by Lauren Kate
He was used to eternity, but this had been Hell.
Daniel lost track of time, let it drift into the sounds of the ocean washing up against the shore. For a little while, at least.
He could easily resume his quest by stepping into an Announcer and chasing Luce to the next life she visited. But for some reason, he stuck around Helston, waiting until Lucinda Biscoe’s life ended here.
Waking up that evening, the sky slashed by purple clouds, Daniel sensed it. Midsummer. The night she would die. He wiped the sand from his skin and felt the strange tenderness in his hidden wings. His heart throbbed with every beat.
It was time.
Lucinda’s death would not happen until after nightfall.
Daniel’s earlier self would be alone in the Constances’ parlor. He would be drawing Lucinda Biscoe one last time. His bags would sit outside the door, empty as usual save for a leather-bound pencil case, a few sketchbooks, his book about the Watchers, an extra pair of shoes. He really had been planning to sail the next morning. What a lie.
In the moments leading up to her deaths, Daniel rarely was honest with himself. He always lost himself in his love. Every time, he fooled himself, got drunk on her presence, and lost track of what must be.
He remembered particularly well how it had ended in this Helston life: denying that she had to die right up until the instant he pressed her up against the ruby-velvet curtains and kissed her into oblivion.
He’d cursed his fate then; he had made an ugly scene. He could still feel the agony, fresh as an iron’s brand across his skin. And he remembered the visitation.
Waiting out the sunset, he stood alone on the shore and let the water kiss his bare feet. He closed his eyes and spread his arms and allowed his wings to burst out from the scars on his shoulders. They billowed behind him, bobbing in the wind and giving him a weightlessness that provided some momentary peace. He could see how bright they were in their reflection on the water, how huge and fierce they made him look.
Sometimes, when Daniel was at his most inconsolable, he refused to let his wings out. It was a punishment he could administer to himself. The deep relief, the palpable, incredible sense of freedom that unfurling his wings gave to his soul only felt false, like a drug. Tonight he allowed himself that rush.
He bent his knees to the sand and kicked off into the air.
A few feet above the surface of the water, he quickly rolled around so that his back was to the ocean, his wings spread beneath him like a magnificent shimmering raft.
He skimmed the surface, stretching out his muscles with each long beat of his wings, sliding along the waves until the water changed from turquoise to icy blue. Then he plunged down under the surface. His wings were warm where the ocean was cool, creating a small wake of violet to encircle him.
Daniel loved to swim. The chill of the water, the unpredictable beat of the current, the synchronicity of the ocean with the moon. It was one of a few earthly pleasures he truly understood. Most of all, he loved to swim with Lucinda.
With every stroke of his wings, Daniel imagined Lucinda there with him, sliding gracefully through the water as she had so many times before, basking in the warm shimmery glow.
When the moon was bright in the dark sky and Daniel was somewhere off the coast of Reykjavik, he shot out of the water. Straight up, beating his wings with a ferocity that shook off the cold.
The wind whipped at his sides, drying him in seconds as he sailed higher and higher into the air. He burst through thick gray banks of clouds, then turned back and began to coast under starry Heaven’s expanse.
His wings beat freely, deeply, strong with love and terror and thoughts of her, rippling the water underneath him so that it shimmered like diamonds. He picked up tremendous speed as he flew back over the Faroe Islands and across the Irish Sea. He sailed down along St. George’s Channel and, finally, back to Helston.
How against his nature to watch the girl he loved show up just to die!
But Daniel had to see beyond this moment and this pain. He had to look toward all the Lucindas who would come after this one sacrifice—and the one whom he pursued, the final Luce, who would end this cursed cycle.
Lucinda’s death tonight was the only way the two of them could win, the only way they’d ever have a chance.
By the time he reached the Constance estate, the house was dark and the air was hot and still.
He tucked his wings up close to his body, slowing his descent along the south side of the property. There was the white roof of the gazebo, an aerial view of the gardens. There was the moonlit pebbled path she should have walked along just moments ago, sneaking out of her father’s house next door after everyone else was asleep. Her nightgown covered by a long black cloak, her modesty forgotten in her haste to find him.
And there—the light in the parlor, the single candelabra that had drawn her to him. The curtains were parted slightly. Enough for Daniel to look in without risk of being seen.
He reached the parlor window on the second floor of the great house and let his wings beat lightly, hovering outside like a spy.
Was she even there? He inhaled slowly, let his wings fill with air, and pressed his face against the glass.
Just Daniel sketching furiously on his pad in the corner. His past self looked exhausted and forlorn. He could remember the feeling exactly—watching the black tick of the clock on the wall, waiting every moment for her to burst through the door. He’d been so stunned when she sneaked up on him, silently, almost from behind the curtain.
He was stunned anew when she did so now.
Her beauty was beyond his most unrealistic expectations that night. Every night. Cheeks flushed with the love she felt but didn’t understand. Her black hair falling from its long, lustrous braid. The wonderful sheerness of her nightgown, like gossamer floating over all that perfect skin.
Just then his past self rose and spun around. When he saw the gorgeous sight before him, the pain was obvious on his face.
If there had been something Daniel could have done to reach out and help his past self get through this, he would have done it. But all he could do was read his lips.
What are you doing here?
Luce drew closer and the color rose in her cheeks. The two of them moved together like magnets—pulled by a force greater than themselves one moment, then repelled with almost the same vigor the next.
Daniel hovered outside, in pain.
He couldn’t watch. He had to watch.
The way they reached for each other was tentative right up until the moment his skin connected with hers. Then they became instantly, hungrily passionate. They weren’t even kissing, just talking. When their lips were almost touching, their souls almost touching, a burning, pure, white-hot aura formed around them that neither was aware of.
It was something Daniel had never witnessed from the outside.
Was this what his Luce was after? Visual proof of how true their love was? For Daniel, their love was as much a part of him as his wings. But for Luce, it must be different. She didn’t have access to the splendor of their love. Only its fiery end.
Every moment would be an utter revelation.
He laid his cheek against the glass, sighing. Inside, his past self was caving in, losing the resolve that had been a charade from the beginning, anyway. His bags were packed, but it was Lucinda who had to go.
Now his past self took her in his arms; even through the window, Daniel could smell the rich, sweet scent of her skin. He envied himself, kissing her neck, running his hands across her back. His desire was so intense it could have shattered that window if he hadn’t willed himself to hold back.
Oh, draw it out, he willed his past self. Make it last a little longer. One more kiss. One more sweet touch before the room quakes and the Announcers begin to tremble in their shadows.
The glass warmed against his cheek. It was happening.
He wanted to close his eyes but could not. Lucinda writhed in his past self’s arms. Her f
ace contorted with pain. She looked up, and her eyes widened at the sight of the shadows dancing on the ceiling. The half-born realization of something was already too much for her.
She screamed.
And erupted into a glowing tower of flames.
Inside the room, Daniel’s earlier self was blown back against the wall. He fell and lay huddled, like nothing more than the outline of a man. He buried his face in the carpet and shook.
Outside, Daniel watched with an awe he’d never managed before as the fire climbed the air and the walls. It hissed like a sauce simmering in a pan—and then it vanished, leaving no trace of her.
Miraculous. Every single inch of Daniel’s body was tingling. If it hadn’t wrecked his past self so completely, he might have found the spectacle of Lucinda’s death almost beautiful.
His old self slowly got to his feet. His mouth gaped open and his wings burst out of his black dress coat, taking up most of the room. He raised his fists toward the sky and bellowed.
Outside, Daniel couldn’t take it anymore. He rammed his wing through the window, sending shards of glass out into the night. Then he barreled through the jagged hole.
“What are you doing here?” his past self gasped, cheeks streaming with tears. With both pairs of wings fully extended, there almost wasn’t room for them in the enormous parlor. They rolled back their shoulders as much as possible to draw away from each other. Both knew the danger of touching.
“I was watching,” Daniel said.
“You—what? You come back to watch?” His past self flung out his arms and his wings. “Is this what you wanted to see?” The depths of his misery were achingly plain.
“This needed to happen, Daniel.”
“Don’t feed me those lies. Don’t you dare. Have you gone back to taking advice from Cam again?”
“No!” Daniel almost shouted at his past self. “Listen: There is a time, not so very far from now, when we will have a chance to change this game. Something has shifted, and things are different. When we have an opportunity to stop doing this over and over. When Lucinda at last might—”
“Break the cycle?” his past self whispered.
“Yes.” Daniel was beginning to feel light-headed. There was one too many of them in the room. It was time for him to go. “It will take some time,” he instructed, turning back when he reached the window. “But maintain hope.”
Then Daniel slipped through the broken window. His words—maintain hope—echoed in his mind as he took off across the sky, deep into the shadows of the night.
NINE
SO WE BEAT ON
TAHITI • DECEMBER 11, 1775
Luce found herself balanced on a splintery wooden beam.
It creaked as it tilted slightly to the left, then creaked again as it eased very slowly to the right. The rocking was steady and ceaseless, as if the beam were attached to a very short pendulum.
A hot wind sent her hair lashing across her face and blew her servant’s bonnet off her head. The beam beneath her swayed again, and her feet slipped. She fell against the beam and barely managed to hug it to herself before she went tumbling down—
Where was she? In front of her was the endless blue of open sky. A darker blue at what must have been the horizon. She looked down.
She was incredibly high up.
A waterlogged pole stretched a hundred feet beneath her, ending in a wooden deck. Oh. It was a mast. Luce was sitting on the top yard of a very large sailboat.
A very large shipwrecked sailboat, just off the coast of a black-shored island.
The bow had been smashed violently against a cluster of razor-sharp lava rocks that had left it a pulverized mess. The mainsail was shredded: tattered pieces of tawny canvas flapping loosely in the wind. The air smelled like the morning after a great storm, but this ship was so weathered, it looked like it had been there for years.
Every time the waves rushed up the black-sand shores, water sprayed dozens of feet up from the crevices in the rocks. The waves made the wreck—and the beam Luce clutched—sway so roughly she felt she might be sick.
How was she going to get down? How was she going to get to shore?
“Aha! Look who’s landed like a bird on a perch.” Bill’s voice broke over the crashing waves. He appeared at the far tip of the ship’s rotting yard, walking with his arms extended from his sides as if he were on a balance beam.
“Where are we?” Luce was too nervous to make any sudden movements.
Bill sucked in a big lungful of air. “Can’t you taste it? The north coast of Tahiti!” He plopped down next to Luce, kicked out his stubby legs, stretched his short gray arms up, and clasped his hands behind his head. “Isn’t it paradise?”
“I think I’m going to throw up.”
“Nonsense. You just have to find your sea legs.”
“How did we get—” Luce glanced around again for an Announcer. She didn’t see a single shadow, just the endless blank blue of empty skies.
“I took care of the logistics for you. Think of me as your travel agent, and of yourself as on vacation!”
“We’re not on vacation, Bill.”
“We’re not? I thought we were taking the Grand Tour of Love.” He rubbed his forehead, and flinty flakes showered from his scalp. “Did I misunderstand?”
“Where are Lucinda and Daniel?”
“Hang on.” He hovered in the air in front of Luce. “Don’t you want a little history?”
Luce ignored him and scooted over toward the mast. She stretched an unsteady foot to the highest of the pegs that spiked out from the mast’s sides.
“Don’t you at least want a hand?”
She’d been holding her breath and trying not to look down as her foot slid off the wooden peg a third time. Finally, she swallowed dryly and reached out to take the cold, rough claw Bill extended to her.
As she took Bill’s hand, he pulled her forward, then off the mast entirely. She yelped as the wet wind battered her face, sending the skirt of her dress billowing around her waist. She shut her eyes and waited to plunge through the rotten decking below.
Only she didn’t.
She heard a throosh and felt her body catch in the air. She opened her eyes. Bill’s stubby wings had ballooned out and caught the wind. He was supporting her weight with just one hand, carrying her slowly to shore. It was miraculous how nimble he was, how light. Luce was surprised to find herself relaxing—somehow the sensation of flying was natural to her by now.
Daniel. As the air encircled her, the ache to be with him overtook her. To hear his voice and taste his lips—Luce could think of nothing else. What she wouldn’t have given to be in his arms just then!
The Daniel she’d encountered in Helston, however happy he’d been to see her, had not really known her. Not the way her Daniel did. Where was he right now?
“Feeling better?” Bill asked.
“Why are we here?” Luce asked as they soared over the water. It was so clear she could see inky shadows moving underwater—giant schools of fish, swimming easily, following the shoreline.
“See that palm tree?” Bill pointed forward with his free claw. “The tallest one, third from the break in the sandbar?”
Luce nodded, squinting.
“That’s where your father in this life built his hut. Nicest shack on the beach!” Bill coughed. “Actually, it’s the only shack on the beach. The Brits haven’t even discovered this side of the island yet. So when your pops is off fishing, you and Daniel have the place mostly to yourselves.”
“Daniel and I … lived here … together?”
Hand in hand, Luce and Bill touched down on the shore with the soft elegance of two dancers in a pas de deux. Luce was grateful—and a little shocked—at how smoothly he’d been able to get her down from the mast of the ship, but as soon as she was firmly on the ground, she withdrew her hand from his grimy claw and wiped it on her apron.
It was starkly beautiful here. The crystal waters washed against the strange and lovely black
-sand beaches. Groves of citrus and palm trees leaned over the coast, heavy with bright-orange fruit. Past the trees, low mountains rose up from the mists of the rain forest. Waterfalls cut into their sides. The wind down here wasn’t as fierce; better still, it was thick with the scent of hibiscus. It was hard to imagine getting to spend a vacation here, let alone an entire life.
“You lived here.” Bill started walking along the curved shoreline, leaving little claw prints in the dark sand. “Your dad, and all ten of the other natives who lived within canoeing distance, called you—well, it sounded like Lulu.”
Luce had been walking quickly to keep pace, balling up the layered skirts of her Helston servant’s clothing to keep them from dragging in the sand. She stopped and made a face.
“What?” Bill said. “I think it’s cute, Lulu. Lulululululu.”
“Stop it.”
“Anyway, Daniel was a kind of rogue explorer. That boat back there? Your ace boyfriend stole it from George the Third’s private slip.” He glanced back at the shipwreck. “But it’ll take Captain Bligh and his mutinous crew another couple of years to track Daniel down here, and by then … you know.”
Luce swallowed. Daniel would probably be long gone by then, because Lucinda would be long dead.
They’d reached a gap in the line of palm trees. A brackish river flowed in swirls between the ocean and a small inland freshwater pond. Luce edged along a few flat stones to cross the water. She was sweating through her petticoats and thought about stripping out of her stifling dress and diving straight into the ocean.
“How much time do I have with Lulu?” she asked. “Before it happens?”
Bill held up his hands. “I thought all you wanted to see was proof that the love you share with Daniel is true.”
“I do.”
“For that, you won’t need more than ten minutes.”
They came upon a short orchid-lined path, which curved onto another pristine beach. A small thatch-roofed hut rose on stilts near the edge of the light-blue water. Behind the hut, a palm tree shuddered.
