Passion (34 page)

Ful y extended, his wings spanned the width of the tunnel. Their narrow tips were the most sensitive to touch; when they brushed against the dank wal s of the Announcer, it gave Daniel a queasy, claustrophobic feeling.

In the darkness before him, a figure slowly filtered into view.

First, the wings: undersized and gossamer-thin. Then the body deepened in color just enough for Daniel to see a smal , pale angel sharing his Announcer. Daniel did not know him. The angel’s features were soft and innocent-looking, like a baby’s. In the cramped tunnel, his ne blond hair blew across his silver eyes in the wind that Daniel’s wings sent back each time they pulsed. He looked so young, but of course, he was just as old as any of them.

“Who are you?” Daniel asked again. “How did you get in here? Are you Scale?”

“Yes.” Despite his innocent, infantile appearance, the angel’s voice was gravel-deep. He reached behind his back for a moment, and Daniel thought perhaps he was hiding something there—perhaps one of his kind’s trapping devices—but the angel simply turned around to reveal thought perhaps he was hiding something there—perhaps one of his kind’s trapping devices—but the angel simply turned around to reveal the scar on the back of his neck. The seven-pointed gold insignia of the Scale. “I’m Scale.” His deep voice was rough and clot ed. “I’d like to speak with you.”

Daniel gnashed his teeth. The Scale must have known he had no respect for them or their meddlesome duties. But it didn’t mat er how much he loathed their high- own manners, always seeking to nudge the fal en to one side: He stil had to honor their requests. Something seemed odd about this one, but who other than a member of the Scale could have found a way into his Announcer?

“I’m in a hurry.”

The angel nodded, as if he already knew this. “You search for Lucinda?”

“Yes,” Daniel blurted out. “I—I don’t need help.”

“You do.” The angel nodded. “You missed your exit”—he pointed down, toward the place in the vertical tunnel where Daniel had just come from. “Right back there.”

“No—”

“Yes.” The angel smiled, showing a row of tiny, jagged teeth. “We wait and watch. We see who travels by Announcer and where they go.”

“I didn’t know that policing the Announcers fel under the Scale’s jurisdiction.”

“There is much you don’t know. Our monitor caught a trace of her passing through. She’l be wel on her way by now. You must go after her.”

Daniel sti ened. The Scale were the only angels granted vision between Announcers. It was possible a Scale member would have seen Luce’s travels.

“Why would you want to help me find her?”

“Oh, Daniel.” The angel frowned. “Lucinda is a part of your destiny. We want you to find her. We want you to be true to your nature—”

“And then to side with Heaven,” Daniel snarled.

“One step at a time.” The angel tucked his wings to his sides and plummeted through the tunnel. “If you want to catch her,” his deep voice rumbled, “I’m here to show you the way. I know where the connection points are. I can open up a portal between the tissue of past times.” Then, faintly: “No strings at ached.”

Daniel was lost. The Scale had been a nuisance to him ever since the War in Heaven, but at least their motives were transparent. They wanted him to side with Heaven. That was it. He guessed it would behoove them to lead him to Luce if they could.

Maybe the angel was right. One step at a time. Al he cared about was Luce.

He tucked his wings in at his sides as the angel had done and felt his body moving through the darkness. When he caught up to the angel, he stopped.

The angel pointed. “Lucinda stepped through there.”

The shadow-way was narrow and perpendicular to the path Daniel had been on. It didn’t look any more right or wrong than where Daniel had been headed before.

“If this works,” he said, “I’l owe you. If not, I’l hunt you down.”

The angel said nothing.

So Daniel leaped before he looked, feeling a wind lick wetly at his wings, a current picking up again and speeding him along, and hearing

—somewhere far behind him—the faintest peal of laughter.

NINETEEN

NINETEEN

THE MORTAL COIL

MEMPHIS, EGYPT • PERET—“THE SEASON OF SOWING”

(AUTUMN, APPROXIMATELY 3100 BCE)

“You there,” a voice bel owed as Luce crossed the threshold of the Announcer. “I should like my wine. On a plat er. And bring in my dogs.

No—my lions. No—both.”

She’d stepped through into a vast white room with alabaster wal s and thick columns holding up a lofty ceiling. A faint scent of roasting meat was in the air.

The room was empty except for a tal platform at the far end, which had been dressed with antelope hide. Atop it sat a colossal throne, carved from marble, padded with plush emerald-green pil ows, and adorned along the back with a decorative crest of interlocking ivory tusks.

The man on the throne—with his kohl-rimmed eyes, bare muscular chest, gold-capped teeth, bejeweled ngers, and tower of ebony hair—

was talking to her. He had turned away from a thin-lipped, blue-robed scribe holding a papyrus-reed script, and now both men stared at Luce.

She cleared her throat.

“Yes, Pharaoh,” Bil hissed into her ear. “Just say Yes, Pharaoh.”

“Yes, Pharaoh!” Luce shouted across the endless chamber.

“Good,” Bil said. “Now scram!”

Ducking backward through a shadowed doorway, Luce found herself in an interior courtyard surrounding a stil pond. The air was cool, but the sun was erce, scorching the rows of pot ed lotus owers that lined the walkway. The courtyard was huge, but, eerily, Luce and Bil had the whole thing to themselves.

“There’s something strange about this place, isn’t there?” Luce stayed close to the wal s. “The pharaoh didn’t even seem alarmed by seeing me step out of nowhere.”

“He’s too important to be bothered with actual y noticing people. He saw movement in his peripheral vision and deduced that someone was there for him to boss around. That’s al . It explains why he also didn’t seem fazed by the fact that you’re wearing Chinese bat le garb from two thousand years in the future,” Bil said, snapping his stone ngers. He pointed to a shadowed niche in the corner of the courtyard.

“Hang tight right there and I’l be back with something a lit le more à la mode for you to wear.” Before Luce could strip o the Shang king’s cumbersome armor, Bil was back with a simple white Egyptian shift dress. He helped tug o her leather gear and slipped the dress over her head. It draped over one shoulder, tied around the waist, and tapered into a narrow skirt ending a few inches above her ankles.

“Forget ing anything?” Bil said with a strange intensity.

“Oh.” Luce reached back into the Shang armor for the dul -tipped starshot tucked inside. When she pul ed it out, it felt so much heavier than she knew it real y was.

“Don’t touch the point!” Bil said quickly, wrapping the tip in fabric and tying it of . “Not yet.”

“I thought it could only harm angels.” She tilted her head, remembering the bat le against the Outcasts, remembering the arrow glancing of Cal ie’s arm without a scratch, remembering Daniel tel ing her to stay far out of the arrow’s range.

“Whoever told you that didn’t tel you the whole truth,” Bil said. “It only a ects immortals. You have a part of you that is immortal—the cursed part, your soul. That’s the part you’re going to kil here, remember? So that your mortal self, Lucinda Price, can go on and live a normal life.”

“If I kil my soul,” Luce said, securing the starshot under her new dress. Even through the coarse cloth, it was warm to the touch. “I stil haven’t decided—”

“I thought we were agreed.” Bil swal owed. “Starshots are very valuable. I would not have given it to you unless—”

“Let’s just find Layla.”

It wasn’t just the eerie silence of the palace that was unset ling—something seemed strange between Luce and Bil . Ever since he’d given her the silver arrow, they were edgy around each other.

Bil took a deep, raspy breath. “Okay. Ancient Egypt. This is the early dynastic period in the capital city of Memphis. We’re pret y far back now, about five thousand years before Luce Price graces the world with her magnificent presence.” Luce rol ed her eyes. “Where’s my past self?”

“Why do I even bother with the history lessons?” Bil said to a pretend audience. “Al she ever wants to know is where her past self is. So self-centered it’s disgusting.”

Luce crossed her arms. “If you were going to kil your soul, I think you’d want to get it over with before you had a chance to change your mind.”

“So, you’ve decided now?” Bil sounded a lit le breathless. “Oh, come on, Luce. This is our last gig together. I gured you’d want to know the details, for old times’ sake? Your life here was real y one of the most romantic of al .” He hunkered down on her shoulder, in storytel ing mode. “You’re a slave named Layla. Sheltered, lonely—never been beyond the palace wal s. Until, one day, in walks the handsome new commander of the army—guess who?”

Bil hovered at her side as Luce left the armor piled in the alcove and walked slowly along the pool’s edge.

“You and the dashing Donkor—let’s just cal him Don—fal in love, and al is rosy except for one cruel reality: Don is betrothed to the pharaoh’s bitchy daughter, Auset. Now, how dramatic is that?”

Luce sighed. There was always some complication. One more reason to put an end to al this. Daniel shouldn’t be shackled to some earthly body, get ing caught up in useless mortal drama just so he could be with Luce. It wasn’t fair to him. Daniel had been su ering for too long.

Maybe she real y would end it. She could nd Layla and join with her body. Then Bil would tel her how to kil her cursed soul, and she would give Daniel his freedom.

would give Daniel his freedom.

She’d been pacing the oblong courtyard, brooding. When she rounded the portion of the path nearest the pond, fingers clasped her wrist.

“Caught you!” The girl who’d seized Luce was lean and muscular, with sultry, dramatic features under layers of makeup. Her ears were pierced by at least ten gold hoops, and a heavy gold pendant hung from her neck, ornamented with a pound of precious jewels.

The pharaoh’s daughter.

“I—” Luce started to say.

“Don’t you dare say a word!” Auset barked. “The sound of your pathetic voice is like pumice on my eardrums. Guard!” An enormous man appeared. He had a long black ponytail and forearms thicker than Luce’s legs. He carried a long wooden spear topped with a sharp copper blade.

“Arrest her,” Auset said.

“Yes, Highness,” the guard barked. “On what grounds, Highness?”

The question lit an angry fire inside the pharaoh’s daughter. “Theft. Of my personal property.”

“I wil imprison her until the council rules on the mat er.”

“We did that once before,” Auset said. “And yet here she is, like an asp, able to slither free of any bonds. We need to lock her away someplace she can never escape.”

“I wil assign a continuous watch—”

“No, that won’t be good enough.” Something dark crossed Auset’s face. “I never want to see this girl again. Throw her into my grandfather’s tomb.”

“But, Your Highness, no one but the high priest is al owed—”

“Precisely, Kafele,” Auset said, smiling. “Throw her down the entryway stairs and bolt the door behind you. When the high priest goes to perform the tomb-sealing ceremony this evening, he wil discover this tomb raider and wil punish her as he sees t.” She drew near Luce and scof ed. “You’l find out what happens to those who try to steal from the royal family.” Don. She meant that Layla was trying to steal Don.

Luce didn’t care if they locked her up and threw away the key as long as she got a chance to cleave with Layla rst. Otherwise how could she set Daniel free? Bil paced the air, scheming, claws tapping against his stone lip.

The guard produced a pair of shackles from the satchel at his waist and fastened the iron chains over Luce’s wrists.

“I’l see to it myself,” Kafele said, yanking her after him by a length of chain.

“Bil !” Luce whispered. “You have to help me!”

“We’l think of something,” Bil whispered as Luce was dragged across the courtyard. They turned a corner into a dark hal way, where a larger-than-life stone sculpture of Auset stood, looking grimly beautiful.

When Kafele turned to squint at Luce because she was talking to herself, his long black hair swished across his face and gave Luce an idea.

He never saw it coming. She wrestled her shackled hands up and tugged down hard on his hair, clawing at his head with her ngernails.

He yelped and stumbled backward, bleeding from a long scratch on his scalp. Then Luce elbowed him hard in the gut.

He grunted and doubled over. The spear slipped from his hands.

“Can you get these shackles of ?” Luce hissed at Bil .

The gargoyle wagged his eyebrows. A short black bolt shot into the shackles, and they zzled into nothingness. Luce’s skin felt hot where they had been, but she was free.

“Huh,” she said, glancing brie y down at her bare wrists. She grabbed the spear from the ground. She spun around to draw the blade to Kafele’s neck.