Luce turned toward the baggage carousel and found her neighbor from the plane standing in front of her, the straps of her huge duffel gripped in his hands. “I saw this go by,” he said, a forced smile on his face, like he was hell-bent on proving his good intentions. “It’s yours, isn’t it?”
Before Luce had time to answer, Daniel relieved the guy of the unwieldy bag, using only one hand. “Thanks, man. I’ll take it from here,” he said, decisively enough to end the conversation.
The guy watched as Daniel slid his other hand around Luce’s waist and steered her away. This was the first time since Sword & Cross that Luce had been able to see Daniel as the world did, her first chance to wonder whether other people could tell, just by looking, that there was something extraordinary about him.
Then they were through the sliding glass doors and she took her first real breath of the West Coast. The early-November air felt fresh and brisk and somehow healthy, not soggy and chilled like the Savannah air this afternoon when her plane had taken off. The sky was a brilliant bright blue, no clouds on the horizon. Everything looked new-minted and clean—even the parking lot held row after row of recently washed cars. A line of mountains framed it all, tawny brown with scraggly dots of green trees, one hill rolling into the next.
She was not in Georgia anymore.
“I can’t decide whether to be surprised,” Daniel teased. “I let you out from under my wing for two days and another guy swoops in.”
Luce rolled her eyes. “Come on. We barely spoke. Really, I slept the whole flight.” She nudged him. “Dreaming of you.”
Daniel’s pursed lips turned into a smile and he gave the top of her head a kiss. She stood still, wanting more, not even realizing that Daniel had stopped in front of a car. And not just any car.
A black Alfa Romeo.
Luce’s jaw dropped when Daniel unlocked the passenger door.
“Th-this …,” she stammered. “This is … did you know this is my absolute dream car?”
“More than that,” Daniel laughed. “This used to be your car.”
He laughed when she practically jumped at his words. She was still getting used to the reincarnation part of their story. It was so unfair. A whole car she had no memory of. Whole lives she couldn’t recall. She was desperate to know about them, almost like her former selves were siblings she’d been separated from at birth. She rested her hand on the windshield, searching for a wisp of something, for déjà vu.
Nothing.
“It was a sweet sixteen present from your folks a couple of lifetimes ago.” Daniel looked sideways, like he was trying to decide how much to say. Like he knew she was hungry for the details but might not be able to swallow too many at once. “I just bought it off this guy in Reno. He bought it after you, uh … Well, after you …”
Spontaneously combusted, Luce thought, filling in the bitter truth that Daniel wouldn’t speak. That was the one thing about her past lives: The ending rarely changed.
Except, it seemed, this time it could. This time they could hold hands, kiss, and … she didn’t know what else they could do. But she was dying to find out. She caught herself. They had to be careful. Seventeen years was not enough, and in this lifetime, Luce was adamant about sticking around to see what it was like to really be with Daniel.
He cleared his throat and patted the gleaming black hood. “Still drives like a champ. The only problem is …” He looked at the convertible’s tiny trunk, then at Luce’s duffel bag, then back at the trunk.
Yes, Luce had a terrible habit of overpacking, she’d be the first to admit. But for once, this wasn’t her fault. Arriane and Gabbe had packed her things from her dorm room at Sword & Cross, every black and nonblack piece of clothing she’d never had a chance to wear. She’d been too busy saying goodbye to Daniel, and to Penn, to pack. She winced, feeling guilty for being out here in California with Daniel, so far from where she’d left her friend buried. It didn’t seem fair. Mr. Cole had kept assuring her that Miss Sophia would be dealt with for what she’d done to Penn, but when Luce had pressed him about what exactly that meant, he’d tugged at his mustache and clammed up.
Daniel glanced suspiciously around the parking lot. He popped the trunk, Luce’s massive duffel bag in hand. It was an impossible fit, but then a soft sucking sound came from the back of the car and Luce’s bag began to shrink. A moment later, Daniel snapped the trunk shut.
Luce blinked. “Do that again!”
Daniel didn’t laugh. He seemed nervous. He slid into the driver’s seat and started the car without a word. It was a strange, new thing for Luce: seeing his face look so serene on the surface, but knowing him well enough to sense something deeper underneath.
“What’s wrong?”
“Mr. Cole told you about keeping a low profile, didn’t he?”
She nodded.
Daniel backed out of the spot, then wheeled around to the parking lot’s exit, slipping a credit card into the machine on their way out. “That was stupid. I should have thought—”
“What’s the big deal?” Luce tucked her dark hair behind her ears as the car began to pick up speed. “You think you’re going to attract Cam’s attention by stuffing a bag into a trunk?”
Daniel got a faraway look in his eyes and shook his head. “Not Cam. No.” A moment later, he squeezed her knee. “Forget I said anything. I just—We both just have to be cautious.”
Luce heard him but was too overwhelmed to listen too closely. She loved watching Daniel expertly work the gearshift as they took the ramp onto the freeway and zipped through traffic; loved feeling the wind whipping through the car as they sped toward the towering San Francisco skyline; loved—most of all—just being with Daniel.
In San Francisco proper, the road turned much hillier. Every time they crested one peak and started careening down another, Luce caught a different glimpse of the city. It looked old and new at the same time: Mirror-windowed skyscrapers backed right up against restaurants and bars that looked a century old. Tiny cars lined the streets, parked at gravity-defying angles. Dogs and strollers everywhere. The sparkle of blue water all around the city’s edge. And the first candy-apple-red glimpse of the Golden Gate Bridge in the distance.
Her eyes darted around to keep up with all the sights. And even though she had spent most of the past few days sleeping, she suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion.
Daniel stretched his arm around her and guided her head toward his shoulder. “Little-known fact about angels: We make excellent pillows.”
Luce laughed, lifting her head to kiss his cheek. “I couldn’t possibly sleep,” she said, nuzzling his neck.
On the Golden Gate Bridge, throngs of pedestrians, spandexed bicyclers, and joggers flanked the cars. Far below was the brilliant bay, dotted with white sailboats and the beginning notes of a violet sunset. “It’s been days since we’ve seen each other. I want to catch up,” she said. “Tell me what you’ve been doing. Tell me everything.”
For an instant, she thought she saw Daniel’s hands tighten around the steering wheel. “If your goal is not to go to sleep,” he said, cracking a smile, “then I really shouldn’t delve into the minutiae of the eight-hour-long Council of the Angels meeting I was stuck in all day yesterday. See, the board met to discuss an amendment to proposition 362B, which details the sanctioned format for cherubic participation in the third circuit of—”