Fallen 2. Torment(27)

The building was remarkably different without the other students to warm it up.

Dim and drafty and almost abandoned-feeling. Every noise Luce made seemed to carry,

echoing off the sloping wooden beams. She could see a lamp on the landing one floor up

and smell the rich aroma of brewing coffee. She didn't know yet whether she was going

to tell Francesca what she'd been able to do in the forest. It might seem insignificant to

someone as skilled as Francesca. Or it might seem like a violation of her instructions to

the class today.

Part of Luce just wanted to feel her teacher out, to see whether she might be

someone Luce could turn to when, on days like today, she started to feel as if she might

fall apart.

She reached the top of the stairs and found herself at the head of a long, open

hallway. On her left, beyond the wooden banister, she looked down at the dark, empty

classroom on the second story. On her right was a row of heavy wooden doors with

stained-glass transoms over them. Walking quietly along the floorboards, Luce realized

she didn't know which office was Francesca's. Only one of the doors was ajar, the third

one from the right, with light emanating from the pretty stained-glass scene in the

transom. She thought she heard a male voice inside. She was poised to knock when a

woman's sharp tone made her freeze.

"It was a mistake to even try," Francesca practically hissed.

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"We took a chance. We got unlucky."

Steven.

" Unlucky? " Francesca scoffed. "You mean reckless. From a purely statistical

standpoint, the odds of an Announcer bearing bad news were far too great. You saw what

it did to those kids. They weren't ready."

A pause. Luce inched a little closer along the Persian rug in the hall.

"But she was."

"I won't sacrifice all the progress an entire class has made just because some,

some--"

"Don't be shortsighted, Francesca. We came up with a beautiful curriculum. I

know that as well as you. Our students outperform every other Nephilim program in the

world. You did all that. You have a right to feel a sense of pride. But things are different

now."

"Steven's right, Francesca." A third voice. Male. Luce thought it sounded familiar.

But who was it? "Might as well throw your academic calendar out the window. The truce

between our sides is the only timeline that matters anymore."

Francesca sighed. "You really think--"

The unknown voice said, "If I know Daniel, he'll be right on time. He's probably

counting down the minutes already."

"There's something else," Steven said.

A pause, then what sounded like a drawer sliding open, then a gasp. Luce would

have killed to be on the other side of the wall, to see what they could see.

"Where did you get that?" the other male voice asked. "Are you trading?"

"Of course he's not!" Francesca sounded stung. "Steven found it in the forest

during one of his rounds the other night."

"It's authentic, isn't it?" Steven asked.

A sigh. "Been too long for me to say," the stranger hedged. "I haven't seen a

starshot in ages. Daniel will know. I'll take it to him."

"That's all? What do you suggest we do in the meantime?" Francesca asked.

"Look, this isn't my thing." The familiarity of that male voice was like an itch at

the back of Luce's brain. "And it's really not my style--"

"Please," Francesca pleaded.

The office was silent. Luce's heart was pounding.

"Okay. If I were you? Step things up around here. Tighten their supervision and

do everything you can to get all of them ready. End Times aren't supposed to be very

pretty."

End Times. That was what Arriane had said would happen if Cam and his army

won that night at Sword & Cross. But they hadn't won. Unless there'd already been

another battle. But then, what would the Nephilim need to get ready for?

The sound of heavy chair legs scraping along the floor made Luce jump back. She

knew she should not be caught eavesdropping on this conversation. Whatever it was

about.

For once, she was glad of the endless supply of mysterious alcoves in the

Shoreline architecture. She ducked under a decorative wood-shingled cornice between

two bookshelves and pressed herself into the recess of the wall.

A single set of footsteps exited the office, and the door closed firmly. Luce held

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her breath and waited for the figure to descend the stairs.

At first, she could see only his feet. Brown European leather boots. Then a pair of

dark-wash jeans came into view as he curved around the banister toward the second story

of the lodge. A blue-and-white-striped button-down shirt. And finally, the distinctly