The Fallen Sequence (52 page)

“As you know,” Francesca said, “most of the time in this class, we like to focus on what you as Nephilim have the power to do. How you can change things for the better, however each of you decide to define that. We like to look forward, instead of backward.”

“But what you saw today,” Steven said, “was more than just a history lesson with incredible special effects. And it wasn’t just imagery we conjured up. No, what you were seeing was the actual Sodom and Gomorrah, as they were destroyed by the Great Tyrant when he—”

“Unh-unh-unh!” Francesca said, wagging a finger. “We don’t go for easy name-calling in here.”

“Of course. She’s right, as usual. Even I sometimes lapse into propaganda.” Steven beamed at the class. “But as I was saying, the Announcers are more than mere shadows. They can hold very valuable information. In a
way, they
are
shadows—but shadows of the past, of long-ago and not-so-long-ago events.”

“What you saw today,” Francesca finished, “was just a demonstration of an invaluable skill some of you may be able to harness. Someday.”

“You won’t want to try it right now.” Steven wiped his hands with a handkerchief he’d pulled from a pocket. “In fact, we forbid you to attempt this, lest you lose control and lose yourselves in the shadows. But someday, maybe, it will be a possibility.”

Luce shared a glance with Miles. He gave her a wide-eyed smile, as if he were relieved to hear this. He didn’t seem to feel at all shut out, not the way Luce did.

“Besides,” Francesca said, “most of you will probably find that you feel fatigued.” Luce looked around the room at the students’ faces as Francesca talked. Her voice had the effect of aloe on a sunburn. Half of the kids had their eyes closed, as if they’d been soothed. “That’s very normal. Shadow-glimpsing is not done without great cost. It takes energy to look back even a few days, but to look back millennia? Well, you can feel the effects yourselves. In light of that”—she looked at Steven—“we’re going to let you out early today to rest.”

“We’ll pick up again tomorrow, so make sure you’ve done your reading on disapparition,” Steven said. “Class dismissed.”

Around Luce, students rose slowly from their desks.
They looked dazed, exhausted. When she stood up, her own knees were a little wobbly, but somehow she felt less shaken than the others seemed to be. She tightened her cardigan around her shoulders and followed Miles out of the classroom.

“Pretty heavy stuff,” he said, taking the stairs down from the deck two at a time. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Luce said. She was. “Are you?”

Miles rubbed his forehead. “It just feels like we were really there. I’m glad they let us out early. Feel like I need a nap.”

“Seriously!” Dawn added, coming up behind them on the winding path back to the dorm. “That was the last thing I was expecting from my Wednesday morning. I am so conking out right now.”

It was true: The destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah had been horrifying. So real, Luce’s skin still felt hot from the blaze.

They took the shortcut back to the dorm, around the north side of the mess hall and into the shade of the redwoods. It was strange seeing the campus so empty, with all the other kids at Shoreline still in class in the main building. One by one, the Nephilim peeled off the path and headed straight to bed.

Except for Luce. She wasn’t tired, not at all. Instead, she felt strangely energized. She wished, again, that Daniel were there. She badly wanted to talk to him
about Francesca and Steven’s demonstration—and to know why he hadn’t told her sooner that there was more to the shadows than she could see.

In front of Luce were the stairs leading up to her dorm room. Behind her, the redwood forest. She paced outside the entrance to the dorm, unwilling to go inside, unwilling to sleep this off and pretend she hadn’t seen it. Francesca and Steven wouldn’t have been trying to scare the class; they must have intended to teach them something. Something they couldn’t come right out and say. But if the Announcers carried messages and echoes of the past, then what was the point of the one they’d just been shown?

She went into the woods.

Her watch said 11 a.m., but it could have been midnight under the dark canopy of trees. Goose bumps rose on her bare legs as she pressed deeper into the shady forest. She didn’t want to think about it too hard; thinking would only increase the odds of her chickening out. She was about to enter uncharted territory. Forbidden territory.

She was going to summon an Announcer.

She’d done things to them before. The very first time was when she pinched one during class to keep it from sneaking into her pocket. There was the time in the library when she’d swatted one away from Penn. Poor Penn. Luce couldn’t help wondering what message that
Announcer had been carrying. If she had known how to manipulate it then, the way Francesca and Steven had manipulated the one today—could she have stopped what happened?

She closed her eyes. Saw Penn, slumped against the wall, her chest aproned with blood. Her fallen friend.
No
. Looking back on that night was too painful, and it never got Luce anywhere. All she could do now was look ahead.

She had to fight the cold fear clawing at her insides. A slinking, black, familiar shape lurking alongside the true shadow of a low redwood branch a mere ten yards in front of her.

She took a step toward it, and the Announcer shrank back. Trying not to make any sudden moves, Luce pressed on, closer, closer, willing the shadow not to slip away.

There.

The shadow twitched under its tree branch but stayed put.

Heart racing, Luce tried to calm herself down. Yes, it was dark in this forest; and yes, not a soul knew where she was; and okay, sure, there was a chance no one would miss her for a good while if anything happened—but there was no reason to panic. Right? So why did she feel gripped by a gnawing fear? Why was she getting the same tremor in her hands she used to get when she saw
the shadows as a girl, back before she’d learned they were basically harmless?

It was time to make a move. She could either stand here frozen forever, or she could chicken out and go sulking back to the dorm, or—

Her arm shot out, no longer shaking, and took hold of the thing. She dragged it up and clutched it tightly to her chest, surprised by its heft, by how cold and damp it was. Like a wet towel. Her arms were shaking. What did she do with it now?

The image of those burning cities flashed into her mind. Luce wondered whether she could stand to see this message on her own. If she could even figure out how to unlock its secrets. How did these things work? All Francesca and Steven had done was pull.

Holding her breath, Luce worked her fingers along the shadow’s feathery edges, gripped it, and gave it a gentle tug. To her surprise, the Announcer was pliant, almost like putty, and took whatever shape her hands suggested. Grimacing, she tried to manipulate it into a square. Into something like the screen she’d seen her teachers form.

At first it was easy, but the shadow seemed to grow stiffer the more she tried to stretch it out. And every time she repositioned her hands to pull on another part, the rest would recoil into a cold, lumpy black mass. Soon she was out of breath and using her arm to wipe
the sweat off her brow. She did not want to give up. But when the shadow started to vibrate, Luce screamed and dropped it to the ground.

Instantly, it darted off into the trees. Only after it was gone did Luce realize: It hadn’t been the shadow that was vibrating. It was the cell phone in her backpack.

She’d gotten used to not having one. Until that moment, she’d even forgotten that Mr. Cole had given her his old phone before he put her on the plane to California. It was almost completely useless, solely so that he would have a way to reach her, to keep her up to date on what stories he was feeding to her parents, who still believed she was at Sword & Cross. So that when Luce talked to them, she could lie consistently.

No one besides Mr. Cole even had her number. And for really annoying safety reasons, Daniel hadn’t given her a way to reach him. And now the phone had cost Luce her first real progress with a shadow.

She pulled it out and opened the text Mr. Cole had just sent:

Call your parents. They think you got an A- on a history test I just gave. And that you’re trying out for the swim team next week. Don’t forget to act like everything’s okay.

And a second one, a minute later:

Is everything okay?

Grouchily, Luce stuffed the phone in her backpack and started tramping through the thick mulch of redwood needles toward the edge of the forest, toward her dorm. The text made her wonder about the rest of the kids at Sword & Cross. Was Arriane still there, and if so, who was she sailing paper airplanes to during class? Had Molly found someone else to make her enemy now that Luce was gone? Or had both of them moved on since Luce and Daniel had left? Did Randy buy the story that Luce’s parents had made her transfer? Luce sighed. She
hated
not telling her parents the truth, hated not being able to tell them how far away she felt, and how alone.

But a phone call? Every false word she said—A- on a made-up history test, tryouts for some bogus swim team—would only make her feel that much more homesick.

Mr. Cole must be out of his mind, telling her to call them and lie. But if she told her parents the truth—the real truth—they would think
she
was out of her mind. And if she didn’t get in touch with them, they would know something was up. They’d drive out to Sword & Cross, find her missing, and then what?

She could email them. Lying wouldn’t be so hard by email. It would buy her a few days before she had to call. She would email them tonight.

She stepped out of the forest, onto the path, and gasped. It
was
night. She looked back at the lush, shaded
woods. How long had she been in there with the shadow? She glanced at her watch. It was half past eight. She’d missed lunch. And her afternoon classes. And dinner. It had been so dark in the woods, she hadn’t noticed time passing at all, but now it all slammed into her. She was tired, cold, and hungry.

After three wrong turns in the mazelike dorm, Luce finally found her door. Silently hoping that Shelby would be wherever it was she disappeared to at night, Luce slipped her huge, old-fashioned key into the lock and turned the knob.

The lights were off, but a fire was burning in the hearth. Shelby was seated cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed, meditating. When Luce came in, one eye popped open, looking highly annoyed at the sight before it.

“Sorry,” Luce whispered, sinking into the desk chair closest to the door. “Don’t mind me. Pretend I’m not here.”

For a little while, Shelby did just that. She closed her evil eye and went back to meditating, and the room was tranquil. Luce turned on the computer that came with her desk and stared at the screen, trying to compose in her head the most innocuous message possible to her parents—and, while she was at it, one to Callie, who’d been sending a steady stream of unread emails to Luce’s in-box this past week.

Typing as slowly as she possibly could so her keyboard taps wouldn’t give Shelby yet another reason to hate her, Luce wrote:

Dear Mom and Dad, I miss you guys so much. Just wanted to drop you a line. Life at Sword & Cross is good.

Her chest constricted as she strained to keep her fingers from typing:
As far as I know, no one else has died this week
.

Still doing fine in all my classes,
she made herself write instead.
Might even try out for the swim team!

Luce looked out the window at the clear, starry sky. She had to sign off fast. Otherwise, she’d lose it.

Wonder when this rainy weather will let up.… Guess that’s November in Georgia! Love, Luce

She copied the message into a new email to Callie, changed a few choice words, moved her mouse over the Send button, closed her eyes, double-clicked, and hung her head. She was a horrible fake of a daughter, a liar of a friend. And what had she been thinking? These were the blandest, most red-flag-worthy emails ever written. They were only going to freak people out.

Her stomach growled. A second time, more loudly. Shelby cleared her throat.

Luce spun around in her chair to face the girl, only to find her in downward dog. Luce could feel the tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. “I’m hungry, okay? Why don’t you file a complaint, get me transferred to another room?”

Shelby calmly hopped forward on her yoga mat, swooped her arms into a prayer position and said, “I was just going to tell you about the box of organic mac and cheese in my sock drawer. No need for the waterworks. Jeez.”

Eleven minutes later, Luce was sitting under a blanket on her bed with a steaming bowl of cheesy pasta, dry eyes, and a roommate who’d suddenly stopped hating her.

“I wasn’t crying because I was hungry,” Luce wanted to clarify, though the mac and cheese was so good, the gift so unexpectedly kind of Shelby, it almost brought fresh tears to her eyes. Luce wanted to open up to someone, and Shelby was, well, there. She hadn’t thawed out all the way, but sharing her stash of food was a huge step for someone who’d barely spoken to Luce so far. “I, um, I’m having some family issues. It’s just hard being away.”