“There is always some regret when we accept that love has moved away from us.” The even voice came from the Throne. “But I will take your response as a small display of mercy and acquiescence, which offers the universe some hope. Lucinda and Daniel have made their choice clear and I hold us both to our vows made at the Roll Call. Their love is out of our hands. So be it.
But it will come at a price.” She shifted her gaze back to Luce and Daniel. “Are you prepared to pay the ultimate sacrifice for your love?”
Daniel shook his head. “If I have Lucinda, and Lucinda has me, there is no such thing as sacrifice.” Lucifer cackled, soaring off his feet and hovering in the air above Luce and Daniel. “So, we could rob everything from you—your wings, your strength, your immortality? And still you’d choose your love?” From the corner of her eye, Luce caught a glimpse of Arriane. Her wings were folded behind her. Her hands were stuffed inside the pockets of her overalls. She nodded smugly, lips pursed in satisfaction, as if to say, Hell yeah, they would.
“Yes.” Luce and Daniel spoke as one.
“Fine,” the Throne responded. “But understand:
There is a price. You may have each other, but you may have nothing else. If you choose love once and for all, you must give up your angelic natures. You will be born again, made anew as mortals.”
Mortals?
Daniel, her angel, reborn as a mortal?
All these nights she’d lain wondering what would become of her and Daniel’s love at the end of these nine days. Now the Throne’s decision reminded her of Bill’s suggestion that Luce kill her reincarnating soul in Egypt.
Even then, she’d considered living out her mortal life and leaving Daniel to his own. There would be no more pain from another lost love. She’d almost been able to do it. What stopped her was the thought of losing Daniel. But this time . . .
She could have him, really have him, for a long time.
Everything would be different. He would be at her side.
“If you accept”—the Throne’s voice rose above Lucifer’s raspy chortle—“you won’t remember what you once were, and I cannot guarantee that you will meet during your lifetime on Earth. You will live and you will die, just as any other mortal in creation. The powers of Heaven that have always drawn you to each other will pull away. No angel will cross your path.” She gave a warning look to the angels, Luce and Daniel’s friends.
“No friendly hand will appear in darkest night to guide you. You will be truly on your own.”
A soft sound escaped Daniel’s lips. She turned to him and took his hand. So they would be mortals, wandering the Earth in search of their other half, just like everyone else. It sounded like a beautiful proposition.
From just behind them Cam said, “Mortality is the most romantic story ever told. Just one chance to do everything you should. Then, magically, you move on..” But Daniel looked crestfallen.
“What is it?” Luce whispered. “You don’t want to?”
“You only just got back your wings.”
“Which is exactly why I know I can be happy without them. As long as I have you. You’re the one who’d really be giving them up. Are you sure it’s what you want?”
Daniel lowered his face to hers, his lips close, soft.
“Always.”
Tears welled in Luce’s eyes as Daniel turned back to face the Throne.
“We accept.”
Around them, the glow of wings grew very bright, until the whole field hummed with light. And Luce felt the other angels—their dear and precious friends—move from wild anticipation into shock.
“Very well,” the Throne almost whispered, her expression inscrutable.
“Wait!” Luce shouted. There was one more thing.
“We—we accept on one condition.”
Daniel stirred beside her, watching Luce from the corner of his eye, but he didn’t interrupt.
“What is your condition?” the Throne boomed, resoundingly unaccustomed to negotiation.
“Take the Outcasts back into the fold of Heaven,” she said before her confidence failed. “They have proven themselves worthy. If there was room enough to take me back into your Meadow, there is room enough for the Outcasts.”
The Throne looked at the Outcasts, who were silent and glowing dimly. “This is unorthodox but, at its core, a selfless request. You shall have it.” Slowly, she extended one of her arms. “Outcasts, step forward if you would enter Heaven once again.”
The four Outcasts strode to stand before the Throne, with more purpose than Luce had ever before seen them possess. Then, with a single nod, the Throne restored their wings.
They lengthened.
Thickened.
Their tattered brown color drained into a brilliant white.
And then the Outcasts smiled. Luce had never seen one smile before, and they were beautiful.
At the end of their metamorphosis, the Outcasts’ eyes bulged as their irises bloomed back into sight. They could see again.
Even Lucifer looked impressed. He muttered, “Only Lucinda could pull that off.”
“It is a miracle!” Olianna hugged her wings around her body to admire them.
“That’s her job,” Luce said.
The Outcasts returned to their old positions of adoration around the Throne.
“Yes.” The Throne closed her eyes to accept their adoration. “I believe that’s better after all.” Finally, the Throne raised her staff in the air and pointed it at Luce and Daniel. “It is time to say goodbye.”
“Already?” Luce didn’t mean to let the word slip.
“Make your farewells.”
The former Outcasts swept Luce with gratitude and hugs, binding her and Daniel in their arms. When they pulled away, Francesca and Steven stood before them, arms linked, gorgeous, beaming.
“We always knew you could do it.” Steven winked at Luce. “Didn’t we, Francesca?”
Francesca nodded. “I was hard on you, but you proved yourself to be one of the most impressive souls I have ever had the pleasure of instructing. You are an enigma, Luce. Keep it up.”
Steven shook Daniel’s hand and Francesca kissed their cheeks before they backed away.
“Thank you,” Luce said. “Take care of each other.
And take care of Shelby and Miles, too.”
Then angels were all around them, the old crew who’d formed at Sword & Cross and hundreds of other places before that.
Arriane, Roland, Cam, and Annabelle. They’d saved Luce more times than she could ever say.
“This is hard.” Luce folded herself into Roland’s arms.
“Oh, come on. You already saved the world.” He laughed. “Now go save your relationship.”
“Don’t listen to Dr. Phil!” Arriane squealed. “Don’t ever leave us!” She was trying to laugh but it wasn’t working. Rebellious tears streamed down her face. She didn’t wipe them away; she just held on tight to Annabelle’s hand. “Okay, fine, go!”
“We’ll be thinking of you,” Annabelle said. “Always.”
“I’ll be thinking of you, too.” Luce had to believe it was true. Otherwise, if she was really going to forget all this, she couldn’t bear to leave them.
But the angels smiled sadly, knowing she had to forget them.
That left Cam, who was standing close to Daniel, their arms clapped around each other’s shoulders. “You pulled it off, brother.”
“Course I did.” Daniel played at being haughty, but it came off as love. “Thanks to you.”
Cam took Luce’s hand. His eyes were bright green, the first color that ever stood out to her in the grim, dreary world of Sword & Cross.
He tilted his head and swallowed, considering his words carefully.
He drew her close, and for a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. Her heart pounded as his lips by-passed hers and came to a stop, whispering in her ear:
“Don’t let him flip you off next time.”
“You know I won’t.” She laughed.
“Ah, Daniel, a mere shadow of a true bad boy.” He pressed a hand to his heart and raised an eyebrow at her.
“Make sure he treats you well. You deserve the best of everything there is.”
For once, she didn’t want to let go of his hand. “What will you do?”
“When you’re ruined, there’s so much to choose from. Everything opens up.” He looked past her into the distant desert clouds. “I’ll play my role. I know it well. I know goodbye.”
He winked at Luce, nodded one final time at Daniel, then rolled back his shoulders, spread his tremendous golden wings, and vanished into the roiling sky.
Everyone watched until Cam’s wings were a fleck of far-off gold. When Luce lowered her eyes, they fell on Lucifer. His skin had its lovely shimmer, but his eyes were glacial. He said nothing, and it seemed he would have held her in his gaze forever if she hadn’t turned away.
She had done all she could for him. His pain was not her problem anymore.
The voice boomed from the Throne. “One more goodbye.”
Together, Luce and Daniel turned to acknowledge the Throne, but the second their eyes fell upon it, the stately figure of the woman blazed into white-hot glory, and they had to shield their eyes.
The Throne was indiscernible again, a gathering of light too brilliant to be gazed upon by angels.
“Hey, guys.” Arriane sniffed. “I think she meant for you two to say goodbye to each other.”
“Oh,” Luce said, turning to Daniel, suddenly panicked. “Right now? We have to—”
He took her hand. His wings brushed hers. He kissed the centers of her cheeks.
“I’m afraid,” she whispered.
“What did I tell you?”
She sifted through the million exchanges she and Daniel had ever shared—the good, the sad, the ugly. One rose above the clouds of her mind.
She was shaking. “That you will always find me.”
“Yes. Always. No matter what.”
“Daniel—”
“I can’t wait to make you the love of my mortal life.”
“But you won’t know me. You won’t remember. Everything will be different.”
He wiped away her tear with his thumb. “And you think that will stop me?”
She closed her eyes. “I love you too much to say goodbye.”
“It isn’t goodbye.” He gave her one last angelic kiss and embraced her so tightly she could hear his steady heartbeat, overlapping her own. “It’s until we meet again.”
TWENTY
PERFECT STRANGERS
Seventeen Years Later
Luce clipped her dorm room key card between her teeth, craned her neck to swipe it through the lock, waited for the small electric click, and opened the door with her hip.
Her hands were full: Her collapsible yellow laundry basket was heaped with clothes, most of which had shrunk during their first dryer cycle away from home.
She dumped the clothes onto her narrow bottom bunk, amazed she’d found a way to wear so many different things in so short a span of time. The whole week of freshman orientation at Emerald College had passed in a disconcerting blur.
