Torment

Francesca cocked her head. "Luce."



"They carry messages," she said, growing surer as she spoke, thinking back to Daniel's assurance. "But they're harmless."



"Messengers, yes. But harmless?" Francesca glanced at Steven. Her tone betrayed nothing about whether Luce was right or wrong, which made Luce feel embarrassed.



The entire class was surprised when Francesca stepped back alongside Steven, took hold of one side of the shadow's border while he gripped the other, and gave it a rm tug. "We call this glimpsing," she said.



The shadow bulged and stretched out like a balloon being blown up. It made a thick glugging sound as its blackness distorted, showing colors more vivid than anything Luce had seen before. Deep chartreuse, glittering gold, marbleized swaths of pink and purple. A whole swirling world of color glowing brighter and more distinct behind a disappearing mesh of shadow. Steven and Francesca were still tugging, stepping backward slowly until the shadow was about the size and shape of a large projector screen. Then they stopped.



They gave no warning, no "What you are about to see," and after a horri ed moment, Luce knew why. There could be no preparation for this.



The tangle of colors separated, settled nally into a canvas of distinct shapes. They were looking at a city. An ancient stone-walled city ... on re. Overcrowded and polluted, consumed by angry ames. People cornered by the ames, their mouths dark emptinesses, raising their arms to the skies. And everywhere a shower of bright sparks and burning bits of re, a rain of deadly light landing everywhere and igniting everything it touched.



Luce could practically smell the rot and doom coming through the shadow screen. It was horri c to look at, but the strangest part, by far, was that there wasn't any sound. Other students around her were ducking their heads, as if they were trying to block out some wail, some screaming that to Luce was indistinguishable. There was nothing but clean silence as they watched more and more people die.



When she wasn't sure her stomach could take much more, the focus of the image shifted, sort of zoomed out, and Luce could see it from a distance. Not one but two cities were burning. A strange idea came to her, softly, like a memory she'd always had but hadn't thought of in a while. She knew what they were looking at: Sodom and Gomorrah, two cities in the Bible, two cities destroyed by God.



Then, like turning o a light switch, Steven and Francesca snapped their ngers and the image disappeared. The remnants of the shadow shattered into a small black cloud of ash that settled eventually on the oor of the classroom. Around Luce, the other students all seemed to be catching their breath. catching their breath.



Luce couldn't take her eyes o the place where the shadow had been. How had it done that? It was starting to congeal again, the pieces of dark pooling together, slowly returning to a more familiar shadow shape. Its services complete, the Announcer inched sluggishly along the oorboards, then slid right out of the classroom, like the shadow cast by a closing door.



"You may be wondering why we just put you through that," Steven said, addressing the class. He and Francesca shared a worried look as they glanced around the room. Dawn was whimpering at her desk.



"As you know," Francesca said, "most of the time in this class, we like to focus on what you as Nephilim have the power to do. How you can change things for the better, however each of you decide to de ne that. We like to look forward, instead of backward."



"But what you saw today," Steven said, "was more than just a history lesson with incredible special e ects. And it wasn't just imagery we conjured up. No, what you were seeing was the actual Sodom and Gomorrah, as they were destroyed by the Great Tyrant when he--"



"Unh-unh-unh!" Francesca said, wagging a nger. "We don't go for easy name-calling in here."



"Of course. She's right, as usual. Even I sometimes lapse into propaganda." Steven beamed at the class. "But as I was saying, the Announcers are more than mere shadows. They can hold very valuable information. In a way, they are shadows--but shadows of the past, of long-ago and not-so- long-ago events."



"What you saw today," Francesca nished, "was just a demonstration of an invaluable skill some of you may be able to harness. Someday."



"You won't want to try it right now." Steven wiped his hands with a handkerchief he'd pulled from a pocket. "In fact, we forbid you to attempt this, lest you lose control and lose yourselves in the shadows. But someday, maybe, it will be a possibility."



Luce shared a glance with Miles. He gave her a wide-eyed smile, as if he were relieved to hear this. He didn't seem to feel at all shut out, not the way Luce did.



"Besides," Francesca said, "most of you will probably nd that you feel fatigued." Luce looked around the room at the students' faces as Francesca talked. Her voice had the e ect of aloe on a sunburn. Half of the kids had their eyes closed, as if they'd been soothed. "That's very normal. Shadow-glimpsing is not done without great cost. It takes energy to look back even a few days, but to look back millennia? Well, you can feel the e ects yourselves. In light of that"--she looked at Steven--"we're going to let you out early today to rest."



"We'll pick up again tomorrow, so make sure you've done your reading on disapparition," Steven said. "Class dismissed."



Around Luce, students rose slowly from their desks. They looked dazed, exhausted. When she stood up, her own knees were a little wobbly, but somehow she felt less shaken than the others seemed to be. She tightened her cardigan around her shoulders and followed Miles out of the classroom.



"Pretty heavy stu ," he said, taking the stairs down from the deck two at a time. "Are you okay?"



"I'm ne," Luce said. She was. "Are you?"



Miles rubbed his forehead. "It just feels like we were really there. I'm glad they let us out early. Feel like I need a nap."



"Seriously!" Dawn added, coming up behind them on the winding path back to the dorm. "That was the last thing I was expecting from my Wednesday morning. I am so conking out right now."



It was true: The destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah had been horrifying. So real, Luce's skin still felt hot from the blaze.



They took the shortcut back to the dorm, around the north side of the mess hall and into the shade of the redwoods. It was strange seeing the campus so empty, with all the other kids at Shoreline still in class in the main building. One by one, the Nephilim peeled o the path and headed straight to bed.



Except for Luce. She wasn't tired, not at all. Instead, she felt strangely energized. She wished, again, that Daniel were there. She badly wanted to talk to him about Francesca and Steven's demonstration--and to know why he hadn't told her sooner that there was more to the shadows than she could see.



In front of Luce were the stairs leading up to her dorm room. Behind her, the redwood forest. She paced outside the entrance to the dorm, unwilling to go inside, unwilling to sleep this o and pretend she hadn't seen it. Francesca and Steven wouldn't have been trying to scare the class; they must have intended to teach them something. Something they couldn't come right out and say. But if the Announcers carried messages and echoes of the past, then what was the point of the one they'd just been shown?



She went into the woods.



Her watch said 11 a.m., but it could have been midnight under the dark canopy of trees. Goose bumps rose on her bare legs as she pressed deeper into the shady forest. She didn't want to think about it too hard; thinking would only increase the odds of her chickening out. She was about to enter uncharted territory. Forbidden territory.



She was going to summon an Announcer.



She'd done things to them before. The very rst time was when she pinched one during class to keep it from sneaking into her pocket. There was the time in the library when she'd swatted one away from Penn. Poor Penn. Luce couldn't help wondering what message that Announcer had been carrying. If she had known how to manipulate it then, the way Francesca and Steven had manipulated the one today--could she have stopped what happened?



She closed her eyes. Saw Penn, slumped against the wall, her chest aproned with blood. Her fallen friend. No. Looking back on that night was too painful, and it never got Luce anywhere. All she could do now was look ahead.



She had to ght the cold fear clawing at her insides. A slinking, black, familiar shape lurking alongside the true shadow of a low redwood branch a mere ten yards in front of her.



She took a step toward it, and the Announcer shrank back. Trying not to make any sudden moves, Luce pressed on, closer, closer, willing the shadow not to slip away.



There.



The shadow twitched under its tree branch but stayed put.



Heart racing, Luce tried to calm herself down. Yes, it was dark in this forest; and yes, not a soul knew where she was; and okay, sure, there was a chance no one would miss her for a good while if anything happened--but there was no reason to panic. Right? So why did she feel gripped by a gnawing fear? Why was she getting the same tremor in her hands she used to get when she saw the shadows as a girl, back before she'd learned they were basically harmless?



It was time to make a move. She could either stand here frozen forever, or she could chicken out and go sulking back to the dorm, or-- It was time to make a move. She could either stand here frozen forever, or she could chicken out and go sulking back to the dorm, or--



Her arm shot out, no longer shaking, and took hold of the thing. She dragged it up and clutched it tightly to her chest, surprised by its heft, by how cold and damp it was. Like a wet towel. Her arms were shaking. What did she do with it now?



The image of those burning cities ashed into her mind. Luce wondered whether she could stand to see this message on her own. If she could even gure out how to unlock its secrets. How did these things work? All Francesca and Steven had done was pull.



Holding her breath, Luce worked her ngers along the shadow's feathery edges, gripped it, and gave it a gentle tug. To her surprise, the Announcer was pliant, almost like putty, and took whatever shape her hands suggested. Grimacing, she tried to manipulate it into a square. Into something like the screen she'd seen her teachers form.



At rst it was easy, but the shadow seemed to grow sti er the more she tried to stretch it out. And every time she repositioned her hands to pull on another part, the rest would recoil into a cold, lumpy black mass. Soon she was out of breath and using her arm to wipe the sweat o her brow. She did not want to give up. But when the shadow started to vibrate, Luce screamed and dropped it to the ground.



Instantly, it darted o into the trees. Only after it was gone did Luce realize: It hadn't been the shadow that was vibrating. It was the cell phone in her backpack.



She'd gotten used to not having one. Until that moment, she'd even forgotten that Mr. Cole had given her his old phone before he put her on the plane to California. It was almost completely useless, solely so that he would have a way to reach her, to keep her up to date on what stories he was feeding to her parents, who still believed she was at Sword & Cross. So that when Luce talked to them, she could lie consistently.



No one besides Mr. Cole even had her number. And for really annoying safety reasons, Daniel hadn't given her a way to reach him. And now the phone had cost Luce her rst real progress with a shadow.