Torment (29 page)

Miles.

Her palms grew damp and she could feel her heartbeat pick up. She wondered what her hair looked like, whether she’d remembered to make her bed this morning, and how long he’d been walking behind her. Whether he’d seen her dodge the caravan of Thanksgiving farewells, or seen the pained look on her face when she’d checked her text messages.

“Hi,” she said softly.

“Hi.”

Miles had on a thick brown sweater over a collared white shirt. He was wearing those jeans with the hole in the knee, the ones that always made Dawn jump up to follow him so she and Jasmine could swoon from behind him.

Miles’s mouth twitched into a nervous smile. “Wanna do something?”

His thumbs were tucked under the straps of his navy blue backpack and his voice echoed off the wood walls. It crossed Luce’s mind that she and Miles might be the only two people in the entire building. The thought was both thrilling and nerve-wracking.

“I’m grounded for eternity, remember?”

“That’s why I brought the fun to you.”

At first Luce thought Miles was referring to himself, but then he slid his backpack off one shoulder and unzipped the main compartment. Inside was a treasure trove of board games: Boggle. Connect Four. Parcheesi. The
High School Musical
game. Even travel Scrabble. It was so nice, and so not awkward, Luce thought she might cry.

“I figured you were going home today,” she said. “Everyone else is leaving.”

Miles shrugged. “My parents said it was cool if I stayed. I’ll be home again in a couple of weeks, and besides, we have different opinions on the perfect vacation. Theirs is anything worthy of a write-up in the
New York Times
Styles section.”

Luce laughed. “And yours?”

Miles dug a little deeper into his bag, pulling out two packets of instant apple cider, a box of microwave popcorn, and a DVD of the Woody Allen movie
Hannah and Her Sisters
. “Pretty humble, but you’re looking at it.” He smiled. “I asked you to spend Thanksgiving with me, Luce. Just because we’re changing venues doesn’t mean we have to change our plans.”

She felt a grin spread across her face, and held open the door for Miles to come in. His shoulder brushed hers when he passed, and they locked eyes for a moment. She felt Miles almost sway on his heels, as if he was going to double back and kiss her. She tensed up, waiting.

But he just smiled, dropped his backpack in the middle of the floor, and started to unload Thanksgiving.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, waving a packet of popcorn.

Luce winced. “I am really bad at making popcorn.”

She was thinking of the time she and Callie nearly burned down their dorm at Dover. She couldn’t help it. It made her miss her best friend all over again.

Miles opened the door of the microwave. He held up a finger. “I can press
any
button with this finger, and microwave most anything. You’re lucky I’m so good at it.”

It was weird that earlier she’d been torn up over kissing Miles. Now she realized he was the only thing making her feel better. If he hadn’t come over, she’d be spiraling into another guilty black abyss. Even though she couldn’t imagine kissing him again—not because she didn’t want to, necessarily, but because she knew it wasn’t right, that she couldn’t do that to Daniel … that she didn’t
want
to do that to Daniel—Miles’s presence was extremely comforting.

They played Boggle until Luce finally understood the rules, Scrabble until they realized the set was missing half its letters, and Parcheesi until the sun went down outside the window and it was too dim to see the board without turning on a light. Then Miles stood up and lit the fire, and slid
Hannah and Her Sisters
into the DVD player on Luce’s computer. The only place to sit and watch the movie was on the bed.

Suddenly, Luce felt nervous. Before, they’d just been two friends playing board games on a weekday afternoon. Now the stars were out, the dorm was empty, the fire was crackling, and—what did that make them?

They sat next to each other on Luce’s bed, and she couldn’t stop thinking about where her hands were, whether they looked unnatural if she kept them pinned across her lap, whether they’d brush against Miles’s fingertips if she rested them at her sides. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his chest moving when he breathed. She could hear him scratch the back of his neck. He’d taken his baseball cap off, and she could smell the citrusy shampoo in his fine brown hair.

Hannah and Her Sisters
was one of the few Woody Allen movies she’d never seen, but she could not make herself pay attention. She’d crossed and uncrossed her legs three times before the opening titles rolled.

The door swung open. Shelby barreled into the room, took one look at Luce’s computer monitor, and blurted, “Best Thanksgiving movie ever! Can I watch with—” Then she looked at Luce and Miles, sitting in the dark on the bed. “Oh.”

Luce bolted up off the bed. “Of course you can! I didn’t know when you were leaving to go home—”

“Never.” Shelby flung herself on the top bunk, sending a small earthquake down to Luce and Miles on the bottom bunk. “My mom and I got in a fight. Don’t ask, it was utterly boring. Besides, I’d much rather hang out with you guys, anyway.”

“But Shelby—” Luce couldn’t imagine getting in a fight so big it kept her from going home on Thanksgiving.

“Let’s just enjoy the genius of Woody in silence,” Shelby commanded.

Miles and Luce shot each other a conspiratorial look. “You got it,” Miles called up to Shelby, giving Luce a grin.

Truthfully, Luce was relieved. When she settled back into her seat, her fingers did brush against Miles’s, and he gave them a squeeze. It was only for a moment, but it was long enough to let Luce know that, at least as far as Thanksgiving weekend was concerned, things were going to be okay.

SEVENTEEN

TWO DAYS

L
uce woke to the scrape of a hanger dragging across the bar in her closet.

Before she could see who was responsible for the noise, a mound of clothes bombarded her. She sat up in bed, pushing her way out from under the pile of jeans, T-shirts, and sweaters. She plucked an argyle sock off her forehead.

“Arriane?”

“Do you like the red one? Or the black?” Arriane was holding two of Luce’s dresses up against her tiny frame, swaying as she modeled each one.

Arriane’s arms were bare of the awful tracking wristband she’d had to wear at Sword & Cross. Luce hadn’t noticed until now, and she shuddered to remember the cruel voltage sent coursing through Arriane whenever she stepped out of line. Every day in California, Luce’s memories of Sword & Cross grew hazier, until a moment like this one jolted her back into the turmoil of her stay there.

“Elizabeth Taylor says only certain women can wear red,” Arriane continued. “It’s all about cleavage and coloring. Luckily, you’ve got both.” She freed the red dress from its hanger and tossed it on the pile.

“What are you doing here?” Luce asked.

Arriane put her tiny hands on her hips. “Helping you pack, silly. You’re going home.”

“Wh-What home? What do you mean?” Luce stammered.

Arriane laughed, stepping forward to take one of Luce’s hands and tug her out of bed. “Georgia, my peach.” She patted Luce’s cheek. “With good old Harry and Doreen. And apparently some friend of yours is also flying in.”

Callie. She was actually going to get to see Callie? And her parents? Luce wobbled where she stood, suddenly speechless.

“Don’t you want to spend Thanksgiving with your fam?”

Luce was waiting for the catch. “What about—”

“Don’t worry.” Arriane tweaked Luce’s nose. “It was Mr. Cole’s idea. We’ve got to keep up the ruse that you’re still just down the road from your parents. This seemed the simplest and most fun way to go about it.”

“But when he texted me yesterday, all he said was—”

“He didn’t want to get your hopes up until he had every little thing taken care of, including”—Arriane curtseyed—“the perfect escort. One of them, anyway. Roland should be here any second.”

A knock on the door.

“He’s so good.” Arriane pointed to the red dress still in Luce’s hand. “Throw that baby on.”

Luce quickly shimmied into the dress, then ducked into the bathroom to brush her teeth and hair. Arriane had presented her with one of those rare
Jump!—How high?
situations. You didn’t bother with questions. You just leaped.

She emerged from the bathroom, expecting to see Roland and Arriane doing something Roland-and-Arriane-esque, like one of them standing on top of her suitcase while the other tried to zip it up.

But it wasn’t Roland who had knocked.

It was Steven and Francesca.

Shit
.

The words
I can explain
formed on the tip of Luce’s tongue. Only, she had no idea how to talk herself out of this situation. She looked to Arriane for help. Arriane was still tossing Luce’s sneakers into the suitcase. Didn’t she know the kind of major trouble they were about to be in?

When Francesca stepped forward, Luce braced herself. But then the wide bell sleeves of Francesca’s crimson turtleneck engulfed Luce in an unexpected hug. “We came to wish you well.”

“Of course, we’ll miss you tomorrow at what we with tongue in cheek refer to as the Dinner for the Displaced,” Steven said, taking Francesca’s hand and prying her away from Luce. “But it’s always best for a student to be with family.”

“I don’t understand,” Luce said. “You knew about this? I thought I was grounded until further notice.”

“We spoke with Mr. Cole this morning,” Francesca said.

“And you weren’t grounded as punishment, Luce,” Steven explained. “It was the only way we could ensure you’d be safe under our charge. But you’re in good hands with Arriane.”

Never one to overstay her welcome, Francesca was already steering Steven toward the door. “We hear your parents are anxious to see you. Something about your mother filling up a freezer with pies.” She winked at Luce, and both she and Steven waved, and then they were gone.

Luce’s heart swelled at the prospect of getting home to her family.

But not before it went out to Miles and Shelby. They’d be crestfallen if she went home to Thunderbolt and abandoned them here. She didn’t even know where Shelby was. She couldn’t leave without—

Roland stuck his head through Luce’s open door. He looked professional in his pinstriped blazer and crisp white collared shirt. His black-and-gold dreads were shorter, spikier, making his dark, deep-set eyes even more striking.

“Is the coast clear?” he asked, shooting Luce his familiar devilish grin. “We’ve got a hanger-on.” He nodded at someone behind him—who appeared a moment later with duffel bag in hand.

Miles.

He flashed Luce a wonderfully unembarrassed grin and took a seat on the edge of her bed. An image of introducing him to her parents ran though Luce’s mind. He’d take off his baseball cap, shake both of their hands, compliment her mom’s half-finished needlepoint …

“Roland, what part of ‘top-secret mission’ don’t you understand?” Arriane asked.

“It’s my fault,” Miles admitted. “I saw Roland heading over here … and I forced it out of him. That’s why he’s late.”

“As soon as this guy heard the words
Luce
and
Georgia
”—Roland jerked his thumb at Miles—“it took him about a nanosecond to pack.”

“We kind of had a Thanksgiving deal,” Miles said, looking only at Luce. “I couldn’t let her break it.”

“No.” Luce bit back a smile. “He couldn’t.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Arriane raised an eyebrow. “I just wonder what Francesca would have to say about this. Whether someone should run it by your parents first, Miles—”

“Aw, come on, Arriane.” Roland waved his hand dismissively. “Since when do you check in with authority? I’ll look out for the kid. He won’t get into any trouble.”

“Get into any trouble where?” Shelby barged into the room, her yoga mat swinging from a string across her back. “Where are we going?”

“Luce’s house in Georgia for Thanksgiving,” Miles said.

In the hallway behind Shelby, a bleached-blond head hovered. Shelby’s ex-boyfriend. His skin was ghost-white, and Shelby was right: There was something odd about his eyes. How pale they were.

“For the last time, I said
goodbye
, Phil.” Shelby quickly shut the door in his face.

“Who was that?” Roland asked.

“My skeeze-and-a-half ex-boyfriend.”

“Seems like an interesting guy,” Roland said, staring at the door, distracted.

“Interesting?” Shelby snorted. “A restraining order would be interesting.” She took one look at Luce’s suitcase, then at Miles’s duffel, then haphazardly started throwing her belongings into a squat black trunk.

Arriane threw up her hands. “Can’t you do anything without an entourage?” she asked Luce. Then, turning to Roland, “I assume you want to take responsibility for this one, too?”

“That’s the holiday spirit!” Roland laughed. “We’re going to the Prices’ for Thanksgiving,” he told Shelby, whose face lit up. “The more the merrier.”

Luce couldn’t believe how perfectly everything was working out. Thanksgiving with her family
and
Callie
and
Arriane and Roland
and
Shelby
and
Miles. She couldn’t have scripted this any better.

Only one thing nagged at her. And it seriously nagged.

“What about Daniel?”

She meant:
Does he know about this trip already?
and
What’s the real story between him and Cam?
and
Is he still mad at me about that kiss?
and
Is it wrong that Miles is coming too?
and also
What are the odds of Daniel showing up at my parents’ house tomorrow even though he says he can’t see me?

Arriane cleared her throat. “Yes, what about Daniel?” she repeated quietly. “Time will tell.”

“So do we have plane tickets or something?” Shelby asked. “Because if we’re flying, I need to pack my serenity kit, essential oils, and heating pad. You don’t want to see me at thirty-five thousand feet without them.”

Roland snapped his fingers.

Near his feet, the shadow cast by the open door peeled itself off the hardwood planks, rising the way a trapdoor might to lead down to a basement. A gust of cold swept up from the floor, followed by a bleak blast of darkness. It smelled like wet hay as it shrank into a small, compact sphere. But then, at a nod from Roland, it ballooned into a tall black portal. It looked like the sort of door that would lead to a restaurant kitchen, the swinging kind with a round glass window in the top. Only, this one was made out of dark Announcer fog, and all that was visible through the window was a darker, swirling blackness.

“That looks just like the one I read about in the book,” Miles said, clearly impressed. “All I could manage was a weird sort of trapezoidal window.” He smiled at Luce. “But we still made it work.”

“Stick with me, kid,” Roland said, “and you’ll see what it’s like to travel in style.”

Arriane rolled her eyes. “He’s such a show-off.”

Luce cocked her head at Arriane. “But I thought you said—”

“I know.” Arriane put up a hand. “I know I repeated that whole spiel about how dangerous Announcer travel is. And I don’t want to be one of those sucky do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do angels. But we all agreed—Francesca and Steven, Mr. Cole, everyone—”

Everyone?
Luce couldn’t group them together without seeing a glaring missing piece. Where was Daniel in all of this?

“Besides.” Arriane smiled proudly. “We’re in the presence of a master. Ro’s one of the very best Announcer travelers.” And then, in a whispered aside to Roland, “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Roland swung open the Announcer’s door. It groaned and creaked on shadow hinges and swung open onto a dank, yawning pit of emptiness.

“Um … what is it again that makes traveling by Announcer so dangerous?” Miles asked.

Arriane pointed around the room, at the shadow under the desk lamp, behind Shelby’s yoga mat. All of the shadows were quivering. “An untrained eye might not know which Announcer to step through. And believe us, there are always uninvited lurkers, waiting for someone to accidentally open them.”

Luce remembered the sickly brown shadow she’d tripped over. The uninvited lurker that had given her the nightmarish glimpse of Cam and Daniel on the beach.

“If you pick the wrong Announcer, it’s very easy to get lost,” Roland explained. “To not have any idea where—or when—you’re stepping through to. But as long as you stick with us, you don’t have anything to worry about.”

Nervously, Luce pointed into the belly of the Announcer. She didn’t remember the other shadows they’d stepped through looking quite so murky and dark. Or maybe she just hadn’t known the consequences until now. “We’re not just going to pop up in the middle of my parents’ kitchen, are we? Because I think my mom might pass out from the shock—”

“Please.” Arriane clucked her tongue, guiding Luce, then Miles, and then Shelby to stand before the Announcer. “Have a little faith.”

It was like pushing through a murky wet fog, clammy and unpleasant. It slid and coiled over Luce’s skin and stuck in her lungs when she breathed. An echo of ceaseless white noise filled up the tunnel like a waterfall. The two other times Luce had traveled by Announcer, she’d felt lumbering and hurried, catapulting though darkness to come out somewhere light. This was different. She’d lost track of where and when she was, even of who she was and where she was going.

Then there was a strong hand yanking her out.

When Roland let her go, the echoing waterfall trickled to a drip, and a whiff of chlorine filled her nose. A diving board. A familiar one, under a lofty arched ceiling lined with broken stained-glass panels. The sun had passed over the high windows, but its light still cast faint colored prisms onto the surface of an Olympic-size pool. Along the walls, candles flickered in stone recesses, throwing off a dim, useless light. She’d recognize this church-gymnasium anywhere.