come in through the window in the dark without knocking over any of those plants. And
who were the Nephilim kids?
Luce had sudden vivid flashbacks to the mental jungle gym Arriane had taken her
through when they'd first met. Her Shoreline roommate's tough exterior was a lot like
Arriane's, and Luce remembered a similar how-will-I-ever-be-friends-with-you feeling
her first day at Sword & Cross.
26
But though Arriane had seemed intimidating and even a little dangerous, there
had been something charmingly off-kilter about her from the start. Luce's new roommate,
on the other hand, just seemed annoying.
Shelby popped off the bed and lumbered into the bathroom to brush her teeth.
After digging through her duffel bag to find her toothbrush, Luce followed her in and
gestured sheepishly at the toothpaste.
"I forgot to pack mine."
"No doubt the dazzle of your celebrity blinded you to the small necessities of
life," Shelby replied, but she picked up the tube and extended it toward Luce.
They brushed in silence for about ten seconds until Luce couldn't take it anymore.
She spat out a mouthful of froth. "Shelby?"
With her head in the belly of the porcelain sink, Shelby spat and said, "What?"
Instead of asking any of the questions that had been running through her head a
minute before, Luce surprised herself and asked, "What was I saying in my sleep?"
This morning was the first in at least a month of vivid, complicated, Daniel-ridden
dreams on which Luce had woken up unable to remember a single thing from her sleep.
Nothing. Not one brush of an angel wing. Not one kiss of his lips.
She stared at Shelby's gruff face in the mirror. Luce needed the girl to help jog her
memory. She must have been dreaming about Daniel. If she hadn't been ... what could it
mean?
"Beats me," Shelby said finally. "You were all muffled and incoherent. Next time,
try enunciating." She left the bathroom and slipped on a pair of orange flip-flops. "It's
breakfast time. You coming or what?"
Luce scurried out of the bathroom. "What do I wear?" She was still in her
pajamas. Francesca hadn't said anything last night about a dress code. But then, she'd also
failed to mention the roommate situation.
Shelby shrugged. "What am I, the fashion police? Whatever takes the least
amount of time. I'm hungry."
Luce hustled into a pair of skinny jeans and a black wraparound sweater. She
would have liked to spend a few more minutes on her first-day-of-school look, but she
just grabbed her backpack and followed Shelby out the door.
The dormitory hallway was different in the daylight. Everywhere she looked were
bright, oversized windows with ocean views, or built-in bookshelves crammed full of
thick, colorful hardcover books. The floors, the walls, the recessed ceilings and steep,
curving staircases were all made from the same maple wood used to build the furniture
inside Luce's room. It should have given the whole place a warm log cabin feel, except
that the school's layout was as intricate and bizarre as Sword & Cross's dorm had been
boring and straightforward. Every few steps, the hallway seemed to split off into small
tributary hallways, with spiral staircases leading further into the dimly lit maze.
Two flights of stairs and what looked like one secret door later, Luce and Shelby
stepped through a set of double-paned French windows and into the daylight. The sun
was incredibly bright, but the air was cool enough that Luce was glad she'd worn a
sweater. It smelled like the ocean, but not really like home. Less briny, more chalky than
the East Coast shore.
"Breakfast is served on the terrace." Shelby gestured at a broad green expanse of
land. This lawn was bordered on three sides by thick blue hydrangea bushes, and on the
27
fourth by the steep, straight drop into the sea. It was hard for Luce to believe how very
beautiful the school's setting was. She couldn't imagine being able to stay inside long
enough to make it through a class.
As they approached the terrace, Luce saw another building, a long, rectangular
structure with wooden shingles and cheery yellow-trimmed windowpanes. A large handcarved sign hung over the entrance: "MESS HALL," it read in quotes, like it was trying
to be ironic. It was certainly the nicest mess Luce had ever seen.
The terrace was filled with whitewashed iron lawn furniture and about a hundred
of the most laid-back-looking students Luce had ever seen. Most of them had their shoes
kicked off, their feet propped up on the tables as they dined on elaborate breakfast dishes.
Eggs Benedict, fruit-topped Belgian waffles, wedges of rich-looking, flaky spinachflecked quiche. Kids were reading the paper, gabbing on cell phones, playing croquet on