Passion

FOUR TIME WOUNDS ALL HEELS

Daniel felt guarded and on edge as he pushed out of the Announcer.

He was unpracticed at how to quickly make sense of the new time and place, not knowing exactly where he was or what he should do. Knowing that at least one version of Luce was bound to be nearby, bound to need him.

The room was white. White sheets on the bed in front of him, white-framed window in the corner, bright white sunshine beating through the pane. For a moment, all was quiet. Then the chatter of memories rushed in.

Milan.

He was back in the hospital where she had been his nurse during the first of the mortal world wars. There, in the bed in the corner, was Traverti, his roommate from Salerno who’d stepped on a land mine on his way to the canteen. Both of Traverti’s legs had been burned and broken, but he was so charming he had all the nurses sneaking him bottles of whiskey. He’d always had a joke for Daniel. And there, on the other side of the room, was Max Porter, the Brit with the burned face, who never made a peep until he screamed and fell to pieces when they took his bandage off.

Right now, both of Daniel’s old roommates were far gone in morphine-induced afternoon naps.

In the middle of the room was the bed where he had lain after that bullet found his neck near the Piave River front. It was a stupid attack; they had walked right into it. But Daniel had only enlisted in the war because Lucia was a nurse, so it was just as well. He rubbed at the place where he’d been hit. He could feel the pain almost as if it had happened yesterday.

If Daniel had stuck around long enough to let the wound heal, the doctors would have been amazed by the absence of a scar. Today, his neck was smooth and flawless, as if he had never been shot.

Over the years, Daniel had been beaten, battered, flung over balconies, shot in the neck and the gut and the leg, tortured over hot coals, and dragged through a dozen city streets. But a close study of every inch of his skin would reveal only two small scars: two fine white lines above his shoulder blades where his wings unfurled.

All of the fallen angels acquired these scars when they took their human bodies. In a way, the scars were all any of them had to show for themselves.

Most of the others reveled in their immunity to scarring. Well, except for Arriane, but the scar on her neck was another story. But Cam and even Roland would pick the most gruesome fights with just about anyone on Earth. Of course, they never lost to mortals, but they seemed to like getting a little bit shattered on the way. In a couple of days, they knew they’d look flawless again.

For Daniel, an existence without scars was just another indication that his destiny was out of his hands. Nothing he did ever made a dent. The weight of his own futility was crushing—especially when it came to Luce.

And he suddenly remembered seeing her here, back in 1918. Luce. And he remembered fleeing the hospital.

That was the one thing that could leave a scar on Daniel—on his soul.

He’d been confused by seeing her back then, just as he was confused now. At the time, he’d thought there was no way that the mortal Lucinda should be able to do this—to run pell-mell through time, visiting her old selves. No way she should be alive at all. Now, of course, Daniel knew that something had changed with the life of Lucinda Price, but what was it? It started with her lack of covenant with Heaven, but there was more—

Why couldn’t he figure it out? He knew the rules and parameters of the curse as well as he knew anything, so how could the answer elude him—

Luce. She must have worked the change into her own past herself. The realization made his heart flutter. It must have happened during this very flight of hers through the Announcers. Of course, she must have shifted something to make all of this possible. But when? Where? How? Daniel could not interfere with any of it.

He had to find her, just as he’d always promised he would. But he also had to make sure she managed to do whatever it was she had to do, worked whatever change into her past she needed to work so that Lucinda Price—his Luce—could happen.

Maybe if he could catch up with her, he could help. He could steer her toward the moment when she changed the rules of the game for all of them. He’d just missed her in Moscow, but he would find her in this life. He just had to figure out why she had landed here. There was always a reason, something held inside, in deep folds of her memory—

Oh.

His wings burned and he felt ashamed. This life in Italy had been a dark and ugly death for her. One of the worst. He would never stop blaming himself for the horrible way she had passed out of this life.

But that was years after where Daniel stood today. This was the hospital where they’d first met, when Lucia was so young and lovely, innocent and saucy in the same breath. Here she had loved him instantly and completely. Though she was too young for Daniel to show he loved her back, he had never discouraged her affection. She used to slip her hand inside his when they strolled under the orange trees on the Piazza della Repubblica, but when he squeezed her hand, she would blush. It always made him laugh, the way she could be so bold, then suddenly turn shy. She used to tell him that she wanted to marry him someday.

“You’re back!”

Daniel spun around. He hadn’t heard the door behind him opening. Lucia jumped when she saw him. She was beaming, showing a perfect row of tiny white teeth. Her beauty took his breath away.

What did she mean, he was back? Ah, this was when he’d hidden from Luce, frightened of killing her by accident. He was not allowed to reveal anything to her; she had to discover the details for herself. Were he even to hint broadly, she would simply combust. Had he stayed, she might have grilled him and perhaps forced the truth out of him.… He didn’t dare.

So his earlier self had run away. He must be in Bologna by now.

“Are you feeling all right?” Lucia asked, walking toward him. “You really should lie back down. Your neck”—she reached out to touch the place where he’d been shot over ninety years ago. Her eyes widened and she drew back her hand. She shook her head. “I thought—I could have sworn—”

She began to fan her face with the stack of files she was holding. Daniel took her hand and led her to sit on the edge of the bed with him. “Please,” he said, “can you tell me, was there a girl here—”

A girl just like you.

“Doria?” Lucia asked. “Your … friend? With pretty short hair and the funny shoes?”

“Yes.” Daniel exhaled. “Can you show me where she is? It’s very urgent.”

Lucia shook her head. She couldn’t stop staring at his neck.

“How long have I been here?” he asked.

“You just arrived last night,” she said. “You don’t remember?”

“Things are fuzzy,” Daniel lied. “I must have taken a knock to the head.”

“You were very badly wounded.” She nodded. “Nurse Fiero didn’t think you were going to make it until morning when the doctors came—”

“No.” He remembered. “She didn’t.”

“But then you did, and we were all so glad. I think Doria stayed with you all night. Do you remember that?”

“Why would she do that?” Daniel said sharply, startling Lucia.

But of course Luce had stayed with him. Daniel would have done the same thing.

At his side, Lucia sniffed. He’d upset her, when it was really himself he had to be angry with. He put an arm around her shoulder, feeling almost dizzy. How easy it was to fall in love with every moment of her existence! He made himself lean back to focus.

“Do you know where she is now?”

“She went away.” Lucia chewed on her lip nervously. “After you left, she was upset, and she took off somewhere. But I don’t know where.”

So she had run away again already. What a fool Daniel was, plodding through time while Luce was racing. He had to catch her, though; maybe he could help steer her toward that moment when she could make all the difference. Then he would never leave her side, never let any harm come to her, only be with her and love her always.

He leaped up from the bed. He was at the door when the young girl’s hand tugged him back.

“Where are you going?”

“I have to go.”

“After her?”

“Yes.”

“But you should stay a little longer.” Her palm was damp inside his. “The doctors, they all said you need some rest,” she said softly. “I don’t know what’s come over me. I just can’t bear it if you go.”

Daniel felt horrible. He pressed her small hand to his heart. “We’ll meet again.”

“No.” She shook her head. “My father said that, and my brother, and then they went to the war and they died. I don’t have anyone left. Please don’t go.”

He couldn’t bear to. But if he ever wanted to find her again, leaving now was his only chance.

“When the war is over, you and I will meet again. You’ll go to Florence one summer, and when you’re ready, you will find me at the Boboli Gardens—”

“I’ll do what?”

“Right behind the Pitti Palace, at the end of Spider’s Lane, where the hydrangeas bloom. Look for me.”

“You must be feverish. This is crazy!”

He nodded. He knew it was. He loathed that there was no alternative to setting this beautiful, sweet girl on such an ugly course. She had to go to the gardens then, just as Daniel had to go after Lucinda now.

“I will be there, waiting for you. Trust in that.”

When he kissed her forehead, her shoulders began to shake with quiet sobs. Against every instinct, Daniel turned away, darting off to find an Announcer that could take him back.