The Fallen Sequence (85 page)

But her friend was still there. She was rubbing her shoulder where the arrow had grazed her, but otherwise, she was unharmed. “That totally stings!”

Luce reached out to touch her. “How did you …?”

Callie shook her head.

“Get down!” Shelby shouted.

Luce dropped to her knees, tugging the others down with her and pulling them inside the shed. Among the dirty shadows of Luce’s dad’s tools, lawn mower, and old sporting equipment, Shelby crawled over to Luce. Her eyes glistened and her lip was quivering.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” she whispered, grabbing hold of Luce’s arm. “You don’t know how sorry I am. It’s all my fault.”

“It’s not your fault,” Luce said quickly. Of course Shelby hadn’t known who Phil really was. What he really wanted from her. What this night would bring. Luce knew what it was like to carry around guilt for doing something you didn’t understand. She wouldn’t have wished it on anyone. Least of all Shelby.

“Where is he?” Shelby asked. “I could kill that sorry-ass freak.”

“No.” Luce held Shelby back. “You’re not going out there.
You
could get killed.”

“I don’t get it,” Callie said. “Why would anyone want to hurt you?”

That was when Miles stepped toward the entrance to the shed, into a beam of moonlight. He was carrying one of Luce’s father’s kayaks over his head.

“Nobody’s going to hurt Luce,” he said as he stepped outside with it.

Right into the battle.

“Miles!” Luce screamed. “Come back—”

She rose to her feet to take off after him—then froze, stunned by the sight of him chucking the kayak right into one of the Outcasts.

It was Phil.

His blank eyes gaped and he cried out, falling to the grass as the kayak struck him. Pinned and helpless, his dirty wings writhed on the ground.

For an instant Miles looked proud of himself—and
Luce felt a little bit proud too. But then a short Outcast girl stepped forward, cocked her head like a dog listening to a silent whistle, raised her silver bow, and aimed point-blank at Miles’s chest.

“No mercy,” she said tonelessly.

Miles was defenseless against this strange girl, who looked like she had no understanding of mercy, not even for the nicest, most innocent kid in the world.

“Stop!” Luce cried out, her heart pounding in her ears as she ran out of the shed. She could sense the battle going on around her, but all she could see was that arrow, poised to enter Miles’s chest. Poised to kill yet another of her friends.

The Outcast girl’s head canted on her neck. Her vacant eyes turned on Luce, then widened slightly, like, just as Arriane had said, she really could see the burning of Luce’s soul.

“Don’t shoot him.” Luce held out her hands in surrender. “I’m the one you want.”

NINETEEN

THE TRUCE IS BROKEN

T
he Outcast girl lowered her bow. When the arrow relaxed along its bowstring, the string made a creaking sound, like an attic door opening. Her face was as calm as a still pond on a windless day. She was Luce’s height, with clear, dewy skin, pale lips, and dimples even in the absence of a smile.

“If you wish the boy to live,” she said, her voice flat, “I will yield to you.”

Around them, the others had stopped fighting. The
tire swing rolled to a stop, thudding against the corner of the fence. Roland’s wings slowed to a soft beating and carried him down to earth. Everyone was still, but the air was charged with an electric silence.

Luce could feel the weight of so many gazes falling on her: Callie, Miles, and Shelby. Daniel, Arriane, and Gabbe. Cam, Roland, and Molly. The blind gazes of the Outcasts themselves. But she couldn’t wrench herself away from the girl with the depthless white eyes.

“You won’t kill him … just because I say not to?” Luce was so baffled, she laughed. “I thought you wanted to kill me.”

“Kill
you?
” The girl’s mechanical voice lilted upward, registering surprise. “Not at all. We would die for you. We want you to come with us. You are the last hope. Our entrance.”

“Entrance?” Miles voiced what Luce was too surprised to say. “To what?”

“To Heaven, of course.” The girl peered at Luce with her dead eyes. “You are the price.”

“No.” Luce shook her head, but the girl’s words knocked around inside her mind, echoing in a way that made her feel so hollow she could barely stand.

Entrance into Heaven. The price
.

Luce didn’t understand. The Outcasts would take her, and do what? Use her as some sort of bargaining chip? This girl couldn’t even see Luce to know who she
was. If Luce had learned one thing at Shoreline, it was that no one could keep the myths straight. They were too old, too convoluted. Everyone knew there was a history, one Luce had been involved in for a long time, but nobody seemed to know
why
.

“Don’t listen to her, Luce. She’s a monster.” Daniel’s wings were trembling. As if he thought she might be tempted to go. Luce’s shoulders began to itch, a hot prickling that left the rest of her body cold.

“Lucinda?” the Outcast girl called.

“Okay, hold on a minute,” Luce said to the girl. She turned to Daniel. “I want to know: What is this truce? And don’t tell me ‘nothing,’ and don’t tell me you can’t explain. Tell me the truth. You owe it to me.”

“You’re right,” Daniel said, surprising Luce. He kept sneaking glances at the Outcast, as if she might spirit Luce away at any moment. “Cam and I drew it up. We agreed to put aside our differences for eighteen days. All angels and demons. We came together to hunt down other enemies. Like them.” He pointed to the Outcast.

“But why?”

“Because of you. Because you needed time. Our end goals may be different, but for now, Cam and I—and all of our kin—we work as allies. We have one priority in common.”

The glimpse Luce had seen in the Announcer, that sickening scene with Daniel and Cam working
together … that was supposed to be okay because they’d agreed upon a truce? To give
her
time?

“Not that you even stuck by the truce.” Cam spat in Daniel’s direction. “What good is a truce if you don’t honor it?”

“You didn’t stand by it either,” Luce said to Cam. “You were in the forest outside Shoreline.”

“Protecting you!” said Cam. “Not taking you out on moonlight parades!”

Luce turned to Arriane. “Whatever the truce is—or isn’t—once it’s over, does that mean that … Cam’s suddenly the enemy again? And Roland, too? This doesn’t make any sense.”

“Say the word, Lucinda,” the Outcast said. “I will take you far from all of this.”

“To what? To where?” Luce asked. There was something appealing about just getting away. From all the heartache and struggle and confusion.

“Don’t do something you’ll regret, Luce,” Cam warned. It was strange the way he sounded like the voice of reason, compared to Daniel, who looked practically paralyzed.

Luce glanced around her for the first time since leaving the shed. The fighting had ceased. The same felt of dust that had coated the cemetery at Sword & Cross now caked the grass of the backyard. While their group of angels seemed fully intact and accounted for, the
Outcasts had lost most of their army. About ten stood at a distance, watching. Their silver bows were lowered.

The Outcast girl was still waiting for Luce to answer. Her eyes shone in the night and her feet inched backward as the angels pressed closer to her. When Cam approached, the girl raised her silver bow again, slowly, and pointed it at his heart.

Luce watched him stiffen.

“You don’t want to go with the Outcasts,” he told Luce, “especially not tonight.”

“Don’t tell her what she does or doesn’t want.” Shelby butted in. “I’m not saying she should go with the albino freaks or anything. Just everybody quit babying her and let her do her own thing for once. It’s, like,
enough
already.”

Her voice boomed across the yard, making the Outcast girl jump. She turned to aim her arrow at Shelby.

Luce sucked in her breath. The silver arrow quivered in the Outcast’s hands. She pulled back on the bowstring. Luce held her breath. But before the girl could shoot, her glossy eyes widened. The bow tumbled from her hands. And her body disappeared in a dim gray flash of light.

Two feet behind where the Outcast girl had stood, Molly lowered a silver bow. She had shot the girl cleanly in the back.

“What?” Molly barked as the whole group turned to gape at her. “I like that Nephilim. She reminds me of someone I know.”

She jerked an arm to gesture at Shelby, who said, “Thanks. Seriously. That was cool.”

Molly shrugged, oblivious to the towering dark presence rising up behind her. The Outcast boy Miles had beaten to the ground with the kayak. Phil.

He swung the kayak behind his body, as if it were a baseball bat, and batted Molly clear across the lawn. She landed with a grunt on the grass. Tossing the kayak aside, the Outcast reached into his trench coat for one last shining arrow.

His dead eyes were the only expressionless part of his face. The rest of him—his snarl, his brow, even his cheekbones—looked utterly ferocious. His white skin seemed stretched across his bony skull. His hands looked more like claws. Anger and desperation had changed him from a pale and strange but good-looking guy into an actual monster. He raised his silver bow and took aim at Luce.

“I’ve been patiently waiting for my chance with you for weeks. Now, I don’t mind being a little more forceful than my sister,” he growled. “You
will
come with us.”

On either side of Luce, silver bows were raised. Cam brought his out from inside his coat once again, and Daniel scrambled to the ground to pick up the bow that the Outcast girl had just dropped. Phil seemed to expect this. His face twisted into a dark smile.

“Do I need to kill your lover to get you to join me?”
he asked, pointing his arrow now at Daniel. “Or do I need to kill them all?”

Luce stared at the strange, flat tip of the silver arrow, less than ten feet from Daniel’s chest. No chance Phil would miss from this range. She’d seen the arrows extinguish a dozen angels tonight with that paltry flash of light. But she’d also seen an arrow glance off Callie’s skin, like it was nothing more than the dull stick it appeared to be.

The silver arrows killed angels, she suddenly realized, not humans.

She leaped in front of Daniel. “I won’t let you hurt him. And your arrows can’t hurt me.”

A sound escaped from Daniel, a weird half-laugh, half-sob. She turned to him, wide-eyed. He looked afraid, but more than that, he looked guilty.

She thought of the conversation they’d had under the gnarled peach tree at Sword & Cross, the first time he’d told her about her reincarnations. She remembered sitting with him on the beach in Mendocino when he talked of his place in Heaven before her. What a struggle it had been to get him to open up about those early days. She still felt like there was more. There had to be more.

The creak of the bowstring snapped her attention back to the Outcast, who was pulling back the silver arrow. Now it was aimed at Miles. “Enough talk,” he said.
“I’ll take your friends out one at a time until you surrender to me.”

In her mind, Luce saw a bright blink of light, a swirl of color, and a whirling montage of her lives flashing before her eyes—her mom and dad and Andrew. The parents she’d seen in Mount Shasta. Vera ice-skating on the frozen pond. The girl she’d been, swimming under the waterfall in a yellow halter-top bathing suit. Other cities, homes, and times she couldn’t recognize yet. Daniel’s face from a thousand different angles, under a thousand different lights. And blaze after blaze after blaze.

Then she blinked and was back in the yard. The Outcasts were drawing closer, huddling together and whispering to Phil. He kept waving them back, agitated, trying to focus on Luce. Everyone was tense.

She saw Miles staring at her. He must have been terrified. But no, not terrified. He was
fixating
on her with so much intensity that his gaze seemed to vibrate her very core. Luce grew woozy and her vision clouded. What followed was an unfamiliar sensation of something being lifted off her. Like a casing being removed from her skin.

And she heard her voice say, “Don’t shoot. I surrender.”

Only, it was echoing and disembodied, and Luce hadn’t actually said the words. She followed the sound
with her eyes, and her body grew rigid at what she saw.

Another
Luce standing behind the Outcast, tapping him on the shoulder.

But this was no glimpse of a former life. This was
her
, in her skinny black jeans and plaid shirt with the missing button. With her black hair cropped and newly dyed. With her hazel eyes taunting the Outcast. With the burning of her same soul clearly visible to him. Clearly visible to all the other angels, too. This was a mirror image of her. This was—

Miles’s doing.

His gift. He had splintered Luce off into a second self, just as he’d told her he could on her very first day at Shoreline.
They say it’s easy to do with the people you, like, love
, he’d said.