Fallen

CHAPTER 11. RUDE AWAKENING

"Are you scared?" Daniel asked. His head was tilted sideways, his blond hair disheveled by a soft breeze. He was holding her, and while his grip was firm around her waist, it was as smooth and light as a silk sash. Her own fingers were laced behind his shirtless neck.

Was she scared? Of course not. She was with Daniel. Finally. In his arms. The truer question pulling at the back of her mind was: Should she be scared? She couldn't be sure. She didn't even know where she was.

She could smell rain in the air, close by. But both she and Daniel were dry. She could feel a long white dress flowing down to her ankles. There was only a little light left in the day. Luce felt a stabbing regret at wasting the sunset, as if there were anything she could do to stop it. Somehow she knew these final rays of light were as precious as the last drops of honey in a jar.

"Will you stay with me?" she asked. Her voice was the thinnest whisper, almost canceled out by a low groan of thunder. A gust of wind swirled around them, brushing Luce's hair into her eyes. Daniel folded his arms more tightly around her, until she could breathe in his breath, could smell his skin on hers.

"Forever," he whispered back. The sweet sound of his voice filled her up.

There was a small scratch on the left side of his forehead, but she forgot it as Daniel cupped her cheek and brought her face nearer. She tilted her head back and felt the whole of her body go slack with expectation.

Finally, finally, his lips came down on hers with an urgency that took her breath away. He kissed her as if she belonged to him, as naturally as if she were some long-lost part of him that he could at last reclaim.

Then the rain started to fall. It soaked their hair, ran down their faces and into their mouths. The rain was warm and intoxicating, like the kisses themselves.

Luce reached around his back to draw him closer, and her hands slid over something velvety. She ran one hand over it, then another, searching for its limits, and then peered past Daniel's glowing face.

Something was unfurling behind him.

Wings. Lustrous and iridescent, beating slowly, effortlessly, shining in the rain. She'd seen them before, maybe, or something like them somewhere.

"Daniel," she said, gasping. The wings consumed her vision and her mind. They seemed to swirl into a million colors, making her head hurt. She tried to look elsewhere, anywhere else, but on all sides, all she could see besides Daniel were the endless pinks and blues of the sunset sky. Until she looked down and took in one last thing.

The ground.

Thousands of feet below them.

* * *

When she opened her eyes, it was too bright, her skin was too dry, and there was a splitting pain at the back of her head. The sky was gone and so was Daniel.

Another dream.

Only this one left her feeling almost sick with desire.

She was in a white-walled room. Lying on a hospital bed. To her left, a paper-thin curtain had been dragged halfway across the room, separating her from something bustling on the other side.

Luce gingerly touched the tender spot at the base of her neck and whimpered.

She tried to get her bearings. She didn't know where she was, but she had a distinct feeling that she wasn't at Sword & Cross any longer. Her billowy white dress was—she patted her sides—a baggy hospital gown. She could feel every part of the dream slipping away—everything but those wings. They'd been so real. The touch of them so velvety and fluid. Her stomach churned. She clenched and unclenched her fists, hyper-aware of their emptiness.

Someone grasped and squeezed her right hand. Luce turned her head quickly and winced. She'd assumed she was alone. Gabbe was perched on the edge of a faded blue rolling chair that seemed, annoyingly, to bring out the color of her eyes.

Luce wanted to pull away—or at least, she expected to want to pull away—but then Gabbe gave her the warmest smile, one that made Luce feel somehow safe, and she realized she was glad she wasn't alone.

"How much of it was a dream?" she murmured.

Gabbe laughed. She had a pot of cuticle cream on the table next to her, and she began rubbing the white, lemon-scented stuff into Luce's nail beds. "That all depends," she said, massaging Luce's fingers. "But never mind dreams. I know that whenever I feel my world turning upside down, nothing grounds me like a manicure."

Luce glanced down. She'd never been much for nail polish herself, but Gabbe's words reminded her of her mother, who was always suggesting they go for manicures whenever Luce had a bad day. As Gabbe's slow hands worked over her fingers, Luce wondered whether all these years, she'd been missing out.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"Lullwater Hospital."

Her first trip off campus and she ended up in a hospital five minutes from her parents' house. The last time she'd been here was to get three stitches on her elbow when she'd fallen off her bike. Her father hadn't left her side. Now he was nowhere to be seen.

"How long have I been here?" she asked.

Gabbe looked at a white clock on the wall and said, "They found you passed out from smoke inhalation last night around eleven. It's standard operating procedure to call for EMTs when they find a reform kid unconcious, but don't worry, Randy said they're going to let you out of here pretty soon. As soon as your parents give the okay—"

"My parents are here?"

"And filled with concern for their daughter, right down to the split ends of your mama's permed hair. They're in the hallway, drowning in paperwork. I told them I'd keep an eye on you."

Luce groaned and pressed her face into the pillow, calling up the deep pain at the back of her head again.

"If you don't want to see them…"

But Luce wasn't groaning about her parents. She was dying to see her parents. She was remembering the library, the fire, and the new breed of shadows that grew more terrifying every time they found her. They'd always been dark and unsightly, they'd always made her nervous, but last night, it had almost seemed as if the shadows wanted something from her. And then there was that other thing, the levitating force that had set her free.

"What's that look?" Gabbe asked, cocking her head and waving her hand in the air in front of Luce's face. "What are you thinking about?"

Luce didn't know what to make of Gabbe's sudden kindness toward her. Nurse's assistant didn't exactly seem like the kind of gig Gabbe would volunteer for, and it wasn't like there were any guys around whose attention she could monopolize. Gabbe didn't even seem to like Luce. She wouldn't just show up here of her own accord, would she?

But even as nice as Gabbe was being, there was no way to explain what had happened last night. The grisly, unspeakable gathering in the hallway. The surreal sensation of being propelled forward through that blackness. The strange, compelling figure of light.

"Where's Todd?" Luce asked, remembering the boy's fearful eyes. She'd lost her grip on him, gone flying, and then…

The paper curtain was suddenly slung back, and there was Arriane, wearing in-line skates and a red-and-white candy striper uniform. Her short black hair was twisted up in a series of knots on top of her head. She rolled in, carrying a tray on which sat three coconut shells topped with neon-colored umbrella party straws.

"Now lemme get this straight," she said in a throaty, nasal voice. "You put the lime in the coconut and drink 'em both up—whoa, long faces. What am I interrupting?"

Arriane wheeled to a stop at the foot of Luce's bed. She extended a coconut with a bobbing pink umbrella.

Gabbe jumped up and seized the coconut first, giving its contents a sniff. "Arriane, she has just been through a trauma," she scolded. "And for your information, what you interrupted was the topic of Todd."

Arriane tossed her shoulders back. "Precisely why she needs something with a kick," she argued, holding the tray possessively while she and Gabbe engaged in a stare-down.

"Fine," Arriane said, looking away from Gabbe. "I'll give her your boring old drink." She gave Luce the coconut with the blue straw.

Luce must have been in some kind of post-traumatic daze. Where would they have gotten any of this stuff? Coconut shells? Drink umbrellas? It was like she'd been conked out at reform school and woken up at Club Med.

"Where did you guys get all this stuff?" she asked. "I mean, thank you, but—"

"We pool our resources when we need to," Arriane said. "Roland helped."

The three of them sat slurping the frosty, sweet drinks for a moment, until Luce couldn't take it anymore. "So back to Todd…?"

"Todd," Gabbe said, clearing her throat. "Thing is… he just inhaled a lot more of that smoke than you did, honey—"

"He did not," Arriane spat. "He broke his neck."

Luce gasped, and Gabbe hit Arriane with her drink umbrella.

"What?" Arriane said. "Luce can handle it. If she's going to find out eventually, why sugarcoat it?"

"The evidence is still inconclusive," Gabbe said, stressing the words.

Arriane shrugged. "Luce was there, she must have seen—"

"I didn't see what happened to him," Luce said. "We were together and then somehow we were thrown apart. I had a bad feeling, but I didn't know," she whispered. "So he's…"

"Gone from this world," Gabbe said softly.

Luce closed her eyes. A chill spread through her that had nothing to do with the drink. She remembered Todd's frenzied banging on the walls, his sweaty hand squeezing hers when the shadows roared down on them, the awful moment when the two of them had been split apart and she'd been too overcome to go to him.

He'd seen the shadows. Luce was certain of it now. And he'd died.

After Trevor died, not a week had gone by without a hate letter finding its way to Luce. Her parents started trying to vet the mail before she could read the poisonous stuff, but too much still reached her. Some letters were handwritten, some were typed, one had even been cut from magazine letters, ransom-note style. Murderer. Witch. They'd called her enough cruel names to fill a scrapbook, caused enough agony to keep her locked inside the house all summer.

She thought she'd done so much to move on from that nightmare: leaving her past behind when she came to Sword & Cross, focusing on her classes, making friends… oh God. She sucked in her breath. "What about Penn?" she asked, biting her lip.

"Penn's fine," Arriane said. "She's all front-page-story, eyewitness-to-the-fire. She and Miss Sophia both got out, smelling like an East Georgia smoke pit, but no worse for the wear."

Luce let out her breath. At least there was one piece of good news. But under the paper-thin infirmary sheets, she was trembling. Soon, surely the same types of people who'd come to her after Trevor's death would come to her again. Not just the ones who wrote the angry letters. Dr. Sanford. Her parole officer. The police.

Just like before, she'd be expected to have the whole story pieced together. To remember every single detail. But of course, just like before, she wouldn't be able to. One minute, he'd been at her side, just the two of them. The next—

"Luce!" Penn barged into the room, holding a big brown helium balloon. It was shaped like a Band-Aid and said Stick It Out in blue cursive letters. "What is this?" she asked, looking at the other three girls critically. "Some sort of slumber party?"

Arriane had unlaced her skates and climbed onto the tiny bed next to Luce. She was double-fisting the coconut drinks and laying her head on Luce's shoulder. Gabbe was painting clear nail polish on Luce's coconut-free hand.

"Yeah," Arriane cackled. "Join us, Pennyloafer. We were just about to play Truth or Dare. We'll let you go first."

Gabbe tried to cover up her laugh with a dainty fake sneeze.

Penn put her hands on her hips. Luce felt bad for her, and was also a little scared. Penn looked pretty fierce.

"One of our classmates died last night," Penn carefully enunciated. "And Luce could have been really hurt." She shook her head. "How can you two play around at a time like this?" She sniffed. "Is that alcohol?"

"Ohhh," Arriane said, looking at Penn, her face serious. "You liked him, didn't you?"

Penn picked up a pillow from the chair behind her and chucked it at Arriane. The thing was, Penn was right. It was strange that Arriane and Gabbe were taking Todd's death… almost lightly. Like they saw this kind of thing happen all the time. Like it didn't affect them the way it affected Luce. But they couldn't know what Luce knew about Todd's last moments. They couldn't know why she felt so sick right now. She patted the foot of the bed for Penn and handed her what was left in her frosty coconut.

"We went out the back exit, and then—" Luce couldn't even say the words. "What happened to you and Miss Sophia?"

Penn glanced doubtfully at Arriane and Gabbe, but neither made a move to be obnoxious. Penn gave in and settled on the edge of the bed.

"I just went up there to ask her about—" She glanced at the other two girls again, then gave Luce a knowing look. "This question I had. She didn't know the answer, but she wanted to show me another book."

Luce had forgotten all about her and Penn's quest last night. It seemed so far away, and so beside the point after what had happened.

"We took two steps away from Miss Sophia's desk," Penn continued, "and there was this massive burst of light out of the corner of my eye. I mean, I've read about spontaneous combustion, but this was…"

All three of the other girls were leaning forward by then. Penn's story was front-page news.

"Something must have started it," Luce said, trying to picture Miss Sophia's desk in her mind. "But I didn't think there was anyone else in the library."

Penn shook her head. "There wasn't. Miss Sophia said a wire must have shorted in a lamp. Whatever happened, that fire had a lot of fuel. All her documents went right up." She snapped her fingers.

"But she's okay?" Luce asked, fingering the papery hem of her hospital gown.

"Distraught, but okay," Penn said. "The sprinklers came on eventually, but I guess she lost a whole lot of her things. When they told her what happened to Todd, it was almost like she was too numb to even understand."

"Maybe we're all too numb to understand," Luce said. This time Gabbe and Arriane nodded on either side of her. "Do—do Todd's parents know?" she asked, wondering how on earth she would explain to her own parents what had happened.

She imagined them filling out paperwork in the lobby. Would they even want to see her? Would they connect Todd's death with Trevor's… and trace both awful stories back to her?

"I overheard Randy on the phone with Todd's parents," Penn said. "I think they're filing a lawsuit. His body is being sent back to Florida later today."

That was it? Luce swallowed.

"Sword & Cross is having a memorial service for him on Thursday," Gabbe said quietly. "Daniel and I are going to help organize it."

"Daniel?" Luce repeated before she could control herself. She glanced at Gabbe, and even in her grief-stricken state, she couldn't help reverting to her initial image of the girl: a pink-lipped, blond seductress.

"He was the one who found the two of you last night," Gabbe said. "He carried you from the library to Randy's office."

Daniel had carried her? As in… his arms around her body? The dream rushed back and the sensation of flying—no, of floating—overwhelmed her. She felt too tethered down to her bed. She ached for that same sky, that rain, his mouth, his teeth, his tongue melding with hers again. Her face grew hot, first with desire, then with the agonizing impossibility of any of that ever happening while she was awake. Those glorious, blinding wings weren't the only fantastical things about that dream. The real-life Daniel would only carry her to the nurse's station. He would never want her, never take her in his arms, not like that.

"Uh, Luce, are you okay?" Penn asked. She was fanning Luce's flushed cheeks with her drink umbrella.

"Fine," Luce said. It was impossible to push those wings out of her mind. To forget the sensation of his face over hers. "Just still recovering, I guess."

Gabbe patted her hand. "When we heard about what happened, we sweet-talked Randy into letting us come visit," she said, rolling her eyes. "We didn't want you to wake up alone."

There was a knock at the door. Luce waited to see her parents' nervous faces, but no one came in. Gabbe stood and looked at Arriane, who made no move to get up. "You guys stay here. I'll handle this."

Luce was still overcome by what they'd told her about Daniel. Even though it didn't make any sense at all, she wanted it to be him outside that door.

"How is she?" a voice asked in a whisper. But Luce heard it. It was him. Gabbe murmured something back.

"What is all this congregating?" Randy growled from outside the room. Luce knew with a sinking heart that this meant visiting hours were over. "Whoever talked me into letting you hooligans tag along gets a detention. And no, Grigori, I will not accept flowers as bribes. All of you, get in the minivan."

Hearing the attendant's voice, Arriane and Penn cringed, then scrambled to stash the coconut shells under the bed. Penn stuffed the drink umbrellas inside her pencil case and Arriane spritzed the air with some serious vanilla musk perfume. She slipped Luce a piece of spearmint gum.

Penn gagged on a floating cloud of perfume, then leaned quickly into Luce and whispered, "As soon as you're back on your feet, we'll find the book. I think it'd be good for us both to stay busy, keep our minds off things."

Luce squeezed Penn's hand in thanks and smiled at Arriane, who looked too busy lacing up her roller skates to have heard.

That was when Randy barged through the door. "More congregating!" she cried. "Unbelievable."

"We were just—" Penn started to say.

"Leaving," Randy finished for her. She had a bouquet of wild white peonies in her hand. Strange. They were Luce's favorites. And it was so hard to find them in bloom around here.

Randy opened a cabinet under the sink and rooted around for a minute, then pulled out a small, dusty vase. She filled it with cloudy water from the tap, stuffed the peonies roughly inside, and set them on the table next to Luce. "These are from your friends," she said, "who will all now make their departures."

The door was wide open, and Luce could see Daniel leaning against the frame. His chin was lifted and his gray eyes were shadowed with concern. He met Luce's gaze and gave her a small smile. When he brushed his hair away from his eyes, Luce could see a small, dark red gash on his forehead.

Randy steered Penn, Arriane, and Gabbe out the door. But Luce couldn't take her eyes off Daniel. He raised a hand in the air and mouthed what she thought was I'm sorry, just before Randy shoved them out.

"I hope they didn't wear you out," Randy said, lurking in the doorway with an unsympathetic frown.

"Oh no!" Luce shook her head, realizing how much she'd come to rely on Penn's loyalty and Arriane's quirky way of lightening even the soberest mood. Gabbe, too, had been truly kind to her. And Daniel, though she'd barely seen him, had done more to restore her peace of mind than he could ever know. He'd come by to check on her. He'd been thinking of her.

"Good," Randy said. "Because visiting hours aren't over yet."

Again, Luce's heart picked up as she waited to see her parents. But there was just a brisk clicking on the linoleum floor, and soon Luce saw the tiny frame of Miss Sophia. A colorful autumnal pashmina was draped over her thin shoulders, and her lips were painted deep red to match. Behind her walked a short, bald man in a suit, and two police officers, one chubby and one thin, both with receding hairlines and crossed arms.

The chubby police officer was younger. He took a seat on the chair next to Luce, then—noticing that no one else had moved to sit down—stood back up and re-crossed his arms.

The bald man stepped forward and offered Luce his hand. "I'm Mr. Schultz, Sword & Cross's attorney." Luce stiffly shook his hand. "These officers are just going to ask you a couple of questions. Nothing to be used in a court, only an effort to corroborate details from the accident—"

"And I insisted on being here during the questioning, Lucinda," Miss Sophia added, coming forward to stroke Luce's hair. "How are you, dear?" she whispered. "In a state of amnesiac shock?"

"I'm okay—"

Luce broke off as she caught sight of two more figures in the doorway. She almost burst into tears when she saw her mother's dark, curly head and her father's big tortoiseshell glasses.

"Mom," she whispered, too low for anyone else to hear. "Dad."

They rushed toward the bed, throwing their arms around her and squeezing her hands. She wanted to hug them so badly, but she felt too weak to do much more than stay still and take in the familiar comfort of their touch. Their eyes looked just as scared as she felt.

"Honey, what happened?" her mom asked.

She couldn't say a word.

"I told them you were innocent," Miss Sophia said, turning to remind the officers. "Eerie similarities be damned."

Of course they had Trevor's accident on record, and of course the cops would find it… remarkable in light of Todd's death. Luce had enough practice with police officers to know that she was only going to leave them frustrated and annoyed.

The thin cop had long sideburns that were going gray. Her open file in his hand seemed to require his full attention, because not once did he look up at her.

"Ms. Price," he said with a slow southern drawl. "Why were you and Mr. Hammond alone in the library at such a late hour when all the other students were at a party?"

Luce glanced at her parents. Her mom was chewing off her lipstick. Her father's face was as white as the bed-sheet.

"I wasn't with Todd," she said, not understanding the line of questioning. "I was with Penn, my friend. And Miss Sophia was there. Todd was reading on his own and when the fire started, I lost Penn, and Todd was the only one I could find."

"The only one you could find… to do what with?"

"Hold on a minute." Mr. Schultz stepped forward to interrupt the cop. "This was an accident, may I remind you. You're not interrogating a suspect."

"No, I want to answer," Luce said. There were so many people in this tiny room that she didn't know where to look. She eyed the cop. "What do you mean?"

"Are you an angry person, Ms. Price?" He gripped the folder. "Would you call yourself a loner?"

"That's enough," her father interrupted.

"Yes, Lucinda is a serious student," Miss Sophia added. "She had no ill will toward Todd Hammond. What happened was an accident, no more."

The officer glanced toward the open doorway, as if wishing Miss Sophia would relocate herself outside it. "Yes, ma'am. Well, with these reform school cases, giving the benefit of the doubt is not always the most responsible—"

"I'll tell you everything I know," Luce said, balling up her sheet in her fist. "I don't have anything to hide."

She took them through it as best she could, speaking slowly and clearly so she would raise no new questions for her parents, so the cops could take notes. She didn't let herself slide into emotion, which seemed like exactly what everyone was expecting. And—leaving out the appearance of the shadows—the story made a lot of sense.

They'd run for the back door. They'd found the exit at the end of a long corridor. The stairs dropped quickly, steeply off the ledge, and she and Todd had both been running with such force, they couldn't stop themselves from tumbling down the stairs. She lost track of him, hit her head hard enough to wake up here twelve hours later. That was all she remembered.

She left them very little to argue over. There was only her true memory of the night for her to grapple with—on her own.

When it was over, Mr. Schultz gave the police officers an are-you-satisfied tilt of his head, and Miss Sophia beamed at Luce, as if together they'd succeeded at something impossible. Luce's mother let out a long sigh.

"We'll mull this over at the station," the thin officer said, closing Luce's file with such resignation, he seemed to want to be thanked for his services.

Then the four of them left the room and she was alone with her parents.

She gave them her very best take-me-home look. Her mom's lip trembled, but her dad only swallowed.

"Randy's going to take you back to Sword & Cross this afternoon," he said. "Don't look so shocked, honey. The doctor said you're fine."

"More than fine," her mom added, but she sounded uncertain.

Her dad patted her arm. "We'll see you on Saturday. Just a few more days."

Saturday. She closed her eyes. Parents' Day. She'd been looking forward to it from the moment she'd arrived at Sword & Cross, but now everything was tainted by Todd's death. Her parents seemed almost eager to leave her. They had a way of not really wanting to deal with the realities of having a reform school daughter. They were so normal. She couldn't really blame them.

"Get some rest now, Luce," her dad said, bending down to kiss her forehead. "You've had a long, hard night."

"But—"

She was exhausted. She briefly closed her eyes and when she opened them, her parents were already waving from the doorway.

She plucked a plump white flower from the vase and brought it slowly to her face, admiring the deeply lobed leaves and fragile petals, the still-moist drops of nectar inside its center. She breathed in the flower's soft, spicy scent.

She tried to imagine the way they would have looked in Daniel's hands. She tried to imagine where he'd gotten them, and what had been on his mind.

It was such a strange choice of flower. Wild peonies didn't grow in Georgia wetlands. They wouldn't even take to the soil in her father's garden in Thunderbolt. What was more, these didn't look like any peonies Luce had ever seen before. The blooms were as large as cupped palms, and the smell reminded her of something she couldn't quite put her finger on.