by Lauren Kate
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.
FIVE
OFF THE STRAIGHT PATH
HELSTON, ENGLAND • JUNE 18, 1854
Luce rocketed into the Announcer like a car speeding out of control.
She bounced and jostled against its shadowy sides, feeling as if she’d been thrown down a garbage chute. She didn’t know where she was going or what she would find once she arrived, only that this Announcer seemed narrower and less pliable than the last one, and was filled by a wet, whipping wind that drove her ever deeper into the dark tunnel.
Her throat was dry and her body was weary from not having slept in the hospital. With every turn, she felt more lost and unsure.
What was she doing in this Announcer?
She closed her eyes and tried to fill her mind with thoughts of Daniel: the strong grasp of his hands, the burning intensity of his eyes, the way his whole face changed when she entered a room. The soft comfort of being wrapped in his wings, soaring high, the world and its worries far away.
How foolish she had been to run! That night in her backyard, stepping through the Announcer had seemed like the right thing to do—the only thing to do. But why? Why had she done it? What stupid idea had made that seem like a smart move? And now she was far away from Daniel, from everyone she cared about, from anyone at all. And it was all her fault.
“You’re an idiot!” she cried into the dark.
“Hey, now,” a voice called out. It was raspy and blunt and seemed to come from right beside her. “No need to be insulting!”
Luce went rigid. There couldn’t be anyone inside the utter darkness of her Announcer. Right? She must be hearing things. She pushed forward, faster.
“Slow down, will ya?”
She caught her breath. Whoever it was didn’t sound garbled or distant, like someone was speaking through the shadow. No, someone was in here. With her.
“Hello?” she called, swallowing hard.
No answer.
The whipping wind in the Announcer grew louder, howling in her ears. She stumbled forward in the dark, more and more afraid, until at last the noise of the air blowing past died out and was replaced by another sound—a staticky roar. Something like waves crashing in the distance.
No, the sound was too steady to be waves, Luce thought. A waterfall.
“I said slow down.”
Luce flinched. The voice was back. Inches from her ear—and keeping pace with her as she ran. This time, it sounded annoyed.
“You’re not going to learn anything if you keep zipping around like that.”
“Who are you? What do you want?” she shouted. “Oof!”
Her cheek collided with something cold and hard. The rush of a waterfall filled her ears, close enough that she could feel cool drops of spray on her skin. “Where am I?”
“You’re here. You’re … on Pause. Ever heard of stopping to smell the peonies?”
“You mean roses.” Luce felt around in the darkness, taking in a pungent mineral smell that wasn’t unpleasant or unfamiliar, just confusing. She realized then that she hadn’t yet stepped out of the Announcer and back into the middle of a life, which could only mean—
She was still inside.
It was very dark, but her eyes began to adjust. The Announcer had taken on the form of some sort of small cave. There was a wall behind her made of the same cool stone as the floor, with a depression cut into it where a stream of water trickled down. The waterfall she heard was somewhere above.
And below her? Ten feet or so of stone ledge—and then nothing. Beyond that was blackness.
“I had no idea you could do this,” Luce whispered to herself.
“What?” the hoarse voice said.
“Stop inside an Announcer,” she said. She hadn’t been talking to him and she still couldn’t see him, and the fact that she’d ended up stalled wherever she was with whoever he was—well, it was definitely cause for alarm. But still she couldn’t help marveling at her surroundings. “I didn’t know a place like this existed. An in-between place.”
A phlegmy snort. “You could fill a book with all the things you don’t know, girl. In fact—I think someone may have already written it. But that’s neither here nor there.” A rattling cough. “And I did mean peonies, by the way.”
“Who are you?” Luce sat up and leaned back against the wall. She hoped whoever the voice belonged to couldn’t see her legs trembling.
“Who? Me?” he asked. “I’m just … me. I’m here a lot.”
“Okay.… Doing what?”
“Oh, you know, hanging out.” He cleared his throat, and it sounded like someone gargling with rocks. “I like it here. Nice and calm. Some of these Announcers can be such zoos. But not yours, Luce. Not yet, anyway.”
“I’m confused.” More than confused, Luce was afraid. Should she even be talking to this stranger? How did he know her name?
“For the most part, I’m just your average casual observer, but sometimes I keep an ear out for travelers.” His voice came closer, causing Luce to shiver. “Like yourself. See, I’ve been around awhile, and sometimes travelers, they need a smidge of advice. You been up by the waterfall yet? Very scenic. A-plus, as far as waterfalls go.”
Luce shook her head. “But you said—this is my Announcer? A message of my past. So why would you be—”
“Well! Sor-reee!” The voice grew louder, indignant. “But may I just raise a question: If the channels to your past are so precious, why’d you leave your Announcers wide open for all the world to jump inside? Hmm? Why didn’t you just lock them?”
“I didn’t, um …” Luce had no idea she’d left anything wide open. And no idea Announcers
could even be locked.
She heard a small whoomp, like clothes or shoes being thrown into a suitcase, but she still couldn’t see a thing. “I see I’ve overstayed my welcome. I won’t waste your time.” The voice sounded suddenly choked up. And then more softly, from a distance: “Goodbye.”
The voice vanished into the darkness. It was nearly silent inside the Announcer again. Just the soft cascade of the waterfall above. Just the desperate beat of Luce’s heart.
For just a moment, she hadn’t been alone. With that voice there, she’d been nervous, alarmed, on edge … but she hadn’t been alone.
“Wait!” she called, pushing herself to her feet.
“Yes?” The voice was right back at her side.
“I didn’t mean to kick you out,” she said. For some reason, she wasn’t ready for the voice to just disappear. There was something about him. He knew her. He had called her by name. “I just wanted to know who you were.”
“Oh, hell,” he said, a little giddy. “You can call me … Bill.”
“Bill,” she repeated, squinting to see more than the dim cave walls around her. “Are you invisible?”
“Sometimes. Not always. Certainly don’t have to be. Why? You’d prefer to see me?”
“It might make things a little bit less weird.”
“Doesn’t that depend on what I look like?”
“Well—” Luce started to say.
“So”—his voice sounded as if he were smiling—“what do you want me to look like?”
“I don’t know.” Luce shifted her weight. Her left side was damp from the spray of the waterfall. “Is it really up to me? What do you look like when you’re just being yourself?”
“I have a range. You’d probably want me to start with something cute. Am I right?”
“I guess.…”
“Okay,” the voice muttered. “Huminah huminah huminah hummm.”
“What are you doing?” Luce asked.
“Putting on my face.”
There was a flash of light. A blast that would have sent Luce tumbling backward if the wall hadn’t been right behind her. The flash died down into a tiny ball of cool white light. By its illumination she could see the rough expanse of a gray stone floor beneath her feet. A stone wall stretched up behind her, water trickling down its face. And something more:
There on the floor in front of her stood a small gargoyle.
“Ta-da!” he said.
He was about a foot tall, crouched low with his arms crossed and his elbows resting on his knees. His skin was the color of stone—he was stone—but when he waved at her, she could see he was limber enough to be made of flesh and muscle. He looked like the sort of statue you’d find capping the roof of a Catholic church. His fingernails and toenails were long and pointed, like little claws. His ears were pointed, too—and pierced with small stone hoops. He had two little hornlike nubs protruding from the top of a forehead that was fleshy and wrinkled. His large lips were pursed in a grimace that made him look like a very old baby.
“So you’re Bill?”
“That’s right,” he said. “I’m Bill.”
Bill was an odd-looking thing, but certainly not someone to be afraid of. Luce circled him and noticed the ridged vertebrae protruding from his spine. And the small pair of gray wings tucked behind his back so that the two tips were twined together.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“Great,” she said flatly. One look at any other pair of wings—even Bill’s—made her miss Daniel so much her stomach hurt.
Bill stood up; it was strange to see the arms and legs that were made of stone move like muscle.
“You don’t like the way I look. I can do better,” he said, disappearing in another flash of light. “Hold on.”
Flash.
Daniel stood before her, cloaked in a shining aura of violet light. His unfurled wings were glorious and massive, beckoning her to step inside them. He held out a hand and she sucked in her breath. She knew something was strange about his being there, that she’d been in the middle of doing something else—only she couldn’t recall what or with whom. Her mind felt hazy, her memory obscured. But none of that mattered. Daniel was here. She wanted to cry with happiness. She stepped toward him and put her hand in his.
“There,” he said softly. “Now, that’s the reaction I was after.”
“What?” Luce whispered, confused. Something was rising to the forefront of her mind, telling her to pull away. But Daniel’s eyes overrode that hesitation and she let herself be pulled in, forgetting everything but the taste of his lips.
“Kiss me.” His voice was a raspy croak. Bill’s.
Luce screamed and jumped back. Her mind felt jolted as if from a deep sleep. What had happened? How had she thought she’d seen Daniel in—
Bill. He’d tricked her. She jerked her hand away from his, or maybe he dropped hers during the flash when he changed into a large, warty toad. He croaked out two ribbits, then hopped over to the spring of water dripping down the cave wall. His tongue shot out into the stream.
Luce was breathing hard and trying not to show how devastated she felt. “Stop it,” she said sharply. “Just go back to the gargoyle. Please.”
“As you wish.”
Flash.
Bill was back, crouched low with his arms crossed over his knees. Still as stone.
“I thought you’d come around,” he said.
Luce looked away, embarrassed that he had gotten a rise out of her, angry that he seemed to have enjoyed it.
“Now that that’s all settled,” he said, scurrying around so he was standing where she could see him again, “what would you like to learn first?”
“From you? Nothing. I have no idea what you’re even doing here.”
“I’ve upset you,” Bill said, snapping his stone fingers. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to learn your tastes. You know—likes: Daniel Grigori and cute little gargoyles.” He listed on his fingers. “Dislikes: frogs. I think I’ve got it now. No more of that funny business from me.” He spread his wings and flitted up to sit on her shoulder. He was heavy. “Just the tricks of the trade,” he whispered.
“I don’t need any tricks.”
“Come now. You don’t even know how to lock an Announcer to keep out the bad guys. Don’t you want to at least know that?”
Luce raised an eyebrow at him. “Why would you help me?”
“You’re not the first to skip around the past, you know, and everybody needs a guide. Lucky you, you chanced upon me. You could have gotten stuck with Virgil—”
“Virgil?” Luce asked, having a flashback to sophomore English. “As in the guy who led Dante through the nine circles of Hell?”
“That’s the one. He’s so by the book, it’s a snooze. Anyway, you and I aren’t sojourning through Hell right now,” he explained with a shrug. “Tourist season.”
Luce thought back to the moment she’d seen Luschka burst into flames in Moscow, to the raw pain she’d felt when Lucia had told her Daniel had disappeared from the hospital in Milan.
“Sometimes it feels like Hell,” she said.
“That’s only because it took us this long to be introduced.” Bill extended his stony little hand toward hers.
Luce stalled. “So what, um, side are you on?”
Bill whistled. “Hasn’t anyone told you it’s more complicated than that? That the boundaries between ‘good’ and ‘evil’ have been blurred by millennia of free will?”
“I know all that, but—”
“Look, if it makes you feel any better, have you ever heard of the Scale?”
Luce shook her head.
“Sorta like hall monitors within Announcers who make sure travelers get where they’re going. Members of the Scale are impartial, so there’s no siding with Heaven or with Hell. Okay?”
“Okay.” Luce nodded. “So you’re in the Scale?”
Bill winked. “Now, we’re almost there, so—”
“Almost where?”
>
“To the next life you’re traveling to, the one that cast this shadow we’re in.”
Luce ran her hand through the water running down the wall. “This shadow—this Announcer—is different.”
“If it is, it’s only because that’s what you want it to be. If you want a rest-stop–type cave inside an Announcer, it appears for you.”
“I didn’t want a rest stop.”
“No, but you needed one. Announcers can pick up on that. Also, I was here helping out, wanting it on your behalf.” The little gargoyle shrugged, and Luce heard a sound like boulders knocking against each other. “The inside of an Announcer isn’t anyplace at all. It’s a neverwhere, the dark echo cast by something in the past. Each one is different, adapting to the needs of its travelers, so long as they’re inside.”
There was something wild about the idea of this echo of Luce’s past knowing what she wanted or needed better than she did. “So how long do people stay inside?” she asked. “Days? Weeks?”
“No time. Not the way you’re thinking. Within Announcers, real time doesn’t pass at all. But still, you don’t want to hang around here too long. You could forget where you’re going, get lost forever. Become a hoverer. And that’s ugly business. These are portals, remember, not destinations.”
Luce rested her head against the damp stone wall. She didn’t know what to make of Bill. “This is your job. Serving as a guide to, uh, travelers like me?”
“Sure, exactly.” Bill snapped his fingers, the friction sending up a spark. “You nailed it.”
“How’d a gargoyle like you get stuck doing this?”
“Excuse me, I take pride in my work.”
“I mean, who hired you?”
Bill thought for a moment, his marble eyes rolling back and forth in their sockets. “Think of it as a volunteer position. I’m good at Announcer travel, is all. No reason not to spread my expertise around.” He turned to her with his palm cupping his stony chin. “When are we going to, anyway?”
“When are we …?” Luce stared at him, confused.
“You have no idea, do you?” He slapped his forehead. “You’re telling me that you dove out of the present without any fundamental knowledge about stepping through? That how you end up when you end up is a complete mystery to you?”
