Fallen 2. Torment(2)

that made him capable of despicable acts with no remorse. Daniel was crippled by

remorse. And right now, he was further crippled by love.

"You take human death too lightly," Daniel said.

"This guy deserved it," Cam said. "You really don't see the sport in all of this?"

That was when Daniel got in his face and spat, "She is not a game to me."

"And that is exactly why you will lose."

Daniel grabbed Cam by the collar of his steel-gray trench coat. He considered

tossing him into the water the same way he'd just tossed the predator.

A cloud drifted past the sun, its shadow darkening their faces.

"Easy," Cam said, prying Daniel's hands away. "You have plenty of enemies,

Daniel, but right now I'm not one of them. Remember the truce."

"Some truce," Daniel said. "Eighteen days of others trying to kill her."

"Eighteen days of you and me picking them off," Cam corrected.

It was angelic tradition for a truce to last eighteen days. In Heaven, eighteen was

the luckiest, most divine number: a life-affirming tally of two sevens (the archangels and

the cardinal virtues), balanced with the warning of the four horsemen of the Apocalypse.

10

In some mortal languages, eighteen had come to mean life itself--though in this case, for

Luce, it could just as easily mean death.

Cam was right. As the news of her mortality trickled down the celestial tiers, the

ranks of her enemies would double and redouble each day. Miss Sophia and her cohorts,

the Twenty-four Elders of Zhsmaelin, were still after Luce. Daniel had glimpsed the

Elders in the shadows cast by the Announcers just that morning. He had glimpsed

something else, too--another darkness, a deeper cunning, one he hadn't recognized at first.

A shaft of sunlight punctured the clouds, and something gleamed in the corner of

Daniel's vision. He turned and knelt down to find a single arrow planted in the wet sand.

It was slimmer than a normal arrow, a dull silver color, laced with swirling etched

designs. It was warm to the touch.

Daniel's breath caught in his throat. It had been eons since he'd seen a starshot.

His fingers quaked as he gently drew it from the sand, careful to avoid its deadly blunt

end.

Now Daniel knew where that other darkness had come from in this morning's

Announcers. The news was even grimmer than he'd feared. He turned to Cam, the

feather-light arrow balanced in his hands. "He wasn't acting alone."

Cam stiffened at the sight of the arrow. He moved toward it almost reverently,

reaching out to touch it the same way Daniel had. "Such a valuable weapon to leave

behind. The Outcast must have been in a great hurry to get away."

The Outcasts: a sect of spineless, waffling angels, shunned by both Heaven and

Hell. Their one great strength was the reclusive angel Azazel, the only remaining

starsmith, who still knew the art of producing starshots. When loosed from its silver bow,

a starshot could do little more than bruise a mortal. But to angels and demons, it was the

deadliest weapon of all.

Everyone wanted them, but none were willing to associate with Outcasts, so

bartering for starshots was always done clandestinely, via messenger. Which meant the

guy Daniel had killed was no hit man sent by the Elders. He was merely a barterer. The

Outcast, the real enemy, had spirited away--probably at the first sight of Daniel and Cam.

Daniel shivered. This was not good news.

"We killed the wrong guy."

"What 'wrong'?" Cam brushed him off. "Isn't the world better off with one less

predator? Isn't Luce?" He stared at Daniel, then at the sea. "The only problem is--"

"The Outcasts."

Cam nodded. "So now they want her too."

Daniel could feel the tips of his wings bristling under his cashmere sweater and

heavy coat, a burning itch that made him flinch. He stood still, with his eyes closed and

his arms at his sides, straining to subdue himself before his wings burst forth like the

violently unfurling sails of a ship and carried him up and off this island and over the bay

and away. Straight toward her.

He closed his eyes and tried to picture Luce. He'd had to tear himself away from

that cabin, from her peaceful sleep on the tiny island east of Tybee. It would be evening

there by now. Would she be awake? Would she be hungry?

The battle at Sword & Cross, the revelations, and the death of her friend--it had

taken quite a toll on Luce. The angels expected her to sleep all day and through the night.

But by tomorrow morning, they would need to have a plan in place.

11

This was the first time Daniel had ever proposed a truce. To set the boundaries,

make the rules, and draw up a system of consequences if either side transgressed--it was a