Passion (28 page)

Luce thought of the words Ix Cuat had seemed to say as Luce entered her body: Fly me away, she’d shouted inside her head. Fly me away.

Al at once, they stopped walking.

Deep in the dried-out, thirsty jungle, the path before them opened up. A huge water- l ed crater in the limestone spanned a hundred feet in front of Luce. Around it were the bright, eager eyes of the Mayan people. Hundreds. They’d stopped chanting. The moment they’d been waiting for was here.

The cenote was a limestone pit, mossy and deep and fil ed with bright-green water. Ix Cuat had been there before—she’d seen twelve other human sacri ces just like this one. Below that stil water were the decomposing remains of a hundred other bodies, a hundred souls who human sacri ces just like this one. Below that stil water were the decomposing remains of a hundred other bodies, a hundred souls who were supposed to have gone straight to Heaven—only, at that moment, Luce knew that Ix Cuat wasn’t sure she believed in any of it.

Ix Cuat’s family stood near the rim of the cenote. Her mother, her father, her two younger sisters, both holding babies in their arms. They believed—in the ritual, in the sacri ce that would take their daughter away and break their hearts. They loved her, but they thought she was unlucky. They thought this was the best way for her to redeem herself.

A gap-toothed man with long gold earrings guided Ix Cuat and the other two girls to stand before Zotz, who had taken a prominent place near the edge of the limestone pool. He gazed down into the deep water. Then he closed his eyes and began a new chant. The community and the drummers joined in.

Now the gap-toothed man stood between Luce and Ghanan and brought down his ax on the rope tying them together. Luce felt a jerk forward and the rope was severed. Her wrists were stil bound, but she was now connected only to Hanhau on her right. Ghanan was on her own, marched forward directly in front of Zotz.

The girl rocked back and forth, chanting under her breath. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck.

When Zotz began to say words of prayer to the rain god, Daniel leaned toward Luce. “Don’t look.” So Luce fastened her gaze on Daniel, and he on her. Al around the cenote, the crowd drew in their breaths. Daniel’s teammate grunted and brought the ax down heavily on the girl’s neck. Luce heard the blade slice cleanly though, then the soft thump of Ghanan’s head landing in the dirt.

The roar of the crowd rose up again: shouts of thanks to Ghanan, prayers for her soul in Heaven, vigorous wishes for rain.

How could people real y think that kil ing an innocent girl would solve their problems? This was where Bil would usual y pop in. But Luce didn’t see him anywhere. He had a way of disappearing when Daniel came around.

Luce didn’t want to see what had become of Ghanan’s head. Then she heard a deep, reverberating splash and knew that the girl’s body had reached its final resting place.

The gap-toothed man approached. This time he severed Ix Cuat’s bond to Hanhau. Luce trembled as he marched her before the tribal leader. The rocks were sharp beneath her feet. She peered over the limestone rim into the cenote. She thought she might be sick, but then Daniel appeared at her side and she felt bet er. He nodded for her to look at Zotz.

The tribal leader beamed at her, showing two topazes set into his front teeth. He intoned a prayer that Chaat would accept her and bring the community many months of nourishing rainfal .

No, Luce thought. It was al wrong. Fly me away! she cried out to Daniel in her head. He turned toward her, almost as if he’d heard.

The gap-toothed man cleaned Ghanan’s blood o the ax with a scrap of animal hide. With great pomp he handed the blade to Daniel, who turned to stand face to face with Luce. Daniel looked weary, as if dragged down by the weight of the ax. His lips were pursed and white, and his violet gaze never left hers.

The crowd was silent, holding their breaths. Hot wind rustled in the trees as the ax gleamed in the sun. Luce could feel that the end was coming, but why? Why had her soul dragged her here? What insight about her past, or the curse, could she possibly gain from having her head cut of ?

Then Daniel dropped the ax to the ground.

“What are you doing?” Luce asked.

Daniel didn’t answer. He rol ed back his shoulders, turned his face toward the sky, and ung out his arms. Zotz stepped forward to interfere, but when he touched Daniel’s shoulder, he screamed and recoiled as if he’d been burned.

And then—

Daniel’s white wings unfurled from his shoulders. As they extended ful y from his sides, huge and shockingly bright against the parched brown landscape, they sent twenty Mayans hurtling backward.

Shouts rang out around the cenote:

“What is he?”

“The boy is winged!”

“He is a god! Sent to us by Chaat!”

Luce thrashed against the ropes binding her wrists and her ankles. She needed to run to Daniel. She tried to move toward him, until—

Until she couldn’t move anymore.

Daniel’s wings were so bright they were almost unbearable. Only, now it wasn’t just Daniel’s wings that were glowing. It was … al of him.

His entire body shone. As if he’d swal owed the sun.

Music fil ed the air. No, not music, but a single harmonious chord. Deafening and unending, glorious and frightening.

Luce had heard it before … somewhere. In the cemetery at Sword & Cross, the last night she’d been there, the night Daniel had fought Cam, and Luce hadn’t been al owed to watch. The night Miss Sophia had dragged her away and Penn had died and nothing had ever been the same. It had begun with that very same chord, and it was coming out of Daniel. He was lit up so brightly, his body actual y hummed.

She swayed where she stood, unable to take her eyes away. An intense wave of heat stroked her skin.

Behind Luce, someone cried out. The cry was fol owed by another, and then another, and then a whole chorus of voices crying out.

Something was burning. It was acrid and choking and turned her stomach instantly. Then, in the corner of her vision, there was an explosion of ame, right where Zotz had been standing a moment before. The boom knocked her backward, and she turned away from the burning brightness of Daniel, coughing on the black ash and bit er smoke.

Hanhau was gone, the ground where she’d stood scorched black. The gap-toothed man was hiding his face, trying hard not to look at Daniel’s radiance. But it was irresistible. Luce watched as the man peeked between his fingers and burst into a pil ar of flame.

Al around the cenote, the Mayans stared at Daniel. And one by one, his bril iance set them ablaze. Soon a bright ring of re lit up the jungle, lit up everyone but Luce.

“Ix Cuat!” Daniel reached for her.

His glow made Luce scream out in pain, but even as she felt as if she were on the verge of asphyxiation, the words tumbled from her mouth. “You’re glorious.”

“Don’t look at me,” he pleaded. “When a mortal sees an angel’s true essence, then—you can see what happened to the others. I can’t let you leave me again so soon. Always so soon—”

“I’m stil here,” Luce insisted.

“You’re stil —” He was crying. “Can you see me? The true me?”

“I can see you.”

And for just a fraction of a second, she could. Her vision cleared. His glow was stil radiant but not so blinding. She could see his soul. It

And for just a fraction of a second, she could. Her vision cleared. His glow was stil radiant but not so blinding. She could see his soul. It was white-hot and immaculate, and it looked—there was no other way to say it—like Daniel. And it felt like coming home. A rush of unparal eled joy spread through Luce. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a bel of recognition chimed. She’d seen him like this before.

Hadn’t she?

As her mind strained to draw upon the past she couldn’t quite touch, the light of him began to overwhelm her.

“No!” she cried, feeling the fire sear her heart and her body shake free of something.

“Wel ?” Bil ’s scratchy voice grated on her eardrums.

She lay against a cold stone slab. Back in one of the Announcer caves, trapped in a frigid in-between place where it was hard to hold on to anything outside. Desperately, she tried to picture what Daniel had looked like out there—the glory of his undisguised soul—but she couldn’t.

It was already slipping away from her. Had it real y even happened?

Luce closed her eyes, trying to remember exactly what he’d looked like. There were no words for it. It was just an incredible, joyous connection.

“I saw him.”

“Who, Daniel? Yeah, I saw him, too. He was the guy who dropped the ax when it was his turn to do the chopping. Big mistake. Huge.”

“No, I real y saw him. As he truly is.” Her voice shook. “He was so beautiful.”

“Oh, that.” Bil tossed his head, annoyed.

“I recognized him. I think I’ve seen him before.”

“Doubt it.” Bil coughed. “That was the rst and last time you’l be able to see him like that. You saw him, and then you died. That’s what happens when mortal flesh looks upon an angel’s unbridled glory. Instant death. Burned away by the angel’s beauty.”

“No, it wasn’t like that.”

“You saw what happened to everyone else. Poof. Gone.” Bil plopped down beside her and pat ed her knee. “Why do you think the Mayans started doing sacrifices by fire after that? A neighboring tribe discovered the charred remains and had to explain it somehow.”

“Yes, they burst into flames right away. But I lasted longer—”

“A couple of extra seconds? When you were turned away? Congratulations.”

“You’re wrong. And I know I’ve seen that before.”

“You’ve seen his wings before, maybe. But Daniel shedding his human guise and showing you his true form as an angel? Kil s you every time.”

“No.” Luce shook her head. “You’re saying he can never show me who he real y is?” Bil shrugged. “Not without vaporizing you and everyone around you. Why do you think Daniel’s so cautious about kissing you al the time? His glory shines pret y damn bright when you two get hot and heavy.” Luce felt like she could barely hold herself up. “That’s why I sometimes die when we kiss?”

“How ’bout a round of applause for the girl, folks?” Bil said snarkily.

“But what about al those other times, when I die before we kiss, before—”

“Before you even have a chance to see how toxic your relationship might become?”

“Shut up.”

“Honestly, how many times do you have to see the same story line before you realize nothing is ever going to change?”

“Something has changed,” Luce said. “That’s why I’m on this journey, that’s why I’m stil alive. If I could just see him again—al of him—I know I could handle it.”

“You don’t get it.” Bil ’s voice was rising. “You’re talking about this whole thing in very mortal terms.” As he grew more agitated, spit ew from his lips. “This is the big time, and you clearly cannot handle it.”

“Why are you so angry al of a sudden?”

“Because! Because.” He paced the ledge, gnashing his teeth. “Listen to me: Daniel slipped up this once, he showed himself, but he never does that again. Never. He learned his lesson. Now you’ve learned one, too: Mortal esh cannot gaze upon an angel’s true form without dying.”

Luce turned away from him, growing angrier herself. Maybe Daniel changed after this lifetime in Chichén Itzá, maybe he’d become more cautious in the future. But what about the past?

She approached the limit of the ledge inside the Announcer, looking up into the vast, gaping blackness that tunneled above into her dark unknown.

Bil hovered over her, circling her head as if he were trying to get inside it. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re only going to end up disappointed.” He drew close to her ear and whispered. “Or worse.”

There was nothing he could say to stop her. If there was an earlier Daniel who stil dropped his guard, then Luce was going to find him.

SIXTEEN

SIXTEEN

BEST MAN

JERUSALEM, ISRAEL • 27 NISSAN 2760

(APPROXIMATELY APRIL 1, 1000 BCE)

Daniel was not entirely himself.

He was stil cloven to the body he had joined with on the dark fjords of Greenland. He tried to slow down as he left the Announcer, but his momentum was too great. Heavily o -balance, he spun out of the darkness and rol ed across rocky earth until his head slammed into something hard. Then he was stil .