Unforgiven (8 page)

No Lilith.

He'd hung around the band room after the bell, hoping she might return there after class.

She hadn't.

As the sun sank in the sky, he made his way alone to the Trumbull open mic. He walked across the bleak campus toward the cafeteria, coughing from the smoky air. The burning hillsides—the barely disguised flames of Lilith's Hell—encircled all of Crossroads, and no one here seemed to care. Cam had seen a fire truck drive toward the blaze that morning and noted the blank expressions on the firefighters' faces. They probably spent every day hosing water on those smoldering trees, unconcerned that the fire never dwindled.

Everyone in this town was one of Lucifer's pawns. Nothing and no one would change in Crossroads until the devil wanted it to change.

Except, Cam hoped, for Lilith.

When he reached the cafeteria, Cam held the door open for a couple holding hands. The boy whispered something in the girl's ear, and she laughed and pulled him in for a kiss. Cam looked away, feeling a stab in his chest. He stuffed his hands inside his jacket pockets and ducked inside.

The cafeteria's daytime drabness was barely disguised. A makeshift stage had been set up at one end, with ragged black curtains hanging between two poles for a backdrop. Mr. Davidson stood center stage behind a microphone.

“Welcome,” he said, adjusting his glasses. He appeared to be in his thirties, with a mop of dark brown hair and a rail-thin frame that radiated nervousness. “There's nothing more exciting than discovering vital new pieces of art. I can't wait for you all to share your work with each other tonight.”

Above the audience's groans and grumbles, he added, “Also, you have to perform or else you'll get a zero. So without further ado, put your hands together for our first performer, Sabrina Burke!”

As the audience applauded weakly, Cam slid into an empty seat next to Jean Rah, who offered Cam his fist to bump. Jean was Cam's kind of guy—dark, funny, with a kindness you had to dig for. Cam wondered what Jean had done to end up in Lucifer's domain. Some of the most interesting mortals—and angels—had a way of pissing off the Throne.

On the stage, Sabrina's hands shook as she reached for the microphone. She whispered, “Thank you,” as she unfolded a handwritten poem. “This poem is called…‘Matrimony.' Thank you, Mr. Davidson, for your help. You're the best teacher ever.” She cleared her throat and began:

“A wedding is a prehistoric ritual for two people

a man and a woman
—

OR SO THEY SAY!”

She looked up from her paper.

“YOU CANNOT TAKE AWAY MY FREEDOM! FREE? DUMB!

I am woman, watch me soar!”

She looked down. “Thank you.”

The rest of the students applauded. “So brave,” a girl sitting next to Cam said. “So true.”

Cam's eyes wandered over the audience until he found Lilith in the third row, chewing her nails. He knew she was imagining herself up there, alone. The Lilith he remembered was a natural performer, once she got past the initial panic of stepping onto a stage.

But this Lilith was different.

Now the audience was clapping for a towering black boy who walked confidently onstage. He didn't bother to adjust the microphone, which was way too short for him. He just opened his notebook and projected.

“This one's sort of like a haiku,” he said.

“Some birds never land.

They've got to do all of their

Business in the clouds.”

A contingent of girls in the back row hooted and cheered, calling out to the boy, “You're so fine, James!” He waved at them, as if he got that kind of reaction buying a soda or getting out of his car, and exited the stage.

A spoken-word performance and three poets later, Mr. Davidson took the stage again. “Good job, everyone. Next up?
Lilith.
”

A few boos echoed across the cafeteria, and Mr. Davidson attempted to shush them. Lilith took her place on the stage. The spotlight made her hair look brighter, her face paler as she held her black journal under her arm, ready to read her poem. She cleared her throat. The microphone howled with feedback.

Several of the students covered their ears. One yelled, “Get off the stage! Loser!”

“Hey, now!” Mr. Davidson called out. “That's not nice.”

“Um—” Lilith tried to adjust the microphone but only got a squeal of feedback.

Cam was off his seat by then and rushing up to the stage.

Lilith glared as he approached. “What are you doing?” she whispered.

“This,”
he said. With a deft twist of his wrist, he adjusted the microphone so it was the perfect distance from Lilith's lips. Now she wouldn't have to hunch. She could speak in her low, natural voice and be heard clearly throughout the cafeteria.

“Get off the stage.” She cupped her palm over the mic. “You're embarrassing me.” She turned out to the audience. “Um, I'm Lilith, and I—”

“And you suck!” shouted a girl at the back of the cafeteria.

Lilith sighed and flipped through the pages of her notebook. It was clear to Cam how much the other students hated Lilith, and how terrible she felt because of it. He didn't want to be one more thing making her miserable right now.

He started backing off the stage when the look in her eyes made him stop.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I can't do this,” she mouthed.

Cam came close again, stopping before instinct took over and he embraced her. “Yes, you can.”

“I'll take the zero.” She backed away from the microphone, clutching her journal. “I can't read in front of all these people who hate me.”

“Then don't,” Cam said. At the foot of the chair where Lilith had been sitting in the audience, Cam had spied her guitar case. Luckily she hadn't stowed it at the creek today.

“Huh?” she asked.

“Lilith,” Mr. Davidson called from the back of the cafeteria. “Is there a problem?”

“Yes,” Lilith said.

“No,” Cam said at the same time.

He jumped off the stage, opened the silver clasps of her guitar case, and raised the lovely, cracked instrument in his arms. He heard snickering from the crowd and saw the flash of someone photographing Lilith as she stood caught in the grip of her stage fright.

Cam ignored them all. He pressed the guitar into Lilith's hands and eased the strap over her shoulder, taking care not to catch her long red hair beneath it. He took her journal from her, and it felt warm where her hands had been.

“This is a disaster,” she said.

“Most great things start out that way,” he said, so that only she could hear. “Now, close your eyes. Imagine you're alone. Imagine it's sunset, and you've got all night.”

“Get a room!” someone yelled out. “You both suck!”

“This isn't going to work,” Lilith said, but Cam noticed the way her fingers naturally moved into strumming position. The guitar was like a shield between her and the audience. Already she was more comfortable than she'd been a moment before.

So Cam kept going.

“Imagine you've just thought up this new song, and you're proud of it—”

Lilith started to interrupt. “But—”

“Let yourself be proud,” Cam told her. “Not because you think it's better than any other song, but because it comes as close as anything ever could to expressing how you feel right now, what you're about.”

Lilith closed her eyes. She leaned in to the mic. Cam held his breath.

“Boo,” someone hooted.

Lilith's eyes shot open. Her face went white.

Cam homed in on Luc in the center of the audience, hands cupped around his mouth, jeering at Lilith. Cam had never punched the devil, but he wasn't afraid to change that tonight. He stared out coolly at the audience, raised both his fists, and flipped them off.

“That's enough, Cam,” Mr. Davidson said. “Please exit the stage.”

The sound of very quiet laughter made Cam turn to Lilith. She was watching him, chuckling, the ghost of a smile on her face.

“Showing them who's boss?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Play that guitar and show them yourself.”

Lilith didn't answer, but Cam could tell from the change in her expression that he'd said something right. She leaned in to the mic again. Her voice came soft and clear. “This one's called ‘Exile,' ” she said, and began to sing.

“Where love spurs me I must turn

My rhymes, my rhymes,

Which follow my afflicted mind

My mind, my mind.

What shall be last, what shall be first?

Shall I drown from this thirst?”

The song poured out of her like she'd been born to sing it. At the microphone, with her eyes closed, Lilith didn't seem so twisted by anger. There was the hint of the girl she'd once been, the girl Cam had fallen in love with.

The girl he was still in love with.

When she finished, Cam was trembling with emotion. Her song was a version of the one he'd been humming as he left Troy. She still knew it. Some remnant of their love story was still alive in her. Just as he'd hoped it would be.

Lilith's fingers lifted off the strings of her guitar. The audience was silent. She waited for applause, hope in her eyes.

But all she got was laughter.

“Your song sucks worse than you!” someone hollered, throwing an empty soda bottle on stage. It hit Lilith in the knees, and the hope in her eyes died.

“Cut it out!” Mr. Davison said, returning to the stage. He turned to Lilith. “Nice job.”

But Lilith was rushing off the stage and out of the cafeteria. Cam ran after her, but she was too fast, and it was too dark outside to see where she had gone. She knew this place better than he did.

The door closed behind him, silencing the distant sound of another student reading poetry. He sighed and leaned against the stucco wall. He thought of Daniel, who had suffered through so many bleak periods when his longing for Luce consumed him, made him wish he could die and escape their curse, only to be rewarded with a single brush of her fingertips in the next life before she was gone again.

Is it worth it?
Cam had often asked his friend.

Now Cam understood Daniel's unchanging answer.
Of course it is,
he'd say.
It's the
only
thing that makes my existence worthwhile.

“Rookie mistake.”

Cam turned his head and saw Luc emerge from the shadows.

“What?” Cam muttered.

“Getting cocky on the first day.” Lucifer snarled. “We've got two more weeks together, and there are so many ways for you to lose.”

Cam was feeling far from cocky. If the devil got his way, Cam wasn't the only one who would lose.

“Up your game at any time,” he told Lucifer through his teeth. “I'm ready.”

“We'll see how ready you are,” Lucifer snickered just before he disappeared, leaving Cam alone.

Approximately 1000 BCE

I
n the moonlight, the blond boy dove into the Jordan River. His name was Dani, and though he had been in the village for only a month, his loveliness was already legendary from here to southern Beer-sheba.

From the banks of the river, a dark-haired girl watched him, fingering her necklace. Tomorrow she would turn seventeen.

And—out of sight—Cam was watching her
.
She seemed more beautiful now that she'd fallen for the night swimmer. Of course, Cam knew what the girl's fate would be, but nothing could stop her from loving Dani. Her love, Cam thought to himself, was pure.

“He's like a religion,” a soft voice said from behind him. He turned to find a stunning redhead. “She is devoted to him.”

Cam stepped toward the girl on the riverbank. He had never seen a mortal like her. Her waist-length red hair shimmered like a garnet. She was as tall as he was and graceful even standing still. Freckles kissed her slender shoulders and her smooth cheeks. He marveled at the intimacy in her blue eyes, as if the two of them were already complicit in some delightful brand of mischief. When she smiled, the tiny gap between her front teeth thrilled him in a way he'd never known.

“Do you know them?” Cam asked. This marvelous girl was only talking to him because she'd caught him watching Daniel and Lucinda.

Her laughter was clear as rainwater. “I grew up with Liat. And everyone knows Dani, though he only found our tribe near the end of the last moon. There is something unforgettable about him, don't you think?”

“Perhaps,” Cam said. “If you like that type.”

The girl studied Cam. “Did you travel here on the giant star that fell through the sky last night?” she asked. “My sisters and I were sitting by the fire, and we thought the star bore the wondrous shape of a man.”

Cam knew she was teasing, flirting, but he was impressed that she had guessed correctly. His wings had carried him here the night before; he'd been chasing the tail of a shooting star.

“What's your name?” he asked.

“My friends call me Lilith.”

“What do your enemies call you?”

“Lilith,”
she growled, baring her teeth. Then she laughed.

When Cam laughed, too, Liat whirled around a few feet below. “Who's there?” she called from the bank into the darkness.

“Let's get out of here,” Lilith said quietly to Cam, and held out her hand.

This girl was amazing. Fierce, full of life. He took her hand and let her lead him, a little worried he might do so forever, following wherever she went.

Lilith guided him to a bank of irises farther down the curving river, then reached inside the hollow trunk of an enormous carob tree and pulled out a lyre. Sitting among the flowers, she tuned the instrument by ear, so deftly Cam could see that she did it every day.

“Will you play for me?” Cam asked.

She nodded. “If you'll listen.” Then she began to play a series of notes that entwined like lovers, curled like the bends in the river. Miraculously, her glorious, humming melody assumed the shape of words.

She sang a sad love song that made everything else vanish from his mind.

Wrapped in her song, he couldn't care less about Lucifer or the Throne, Daniel or Lucinda. There was only Lilith's breathtaking, lingering song.

Had she composed it here, among the irises by the river? Which came to her first, melody or lyric? Who had been the inspiration?

“You had your heart broken?” he asked her, hoping to mask his jealousy. He lifted the lyre from her hands, but his fingers were clumsy. He was unable to play anything remotely as beautiful as the music that had flowed from Lilith.

She leaned close to Cam, her eyelids lowering as she gazed at his lips. “Not yet.” She reached for her instrument and strummed a twinkling chord. “No one's broken my lyre yet either, but a girl can't be too careful.”

“Will you teach me to play?” he asked.

He wanted more time with Lilith—a strange feeling for him. He wanted to sit close and watch the sunlight sparkle in her hair, to memorize the graceful rhythms of her fingers as she pulled beauty from string and wood. He wanted her to look at him the way Liat looked at Dani. And he wanted to kiss those lips every day, all the time.

“Something tells me you already know how to play,” she said. “Meet me here tomorrow night.” She glanced at the sky. “When the moon sits in the same place,
you
sit in the same place.”

Then she laughed, tucked her lyre into the tree, and skipped away, leaving a dark-haired, green-eyed angel falling madly in love for the very first time.