Rapture

NINETEEN LUCINDA’S PRICE

Nothing but white.

Luce sensed she and Lucifer had returned to Troy, but she couldn’t be sure. The world was too bright, ivory on fire. It blazed in total silence.

At first the light was everything. It was white-hot, blinding.

Then, slowly, it began to fade.

The scene before Luce sharpened: The lessening light allowed the field, the slender cypress trees, the goats grazing on blond straw, the angels around her to come into focus. This light’s brilliance seemed to have a tex-ture, like feathers brushing her skin. Its power made her humble and afraid.

It faded further, seemed to shrink, condensing as it drew in on itself. Everything dimmed, lost its color as the light pulled away. It gathered into a brilliant sphere, a tiny glowing orb, brightest at its core, hovering ten feet from the ground. It pulsed and flickered as its rays took shape. They stretched, glittering like pulled sugar, into a head, a torso, legs, arms. Hands.

A nose.

A mouth.

Until the light became a person.

A woman.

The Throne in human form.

Long before, Luce had been a favorite of the Throne—she knew that now, knew it in the fabric of her soul—yet Luce had never really known the Throne at all. No being was capable of that kind of knowledge.

It was the way of things, the nature of divinity. To describe her was to reduce her. So here, now, even though she looked very much like a queen in a flowing white robe, the Throne was still the Throne—which meant that she was everything. Luce couldn’t stop staring.

She was staggeringly beautiful, her hair spun silver and gold. Her eyes, blue like a crystal ocean, exuded the power to see everything, everywhere. As the Throne gazed across the Trojan plains, Luce thought she recognized a flash of her own face in God’s expression—determined, the way Luce Price’s jaw clenched when she’d made up her mind. She’d seen it in her reflection a thousand times before.

And when God’s face shifted to take in the audience before her, her expression changed into something else.

It looked like Daniel’s devotion; it captured that particular light in his eyes. Now, in the slack, open way she held her hands, Luce recognized her mother’s selflessness—and now she saw the proud smile that belonged only to Penn.

Except Luce saw now that it didn’t belong to Penn.

Every fleeting trace of life found its origin in the force standing before Luce. She could see how the whole world—mortals and angels alike—had been created in the Throne’s mercurial image.

An ivory chair appeared at one edge of the plain. The chair was made of an otherworldly substance Luce knew she had seen before: the same material as in the silver staff with the curled spiral tip that the Throne held in her left hand.

When the Throne took her seat, Annabelle, Arriane, and Francesca rushed to come before her, falling on their knees in adoration. The Throne’s smile shone down on them, casting rainbows of light on their wings. The angels hummed together in harmonious delight.

Arriane raised her glowing face, beating her wings to rise to address the Throne. Her voice burst out in glorious song. “Gabbe’s gone.”

“Yes,” the Throne hummed back, though of course the Throne already knew this. It was a ritual of commis-eration rather than a sharing of information. Luce remembered that this was the purpose for which the Throne created speech and song; it was meant to be another way of feeling, another wing to brush up against your friend’s.

Then Arriane’s and Annabelle’s feet skimmed the ground and they fluttered up above the Throne. They hovered there, facing Luce and the rest of their friends, gazing adoringly at their Creator. Their formation looked strange—somehow incomplete—until Luce realized something:

The ledges.

Arriane and Annabelle were taking their old places as Archangels. In Heaven’s Meadow, the rippled silver ledges had once formed an arch over the head of the Throne. They were back where they belonged: Arriane just to the right of the Throne’s shoulders, and Annabelle only inches off the ground near the Throne’s right hand.

Bright gaps shone in the space around the Throne.

Luce remembered which ledge Cam used to fly to, which was Roland’s, and which one belonged to Daniel. She caught flashes of Molly’s place before the Throne, and Steven’s, too—though they were not Archangels, but angels who adored happily from the Meadow.

At last, she saw Lucifer’s and her places, their matching silver ledges on the Throne’s left side. Her wings tingled. It was all so clear.

The other fallen angels—Roland, Cam, Steven, Daniel, and Lucifer—did not step forward to adore the Throne. Luce felt torn. Adoring the Throne came naturally; it was what Lucinda was made for. But somehow she couldn’t move. The Throne looked neither disappointed nor surprised.

“Where is the Fall, Lucifer?” The voice made Luce want to fall on her knees and pray.

“Only God can tell,” Lucifer growled. “It doesn’t matter. Perhaps I didn’t want it after all.” The Throne twirled her silver staff in her hands, worrying a muddy recess into the soil where its end met the earth. A vine of silver white lilies sprang up, lashing in a spiral around the staff. The Throne didn’t seem to notice; she fixed her blue eyes on Lucifer until his blue eyes twitched up to lock with hers.

“I believe the first two statements,” the Throne said,

“and soon you will be convinced of the last. My indul-gence has very famous limits.”

Lucifer started to speak, but the Throne’s gaze passed from him, and he kicked the earth in frustration. It opened up beneath him, lava bubbling and cooling on the ground, a personal volcano.

With the slightest gesture of her hand, the Throne brought them back to attention. “We must deal with the curse of Lucinda and Daniel,” she said.

Luce swallowed hard, feeling terror edge along her stomach.

But the Throne’s phosphorescent eyes were kind when she tucked a silver-gold strand of hair behind her ear, leaned back in her throne, and surveyed the gathering before her. “As you know, the time has come for me to again ask these two a question.”

Everyone quieted, even the wind.

“Lucinda, we’ll begin with you.”

Luce nodded. The calmness of her wings juxtaposed her pounding heart. It was a strangely mortal sensation, reminding her of being called before the principal at school. She approached the Throne, head bowed.

“You have paid your debt of suffering over these past six-odd millennia—”

“It wasn’t only suffering,” Luce said. “There were difficult times, but”—she looked around her at the friends she’d made, at Daniel, even at Lucifer—“there was a lot of beauty, too.”

The Throne gave Luce a curious smile. “You have also met the conditions of discovering your nature without help—of being true to yourself. Would you say that you have come to know your soul?”

“Yes,” Luce said. “Deeply.”

“You are now more fully Lucinda than you ever have been. Any decision you make bears not just the knowledge you bring to it as an angel, but also the weight of seven thousand years of life lessons in every state of human being.”

“I am humbled by my responsibility,” she said, using words that didn’t sound anything like Luce Price, but, she realized, sounded everything like Lucinda, her true soul.

“You may have heard it said that in this lifetime, your soul is ‘up for grabs’?”

“Yes. I’ve heard that.”

“And you may have heard something about a balance between the angels of Heaven and the forces of Lucifer?”

Luce nodded slowly.

“And so the question falls to you once more: Will it be Heaven, or will it be Hell? You have learned your lessons and are now four hundred lives the wiser, so we ask you again: Where do you wish to spend eternity? If it is to be Heaven, allow me to say that we will welcome you home and see that the transition is made easy.” God cast her eyes on Lucifer, but Luce didn’t follow suit. “If Hell is your choice, I hazard to guess that Lucifer will accept you?”

Lucifer did not respond. Luce heard heavy shuffling behind her. She swiveled around to see the backs of his wings twisted into a knot.

It had not been easy inside the Fall to tell Lucifer she did not love him, would not choose him. It felt impossible to say the same thing to the Throne. Luce stood before the power that created her and had never felt more like a child.

“Lucinda?” The Throne’s stare bore down on her. “It falls to you to tip the scale.”

The conversation she’d had with Arriane in the Vegas IHOP came back to her again: In the end, it was going to come down to one powerful angel choosing a side. When that happenned, the scale would finally tip.

“It falls to me?”

The Throne nodded as if Luce should have known this all along. “The last time you refused to choose.”

“No, that isn’t true,” Luce said. “I chose love! Just now, you asked whether I knew my soul, and I do. I must stay true to who I am and place love highest of all.” Daniel reached for her hand. “We chose love then and we will make the same choice today.”

“And if you curse us for it now,” Luce said, “the outcome will be the same. We found each other over and over for seven thousand years. You are all witnesses. We will do it again.”

“Lucifer?” the Throne asked. “What do you say to this?”

He looked at Luce with blazing eyes, his pain obvious to everyone there. “I say we will all regret this moment forever. It is the wrong choice, and a selfish one.”

“There is always some regret when we accept that love has moved away from us.” The even voice came from the Throne. “But I will take your response as a small display of mercy and acquiescence, which offers the universe some hope. Lucinda and Daniel have made their choice clear and I hold us both to our vows made at the Roll Call. Their love is out of our hands. So be it.

But it will come at a price.” She shifted her gaze back to Luce and Daniel. “Are you prepared to pay the ultimate sacrifice for your love?”

Daniel shook his head. “If I have Lucinda, and Lucinda has me, there is no such thing as sacrifice.” Lucifer cackled, soaring off his feet and hovering in the air above Luce and Daniel. “So, we could rob everything from you—your wings, your strength, your immortality? And still you’d choose your love?” From the corner of her eye, Luce caught a glimpse of Arriane. Her wings were folded behind her. Her hands were stuffed inside the pockets of her overalls. She nodded smugly, lips pursed in satisfaction, as if to say, Hell yeah, they would.

“Yes.” Luce and Daniel spoke as one.

“Fine,” the Throne responded. “But understand:

There is a price. You may have each other, but you may have nothing else. If you choose love once and for all, you must give up your angelic natures. You will be born again, made anew as mortals.”

Mortals?

Daniel, her angel, reborn as a mortal?

All these nights she’d lain wondering what would become of her and Daniel’s love at the end of these nine days. Now the Throne’s decision reminded her of Bill’s suggestion that Luce kill her reincarnating soul in Egypt.

Even then, she’d considered living out her mortal life and leaving Daniel to his own. There would be no more pain from another lost love. She’d almost been able to do it. What stopped her was the thought of losing Daniel. But this time . . .

She could have him, really have him, for a long time.

Everything would be different. He would be at her side.

“If you accept”—the Throne’s voice rose above Lucifer’s raspy chortle—“you won’t remember what you once were, and I cannot guarantee that you will meet during your lifetime on Earth. You will live and you will die, just as any other mortal in creation. The powers of Heaven that have always drawn you to each other will pull away. No angel will cross your path.” She gave a warning look to the angels, Luce and Daniel’s friends.

“No friendly hand will appear in darkest night to guide you. You will be truly on your own.”

A soft sound escaped Daniel’s lips. She turned to him and took his hand. So they would be mortals, wandering the Earth in search of their other half, just like everyone else. It sounded like a beautiful proposition.

From just behind them Cam said, “Mortality is the most romantic story ever told. Just one chance to do everything you should. Then, magically, you move on..” But Daniel looked crestfallen.

“What is it?” Luce whispered. “You don’t want to?”

“You only just got back your wings.”

“Which is exactly why I know I can be happy without them. As long as I have you. You’re the one who’d really be giving them up. Are you sure it’s what you want?”

Daniel lowered his face to hers, his lips close, soft.

“Always.”

Tears welled in Luce’s eyes as Daniel turned back to face the Throne.

“We accept.”

Around them, the glow of wings grew very bright, until the whole field hummed with light. And Luce felt the other angels—their dear and precious friends—move from wild anticipation into shock.

“Very well,” the Throne almost whispered, her expression inscrutable.

“Wait!” Luce shouted. There was one more thing.

“We—we accept on one condition.”

Daniel stirred beside her, watching Luce from the corner of his eye, but he didn’t interrupt.

“What is your condition?” the Throne boomed, resoundingly unaccustomed to negotiation.

“Take the Outcasts back into the fold of Heaven,” she said before her confidence failed. “They have proven themselves worthy. If there was room enough to take me back into your Meadow, there is room enough for the Outcasts.”

The Throne looked at the Outcasts, who were silent and glowing dimly. “This is unorthodox but, at its core, a selfless request. You shall have it.” Slowly, she extended one of her arms. “Outcasts, step forward if you would enter Heaven once again.”

The four Outcasts strode to stand before the Throne, with more purpose than Luce had ever before seen them possess. Then, with a single nod, the Throne restored their wings.

They lengthened.

Thickened.

Their tattered brown color drained into a brilliant white.

And then the Outcasts smiled. Luce had never seen one smile before, and they were beautiful.

At the end of their metamorphosis, the Outcasts’ eyes bulged as their irises bloomed back into sight. They could see again.

Even Lucifer looked impressed. He muttered, “Only Lucinda could pull that off.”

“It is a miracle!” Olianna hugged her wings around her body to admire them.

“That’s her job,” Luce said.

The Outcasts returned to their old positions of adoration around the Throne.

“Yes.” The Throne closed her eyes to accept their adoration. “I believe that’s better after all.” Finally, the Throne raised her staff in the air and pointed it at Luce and Daniel. “It is time to say goodbye.”

“Already?” Luce didn’t mean to let the word slip.

“Make your farewells.”

The former Outcasts swept Luce with gratitude and hugs, binding her and Daniel in their arms. When they pulled away, Francesca and Steven stood before them, arms linked, gorgeous, beaming.

“We always knew you could do it.” Steven winked at Luce. “Didn’t we, Francesca?”

Francesca nodded. “I was hard on you, but you proved yourself to be one of the most impressive souls I have ever had the pleasure of instructing. You are an enigma, Luce. Keep it up.”

Steven shook Daniel’s hand and Francesca kissed their cheeks before they backed away.

“Thank you,” Luce said. “Take care of each other.

And take care of Shelby and Miles, too.”

Then angels were all around them, the old crew who’d formed at Sword & Cross and hundreds of other places before that.

Arriane, Roland, Cam, and Annabelle. They’d saved Luce more times than she could ever say.

“This is hard.” Luce folded herself into Roland’s arms.

“Oh, come on. You already saved the world.” He laughed. “Now go save your relationship.”

“Don’t listen to Dr. Phil!” Arriane squealed. “Don’t ever leave us!” She was trying to laugh but it wasn’t working. Rebellious tears streamed down her face. She didn’t wipe them away; she just held on tight to Annabelle’s hand. “Okay, fine, go!”

“We’ll be thinking of you,” Annabelle said. “Always.”

“I’ll be thinking of you, too.” Luce had to believe it was true. Otherwise, if she was really going to forget all this, she couldn’t bear to leave them.

But the angels smiled sadly, knowing she had to forget them.

That left Cam, who was standing close to Daniel, their arms clapped around each other’s shoulders. “You pulled it off, brother.”

“Course I did.” Daniel played at being haughty, but it came off as love. “Thanks to you.”

Cam took Luce’s hand. His eyes were bright green, the first color that ever stood out to her in the grim, dreary world of Sword & Cross.

He tilted his head and swallowed, considering his words carefully.

He drew her close, and for a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. Her heart pounded as his lips by-passed hers and came to a stop, whispering in her ear:

“Don’t let him flip you off next time.”

“You know I won’t.” She laughed.

“Ah, Daniel, a mere shadow of a true bad boy.” He pressed a hand to his heart and raised an eyebrow at her.

“Make sure he treats you well. You deserve the best of everything there is.”

For once, she didn’t want to let go of his hand. “What will you do?”

“When you’re ruined, there’s so much to choose from. Everything opens up.” He looked past her into the distant desert clouds. “I’ll play my role. I know it well. I know goodbye.”

He winked at Luce, nodded one final time at Daniel, then rolled back his shoulders, spread his tremendous golden wings, and vanished into the roiling sky.

Everyone watched until Cam’s wings were a fleck of far-off gold. When Luce lowered her eyes, they fell on Lucifer. His skin had its lovely shimmer, but his eyes were glacial. He said nothing, and it seemed he would have held her in his gaze forever if she hadn’t turned away.

She had done all she could for him. His pain was not her problem anymore.

The voice boomed from the Throne. “One more goodbye.”

Together, Luce and Daniel turned to acknowledge the Throne, but the second their eyes fell upon it, the stately figure of the woman blazed into white-hot glory, and they had to shield their eyes.

The Throne was indiscernible again, a gathering of light too brilliant to be gazed upon by angels.

“Hey, guys.” Arriane sniffed. “I think she meant for you two to say goodbye to each other.”

“Oh,” Luce said, turning to Daniel, suddenly panicked. “Right now? We have to—”

He took her hand. His wings brushed hers. He kissed the centers of her cheeks.

“I’m afraid,” she whispered.

“What did I tell you?”

She sifted through the million exchanges she and Daniel had ever shared—the good, the sad, the ugly. One rose above the clouds of her mind.

She was shaking. “That you will always find me.”

“Yes. Always. No matter what.”

“Daniel—”

“I can’t wait to make you the love of my mortal life.”

“But you won’t know me. You won’t remember. Everything will be different.”

He wiped away her tear with his thumb. “And you think that will stop me?”

She closed her eyes. “I love you too much to say goodbye.”

“It isn’t goodbye.” He gave her one last angelic kiss and embraced her so tightly she could hear his steady heartbeat, overlapping her own. “It’s until we meet again.”