocked the passenger door.
“Th-this …,” she stammered. “This is … did you know this is my absolute dream car?”
“More than that,” Daniel laughed. “This used to be your car.”
He laughed when she practically jumped at his words. She was still getting used to the reincarnation part of their story. It was so unfair. A whole car she had no memory of. Whole lives she couldn’t recall. She was desperate to know about them, almost like her former selves were siblings she’d been separated from at birth. She rested her hand on the windshield, searching for a wisp of something, for déjà vu.
Nothing.
“It was a sweet sixteen present from your folks a couple of lifetimes ago.” Daniel looked sideways, like he was trying to decide how much to say. Like he knew she was hungry for the details but might not be able to swallow too many at once. “I just bought it off this guy in Reno. He bought it after you, uh … Well, after you …”
Spontaneously combusted, Luce thought, filling in the bitter truth that Daniel wouldn’t speak. That was the one thing about her past lives: The ending rarely changed.