Luce had to resist the urge to crouch down and apologize. Instead, she turned,
leaving Daniel behind her. Wasn't it obvious that he was supposed to pick good?
Wouldn't anyone?
146
FOURTEEN
FIVE DAYS
Someone had ratted them out.
On Sunday morning, while the rest of the campus was still eerily calm, Shelby,
Miles, and Luce sat in a row on one side of Francesca's office, waiting to be interrogated.
Her office was larger than Steven's--brighter, too, with a high, sloping ceiling and three
large windows facing the forest to the north, each with thick lavender velvet curtains,
parted to show a shocking blue sky. A large framed photograph of a galaxy, hanging over
the tall marble-topped desk, was the only piece of art in the room. The baroque chairs
they sat on were chic but uncomfortable. Luce couldn't stop fidgeting.
" 'Anonymous tip,' my ass," Shelby muttered, quoting the harsh email they'd each
received from Francesca this morning. "This immature tattling reeks of Lilith."
Luce didn't think it was possible that Lilith--or any of the students, really--would
have known they'd left campus. Someone else had looped their teachers in.
"What's taking them so long?" Miles nodded toward Steven's office on the other
side of the wall, where they could hear their teachers arguing in low voices. "It's like
they're coming up with a punishment before they've even heard our side of the story!" He
bit his lower lip. "What is our side of the story, by the way?"
But Luce wasn't listening. "I really don't see what's so difficult," she said under
her breath, more to herself than the others. "You just pick a side and move on."
"Huh?" Miles and Shelby said in unison.
"Sorry," Luce said. "It's just ... you know what Arriane was saying about tipping
the scales the other night? I brought it up to Daniel, and he got all weird. Seriously, how
is it not obvious that there's a right answer here and a wrong one?"
"It's obvious to me," Miles said. "There's a good choice and a bad choice."
"How can you say that?" Shelby asked. "That kind of thinking is exactly what got
us into this mess in the first place. Blind faith! Blanket acceptance of a practically
obsolete dichotomy!" Her face was turning red and her voice had gotten loud enough that
Francesca and Steven could probably hear. "I am so sick of all these angels and demons
taking sides--blah blah blah, they're evil! No, they're evil! On and on--like they know
what's best for everyone in the universe."
"So you're suggesting Daniel side with evil?" Miles scoffed. "Bring on the end of
the world?"
"I don't give a damn what Daniel does," Shelby said. "And frankly, I find it hard
to believe that it's all up to him, anyway."
But it had to be. Luce couldn't think of any other explanation.
"Look, maybe the lines aren't as clear-cut as we're taught they are," Shelby
continued. "I mean, who says Lucifer is so bad--"
147
"Um, everyone?" Miles said, looking to Luce for support.
"Wrong," Shelby barked. "A group of very persuasive angels trying to preserve
the status quo. Just because they won a big battle a long time ago, they think it gives them
the right."
Luce watched Shelby's eyebrows bunch up as she slumped against the rigid back
of her chair. Her words made Luce think of something she'd heard somewhere else. ...
"The victors rewrite history," she murmured. That was what Cam had said to her
that day at Noyo Point. Wasn't that what Shelby meant? That the losers ended up with a
bad rap? Their viewpoints were both similar--only, Cam, of course, was legitimately evil.
Right? And Shelby was just talking.
"Exactly." Shelby nodded at Luce. "Wait--what?"
Just then, Francesca and Steven walked through the door. Francesca lowered
herself into the black swivel chair at her desk. Steven stood behind her, his hands resting
lightly on the back of the chair. He looked as breezy in his jeans and crisp white shirt as
Francesca looked severe in her tailored black dress with the rigid square-cut neckline.
It brought to Luce's mind Shelby's talk about blurred lines, and the connotations
of words like angel and demon. Of course it was superficial to make judgments based
solely on Steven's and Francesca's clothing, but then again, it wasn't just that. In a lot of
ways, it was easy to forget which one of them was which.
"Who wants to go first?" Francesca asked, resting her interlaced manicured hands
on the marble desktop. "We know everything that happened, so don't even bother
contesting those details. This is your chance to tell us why."