Hurry up. You're wasting time. The tide's going out now, anyway.

Shelby hadn't heard that? How callous and unremorseful Daniel sounded?

Then Luce remembered: It wasn't that long ago that she couldn't hear the Announcers either. Before, their noises used to be just that--noises: rustlings and thick, wet whooshes through treetops. It was Steven who'd told her how to tune in the voices inside. In a way, Luce almost wished he hadn't.

There had to be more to this message. "I have to glimpse it again," Luce said, stepping toward the open window. Shelby tugged her back.

"Oh, no you don't. That Announcer could be anywhere by now, and you're under dorm arrest, remember?" Shelby pushed Luce down in her desk chair. "You're going to stay right here while I go down to Kramer's o ce to retrieve my turkey. We're both going to forget this ever happened. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good. I'll be back in ve minutes, so don't disappear on me."

But as soon as the door closed, Luce was out the window, climbing to the at part of the ledge where she and Daniel had sat the night before. Putting what she'd just seen out of her mind was impossible. She had to summon that shadow again. Even if it got her in more trouble. Even if she saw something she didn't like.

The late morning had turned gusty, and Luce had to crouch down and hold on to the slanting wooden shingles to keep her balance. Her hands were cold. Her heart felt numb. She closed her eyes. Every time she tried to summon an Announcer, she remembered how little training she'd had. She'd always just been lucky--if watching your boyfriend look down at someone he'd just murdered could be considered luck.

A damp brushing crept along her arms. Was it the brown shadow, the ugly thing that showed her an even uglier thing? Her eyes shot open.

It was. Creeping up her shoulder like a snake. She yanked it o and held it in front of her, trying to spin it into a ball with her hands. The Announcer rejected her touch, oating backward, out of her reach just past the roof's edge.

She looked down two stories to the ground below. A trail of students were leaving the dorm to head to the mess hall for brunch, a stream of color moving along a sheet of bright green grass. Luce teetered. Vertigo hit, and she felt herself falling forward.

But then the shadow rushed like a football player, knocking her back against the slope of the roof. There she stayed, stuck against the shingles, panting as the Announcer yawned open again.

The smoky veil di used into light, and Luce was back with Daniel and his bloody branch. Back to the caw of seagulls circling overhead and the stench of rotting surf along the shore, the sight of icy waves crashing on the beach. And back to the two gures huddled on the ground. The dead one was all tied up. The living one stood to face Daniel.

Cam.

No. It had to be a mistake. They hated one another. Had just waged a huge battle against one another. She could accept that Daniel did dark things to protect her from the people who were after her. But what foul thing would ever make him seek out Cam? Work alongside Cam--who took pleasure in killing?

They were in a heated discussion of some sort, but Luce couldn't make out the words. She couldn't hear anything over the clock in the middle of the terrace, which had just struck eleven. She strained her ears, waiting for the gongs to cease.

"Let me take her to Shoreline," she nally heard Daniel plead.

This must have been right before she arrived in California. But why should Daniel have to ask Cam's permission? Unless--

"Fine," Cam said evenly. "Take her as far as the school and then nd me. Don't screw up; I'll be watching."

"And then?" Daniel sounded nervous.

Cam ran his eyes over Daniel's face. "You and I have work to do."

"No!" Luce screamed, slashing at the shadow with her ngers in anger.

But as soon as she felt her hands break through the cold, slippery surface, she regretted it. It broke into spent fragments, settling into an ashy pile at her side. Now she couldn't see anymore. She tried to gather the fragments up the way she'd seen Miles do, but they were quivering and unresponsive. unresponsive.

She grabbed a stful of the worthless pieces, sobbing into them.

Steven had said that sometimes the Announcers distorted what was real. Like the shadows cast on the cave wall. But that there was always some truth to them too. Luce could feel the truth in the cold, soggy pieces, even as she wrung them out, trying to squeeze out all her agony.

Daniel and Cam weren't enemies. They were partners.

Chapter Fifteen

FOUR DAYS

"More Tofurky?" Connor Madson--a towheaded kid from Luce's biology class and one of Shoreline's student waiters--stood over her with a silver platter at the Harvest Fest on Monday night.

"No, thanks." Luce pointed down at the thick stack of lukewarm fake meat slices still on her plate.

"Maybe later." Connor and the rest of the scholarship wait sta at Shoreline were suited up for the Harvest Fest in tuxedos and ridiculous pilgrim hats. They glided past each other on the terrace, which was nearly unrecognizable as the swanky-casual place to grab some pancakes before class; it had been transformed into a full- edged outdoor banquet hall.

Shelby was still grumbling as she moved from table to table, adjusting place cards and relighting candles. She and the rest of the Decorations Committee had done a beautiful job: Red-and-orange silk leaves had been strewn across the long white tablecloths, fresh-baked dinner rolls were arranged inside gold-painted cornucopias, heat lamps took the edge o the brisk ocean breeze. Even the paint-by-number turkey centerpieces looked stylish.

All the students, the faculty, and about fty of the school's biggest donors had turned out in their nest for the dinner. Dawn and her parents had driven up for the night. Though Luce hadn't gotten a chance to talk to Dawn yet, she looked recovered, even happy, and had waved to Luce cheerfully from her seat next to Jasmine.

Most of the twenty or so Nephilim were seated together at two adjacent circular tables, with the exception of Roland, who was sitting in a faraway corner with a mysterious date. Then the mysterious date stood up, lifted her broad rosebud-shaped hat, and gave Luce a sneaky little wave.

Arriane.

Despite herself, Luce smiled--but a second later, she felt close to tears. Watching those two snickering together reminded Luce of the sickeningly sinister scene she had glimpsed in the Announcer the day before. Like Cam and Daniel, Arriane and Roland were supposed to be on opposite sides, but everybody knew they were a team.

Still, that felt di erent somehow.

Harvest Fest was supposed to be a last pre-Thanksgiving hurrah before classes were dismissed. Then everyone else would have another Thanksgiving, a real Thanksgiving, with their families. For Luce, it was the only Thanksgiving she was going to get. Mr. Cole hadn't written her back. After yesterday's grounding and then the rooftop revelation, she was having a hard time feeling thankful for much of anything.

"You're hardly eating," Francesca said, spooning a great dollop of shiny mashed potatoes onto Luce's plate. Luce was growing more attuned to the thrilling glow that fell over everything when Francesca was talking to her. Francesca possessed an otherworldly charisma, simply by virtue of being an angel.

She beamed at Luce like there'd been no meeting in her o ce yesterday, like Luce wasn't under lock and key.

Luce had been given the seat of honor at the expansive faculty head table, next to Francesca. All the donors came by in a stream to shake hands with the faculty. The three other students at the head table--Lilith, Beaker Brady, and a Korean girl with a dark bob Luce didn't know--had applied for their seats in an essay contest. All Luce had had to do was piss o her teachers enough that they were afraid to let her out of their sight.

The meal was nally wrapping up when Steven leaned forward in his chair. Like Francesca, he displayed none of yesterday's venom. "Make sure Luce introduces herself to Dr. Buchanan."

Francesca popped the last bite of a buttered corn bread mu n into her mouth. "Buchanan's one of the biggest supporters of the school," she told Luce. "You might have heard of his Devils Abroad program?"

Luce shrugged as the waiters reappeared to clear the plates.

"His ex-wife had angel lineage, but after the porce he shifted some of his alliances. Still"--Francesca glanced at Steven--"a very good person to know. Oh, hello, Ms. Fisher! How nice of you to come."

"Yes, hello." An elderly woman with an a ected British accent, a bulky mink coat, and more diamonds around her neck than Luce had ever seen before extended a white-gloved hand to Steven, who stood up to greet her. Francesca rose too, leaning forward to greet the woman with a kiss on either cheek. "Where's my Miles?" the woman asked.

Luce jumped up. "Oh, you must be Miles's ... grandmother?"

"Good heavens, no." The woman recoiled. "Don't have children, never married, boo-hoo-hoo. I am Ms. Ginger Fisher, from the NorCal branch of the family tree. Miles is my great-nephew. And you are?"

"Lucinda Price."

"Lucinda Price, yes." Ms. Fisher looked down her nose at Luce, squinting. "Read about you in one or another of the histories. Though I can't recall what it was exactly that you did--"

Before Luce could respond, Steven's hands were on her shoulders. "Luce is one of our newest students," he boomed. "You'll be happy to know that Miles has really gone out of his way to make her feel comfortable here."

Ms. Fisher's squinty eyes were already looking past them, searching the crowded lawn. The guests had mostly nished eating, and now Shelby was lighting the tiki torches staked into the ground. When the torch closest to the head table grew bright, it illuminated Miles, leaning over the next table to clear away some plates.

"Is that my grand-nephew--waiting tables?" Ms. Fisher pressed a gloved hand to her forehead.

"Actually," Shelby said, butting into the conversation, the torch lighter in one hand, "he's the trash--"

"Shelby." Francesca cut her o . "I think that tiki torch near the Nephilim tables has just burned out. Could you x it? Now?"

"You know what?" Luce said to Ms. Fisher. "I'll go get Miles and bring him over. You must be eager to catch up."

Miles had traded in the Dodgers cap and sweatshirt for a pair of brown tweed slacks and a bright orange button-down shirt. Kind of a bold Miles had traded in the Dodgers cap and sweatshirt for a pair of brown tweed slacks and a bright orange button-down shirt. Kind of a bold choice, but it looked good.

"Hey!" He waved her over with the hand that wasn't balancing a stack of dirty plates. Miles didn't seem to mind busing tables. He was grinning, in his element, chatting with everyone at the banquet as he cleared their plates.

When Luce approached, he put the plates down and gave her a big hug, squeezing her closer at the end.

"Are you okay?" he asked, tilting his head to one side so that his brown hair opped over his eyes. He didn't seem used to the way his hair moved without his cap on, and he icked it quickly back. "You don't look so good. I mean--you look great, that's not what I meant. At all. I really like that dress. And your hair looks pretty. But you also look kind of"--he frowned--"down."

"That's disturbing." Luce kicked the grass with the toe of her black high heel. "Because this is the best I've felt all night."