Torment (12 page)

He was by himself, leaning against the railing in a long black trench coat, a fedora capping his salt-and-pepper hair. It still made her nervous to think of him as a demon, especially because she genuinely liked him—or at least, what she knew of him. His relationship with Francesca confused her even more. They were such a unit: It reminded her of what Cam had said the night before about him and Daniel not being all that different. The comparison was still nagging at her as she slid open the tinted-glass door and stepped out on the deck.

All she could see on the westward side of the yacht was the endless blue on blue of ocean and clear sky. The water was calm, but a brisk wind tore around the sides of the boat. Luce had to hold on to the railing, squinting in the bright sunlight, shielding her eyes with her hand as she approached Steven. She didn’t see Francesca anywhere.

“Hello, Luce.” He smiled at her and took off his hat when she reached the railing. His face was tan for November. “How is everything?”

“That’s a big question,” she said.

“Have you felt overwhelmed this week? Our demonstration with the Announcer didn’t upset you too much? You know”—he lowered his voice—“we’ve never taught that before.”

“Upset me? No. I loved it,” Luce said quickly. “I mean—it was difficult to watch. But also fascinating. I’ve been wanting to talk about it with someone. …” With Steven’s eyes on her, she remembered the conversation she’d overheard her two teachers having with Roland. How it had been Steven, not Francesca, who’d been more open to including Announcers in the curriculum. “I want to learn all about them.”

“All about them?” Steven tilted his head, catching the full sun on his already golden skin. “That could take a while. There are trillions of Announcers, one for almost every moment in history. The field is endless. Most of us don’t even know where to begin.”

“Is that why you haven’t taught them before?”

“It’s controversial,” Steven said. “There are angels who don’t believe the Announcers have any value. Or that the bad things they often herald outweigh the good. They call advocates like me historical pack rats, too obsessed with the past to pay attention to the sins of the present.”

“But that’s like saying … the past doesn’t have any value.”

If that were true, it would mean that all of Luce’s former lives didn’t add up to anything, that her history with Daniel was also worthless. So all she’d have to go on was what she knew of Daniel in this lifetime. And was that really enough?

No. It wasn’t.

She had to believe there was more to what she felt for Daniel: a valuable, locked-away history that added up to something bigger than a few nights of blissful kissing and a few more nights of arguing. Because if the past had no value, that was really all they had.

“Judging from the look on your face,” Steven said, “it seems like I’ve got another one on my side.”

“I hope you’re not filling Luce’s head with any of your devilish filth.” Francesca appeared behind them. Her hands were on her hips and a scowl was on her face. Until she started laughing, Luce had no idea she was teasing.

“We were talking about the shadows—I mean, the Announcers,” Luce said. “Steven just told me he thinks there are trillions of them.”

“Steven also thinks he doesn’t need to call a plumber when the toilet overflows.” Francesca smiled warmly, but there was an undercurrent in her voice that made Luce feel embarrassed, like she’d spoken too boldly. “You want to bear witness to more gruesome scenes like the one we examined in class the other day?”

“No, that’s not what I meant—”

“There’s a reason why certain things are best left in the hands of experts.” Francesca looked at Steven. “I’m afraid that, like a broken toilet, the Announcers as a window on the past are just one of those things.”

“Of course we understand why you in particular might be interested in them,” Steven said, drawing Luce’s full attention.

So Steven got it. Her past lives.

“But
you
must understand,” Francesca added, “that glimpsing shadows is highly risky without the proper training. If you are interested, there are universities, rigorous academic programs, even, that I would be happy to talk to you about
down the road
. But for now, Luce, you must forgive our mistake for showing it prematurely to a high school class, and then you must leave it at that.”

Luce felt strange and exposed. Both of them were watching her.

Leaning over the railing a little, she could see some of her friends on the ship’s main deck below. Miles had a pair of binoculars pressed to his eyes and was trying to point something out to Shelby, who ignored him behind her giant Ray-Bans. At the stern, Dawn and Jasmine were seated on a ledge with Amy Branshaw. They were bent over a manila folder, making hurried notes.

“I should go help out with the welcome address,” Luce said, backing away from Francesca and Steven. She could feel their eyes on her all the way down the winding staircase. Luce reached the main deck, ducked under a row of furled sails, and squeezed past a group of non-Nephilim students standing in a bored circle around Mr. Kramer, the beanpole-thin biology teacher, who was lecturing on something like the fragile ecosystem right below their feet.

“There you are!” Jasmine pulled Luce into their powwow. “A plan is finally taking shape.”

“Cool. How can I help?”

“At twelve o’clock, we’re going to ring that bell.” Dawn pointed at a huge brass bell hung from a white beam by a pulley near the ship’s bow. “Then I’m going to welcome everyone, Amy’s going to speak about how this trip came to be, and Jas is going to talk about this semester’s upcoming social events. All we need is someone to say something environmentally friendly.” All three girls looked at Luce.

“Is this a hybrid yacht or something?” Luce asked.

Amy shrugged and shook her head.

Dawn’s face lit up with an idea. “You could say something about how being out here is making us all greener because he who lives closer to nature acts closer to nature?”

“Are you any good at writing poems?” Jasmine asked. “You could try to make it, you know, fun?”

Guilty of totally bailing on any real responsibilities, Luce felt the need to be amenable. “Environmental poetry,” she said, thinking the only thing she was worse at than poetry and marine biology was public speaking. “Sure. I can do that.”

“Okay, phew!” Dawn wiped her forehead. “Then here’s my vision.” She hopped up on the ledge where she’d been sitting and started making a list of things on her fingers.

Luce knew she should be paying attention to Dawn’s requests (“Wouldn’t it be l’awesome if we lined up shortest to tallest?”), especially since, in a very short time, she was slated to say something intelligent—and rhyming—about the environment in front of a hundred of her classmates. But her mind was still clouded by that bizarre conversation with Francesca and Steven.

Leave the Announcers to the experts
. If Steven was right, and there really was an Announcer out there for every moment in history—well, that was like telling her to leave the entire past to the experts. Luce wasn’t trying to claim expertise on Sodom and Gomorrah; it was just her own past—hers and Daniel’s—she was interested in. And if anyone was going to be an expert on that, Luce figured it should be her.

But Steven had said it himself: There were a trillion shadows out there. It would be close to impossible to even locate the ones that had anything to do with her and Daniel, let alone know what to do with them if she ever found the right ones.

She glanced up at the second-story deck. She could see only the tops of Francesca’s and Steven’s heads. If Luce let her imagination run freely, she could make up a sharp conversation between them. About Luce. And about the Announcers. Probably agreeing not to bring them up with her ever again.

She was pretty sure that when it came to her past lives, she was going to be on her own.

Wait a minute.

The first day of class. During the icebreaker. Shelby had said—

Luce rose to her feet, forgetting completely that she was in the middle of a meeting, and was already crossing the deck when a piercing scream rang out behind her.

As she whipped around toward the sound, Luce saw a flash of something black dip off the bow of the boat.

A second later, it was gone.

Then a splash.

“Oh my God!
Dawn!
” Both Jasmine and Amy were leaning halfway over the prow, looking down into the water. They were screaming.

“I’ll get the lifeboat!” Amy yelled, running into the cabin.

Luce hopped up on the ledge beside Jasmine and gulped at what she saw. Dawn had tumbled overboard and was thrashing in the water. At first, her dark head of hair and flailing arms were all that was visible, but then she glanced up and Luce saw the terror on her white face.

A horrible second later, a big wave overtook Dawn’s tiny body. The boat was still moving, pulling further away from her. The girls trembled, waiting for her to resurface.

“What happened?” Steven demanded, suddenly at their side. Francesca was loosening a foam-ringed life preserver from its ties under the bow.

Jasmine’s lips quivered. “She was trying to ring the bell to get everyone’s attention for the speech. She b-b-barely leaned out—I don’t know how she lost her balance.”

Luce took another painful glance over the ship’s bow. The drop into the icy water was probably thirty feet. There was still no sign of Dawn. “Where is she?” Luce cried. “Can she swim?”

Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed the life preserver out of Francesca’s hands, looped one arm through it, and climbed to the top of the bow.

“Luce—stop!”

She heard the cry behind her, but it was already too late. She dove into the water, holding her breath, thinking on her way down of Daniel, and their last dive at the lake.

She felt the cold in her rib cage first, a harsh tightening around her lungs from the shock of the temperature. She waited until her descent slowed, then kicked for the surface. The waves poured over her head, spewing salt into her mouth and up her nose, but she clutched the life preserver tight. It was cumbersome to swim with, but if she found Dawn
—when
she found Dawn—they would both need it to stay afloat while they waited for the lifeboat.

She could vaguely sense a clamoring up on the yacht, people shouting and scurrying around the deck, calling down to her. But if Luce was going to be any help to Dawn, she had to tune all of them out.

Luce thought she saw the dark dot of Dawn’s head in the freezing water. She tore forward, against the waves, toward it. Her foot connected with something—a hand?—but then it was gone and she wasn’t sure whether it had been Dawn at all.

Luce couldn’t go underwater while holding on to the life preserver, and she had a bad feeling that Dawn was deeper down. She knew she shouldn’t let go of the life preserver. But she couldn’t save Dawn unless she did.

Tossing it aside, Luce filled her lungs with air, then plunged down deep, swimming hard until the surface warmth disappeared and the water became so cold it hurt. She couldn’t see a thing, just grasped everywhere she could, hoping to reach Dawn before it was too late.

It was Dawn’s hair that Luce felt first, the thin shock of short, dark waves. Probing lower with her hand, she felt her friend’s cheek, then her neck, then her shoulder. Dawn had sunk pretty far in such a short time. Luce slipped her arms under Dawn’s armpits, then used all her strength to pull her up, kicking powerfully toward the surface.

They were far underwater, the daylight a distant shimmer.

And Dawn felt heavier than she could possibly be, like a great weight was attached to her, dragging both of them down.

At last Luce broke the surface. Dawn sputtered, spewing water out of her mouth and coughing. Her eyes were red and her hair was matted on her forehead. With one arm looped across Dawn’s chest, Luce gently paddled them both toward the life preserver.

“Luce,” Dawn whispered. In the tumbling waves, Luce couldn’t hear her, but she could read her lips. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know.” Luce shook her head, straining to keep them both afloat.

“Swim to the lifeboat!” The call came from behind. But swimming anywhere was impossible. They could barely keep their heads above water.

The crew was lowering an inflatable life raft. Steven was inside it. As soon as the boat met the ocean, he began paddling briskly toward them. Luce closed her eyes and let the palpable relief wash over her with the next wave. If she could just hold on a little longer, they were going to be okay.

“Grab my hand,” Steven shouted to the girls. Luce’s legs felt like she’d been swimming for an hour. She pushed Dawn toward him so that Dawn could be the first one out.

Steven had stripped down to his slacks and white oxford shirt, which was wet now and clinging to his chest. His muscled arms were huge as he reached for Dawn. His face red with exertion, he grunted and heaved her up. When Dawn was draped over the gunwale, far enough that she wouldn’t fall back in, Steven turned and quickly took hold of Luce’s arms.

She felt weightless, practically soaring out of the water with his help. It was only when she felt her body slipping the rest of the way into the boat that she realized how sopping wet and freezing she was.

Except for where Steven’s fingers had been.

There the drops of water on her skin were steaming.

She sat up, moving to help Steven pull the shivering Dawn the rest of the way into the raft. Exhausted, Dawn could barely drag herself upright. Luce and Steven each had to take her by an arm and heave. She was almost all the way inside the boat when Luce felt a shocking jerk pull Dawn back into the water.

Dawn’s dark eyes bulged and she cried out as she slipped backward. Luce was not prepared: Dawn slipped out of her wet grip, and Luce fell back against the side of the raft.

“Hold on!” Steven caught hold of Dawn’s waist just in time. He stood up, almost capsizing the raft. As he strained to lift Dawn out of the water, Luce saw the briefest flash of gold extend from his back.

His wings
.