The Fallen Sequence (60 page)

“I know. I was wondering, remember when you mentioned that you knew how to glimpse your past lives?”

This was what she’d been about to ask Shelby when Dawn fell overboard.

“I never said that.” The stick plunged deeper into the sand. Shelby’s face was flushed and her thick blond hair was frizzing out of her ponytail.

“Yes … you did.” Luce tilted her head. “You wrote it on my paper. That day when we were doing the icebreaker? You grabbed it out of my hands and said you could speak more than eighteen languages and glimpse past lives and which one did I need you to fill out—”

“I remember what I said. But you misunderstood what I meant.”

“Okay,” Luce said slowly, “well—”

“Just because I
have
glimpsed
a
past life before doesn’t mean I know how to do it, and it doesn’t mean it was my own.”

“So, it wasn’t yours?”

“Hell no, reincarnation is for freaks.”

Luce frowned and dug her hands into the wet sand, wanting to bury herself in it.

“
Hello
, that was a joke.” Shelby nudged Luce playfully. “Tailored especially for the girl who’s had to go through puberty a thousand times.” She grimaced. “Once was enough for me, thank you very much.”

So Luce was That Girl. The girl who’d had to go through puberty a thousand times. She’d never thought about it that way before. It was almost funny: From the outside, going through endless puberties seemed like the worst part of her lot. But it was so much more complicated than that. Luce started to say she’d go through a thousand more pimples and hormone fluctuations if she could look into her past lives and understand more about herself, but then she looked up at Shelby. “If it wasn’t yours, then whose past life did you glimpse?”

“Why are you being so nosy? Damn.”

Luce could feel her blood pressure rising. “Shelby, ohmigod, throw me a bone!”

“Okay,” Shelby said finally, making a chill-out motion with her hands. “I was at this party one night in Corona. Things got pretty crazy, half-naked séances and shit, and—well, that’s not really the story. So I remember taking a walk to get some air. It was raining, hard to see where I was going. I turned the corner in an alleyway and there was this guy, kind of beat-up-looking. He was bent over a sphere of darkness. I’d never seen anything like it, shaped like a globe, but glowing, kind of floating above his hands. He was crying.”

“What was it?”

“I didn’t know then, but now I know it was an Announcer.”

Luce was mesmerized. “And you saw some of the past life he was glimpsing? What was it like?”

Shelby met Luce’s eyes and swallowed. “It was pretty gruesome, Luce.”

“I’m sorry,” Luce said. “I was only asking because …”

It felt like a big deal to admit what she was about to admit. Francesca would definitely be opposed to this. But Luce needed answers, and she needed help. Shelby’s help.

“I need to glimpse some of my past lives,” Luce said. “Or I need to at least try. Things have been happening recently that I’m supposed to just accept because I don’t know any better—only I
could
know better, a lot better,
if I could just see where I come from. Where I’ve been. Does that make any sense?”

Shelby nodded.

“I need to know what I had in the past with Daniel so I can feel surer of what I have with him now.” Luce took a breath. “That guy, the one in the alley … did you see what he did to the Announcer?”

Shelby scrunched her shoulders. “He just sort of guided it into shape. I didn’t even know what it was at the time, and I don’t know how he tracked it down. That’s why Francesca and Steven’s demonstration freaked me out so much. I saw what happened that one night, and I’ve been trying to forget about it ever since. I had no idea that what I was seeing was an Announcer.”

“If I could track down an Announcer, do you think you could guide it?”

“No promises,” Shelby said, “but I’ll give it a shot. You know how to track them down?”

“Not really, but how hard can it be? They’ve been haunting me all my life.”

Shelby cupped her hand over Luce’s on the rock. “I want to help you, Luce, but it’s weird. I’m scared. What if you see something you, you know, shouldn’t?”

“When you broke up with SAEB—”

“I thought I told you not to—”

“Just listen: Aren’t you glad you figured out whatever it was that made you break up with him, sooner
rather than later? I mean, what if you got engaged or something and only then—”

“Blech!” Shelby put up a hand to stop Luce. “Point taken. Now, come on, find us a shadow.”

Luce led Shelby back across the beach and up the steep stone stairs, where dashes of battered red and yellow verbenas had pushed up through the wet, sandy soil. They crossed the neat green terrace, trying not to interrupt a group of non-Nephilim students in a game of ultimate Frisbee. They passed their third-story dorm room window and wound around the back of the building. At the edge of the forest of redwoods, Luce pointed to a space between the trees. “That’s where I found one the last time.”

Shelby marched into the forest ahead of Luce, shoving through the long, clawlike leaves of the vine maple trees among the redwoods and stopping under a giant fern.

It was dark under the redwoods, and Luce was glad of Shelby’s company. She thought back to the other day, how quickly time had passed while she was harassing that shadow, getting nowhere. Suddenly she felt overwhelmed.

“
If
we can find and catch an Announcer, and
if
we can even get a glimpsing to work,” she said, “what do you think the chances are that the Announcer will have
anything to show about me and Daniel? What if we just get another awful Bible scene like we saw in class?”

Shelby shook her head. “Daniel I don’t know about. But
if
we can summon and then glimpse an Announcer, then it
will
have to do with you. They’re supposed to be summoner-specific—though you won’t always be interested in what they have to say. Like how you get junk mail mixed with your important mail, but it’s still addressed to you.”

“How can they be … summoner-specific? That would mean Francesca and Steven were at the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah.”

“Well, yeah. They
have
been around forever. Rumor has it their résumés are pretty impressive.” Shelby stared oddly at Luce. “Put your bug eyes back in your head. How else do you think they scored jobs at Shoreline? This is a really good school.”

Something dark and slippery moved over them: a heavy cloak of an Announcer stretching sleepily in the lengthening shadows from the limb of a redwood tree.

“There.” Luce pointed, not wasting any time. She swung herself up onto a low branch that stretched behind Shelby. Luce had to balance on one foot and lean out all the way to the left just to graze the Announcer with her fingertips. “I can’t reach it.”

Shelby picked up a pinecone and pitched it at the center of the shadow where it draped down from the branch.

“Don’t!” Luce whispered. “You’ll piss it off.”

“It’s pissing
me
off, being so coy. Just hold out your hand.”

Grimacing, Luce did as she was told.

She watched the pinecone ricochet off the shadow’s exposed side, then heard the soft swishing sound that used to fill her ears with dread. One side of the shadow was sliding, very slowly, away from the branch. It slipped off and landed across Luce’s shaking extended arm. She pinched its edges with her fingers.

Luce hopped off the branch where she’d been standing and approached Shelby, her cold, musty offering in her hands.

“Here,” Shelby said. “I’ll take half and you take half, just like we saw in class. Ew, it’s squishy. Okay … loosen your grip, he’s not going anywhere. Let him just kind of chill and take shape.”

It seemed like a long time passed before the shadow did anything at all. Luce felt almost like she was playing with the old Ouija board she’d had as a kid. An inexplicable energy on the tips of her fingers. The feeling of slight, continual movement before she could see any difference in the Announcer’s shape.

Then there was a
whoosh:
It was contracting, folding slowly in on its dark self. Soon the whole thing had taken on the size and shape of a large box. It hovered just above their fingertips.

“Do you see that?” Shelby gasped. Her voice was almost inaudible over the whooshing sound of the shadow. “Look, there in the middle.”

As had happened during class, a dark veil seemed to lift off the Announcer, revealing a shocking burst of color. Luce shielded her eyes, watching as the bright light seemed to settle back inside the shadow screen, into a foggy out-of-focus image. Then, finally, into distinct shapes in muted colors.

They were looking at a living room. The back of a blue plaid recliner with the footrest kicked up and a badly fraying bottom corner. An old wood-paneled television airing a rerun of
Mork & Mindy
with the volume off. A fat Jack Russell terrier curled on a round patchwork rug.

Luce watched a swinging door push open from what looked like a kitchen. A woman, older than Luce’s grandmother had been when she died, walked through. She was wearing a pink-and-white patterned dress, heavy white tennis shoes, and thick glasses on a string around her neck. She was carrying a tray of cut fruit.

“Who are these people?” Luce wondered aloud.

When the old woman put down the tray on the coffee table, a liver-spotted hand extended from around the chair and selected a chunk of banana.

Luce leaned in to see more clearly, and the focus of the image shifted with her. Like a 3-D panorama. She
hadn’t even noticed the old man sitting in the recliner. He was frail, with a few thin patches of white hair and age spots all over his forehead. His mouth was moving, but Luce couldn’t hear a thing. A row of framed pictures lined the mantel of the fireplace.

The whooshing in Luce’s ears got louder, so loud it made her wince. Without her doing anything other than wonder about those pictures, the Announcer’s image zoomed in. It left Luce with a feeling of whiplash—and an extreme close-up of one framed photograph.

A thin gold-plated frame around a smudged glass plate. Inside, the small photograph had a fine scalloped border around a yellowing black-and-white image. Two faces in the photograph: Hers and Daniel’s.

Holding her breath, she studied her own face, which looked just a little younger than it did now. Dark shoulder-length hair set in pincurls. A white blouse with a Peter Pan collar. A wide A-line skirt brushing the middles of her calves. White-gloved hands, holding Daniel’s. He was looking directly at her, smiling.

The Announcer started vibrating, then quaking; then the image inside started to flicker and fade away.

“No,” Luce called, ready to lunge inside. Her shoulders connected with the edge of the Announcer, but that was as far as she got. A brush of bitter cold pushed her back and left her skin feeling damp. A hand clamped around her wrist.

“Don’t get any wild ideas,” Shelby warned.

Too late.

The screen went black and the Announcer dropped from their hands onto the forest floor, shattering into pieces like broken black glass. Luce suppressed a whimper. Her chest heaved. She felt like a part of her had died.

Lowering herself to all fours, she pressed her forehead to the ground and rolled onto her side. It was colder, murkier than it had been when they’d started. The watch on her wrist said it was after two o’clock, but it had been morning when they came into the forest. Looking west, toward the edge of the woods, Luce could see the difference in the light hitting the dorm. The Announcers swallowed time.

Shelby lay down next to her. “You okay?”

“I’m so confused. Those people—” Luce cupped her forehead. “I have no idea who they are.”

Shelby cleared her throat and looked uncomfortable. “Don’t you think, um, maybe you used to know them? Like, a long time ago. Like, maybe they were your …”

Luce waited for her to finish. “My what?”

“It really hasn’t occurred to you that those were your parents from another life? That this is what they look like now?”

Luce’s jaw dropped open. “No. Wait—you mean, I’ve had totally different parents in each of my past lives? I thought Harry and Doreen … I just assumed they would have been with me the whole time.”

Suddenly she remembered something Daniel had said, about her mother making bad boiled cabbage in that past life. At the time, she hadn’t dwelled on it, but now it made a little bit more sense. Doreen was an amazing cook. Everyone in east Georgia knew that.

Which meant Shelby must be right. Luce probably had a whole nation of past families she couldn’t even remember.

“I’m so stupid,” she said. Why hadn’t she paid more attention to the way the man and woman looked? Why hadn’t she felt the slightest connection to them? She felt like she’d lived her whole life and only now found out she was adopted. How many times had she been handed off to different parents? “This is—This is—”

“Totally messed up,” Shelby said. “I know. On the bright side, you could probably save yourself a lot of money for therapy if you could look back at all your other families, see all the problems you had with hundreds of mothers before this one.”