the most beautiful—until her eyes flew to the flow of blood from the spot where Daniel had plucked the feather.
“Why did you do that?” she asked.
Daniel handed the feather to Phil, who tucked it into the lapel of his trench coat without hesitation.
“It is a pennon,” Daniel said, glancing at the bloody portion of his wing without concern. “If by chance the others arrive alone, they will know the Outcasts are friends.” His eyes followed her own, which were wide with worry, to the bloody region of his wing. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll heal. Come on—”
“Where are we going?” Luce asked.
“The sun’s about to rise,” Daniel said, taking a small leather satchel from Phil. “And I figure you must be starving.”
Luce hadn’t realized it, but she was.
“I thought we could steal a moment before anyone else shows up.”
There was a sheer, narrow path from the plateau that led to a small ledge down from where they’d landed.
They picked their way down the jagged mountain, hand in hand, and when it was too steep for walking, Daniel coasted, always flying very low to the ground, his wings tucked close to his sides.
“Don’t want to alarm the hikers,” he explained.
“Most places on Earth, people aren’t willing to let themselves see miracles, angels. If they catch a glimpse of us flying by, they convince themselves their eyes were playing tricks on them. But in a place like this—”
“People can see miracles,” Luce finished for him.
“They want to.”
“Right. And seeing leads to wonder.”
“And wonder leads to—”
“Trouble.” Daniel laughed a little.
Luce couldn’t help grinning, enjoying that at least for a little while, Daniel was her miracle alone.
They sat down next to each other on the small flat stretch in the middle of the heart of nowhere, shielded from the wind by a granite boulder and out of sight of everyone but a pale brown partridge picking its way along the scabby rocks. The view when Luce looked past the boulder was life-altering: a ring of mountains, this peak in shadow, this one draped in light, all of them growing brighter with each second that passed as the sun crested over the pink horizon.
Daniel unzipped the satchel and peered inside. He shook his head, laughing.
“What’s funny? What’s in there?” Luce asked.
“Before we left Venice, I asked Phil to pack a few things from his cupboard. Leave it to a blind Outcast to prepare a nutritious meal.” He pulled out a canister of paprika-flavored Pringles, a red bag of Maltesers, a handful of blue-foil-wrapped Baci chocolates, a pack of Day-gum, several small bottles of diet soda, and a few sleeves of powdered-espresso packets.
Luce burst out laughing.
“Will this hold you over?” he asked.
Luce snuggled up to him and crunched a few malt balls, watching the eastern sky grow pink, then gold, then baby blue as the sun crested the peaks and valleys in the distance. The light cast strange shadows in the crevices of the mountain. At first she assumed at least some of them were Announcers, but then realized no—they were simply shadows spun from shifting light.
Luce realized it had been days since she’d seen an Announcer.
Strange. For weeks, months, they’d been appearing before her more and more frequently, until she could barely shift her gaze without seeing one wobbling darkly in a corner, beckoning her. Now they seemed to have disappeared.
“Daniel, what happened to the Announcers?” He leaned back against the ledge and exhaled deeply before saying, “They are with Lucifer and the host of Heaven. They, too, are part of the Fall.”
“What?”
“This has never happened before. The Announcers belong to history. They are the shadows of significant events. They were generated by the Fall and so when Lucifer set this game into motion, they were drawn back there.”
Luce tried to picture it: a million trembling shadows surrounding a great dark orb, their tendrils licking the
“Why did you do that?” she asked.
Daniel handed the feather to Phil, who tucked it into the lapel of his trench coat without hesitation.
“It is a pennon,” Daniel said, glancing at the bloody portion of his wing without concern. “If by chance the others arrive alone, they will know the Outcasts are friends.” His eyes followed her own, which were wide with worry, to the bloody region of his wing. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll heal. Come on—”
“Where are we going?” Luce asked.
“The sun’s about to rise,” Daniel said, taking a small leather satchel from Phil. “And I figure you must be starving.”
Luce hadn’t realized it, but she was.
“I thought we could steal a moment before anyone else shows up.”
There was a sheer, narrow path from the plateau that led to a small ledge down from where they’d landed.
They picked their way down the jagged mountain, hand in hand, and when it was too steep for walking, Daniel coasted, always flying very low to the ground, his wings tucked close to his sides.
“Don’t want to alarm the hikers,” he explained.
“Most places on Earth, people aren’t willing to let themselves see miracles, angels. If they catch a glimpse of us flying by, they convince themselves their eyes were playing tricks on them. But in a place like this—”
“People can see miracles,” Luce finished for him.
“They want to.”
“Right. And seeing leads to wonder.”
“And wonder leads to—”
“Trouble.” Daniel laughed a little.
Luce couldn’t help grinning, enjoying that at least for a little while, Daniel was her miracle alone.
They sat down next to each other on the small flat stretch in the middle of the heart of nowhere, shielded from the wind by a granite boulder and out of sight of everyone but a pale brown partridge picking its way along the scabby rocks. The view when Luce looked past the boulder was life-altering: a ring of mountains, this peak in shadow, this one draped in light, all of them growing brighter with each second that passed as the sun crested over the pink horizon.
Daniel unzipped the satchel and peered inside. He shook his head, laughing.
“What’s funny? What’s in there?” Luce asked.
“Before we left Venice, I asked Phil to pack a few things from his cupboard. Leave it to a blind Outcast to prepare a nutritious meal.” He pulled out a canister of paprika-flavored Pringles, a red bag of Maltesers, a handful of blue-foil-wrapped Baci chocolates, a pack of Day-gum, several small bottles of diet soda, and a few sleeves of powdered-espresso packets.
Luce burst out laughing.
“Will this hold you over?” he asked.
Luce snuggled up to him and crunched a few malt balls, watching the eastern sky grow pink, then gold, then baby blue as the sun crested the peaks and valleys in the distance. The light cast strange shadows in the crevices of the mountain. At first she assumed at least some of them were Announcers, but then realized no—they were simply shadows spun from shifting light.
Luce realized it had been days since she’d seen an Announcer.
Strange. For weeks, months, they’d been appearing before her more and more frequently, until she could barely shift her gaze without seeing one wobbling darkly in a corner, beckoning her. Now they seemed to have disappeared.
“Daniel, what happened to the Announcers?” He leaned back against the ledge and exhaled deeply before saying, “They are with Lucifer and the host of Heaven. They, too, are part of the Fall.”
“What?”
“This has never happened before. The Announcers belong to history. They are the shadows of significant events. They were generated by the Fall and so when Lucifer set this game into motion, they were drawn back there.”
Luce tried to picture it: a million trembling shadows surrounding a great dark orb, their tendrils licking the
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