by Lauren Kate
“Obnoxious and pretentious, that’s what,” Shelby said, digging through the box and tossing onto the floor plastic bags of feathers, tubs of glitter, and a ream of autumn-colored construction paper. “It’s basically a big banquet where all of Shoreline’s donors come out to raise money for the school. Everyone goes home feeling all charitable because they unloaded a few old cans of green beans on a food bank in Fort Bragg. You’ll see tomorrow night.”
“I doubt it,” Luce said. “Remember, I’m grounded?”
“Don’t worry, you’ll be dragged to this. Some of the biggest donors are angel advocates, so Frankie and Steven have to put on a show. Which means the Nephilim all have to be there, smiling pretty.”
Luce frowned, glancing up at her non-Nephilim reflection in the mirror. All the more reason she should stay right here.
Shelby cursed under her breath. “I left the stupid paint-by-number turkey centerpiece in Mr. Kramer’s office,” she said, standing up and giving the box of decorations a kick. “I have to go back.”
When Shelby pushed past her toward the door, Luce lost her balance and started to tumble, tripping over the box and snagging her foot on something cold and wet on the way down.
She landed face-first on the wood floor. The only thing breaking her fall was the plastic bag of feathers, which popped, shooting colorful fluff out from under her. Luce looked back to see how much damage she had done, expecting Shelby’s eyebrows to be joined in exasperation. But Shelby was standing still with one hand pointing toward the center of the room. A smog-brown Announcer was quietly floating there.
“Isn’t that a little risky?” Shelby asked. “Summoning an Announcer an hour after getting busted for summoning an Announcer? You really don’t listen at all, do you? I kind of admire that.”
“I didn’t summon it,” Luce insisted, pulling herself up and picking the feathers out of her clothes. “I tripped and it was just there, waiting or something.” She stepped closer to examine the hazy, dun-colored sheet. It was as flat as a piece of paper and not large for an Announcer, but the way it hung in the air in front of her face, almost daring her to reject it, made Luce nervous.
It didn’t seem to need her to guide it into shape at all. It hovered, barely moving, looking like it could have floated there all day.
“Wait a minute,” Luce murmured. “This came in with the other one the other day. Don’t you remember?” This was the strange brown shadow that had flown in tandem with the darker shadow that took them to Vegas. They’d both come in through the window Friday afternoon; then this one had disappeared. Luce had forgotten about it until now.
“Well,” Shelby said, leaning against the ladder of the bunk bed. “Are you going to glimpse it or what?”
The Announcer was the color of a smoky room, noxious brown and mistlike to the touch. Luce reached for it, running her fingers along its clammy limits. She felt its cloudy breath brush back her hair. The air around this Announcer was humid, even briny. A far-away croon of seagulls echoed from within.
She shouldn’t glimpse it. Wouldn’t glimpse it.
But there was the Announcer, shifting from a smoky brown mesh into something clear and discernible, independently of Luce. There was the message cast by its shadow coming to life.
It was an aerial view of an island. At first, they were high above, so that all Luce could see was a small swell of steep black rock with a fringe of tapered pine trees ringing its base. Then, slowly, the Announcer zoomed in, like a bird swooping down to roost in the treetops, its focus a small, deserted beach.
The water was murky from the claylike silver sand. A scattering of boulders reckoned with the smooth intentions of the tide. And standing inconspicuously between two of the tallest rocks—
Daniel was staring at the sea. The tree branch in his hand was covered in blood.
Luce gasped as she leaned closer and saw what Daniel was looking at. Not the sea, but a bloody mess of a man. A dead man, lying stiff on the sand. Each time the waves reached the body, they receded stained a deep, dark red. But Luce couldn’t see the wound that had killed the man. Someone else, in a long black trench coat, was crouched over the body, tying it up with thick braided rope.
Her heart thudding, Luce looked again at Daniel. His expression was even, but his shoulders were twitching.
“Hurry up. You’re wasting time. The tide’s going out now, anyway.”
His voice was so cold, it made Luce shiver.
A second later, the scene in the Announcer disappeared. Luce held her breath until it dropped to the ground in a heap. Then, across the room, the window shade Luce had pulled down earlier rattled open. Luce and Shelby shot each other an anxious look, then watched as a gust of wind caught the Announcer and lofted it up and out the window.
Luce clutched Shelby’s wrist. “You notice everything. Who else was there with Daniel? Who was crouched over that”—she shivered again—“guy?”
“Gee, I don’t know, Luce. I was kind of distracted by the dead body. Not to mention the bloody tree your boyfriend was holding.” Shelby’s attempt to be sarcastic was diminished by how terrified she sounded. “So he killed him?” she asked Luce. “Daniel killed whoever that was?”
“I don’t know.” Luce winced. “Don’t say it like that. Maybe there’s a logical explanation—”
“What do you think he was saying at the end?” Shelby asked. “I saw his lips move but I couldn’t make it out. I hate that about Announcers.”
Hurry up. You’re wasting time. The tide’s going out now, anyway.
Shelby hadn’t heard that? How callous and unremorseful Daniel sounded?
Then Luce remembered: It wasn’t that long ago that she couldn’t hear the Announcers either. Before, their noises used to be just that—noises: rustlings and thick, wet whooshes through treetops. It was Steven who’d told her how to tune in the voices inside. In a way, Luce almost wished he hadn’t.
There had to be more to this message. “I have to glimpse it again,” Luce said, stepping toward the open window. Shelby tugged her back.
“Oh, no you don’t. That Announcer could be anywhere by now, and you’re under dorm arrest, remember?” Shelby pushed Luce down in her desk chair. “You’re going to stay right here while I go down to Kramer’s office to retrieve my turkey. We’re both going to forget this ever happened. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Good. I’ll be back in five minutes, so don’t disappear on me.”
But as soon as the door closed, Luce was out the window, climbing to the flat part of the ledge where she and Daniel had sat the night before. Putting what she’d just seen out of her mind was impossible. She had to summon that shadow again. Even if it got her in more trouble. Even if she saw something she didn’t like.
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 wit
h 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
“More 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.
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.