Roland beat his golden wings with such force that the air around him sent the
arrows back in the direction they had come from, taking out the unseeing Outcasts
several at a time. Molly charged the line again and again, her rakes spiraling like a
samurai's swords.
Arriane yanked Luce's old tire swing from its tree and twirled it like a lasso,
deflecting arrows into the fence, while Gabbe raced around, picking them up. She spun
and slashed like a dervish, taking out any Outcast who got too close, smiling sweetly as
the arrows bit their skin.
Daniel had commandeered the Prices' rusted iron horseshoes from under the
porch. He pitched them at the Outcasts, sometimes knocking three of them senseless with
one horseshoe as it ricocheted off their skulls. Then he would pounce on them, slip the
starshots from their bows, and drive the arrows into their hearts with his bare hands.
At the edge of the deck, Luce caught sight of her father's storage shed and
motioned for the other three to follow. They rolled over the railing to the grass below
and, ducking, hurried to the shed.
They were almost at the entrance when Luce heard a quick whiz in the air. Callie
cried out in pain.
"Callie!" Luce whirled around.
But her friend was still there. She was rubbing her shoulder where the arrow had
grazed her, but otherwise, she was unharmed. "That totally stings!"
Luce reached out to touch her. "How did you ...?"
Callie shook her head.
"Get down!" Shelby shouted.
Luce dropped to her knees, tugging the others down with her and pulling them
inside the shed. Among the dirty shadows of Luce's dad's tools, lawn mower, and old
sporting equipment, Shelby crawled over to Luce. Her eyes glistened and her lip was
quivering.
"I can't believe this is happening," she whispered, grabbing hold of Luce's arm.
"You don't know how sorry I am. It's all my fault."
"It's not your fault," Luce said quickly. Of course Shelby hadn't known who Phil
really was. What he really wanted from her. What this night would bring. Luce knew
what it was like to carry around guilt for doing something you didn't understand. She
wouldn't have wished it on anyone. Least of all Shelby.
"Where is he?" Shelby asked. "I could kill that sorry-ass freak."
"No." Luce held Shelby back. "You're not going out there. You could get killed."
"I don't get it," Callie said. "Why would anyone want to hurt you?"
That was when Miles stepped toward the entrance to the shed, into a beam of
moonlight. He was carrying one of Luce's father's kayaks over his head.
"Nobody's going to hurt Luce," he said as he stepped outside with it.
Right into the battle.
"Miles!" Luce screamed. "Come back--"
She rose to her feet to take off after him--then froze, stunned by the sight of him
chucking the kayak right into one of the Outcasts.
It was Phil.
189
His blank eyes gaped and he cried out, falling to the grass as the kayak struck
him. Pinned and helpless, his dirty wings writhed on the ground.
For an instant Miles looked proud of himself--and Luce felt a little bit proud too.
But then a short Outcast girl stepped forward, cocked her head like a dog listening to a
silent whistle, raised her silver bow, and aimed point-blank at Miles's chest.
"No mercy," she said tonelessly.
Miles was defenseless against this strange girl, who looked like she had no
understanding of mercy, not even for the nicest, most innocent kid in the world.
"Stop!" Luce cried out, her heart pounding in her ears as she ran out of the shed.
She could sense the battle going on around her, but all she could see was that arrow,
poised to enter Miles's chest. Poised to kill yet another of her friends.
The Outcast girl's head canted on her neck. Her vacant eyes turned on Luce, then
widened slightly, like, just as Arriane had said, she really could see the burning of Luce's
soul.
"Don't shoot him." Luce held out her hands in surrender. "I'm the one you want."
190
NINETEEN
THE TRUCE IS BROKEN
The Outcast girl lowered her bow. When the arrow relaxed along its bowstring,
the string made a creaking sound, like an attic door opening. Her face was as calm as a
still pond on a windless day. She was Luce's height, with clear, dewy skin, pale lips, and
dimples even in the absence of a smile.
"If you wish the boy to live," she said, her voice flat, "I will yield to you."
Around them, the others had stopped fighting. The tire swing rolled to a stop,
thudding against the corner of the fence. Roland's wings slowed to a soft beating and
carried him down to earth. Everyone was still, but the air was charged with an electric