Fallen 2. Torment(77)

ceiling until the room looked as if it had been given a deathly coat of paint, leaving a

cold, foul-smelling wake over Luce's head. Out of her reach.

The Announcer she hadn't even summoned--the Announcer that could contain,

well, anything--was taunting her.

She inhaled nervously, remembering what Miles had said about control. She

concentrated so fiercely that her brain began to hurt. Her face was red and her eyes were

strained to the point where she was going to have to just give up. But then:

The Announcer buckled, sliding down to Luce's feet like a thick bolt of dropped

fabric. Squinting, she discerned a smaller, plumper brownish shadow hovering over the

larger, darker one, tracing its movements, almost the way a sparrow might fly closely in

line with a hawk. What was this one after?

"Incredible," Miles whispered. Luce tried to let Miles's words sink in as a

compliment. These things that had terrorized her all her life, that made her miserable?

That she had always feared? Now they served her. Which really was kind of incredible. It

hadn't occurred to her until she'd seen the intrigue on Miles's face. For the first time, she

felt pretty badass.

She controlled her breathing and took her time guiding it off the floor and into her

hands. Once the large gray Announcer was within reach, the smaller one poured to the

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floor like a golden bend of the light from the window, blending in with the hardwood

planks.

Luce took the edges of the Announcer and held her breath, praying that the

message inside was more innocent than yesterday's. She tugged, surprised to feel this

shadow give her more resistance than any of the others had. It looked so sheer and

insubstantial, but felt stiff in her hands. By the time she'd coaxed it into a window about a

foot square, her arms were aching.

"This is the best I can do," she told Miles and Shelby. They stood up, drawing

close.

The gray veil within the Announcer lifted, or Luce thought it did, but then another

gray veil lay underneath. She squinted until she saw the gray texture roiling and moving,

realizing it wasn't the shadow she was seeing anymore: The gray veil they were looking

at was a thick cloud of cigarette smoke. Shelby coughed.

The smoke never really cleared, but Luce's eyes got used to it; soon she could see

a broad half-moon table with a red felt top. Playing cards were arrayed in neat rows

across its surface. A row of strangers sat crowded at one side. Some looked jumpy and

nervous, like the bald man who kept loosening his polka-dot tie and whistling under his

breath. Others looked exhausted, like the hairsprayed woman ashing a cigarette into a

half-full glass of something. Her gloopy mascara was wearing off her upper lashes,

leaving a seam of black grit under her eyes.

And across the table, a pair of hands were flying through a deck of cards, expertly

flipping over a card at a time to each person at the table. Luce inched closer to Miles so

she could get a better look. She was distracted by the flashing neon lights from a

thousand slot machines just beyond the tables. That was before she saw the dealer.

She thought she'd get used to seeing versions of herself in the Announcers.

Young, hopeful, ever naive. But this was different. The woman dealing cards in the seedy

casino wore a white oxford shirt, snug black pants, and a black vest that bulged at the

chest. Her fingernails were long and red, with sequins sparkling on both pinkies, and she

kept using them to flick her black hair out of her face. Her focus hovered just above the

hairlines of the players, so she never really looked anyone in the eye. She was three times

as old as Luce, but there was still something between them.

"Is that you?" Miles whispered, trying hard not to sound horrified.

"No!" Shelby said flatly. "That broad is old. And Luce only lives to be

seventeen." She shot Luce a nervous look. "I mean, in the past, that's been the deal. This

time, though, I'm sure she'll live to a ripe old age. Maybe as old as this lady. I mean--"

"Enough, Shelby," Luce said.

Miles shook his head. "I have so much catching up to do."

"Okay, if it's not me, we must be ... I don't know, somehow related." Luce

watched as the woman cashed out chips for the bald man with the tie. Her hands looked

sort of like Luce's. The way her mouth set was similarly serious. "Do you think it's my

mom? Or my sister?"

Shelby was scribbling notes furiously on the inside back cover of a yoga manual.

"Only one way to find out." She flashed her notes at Luce: Vegas: Mirage Hotel and

Casino, night shift, table stationed near the Bengal tiger show, Vera with the Lee press-

on nails.

She looked back at the dealer. Shelby was a stickler for the details that Luce never