“Troy,” Daniel said finally, shaking his head in amaze-ment. “Who would have guessed . . .”

  “There again,” Roland said, his tone conveying a tortured history with the city.

  “I always got the sense that place was doomed.” Arriane shivered. “But I—”

  “Never knew why,” Annabelle finished.

  “Cam?” Daniel said, and the others looked away from the map to eye the demon.

  “I’ll go,” Cam said quickly. “I’m fine.”

  “Then that’s it,” Daniel said as if he couldn’t believe it. “Phillip,” he called, looking upward.

  Phil and his three Outcasts rose from their perches on the cliff peaks overhead.

  “Alert the others.”

  What others? Who else was left by now? Luce thought.

  “What will I tell them?” Phil asked.

  “Tell them we know the site of the Fall, that we’re leaving now for Troy.”

  “No.” Luce’s voice halted the Outcasts’ movement.

  “We can’t leave yet. What about Dee?”

  In the end, it was no surprise that Dee had taken care of everything, down to the details for her memorial. Annabelle found them tucked into a slat on the roof of the creaky wooden trunk, which, as Dee’s letter explained, flipped over to form a catafalque. The sun was low in the sky by the time they began to make her memorial. It was the end of the seventh day; Dee’s letter assured them this wouldn’t be a waste of their time.

  Roland, Cam, and Daniel carried the catafalque to the center of the marble platform. They covered the map completely so that when the Scale descended there, they would see a funeral, not the site of the angels’ Fall.

  Annabelle and Arriane carried Dee’s body behind the catafalque. They laid her carefully on its center, so that her heart was directly above the star of her blood. Luce remembered that Dee had said that sanctuaries were built on top of sanctuaries. Her body would form a sanctuary for the map it hid.

  Cam draped Dee’s cloak over her body, but he left her face exposed to the sky. In her final resting place, Dee, their desideratum, looked small but mighty. She looked at peace. Luce wanted to believe Dee was wandering through dreams with Dr Otto.

  “She wants Luce to be the one to bless her,” Annabelle read from the letter.

  Daniel squeezed her hand, as if to say, Are you okay?

  Luce had never done anything like this before. She waited to feel awkward, guilty for speaking at the funeral for someone she had slain, but in those emotions’ place sat a sense of honor and awe.

  She stepped up to the catafalque. She gave herself a few moments to gather her thoughts.

  “Dee was our desideratum,” she began. “But she was more than one desired thing.”

  She took a breath and realized she wasn’t blessing just Dee, but also Gabbe and Molly, whose bodies were air—and Penn, whose funeral she couldn’t attend. It was all too much. Her vision swirled and the words vanished and all she knew was that Dee had smeared sacrificial blood on Luce’s forehead.

  It was Dee’s gift to Luce.

  You must remember how to dream what you already know.

  Blood thrummed at her temples. Her head and her heart were ablaze with heat, her hands icy as she wove them through Dee’s.

  “Something’s happening.” Luce held her face in her hands, her hair spilling down around her. She closed her eyes and found bright white light on the backs of her eyelids.

  “Luce—”

  When she opened her eyes, the angels had flung off their cloaks and unfurled their wings. The mesa flooded with light. A great mass of Scale shrieked somewhere just above her.

  “What’s happening?” She shielded her eyes.

  “We need to hurry, Daniel,” Roland shouted from above. Had the other angels already alighted? What was the source of the light?

  Daniel’s arms wrapped around her waist. He held her tightly. It felt good but she was still afraid.

  “I’m here with you, Lucinda. I love you, no matter what.”

  She knew that her feet were drifting from the ground, that her body was taking flight. She knew she was with Daniel. But she was barely aware of their transit through the burning sky, barely aware of anything beyond the strange new pulsing in her soul.

  SIXTEEN

  APOCALYPSE

  Somewhere along the way it started raining.

  Raindrops pattered on Daniel’s wings. Thunder rolled in the sky before them. Lightning ripped through the night. Luce had been sleeping, or in a heavy state of something similar to sleep, because when the storm came, she stirred to a dreamy half-awareness.

  The headwind was brutal and incessant, flattening Luce against Daniel’s body. The angels flew through it at a tremendous speed, every wingbeat thrusting them across whole cities, mountain ranges. They flew over clouds that looked like giant icebergs, passing them in the blink of an eye.

  Luce didn’t know where they were or how long they’d been traveling. She didn’t feel like asking.

  It was dark again. How much time remained? She couldn’t remember. Counting seemed impossible, though Luce had once loved to solve complex calculus proofs. She almost laughed at the thought of sitting at a wooden desk in calculus, chewing on an eraser next to twenty mortal kids. Had that ever really happened to her?

  The temperature dropped. The rain intensified as the angels flew into a gale that stretched farther than her eye could see. Now the raindrops pelting Daniel’s wings sounded like hail hitting icy snow.

  The weather came sideways and upward. Luce’s clothes were drenched. She felt hot one moment, frozen the next. Daniel’s hands, encircling her body, rubbed goose bumps from her arms. She watched water streaming off the toes of her black boots toward the ground, thousands of feet below.

  Visions appeared in the darkness through the storm.

  She saw Dee letting down red hair that swirled around her body. The old lady was whispering, Break the curse.

  Her hair became bloody tendrils, enclosing her like mummy wrap, then like a caterpillar’s cocoon . . . until the body became a massive column of thick and dripping blood.

  Through the mist, a golden light grew brighter. Cam’s wings sharpened in the space between Luce’s feet and the speck of land she had been watching.

  “Is this it?” Cam shouted through the wind.

  “I don’t know,” Daniel said.

  “How will we know?”

  “We just will.”

  “Daniel. The time—”

  “Don’t rush me. We have to get her to the right place.”

  “Is she asleep?”

  “She’s feverish. I don’t know. Shhh.”

  A grunt of frustration accompanied the fading of Cam’s glow back into the mist.

  Luce’s eyelids flickered. Was she asleep? The sky did seem to be raining nightmares. Now she saw Miss Sophia, her black eyes gleaming in the light reflected from the raindrops. She raised her dagger, and her pearl bracelets rattled as she brought the knife into Luce’s heart.

  Her words— Trust is a careless pursuit—echoed again and again in Luce’s mind until she wanted to scream.

  Then the vision of Miss Sophia flickered and swirled, darkening into the gargoyle who Luce had trusted, so carelessly.

  Little Bill, who’d posed as a friend, all the while hiding something vast and terrifying. Maybe that was what friendship was to the devil: love always tinged with evil.

  The gargoyle’s body was a husk for forces darkly powerful inside.

  In her vision, Bill bared rotten black fangs and exhaled clouds of rust. He roared, but silently, a silence that was worse than anything he ever could have said, because her imagination filled the void. He consumed her plane of vision as Lucifer, as Evil, as the End.

  She snapped open her eyes. She clasped her hands over Daniel’s arms around her as they flew through the endless storm.

  You’re not afraid, she vowed silently in the rain. It was the hardest of the things she’d had to convince herself of on this journey.

  When you face him again, you will not be afraid.

  “Guys,” Arriane said, appearing on the right side of Daniel’s wings. “Look.”

  The clouds thinned as they drove onward. Below them was a valley, a broad stretch of rocky farmland that met a narrow strait of sea on its west side. A huge wooden horse stood absurdly in the barren landscape, a monument to a shadowed past. Luce could make out stony ruins near the horse, a Roman theater, a contemporary parking lot.

  The angels flew on. The valley spread out below, dark but for a single light in the distance: an electric lamp that shone through the window of a tiny hut in the center of the slope.

  “Fly toward the house,” Daniel called to the others.

  Luce had been watching a line of goats drift across the sodden fields, gathering in a grove of apricot trees.

  Her stomach lurched as Daniel swooped suddenly down.

  When they touched the ground, Luce and the angels were about a quarter of a mile from the white hut.

  “Let’s go inside.” Daniel took her hand. “They’ll be waiting for us.”

  Luce walked next to Daniel through the rain, her dark hair splayed across her face, her borrowed coat drenched with what felt like a thousand pounds of raindrops.

  They were trudging up a winding muddy path when a large drop of water clung to Luce’s eyelashes and dripped inside her eye. When she rubbed it away and blinked, the Earth had utterly changed.

  An image flashed before her eyes, a long-forgotten memory returning to life:

  The wet ground beneath her feet had gone from green to singed black in one place, ashen gray in another.

  The valley surrounding them was pocked with deep, smoking craters. Luce smelled carnage, roasted flesh and rot so thick and sharp it burned her nostrils and clung to the roof of her mouth. Craters sizzled, sounding like rattlesnakes, as she walked past. Dust—angel dust—was everywhere. It floated through the air, coated the ground and rocks, fell like snowflakes on her face.

  Something silver was in her peripheral vision. It looked like broken pieces of a mirror, except that it was phosphorescent—shimmering, almost alive. Luce dropped Daniel’s hand, fell to her knees, and crawled along the muddy ground toward the broken silver glass.

  She didn’t know why she did this. She only knew she had to touch it.

  She reached for a large piece, groaning with the effort. She had her hand firmly around it—

  And then she blinked and came up with nothing but a fistful of soft mud.

  She looked up at Daniel, her eyes filled with tears.

  “What’s happening?”

  He glanced at Arriane. “Get Luce inside.” She felt her arms being lifted. “You’ll be okay, kiddo,” Arriane said. “Promise.”

  The dark wood door of the hut opened and a warm light poured out from within. Peering out at the wet angels was the calm, collected face of Steven Filmore, Lu-ce’s favorite teacher from Shoreline.

  “Glad you could make it,” Daniel said.

  “Same to you.” Steven’s voice was steady and professorial, just as Luce remembered. Somehow it was reassuring.

  “Is she all right?” Steven asked.

  No. She was losing it.

  “Yes.” Daniel’s confidence took Luce by surprise.

  “What happened to her neck?”

  “We ran into some Scale in Vienna.”

  Luce was hallucinating. She was not all right. Trembling, she met Steven’s eyes. They were steady, comforting.

  You are all right. You have to be. For Daniel.

  Steven held open the door and led them inside. The small hut had a dirt floor and straw roof, a heap of blankets and rugs in one corner, a crude cooking stove near the fire, and a square of four rocking chairs in the center of the room.

  Standing in front of the chairs was Francesca—

  Steven’s wife and the other Nephilim teacher at Shoreline. Phil and the other three Outcasts stood alert along the opposite wall of the hut. Annabelle, Roland, Arriane, Daniel, and Luce all crammed into the firelit warmth of the house.

  “What now, Daniel?” Francesca asked, all business.

  “Nothing,” Daniel said quickly. “Nothing yet.” Why not? Here they were on the fields of Troy, near the place where Lucifer was expected to land. They’d raced here to stop him. Why go through everything they’d gone through this week just to sit around a cabin and wait?

  “Daniel,” Luce said. “I could use some explanation.” But Daniel only looked to Steven.

  “Please have a seat.” Steven steered Luce to one of the rocking chairs. She sank into it, and nodded thanks when he handed her a metal cup of spicy Turkish apple tea. He gestured around at the hut. “It isn’t much, but it keeps the rain and most of the wind out, and you know what they say—”

  “Location, location, location,” Roland finished, leaning on the arm of the rocking chair where Arriane had curled up across from Luce.

  Annabelle looked around at the rain wailing on the window, at the cramped room. “So this is the Fall site? I mean, I can kind of feel it, but I don’t know if that’s because I’m trying so hard. This is weird. ” Steven was polishing his glasses on his fisherman’s sweater. He slipped them back onto his nose, resuming his professorial tone. “The Fall site is very large, Annabelle. Think of the space required for one hundred and fifty million, eight hundred and twenty-seven thousand, eight hundred and sixty-one—”

  “You mean one hundred and fifty million, eight hundred and twenty-seven thousand, seven hundred and forty-six—” Francesca interrupted.

  “Of course, there are discrepancies.” Steven always humored his beautiful, combative wife. “The point is many angels fell, so the impact site is vast.” He glanced, very quickly, at Luce. “But yes, you are sitting in a portion of the place where the angels fell to Earth.”

  “We followed the old broad’s map,” Cam said, poking at the fire in the stove. It had burned down to cin-ders, but his touch brought it roaring back to life. “But I still wonder how we know for sure that this is it. There’s not much time left. How do we know?” Because I’m seeing visions of it, Luce’s mind suddenly screamed. Because somehow, I was there.

  “I’m glad you asked.” Francesca spread a scroll of parchment on the floor between the rocking chairs. “The Nephilim library at Shoreline has one map of the Fall site. The map was drawn at so close a range that until someone could determine a geographical location, it could have been anywhere.”

  “It might as well have been an ant farm,” Steven added. “We’ve been awaiting Daniel’s signal since Luce came back through the Announcers, tracking your progress, trying to stay within reach for when you needed us.”

  “The Outcasts found us at our winter home in Cairo just after midnight.” Francesca drew her shoulders together, as if warding off a shudder. “Luckily, this one had your pennon or we might have—”

  “His name is Phillip. The Outcasts are with us now,” Daniel said.

  It was strange that Phil had posed as a student at Shoreline for months and Francesca didn’t recognize him. Then again, the snobbish angel teacher paid attention only to the “gifted” students at the school.

  “I’d hoped you would be able to make it in time,” Daniel said. “How were things at Shoreline when you left?”

  “Not good,” Francesca said. “Worse for you, I’m sure, but still, not good for us. The Scale came through Shoreline on Monday.”

  Daniel’s jaw clenched. “No.”

  “Miles and Shelby,” Luce gasped. “Are they okay?”

  “Your friends are all fine. They couldn’t find anything to charge us with—”

  “That’s right,” Steven said proudly. “My wife runs a tight ship. Above reproach.”

  “Still,” Francesca said. “The students were very alarmed. Some of our biggest donors pulled their children from the school.” She paused. “I hope this is worth it.”

  Arriane shot to her feet. “You bet your bangles it will be worth it.”

  Roland stood up quickly and tugged Arriane back to her seat. Steven took Francesca’s arm and pulled her over to the window. Soon everyone was whispering and Luce didn’t have enough strength to hear more than Arriane’s loud “I got her big donation right here.” Out the window, the slenderest band of russet light hugged the mountains. Luce stared at it, her stomach knotted, knowing it marked the sunrise of the eighth day, the last full day before—

  Daniel’s hand was on her shoulder, warm and strong.

  “How are you doing, there?”

  “I’m fine.” She sat up straighter, feigning alertness.

  “What do we need to do next?”

  “Sleep.”

  She straightened her shoulders. “No, I’m not tired.

  The sun’s rising, and Lucifer—”

  Daniel leaned over the rocking chair and kissed her forehead. “It will go better if you’re rested.” Francesca looked up from her conversation with Steven. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

  “If she’s tired, she needs to sleep. A few hours won’t hurt. We’re already here.”

  “But I’m not tired.” She protested, but it was obvious she was lying.

  Francesca swallowed. “I guess you’re right. It’s either going to happen or it’s not.”

  “What does she mean?” Luce asked Daniel.

  “Nothing,” he said softly. Then, turning to Fran cesca, he said very quietly, “It’s going to happen.” He lifted Luce enough so he could slide into the rocking chair beside her. He wrapped his arms around her waist. The last things she felt were his kiss on her temple and his whisper in her ear. “Let her have one last sleep.”

  “Are you ready?”

  Luce stood beside Daniel in a fallow plot of farmland outside the white hut. Mist rose from the soil, and the sky was the sharp blue color of a heavy storm’s wake.

  There was snow in the hills to the east, but the sloping plains of the valley exuded springlike warmth. Flowers bloomed on the fringes of the field. Butterflies were everywhere, white and pink and gold.

  “Yes.”