Torment (5 page)

For the first time all morning, Shelby laughed. Her laugh was a gruff, gravelly thing, the kind of chortle Luce would have expected from an old man, a lifetime smoker, not a teenage yoga enthusiast.

Luce could feel her face pinching up into a scowl. The last thing she wanted was to “ease right in” to Shoreline. She didn’t belong with a lot of spoiled gifted kids on a cliff overlooking the ocean. She belonged with real people, people with soul instead of squash rackets, who knew what life was like. She belonged with Daniel. She still had no idea what she was doing here, other than hiding out
very
temporarily while Daniel took care of his … war. After that, he was going to take her back home. Or something.

“Well, I’ll see you both in class. Enjoy breakfast!” Francesca called over her shoulder as she glided away. “Try the quiche!” She waved her hand, signaling to the waiter to bring each girl a plate.

When she was gone, Shelby took a big slurp of her coffee and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Um, Shelby—”

“Ever heard of eating in peace?”

Luce banged her coffee cup back into its saucer and waited impatiently for the nervous waiter to put down their quiches and disappear again. Part of her wanted to find another table. There were happy buzzes of conversation going on all around her. And if she couldn’t join one of them, even sitting alone would be better than this. But she was confused by what Francesca had said. Why pitch Shelby as some great roommate when it was clear the girl was a total hater? Luce milled a bite of quiche around in her mouth, knowing she wouldn’t be able to eat until she spoke up.

“Okay, I know I’m new here, and for some reason that annoys you. I guess you had a single room before me, I don’t know.”

Shelby lowered the paper just below her eyes. She raised one giant eyebrow.

“But I’m not
that
bad. So what if I have a few questions? Forgive me for not coming into school knowing what the hell the Nephermans are—”

“
Nephilim.
”

“Whatever. I don’t care. I have no interest in making you my enemy—which means some of this,” Luce said, gesturing at the space between the two of them, “is coming from you. So what’s your problem, anyway?”

The side of Shelby’s mouth twitched. She folded and set down the paper and leaned back in her chair.

“You
should
care about the Nephilim. We’re going to be your classmates.” She flung out her hand, waving it at the terrace. “Look out at the pretty, privileged student body of the Shoreline School. Half of these dopes you’ll never see again, except as the object of our practical jokes.”

“Our?”

“Yes, you’re in the ‘honors program’ with the Nephilim. But don’t worry; in case you’re not too bright”—Luce snorted—“the gifted track here is mostly a coverup, a place to stow away the Nephs without anyone getting too suspicious. In fact, the only person who’s ever gotten suspicious is Beaker Brady.”

“Who’s Beaker Brady?” Luce asked, leaning in so she didn’t have to shout over the rough static of the waves crashing on the shore below.

“That grade-A nerdo two tables over.” Shelby nodded at a chubby kid dressed in plaid who’d just spilled yogurt all over a massive textbook. “His parents loathe the fact that he’s never been accepted into the honors classes. Every semester, they wage a campaign. He brings in Mensa scores, results from science fairs, famous Nobelists he’s impressed, the whole shebang. And every semester, Francesca has to make up some bunk unpassable test to keep him out.” She snorted. “Like, ‘Hey, Beaker, solve this Rubik’s cube in under thirty seconds.’ ” Shelby clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Except the nimrod passed that one.”

“But if it’s a cover-up,” Luce asked, feeling sort of bad for Beaker, “what’s it a cover-up for?”

“People like me. I’m a Nephilim.
N-E-P-H-I-L-I-M
. That means anything with angel in its DNA. Mortals, immortals, transeternals. We try not to discriminate.”

“Shouldn’t the singular be, you know,
nephil
, like
cherub
from
cherubim
and
seraph
from
seraphim?
”

Shelby scowled. “Seriously? Would you want to be called a
nephil?
It sounds like a bag you carry your shame in. No, thanks. Nephilim it is, no matter how many of us you’re talking about.”

So Shelby
was
a sort of angel. Strange. She didn’t look or act the part. She wasn’t gorgeous like Daniel, Cam, or Francesca. Didn’t possess the magnetism of someone like Roland or Arriane. She just seemed kind of coarse and cranky.

“So it’s like angel prep school,” Luce said. “But for what? Do you go on to angel college after this?”

“It depends on what the world needs. A lot of kids take a year off and do Nephilim Corps. You get to travel, have a fling with a foreigner, et cetera. But that’s in times of, you know, relative peace. Right now, well …”

“Right now what?”

“Whatever.” Shelby looked like she was biting the word. “It just depends on who you are. Everyone here has, you know, varying degrees of power,” she went on, seeming to read Luce’s mind. “A sliding scale depending on your family tree. But in your case—”

This Luce knew. “I’m just here because of Daniel.”

Shelby tossed her napkin on her empty plate and stood up. “That’s a real impressive way to pitch yourself, Luce. The girl whose big-shot boyfriend pulled some strings.”

Was that what everyone thought about her here? Was that … the truth?

Shelby reached over and stole the last bite of quiche off Luce’s plate. “If you want a Lucinda Price fan club, I’m sure you can find that here. Just leave me out of it, okay?”

“What are you talking about?” Luce stood up. Maybe she and Shelby needed to rewind again. “I don’t want a fan club—”

“See, I
told
you,” she heard a high but pretty voice say.

Suddenly, the girl with the green scarf was standing before her, grinning and nudging another girl forward. Luce glanced past them, but Shelby was already far away—and probably not worth catching up to. Up close, the green-scarf girl looked kind of like a young Salma Hayek, with full lips and an even fuller chest. The other girl, with her pale coloring, hazel eyes, and short black hair, looked kind of like Luce.

“Wait, so you’re really Lucinda Price?” the pale girl asked. She had very small white teeth and was using them to hold a couple of sequin-tipped bobby pins while she twisted a few dark tendrils into little knots. “As in Luce-and-Daniel? As in the girl who just came from that awful school in Alabama—”

“Georgia.” Luce sort of nodded.

“Same thing. Ohmigod,
what
was Cam like? I saw him once at this death metal concert … of course, I was too nervous to introduce myself. Not that you’d be interested in Cam, because obviously—
Daniel!
” She trilled a laugh. “I’m Dawn, b-t-dubs. This is Jasmine.”

“Hi,” Luce said slowly. This was new. “Um …”

“Don’t mind her, she just drank, like, eleven coffees.” Jasmine spoke about three times more slowly than Dawn did. “What she means is we’re excited to meet you. We always say how you and Daniel are, like, the greatest love story. Ever.”

“Seriously?” Luce cracked her knuckles.

“Are you kidding?” Dawn asked, though Luce kept expecting
them
to be the ones working up to some kind of joke. “All that dying again and again? Okay, does it make you want him even more? I bet it
does!
And ohhh, when that fire that burns you up”—she closed her eyes, put a hand over her stomach, then brushed it up her body, clasping a fist over her heart. “My mom used to tell me the story when I was a little girl.”

Luce was shocked. She glanced around the busy terrace, wondering whether anyone could overhear them. Speaking of burning up, her cheeks must be beet red right now.

An iron bell rang from the roof of the mess hall to signal the end of breakfast, and Luce was glad to see that everyone else had other things to focus on. Like getting to class.

“Your mom used to tell you what story?” Luce asked slowly. “About me and Daniel?”

“Just some of the highlights,” Dawn said, opening her eyes. “Does it feel like a hot flash? Like a menopause kind of thing, not that you would know—”

Jasmine smacked Dawn on the arm. “Did you just compare Luce’s unbridled passion to a hot flash?”

“Sorry.” Dawn giggled. “I’m just fascinated. It sounds so totally romantic and awesome. I’m envious—in a good way!”

“Envious that I die every time I try to get with the guy of my dreams?” Luce hunched up her shoulders. “It’s actually kind of a buzz kill.”

“Tell that to the girl whose only kiss to date was with Ira Frank of the Irritable Bowel Syndrome.” Jasmine gestured teasingly at Dawn.

When Luce didn’t laugh, Dawn and Jasmine filled in with a placating giggle, as if they thought she was just being modest. Luce had never been on the receiving end of one of those giggles before.

“What exactly did your mom say?” Luce asked.

“Oh, just the usual stuff: The war broke out, shit hit the fan, and when they drew a line in the clouds, Daniel was all ‘Nothing can tear us apart,’ and that pissed
everyone
off. ’Course it’s
my
favorite part of the story. So now your love has to suffer this
eternal
punishment where you still
desperately
want each other but you can’t, like, you know—”

“But in some lives they can.” Jasmine corrected Dawn, then winked impishly at Luce, who almost couldn’t move from the shock of hearing all of this.

“No way!” Dawn flung out a hand dismissively. “The whole point is that she bursts into flames when she—” Seeing Luce’s horrified expression, Dawn winced. “
Sorry
. Not what you want to hear.”

Jasmine cleared her throat and leaned in. “My older sister was telling me this one story from your past that I swear would—”

“Oooh!” Dawn linked her arm through Luce’s, as if this knowledge—knowledge that Luce had
no
access to—made her a more desirable friend. This was maddening. Luce was fiercely embarrassed. And, okay, a little excited. And absolutely unsure whether any of it was true. One thing
was
sure: Luce was suddenly kind of … famous. But it felt strange. Like she was one of those unnamed bimbos next to the It-boy movie star in a paparazzi photo.

“You guys!” Jasmine was pointing exaggeratedly down at the clock on her phone. “We’re so super-late! We’ve got to book it to class.”

Luce grimaced, quickly grabbing her backpack. She had no idea what class she had first, or where to find it, or how to take Jasmine and Dawn’s enthusiasm. She hadn’t seen such extended, eager smiles since—well, maybe ever.

“Do either of you know how I figure out where my first class is? I don’t think I got a schedule.”

“Duh,” Dawn said. “Follow us. We’re all together. All the time! It’s so fun.”

The two girls walked with Luce, one on either side, and took her on a winding tour between the tables of other kids finishing their breakfasts. Despite being “so super-late,” both Jasmine and Dawn practically sauntered across the freshly cut grass.

Luce thought about asking these girls what was up with Shelby, but she didn’t want to start off looking like a gossip. Besides, the girls seemed nice and everything, but it wasn’t like Luce needed to make any new best friends. She had to keep reminding herself: This was only temporary.

Temporary, but still stunningly beautiful. The three of them walked along the hydrangea path, which curved around the mess hall. Dawn was chattering about something, but Luce couldn’t take her eyes off the bluffs’ dramatic edge, how abruptly the terrain dropped hundreds of feet to the glittering ocean. The waves rolled toward the small stretch of tawny beach at the foot of the cliff almost as casually as the Shoreline student body rolled toward class.

“Here we are,” Jasmine said.

An impressive two-story A-frame cabin stood alone at the end of the path. It had been built in the middle of a shady pocket of redwoods, so its steep, triangular roof and the vast open lawn in front of it were covered with a blanket of fallen needles. There was a nice grassy patch with some picnic tables, but the main attraction was the cabin itself: More than half of it looked like it was made of glass, all wide, tinted windows and open sliding doors. Like something Frank Lloyd Wright could have designed. Several students lounged on a huge second-story deck that faced the ocean, and several more kids were mounting the twin staircases that wound up from the path.

“Welcome to the Nephi-lodge,” Jasmine said.

“
This
is where you guys have class?” Luce’s mouth was agape. It looked more like a vacation home than a school building.

Next to her, Dawn squealed and squeezed Luce’s wrist.

“Good morning, Steven!” Dawn called across the lawn, waving to an older man who was standing at the foot of the stairs. He had a thin face, stylish rectangular glasses, and a thick head of wavy salt-and-pepper hair. “I just absolutely
love
it when he wears the three-piece suit,” she whispered.

“Morning, girls.” The man smiled at them and waved. He looked at Luce long enough to make her veer toward nervousness, but the smile stayed on his face. “See you in a few,” he called, and started up the stairs.

“Steven Filmore,” Jasmine whispered, filling Luce in as they trailed behind him up the stairs. “Aka S.F., aka the Silver Fox. He’s one of our teachers, and yes, Dawn is truly, madly, deeply in love with him. Even though he’s spoken for. She is shameless.”

“But I love Francesca, too.” Dawn swatted Jasmine, then turned to Luce, her dark eyes smiling. “I defy you not to develop a couples crush on them.”

“Wait.” Luce paused. “The Silver Fox and Francesca are our teachers? And you call them by their first names? And they’re
together?
Who teaches what?”

“We call the whole morning block humanities,” Jasmine said, “though
angelics
would be more appropriate. Frankie and Steven teach it jointly. Part of the deal here, sort of yin and yang. You know, so none of the students get … swayed.”