by Lauren Kate
Daniel froze. He closed his eyes. “I don’t know anything now.” His voice was ragged. He’d been gripping Cam by the lapel, but now he just slumped to the ground, burying his face in the grass.
Luce wanted to go to him. To fall on him and tell him everything was going to be okay.
Except it wasn’t.
What she’d seen tonight was too much. She felt sick from watching herself—Miles’s mirror image of her—die from the starshot.
Miles had saved her life. She couldn’t get over it.
And the rest of them thought Cam had ended it.
Her head swam as she stepped forward from the shadows of the shed, planning to tell the others not to worry, that she was still alive. But then she sensed the presence of something else.
An Announcer was quivering in the doorway. Luce stepped out of the shed and approached it.
Slowly, it broke free of a shadow cast by the moon. It slithered along the grass toward her for a few feet, picking up a dirty coat of dust left by the battle. When it reached Luce, it shuddered up and rose along her body, until it hovered blackly over her head.
She closed her eyes and felt herself raising her hand to meet it. The darkness fell to rest in her palm. It made a cold sizzling sound.
“What is that?” Daniel’s head snapped around at the noise. He raised himself from the ground. “Luce!”
She stayed put as the others gasped at the sight of her standing in front of the shed. She didn’t want to glimpse an Announcer. She’d seen enough for one night. She didn’t even know why she was doing this—
Until she did. She wasn’t looking for a vision, she was looking for a way out. Something far away enough to step through to. It had been too long since she’d had a moment to think on her own. What she needed was a break. From everything.
“Time to go,” she said to herself.
The shadow door that presented itself in front of her wasn’t perfect—it was jagged around the edges and it stank of sewage. But Luce parted its surface anyway.
“You don’t know what you’re doing, Luce!” Roland’s voice reached her at the edge of the doorway. “It could take you anywhere!”
Daniel was on his feet, jogging toward her. “What are you doing?” She could hear the profound relief in his voice that she was still alive, and the sheer panic that she could manipulate the Announcer. His anxiety only spurred her on.
She wanted to look back to apologize to Callie, to thank Miles for what he’d done, to tell Arriane and Gabbe not to worry the way she knew they were going to anyway, to leave word for her parents. To tell Daniel not to follow her, that she needed to do this for herself. But her chance to break free was closing. So she stepped forward and called over her shoulder to Roland, “Guess I’ll just have to figure it out.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Daniel rushing toward her. Like he hadn’t believed until now that she would do it.
She felt the words rising up in her throat. I love you. She did. She did forever. But if she and Daniel had forever, their love could wait until she figured out a few important things about herself. About her lives and the life she had ahead of her. Tonight there was only time to wave goodbye, take a deep breath, and leap into the dismal shadow.
Into darkness.
Into her past.
EPILOGUE
PANDEMONIUM
“What just happened?”
“Where’d she go?”
“Who taught her how to do that?”
The frantic voices in the backyard sounded wobbly and distant to Daniel. He knew the other fallen angels were arguing, looking for Announcers in the shadows of the yard. Daniel was an island, closed off to everything but his own agony.
He had failed her. He had failed.
How could it be? For weeks he’d run himself ragged, his only goal to keep her safe until the moment when he could no longer offer her protection. Now that moment had come and gone—and so had Luce.
Anything could happen to her. And she could be anywhere. He had never felt so hollow and ashamed.
“Why can’t we just find the Announcer she stepped through, put it back together, and go after her?”
The Nephilim boy. Miles. He was on his knees, combing the grass with his fingers. Like a moron.
“They don’t work that way,” Daniel snarled at him. “When you step into time, you take the Announcer with you. That’s why you never do it unless …”
Cam looked at Miles, almost pityingly. “Please tell me Luce knows more about Announcer travel than you do.”
“Shut up,” Shelby said, standing over Miles protectively. “If he hadn’t thrown Luce’s reflection, Phil would have taken her.”
Shelby looked guarded and afraid, out of place among the fallen angels. Years ago, she’d had a crush on Daniel—one he’d never requited, of course. But until tonight, he’d always thought well of the girl. Now she was just in the way.
“You said yourself Luce would be better off dead than with the Outcasts,” she said, still defending Miles.
“The Outcasts you all but invited here.” Arriane stepped into the conversation, turning on Shelby, whose face reddened.
“Why would you assume some Nephilim child could detect the Outcast?” Molly challenged Arriane. “You were at that school. You should have noticed something.”
“All of you: Quiet.” Daniel couldn’t think straight. The yard was crammed with angels, but Luce’s absence made it feel utterly empty.
He could hardly stand to look at anyone else. Shelby, for walking straight into the Outcast’s easy trap. Miles, for thinking he had some stake in Luce’s future. Cam, for what he’d tried to do—
Oh, that moment when Daniel thought he’d lost her to Cam’s starshot! His wings had felt too heavy to lift. Colder than death. In that instant, he’d given up all hope.
But it was only a trick of the eye. A thrown reflection, nothing special under ordinary circumstances, but tonight the last thing Daniel had been expecting. It had given him a horrible shock. One that had nearly killed him. Until the joy of her resurrection.
There was still hope.
As long as he could find her.
He’d been stunned, watching Luce open up the shadow. Awed and impressed and painfully attracted to her—but more than all of that, stunned. How many times had she done it before without his even knowing?
“What do you think?” Cam asked, coming up beside him. Their wings drew toward each other, that old magnetic force, and Daniel was too drained to pull away.
“I’m going after her,” he said.
“Good plan.” Cam sneered. “Just ‘go after her.’ Anywhere in time and space across the several thousand years. Why should you need a strategy?”
His sarcasm made Daniel want to tackle him a second time.
“I’m not asking for your help or your advice, Cam.”
Only two starshots remained in the yard: the one he’d picked up from the Outcast Molly had killed, and the one Cam had found on the beach at the beginning of the truce. There would have been a nice symmetry if Cam and Daniel had been working as enemies right now—two bows, two starshots, two immortal foes.
But no. Not yet. They had to eliminate too many others before they could turn on each other again.
“What Cam means”—Roland stood between them, speaking to Daniel in a low voice—“is that this might take some team effort. I’ve seen the way these kids flop through the Announcers. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, Daniel. She’s going to get into trouble pretty quick.”
“I know.”
“It’s not a sign of weakness to let us help,” Roland said.
“I can help,” Shelby called. She’d been whispering with Miles. “I think I might know where she is.”
“You?” Daniel asked. “You’ve helped enough. Both of you.”
“Daniel—”
“I know Luce better than anyone in the world.” Daniel turned away from all of them, toward the dark, empty space in the yard where she�
�d stepped through. “Far better than any of you ever will. I don’t need your help.”
“You know her past,” Shelby said, walking in front of him so that he had to look at her. “You don’t know what she’s been through these past few weeks. I’m the one who’s been around while she glimpsed her past lives. I’m the one who saw her face when she found the sister she lost when you kissed her and she …” Shelby trailed off. “I know you all hate me right now. But I swear to—Oh, whatever it is you guys believe in. You can trust me from here on out. Miles, too. We want to help. We’re going to help. Please.” She reached for Daniel. “Trust us.”
Daniel wrested himself away from her. Trust as an activity had always made him uneasy. What he had with Luce was unshakable. There was never any need even to work on trust. Their love just was.
But for all eternity, Daniel had never been able to find faith in anyone or anything else. And he didn’t want to start now.
Down the street, a dog yipped. Then again, louder. Closer.
Luce’s parents, coming back from their walk.
In the dark yard, Daniel’s eyes found Gabbe’s. She was standing close to Callie, probably consoling her. She’d already retracted her wings.
“Just go,” Gabbe mouthed to him in the desolate, dust-filled backyard. What she meant was Go get her. She would handle Luce’s parents. She would see that Callie got home. She would cover all the bases so that Daniel could go after what mattered. We’ll find you and help you as soon as we can.
The moon drifted out from behind a mist of cloud. Daniel’s shadow lengthened on the grass at his feet. He watched it swell a little, then began to draw up the Announcer inside it. When the cool, damp darkness brushed against him, Daniel realized that he hadn’t stepped through time in ages. Looking back was not normally his style.
But the motions were still in him, buried in his wings or his soul or his heart. He moved quickly, peeling the Announcer off his own shadow, giving it a quick pinch to separate it from the ground. Then he threw it, like a piece of potter’s clay, onto the air directly in front of him.
It formed a clean, finite portal.
He had been a part of every one of Luce’s past lives. There was no reason he wouldn’t be able to find her.
He opened the door. No time to waste. His heart would take him to her.
He had an innate sense that something bad was just around the bend, but a hope that something incredible was waiting in the distance.
It had to be.
His burning love for her coursed through him until he felt so full he didn’t know whether he would fit through the portal. He wrapped his wings close against his body and bounded into the Announcer.
Behind him, in the yard, a distant commotion. Whispers and rustling and shouts.
He didn’t care. He didn’t care about any of them, really.
Only her.
He whooped as he broke through.
“Daniel.”
Voices. Behind him, following, getting closer. Calling his name as he tunneled deeper and deeper into the past.
Would he find her?
Without question.
Would he save her?
Always.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2011 by Tinderbox Books, LLC and Lauren Kate
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
WWW.RANDOMHOUSE.COM/TEENS
WWW.FALLENBOOKS.COM
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
eISBN: 978-0-375-89718-4
Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.
v3.1
FOR M AND T,
HEAVEN-SENT MESSENGERS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Impassioned thanks to Wendy Loggia, who envisioned this crazy book and whose sane support carries the series. To Beverly Horowitz, for her wisdom and style. To Michael Stearns and Ted Malawer, for making things soar. To Noreen Herits and Roshan Nozari: my gratitude for all you do deepens with each book. Special thanks to Krista Vitola, Barbara Perris, Angela Carlino, Judith Haut (I’ll meet you at the Cheese Dip Festival in Little Rock)—and to Chip Gibson, whose trickle-down Chipenomics explains why everyone at Random House is so damn cool.
To the friends I’ve made around the world: Becky Stradwick and Lauren Bennett (fellow Lauren Kate!) in the UK, to Rino Balatbat and the folks at National Book Store in the Philippines, to the whole enthusiastic team at Random House Australia, to bloggers near and far. I’m honored to work with every one of you.
To my tremendous, loving family, with a special materteral shout-out to Jordan, Hailey, and David Franklin. To Anna Carey for the hikes and more. To the OBLC, whoop. And to Jason, my muse, my world, it just gets better all the time.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Epigraph
Prologue - Dark Horse
One - Under Fire
Two - Heaven Sent
Three - Fools Rush In
Four - Time Wounds All Heels
Five - Off the Straight Path
Six - The Woman in White
Seven - Solstice
Eight - Watching From the Wings
Nine - So We Beat On
Ten - The Depths
Eleven - Coup De Foudre
Twelve - The Prisoner
Thirteen - Star-Crossed
Fourteen - The Steep Slope
Fifteen - The Sacrifice
Sixteen - Best Man
Seventeen - Written in Bone
Eighteen - Bad Directions
Nineteen - The Mortal Coil
Twenty - Journey’s End
Epilogue - No More But This
Failing to catch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.
—WALT WHITMAN, Song of Myself
PROLOGUE
DARK HORSE
LOUISVILLE, KENTUCKY • NOVEMBER 27, 2009
A shot rang out. A broad gate banged open. A pounding of horses’ hooves echoed around the track like a massive clap of thunder.
“And they’re off!”
Sophia Bliss adjusted the wide brim of her feathered hat. It was a muted shade of mauve, twenty-seven inches in diameter, with a drop-down chiffon veil. Large enough to make her look like a proper horseracing enthusiast, not so gaudy as to attract undue attention.
Three hats had been special-ordered from the same milliner in Hilton Head for the race that day. One—a butter-yellow bonnet—capped the snow-white head of Lyrica Crisp, who was sitting to the left of Miss Sophia, enjoying a corned beef sandwich. The other—a sea-foam-green felt hat with a fat polka-dotted satin ribbon—crowned the jet-black mane of Vivina Sole, who sat looking deceptively demure with her white-gloved hands crossed over her lap to Miss Sophia’s right.
“Glorious day for a race,” Lyrica said. At 136 years old, she was the youngest of the Elders of Zhsmaelim. She wiped a dot of mustard from the corner of her mouth. “Can you believe it’s my first time at the tracks?”
“Shhh,” Sophia hissed. Lyrica was such a twit. Today was not about horses at all, but rather a clandestine meeting of great minds. So what if the other great minds didn’t happen to have shown up yet? They would be here. At this perfectly neutral location set forth in the gold letterpress invitation Sophia had received from an unknown sender. The others would be here to reveal themselves and come up with a pla
n of attack together. Any minute now. She hoped.
“Lovely day, lovely sport,” Vivina said dryly. “Pity our horse in this race doesn’t run in easy circles like these fillies. Isn’t it, Sophia? Tough to wager where the thoroughbred Lucinda will finish.”
“I said shhh,” Sophia whispered. “Bite your cavalier tongue. There are spies everywhere.”
“You’re paranoid,” Vivina said, drawing a high giggle from Lyrica.
“I’m what’s left,” Sophia said.
There used to be so many more—twenty-four Elders at the peak of the Zhsmaelim. A cluster of mortals, immortals, and a few transeternals, like Sophia herself. An axis of knowledge and passion and faith with a single uniting goal: to restore the world to its prelapsarian state, that brief, glorious moment before the angels’ Fall. For better or for worse.
It was written, plain as day, in the code they’d drawn up together and had each signed: For better or for worse.
Because really, it could go either way.
Every coin had two sides. Heads and tails. Light and dark. Good and—
Well, the fact that the other Elders hadn’t prepared themselves for both options was not Sophia’s fault. It was, however, her cross to bear when one by one they sent in notices of their withdrawal. Your purposes grow too dark. Or: The organization’s standards have fallen. Or: The Elders have strayed too far from the original code. The first flurry of letters arrived, predictably, within a week after the incident with the girl Pennyweather. They couldn’t abide it, they’d claimed, the death of one small insignificant child. One careless moment with a dagger and suddenly the Elders were running scared, all of them fearing the wrath of the Scale.
Cowards.
Sophia did not fear the Scale. Their charge was to parole the fallen, not the righteous. Groundling angels such as Roland Sparks and Arriane Alter. As long as one did not defect from Heaven, one was free to sway a little. Desperate times practically begged for it. Sophia had nearly gone cross-eyed reading the spongy-hearted excuses of the other Elders. But even if she had wanted the defectors back—which she had not—there was nothing to be done.