“Hey, Lucian, what’re you doin’ here?” Kip shouted in my direction. “You know we’re supposed to be getting back to the cemetery now.” He stood there, arms folded across his chest, staring at me.
I didn’t understand, until the voice came from a few yards behind me. “Yeah, you go on ahead and I’ll be right there,” Lucian called out. I whipped around. He stood in the open doorway, just inside the threshold, wind gusting. I was the only obstacle standing between him and Kip. To any of the faces bothering to look in our direction, the exchange registered as nothing more serious than the prelude to a bar brawl.
Kip laughed. “You’ve gotta be kidding. You think I don’t know what’s going on?” My eyes set on Kip, I backed up slowly.
Lucian was silent a moment and then said, “So what’s it matter? What do you care if I’m with you or not? Get outta here.”
“Really, man? You know as well as I do, there’s a price on your head, and I’d like to claim it if you don’t mind.”
“You’re sick of being the weakest one of the group? I thought you didn’t mind being the Prince’s whipping boy.”
“You really want to do it this way?” Kip unfolded his arms now, looking like he was about to pounce.
Lucian laughed. “You’ve gotta be kidding if you think I’m afraid of you, of all people.”
“Oh, sure. Well.” He looked at his watch. “It’s a minute to midnight and I’m not the one who’s going AWOL.”
“No, you’re just on a suicide mission, aren’t you?” Lucian said coolly. But I tensed up when he said that.
“You’re making this too easy,” Kip said calmly and in a flash he whipped something shiny in our direction. I couldn’t tell what it was exactly, all I knew was that my reflexes kicked in. Somewhere in the distance, church bells tolled: midnight.
It all happened at once, too fast to process. I lunged back, knocking Lucian out of the way. He plowed through a group of guests and landed hard against a wall inside the foyer. I leapt up, pulled out my last star, tucked beside that picture at my chest, and flung it at Kip. I could tell my aim was off. But it didn’t matter: Lance whipped around the street corner. Running at Kip and pummeling him, he shoved him directly into my weapon’s line of fire. Kip yelled in agony.
Suddenly, something sliced into me, digging in and wedging itself so firmly in my skin it took my breath away. I felt myself falling, but my body refused to stop fighting. You can’t drop here. You can’t let Kip come back in this house. You have to keep him away. My legs stumbled, and I took a few long strides back out onto the sidewalk before they gave out. I landed on the wet pavement, rain pelting me. My head lolled to one side and then I saw Kip, or a heap that had once been him. He decayed first into a festering form, a monster, and then changed back to his Wylie façade, and then finally to a pile of smoldering ash.
But something got in the way of my line of vision. Lance. He hovered above me and suddenly I tuned out everything else: the madness of the crowds, the storm, the flooding street, the pavement against my face, everything. He was saying something to me, his lips so close to mine.
“Why did you do that?” he asked over and over again. His voice quivered, an edge to it. I realized it might be because I hadn’t answered him. He kneeled over me, easing my head up from the ground, cradling me. And then, as if sensing I was coming back, “Is this your way of making me feel needed?”
Slowly, I was starting to think clearly again. “That depends. Did it work?” I asked, struggling to speak.
“Maybe.” He smiled.
“Oh, good.” My shoulder ached on the spot where I had once been tagged. I reached my hand over to the bare patch beneath my torn T-shirt sleeve and pulled something out: a black spike the length of my index finger and likely poison-laden. We had seen Wylie use it the night we shadowed the Krewe, and I must have been stabbed by it the night I had been tagged. But it seemed that it didn’t work on angels who had passed their second test. “And, besides, I knew it wouldn’t hurt me. I mean, in the long-term sense. In the short term: Ow.”
Lance smiled and leaned down, running his hand through my wet hair and planting a soft kiss on my shoulder and then surprising me, his full lips finding mine. I felt the life force returning to me, pouring back into my veins, filling my lungs, pumping my heart. I reached up, gripping his damp hair in my hand to pull him closer to me. I breathed him in and could feel his heart beating against mine. My head spun, intoxicated by him, by this day, by all that had happened. As beat-up as I had been by this night, it had been worth it to get here. Time stopped; I felt I could have stayed there forever in that sliver of Royal Street, pelted by the rain, windblown, amid the fleeing masses.
“What happened? How did you get here?”
“Sorry I was late. I got a little slowed down by Jimmy and Brody,” he said as he helped me up. “But I took care of them and then I was on my way here when Lucian found me and said you were in trouble. I came as fast as I . . .”
“How would he have—” My heart stopped. “Lucian?” My head nodded toward the mansion. He lay there, just inside the open doorway, slowly beginning to rouse. No. No. But I couldn’t blame Lance; the timing had been so close. And he wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference in those gray eyes—he wouldn’t have known that the real ones were so pained by all they had been through. “No, Lance. No. Where?” In a flash, terror clouded his eyes and he understood.
“Here,” the calm voice called to us through the storm. Lucian’s voice in Lucian’s body, coming toward us from the opposite side of the street. Thunder crackled and the figure changed instantly to the Prince, striding proudly. He kicked at what had become of Kip.
“If you want something done right . . .” he bellowed, anger shaking his voice. He bolted toward us. Before we could move, act, or fight, he whipped his arm around Lance’s neck, pinning his arms back too. I lunged at him and a circle of fire lit around both of them, flaming up over their heads. I jumped back to avoid being singed.
It died down for a moment, so I could see their faces again. Lance struggled in the Prince’s grip, only to have the fire flare up once more and extinguish, taking them with it.
I called Lance’s name, my voice ragged, and dropped to my knees at that smoldering circle.
Lucian came up behind me, free from the shackles of that prison. “What have I done?” he whispered, tortured. “What have I done? I’ll make this right.”
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t think. I replayed those few seconds, wondering how I could have kept this from happening.
The others started to arrive. They looked as tattered and soaked as we were, but they were alive. Emma, River, Drew, and Tom each marched toward us from different directions, converging on this spot in front of our house. Dante and Max ran out from the haunted mansion like nervous parents relieved to finally have their children come home. Until they saw that one was missing. Dante put his hand on my shoulder. “I know what we can do,” he said. “I got a message today. It didn’t make sense until right now.” He looked at Lucian. “You’re helping us.”
“Of course,” he said, his voice choked up with guilt.
I stood up now, still staring at that circle as though it were a well I was trying to see to the bottom of. Dante grabbed both my arms. “This is all just part of the next test,” he said in a comforting tone.
“The illuminator, the architect, and the alchemist must stay together,” I heard myself say, as though in a trance. I shook my head and rattled my bones, summoning my strength. Then I looked at them all and said, “We need to get Lance. Now.”
I wouldn’t lose him, not without a fight.
Acknowledgments
Just as Haven relies on her team of angels to help her out, so do I. Here are just a few of mine. Thank you, thank you:
To Stéphanie Abou, quite simply the most wonderful agent— and friend—a girl could ask for. And to the fabulous Rachel Hecht and my friends at Foundry Literary + Media.
To Julie Tibbott, the
most fantastic editor a girl could ask for. I’ve learned so much from working with you and I’m so grateful for your brilliant guidance (and patience)! And to the lovely Rachel Wasdyke and the whole Houghton Mifflin Harcourt team for the love you’ve shown to Haven Terra.
To Stephen Moore, for helping Haven expand her reach.
To Richard Ford, for your endless encouragement.
To my biggest cheerleaders: my amazing parents, Bill and Risa; my awesome sis, Karen (who read all those early drafts!); and my super-supportive in-laws, Steve, Ilene, Lauren, Dave, Jill, and Josh.
To all my Louisiana pals: you guys taught me everything I know! And to all the friends and family who’ve been so incredible reading and listening, with an extra thanks to Jami Bjellos, Sasha Issenberg, Jenny Laws, Ryan Lynch, Jessica and Andres Lucas, Poornima Ravishankar, Cara Lynn Shultz, Anna Siri, Kate Stroup, Jennie Teitelbaum, Kate Zeller; and Eric Andersson, Albert Lee, Kevin O’Leary, Jennifer O’Neill, and all my pals at Us Weekly.
To Brian and Sawyer, for all of your love and for making real life as fun as anything in fiction.
And, of course, to you, the reader: thank you so much for taking the time to watch Haven grow and for joining her on these latest adventures. I so hope you’ve been enjoying where her journey has been taking her!
Visit www.hmhbooks.com to find all of the books in the Gilded Wings series.
About the Author
AIMEE AGRESTI is the author of the Gilded Wings novels Illuminate and Infatuate. She is also an entertainment journalist whose work has appeared in People, the Washington Post, Mademoiselle, and the New York Observer. She lives in Washington, D.C. Visit her website at www.aimeeagresti.com.
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