“Go to your friends,” Phil said. “Vincent, Olianna, Sanders, and Emmet will accompany you. I will join you with the others when Daedalus is back on his wings.” The four Outcasts stepped forward, bowing their heads before Luce and Daniel as if awaiting a command.
“We will fly the eastern route,” Daniel instructed.
“North over the Black Sea, then west when we pass Mol-dova. The wind stream is calmer there.”
“What about Gabbe and Molly and Cam?” Luce asked.
Daniel looked at Phil, who looked up from the sleeping Outcast boy. “One of us will stand watch here. If your friends arrive, the Outcasts will send word.”
“You have the pennon?” Daniel asked.
Phil pivoted to show the abundant white feather tucked into the buttonhole of his lapel. It glowed and pulsed in the wind, its radiance sharply contrasting the Outcast’s deathly pale skin.“I hope you have cause to use it.” Daniel’s words frightened Luce, because they meant he thought the angels in Avalon were in as much danger as the ones in Vienna.
“They need us, Daniel,” she said. “Let’s go.” Daniel gave her a warm, grateful look. Then, without hesitation, he swept her up into his arms. With the halo tucked under their interlaced fingers, Daniel bent his knees and sprang into the sky.
SIX
FOUND WANTING
It was drizzling in Vienna.
Curtains of mist cloaked the city, making it possible for Daniel and the Outcasts to alight unseen on the eaves of a vast building before night had completely fallen.
Luce saw the splendid copper dome first, glowing sea green against the fog. Daniel set her down before it on a slanted section of the copper roof, puddled with rain-water, enclosed by a short marble balustrade.
“Where are we?” she asked, eyeing the dome adorned with gold brocaded tassels, its oval windows etched with floral designs too high for mortal eyes to see, unless they were in the arms of an angel.
“Hofburg Palace.” Daniel stepped over a stone rain gutter and stood at the edge of the roof. His wings brushed the white marble railing, making it look drab.
“Home of Viennese emperors, then kings, now presi-dents.”
“Is this where Arriane and the others are?”
“I doubt it,” Daniel said. “But it’s a pleasant place to get our bearings before we look for them.” A mazelike network of annexes extended beyond the dome to form the rest of the palace. Some of them squared off around shady courtyards ten stories below; others stretched long and formidably straight, farther than the fog would allow Luce’s eyes to see. Different portions of the copper roofs shone different shades of green—this one acid, that one almost teal—as if sections of the building had been added over a long period of time, as if they’d rusted during different eras’ rain.
The Outcasts spread out around the dome, leaning up against the squat chimneys darkened with soot that punctuated the palace roof, standing before the flagpole that rose from the center bearing the red-and-white-banded Austrian flag. Luce stood at Daniel’s side, finding herself between him and a marble statue. It depicted a warrior wearing a knight’s helmet and gripping a tall golden spear. They followed the statue’s gaze out at the city. Everything smelled like wood smoke and rain.
Beneath the mist and fog, Vienna glittered with the twinkle of a million Christmas lights. It teemed with strange cars and fast-walking pedestrians as accustomed to city life as Luce was not. Mountains stood in the distance and the Danube slung its strong arm around the outskirts of the town. Gazing down with Daniel, Luce felt as if she’d been here before. She couldn’t be sure when, but the ever-more-frequent sensation of déjà vu swelled inside her.
She focused on the faint bustle coming from a tented row of Christmas stalls in the circle below the palace, the way the candles flickered in their red and green globed glass lanterns, the way the children chased one another, pulling wooden dogs on wheels. Then it happened: She remembered with a wave of satisfaction that Daniel had once bought her crimson velvet hair ribbons right down there. The memory was simple, joyful, and hers.
Lucifer couldn’t have it. He could not take it—or any other memory—away. Not from Luce, not from the brilliant, surprising, imperfect world sprawling out below her.
Her body bristled with determination to defeat him, and with the rage from knowing that because of what he was doing, because she had rejected his wishes, all this might disappear.
“What is it?” Daniel laid a hand on her shoulder.
Luce didn’t want to say. She didn’t want Daniel to know that every time she thought of Lucifer she felt disgusted with herself.
The wind surged around them, parting the mist that lay over the city to reveal an ambling Ferris wheel on the other side of the river. People twirled in its circle as if the world would never end, as if the wheel would spin forever.
“Are you cold?” Daniel draped his white wing around her. The supernatural weight of it felt somehow over-bearing, reminding her that her shortcomings as a mortal—and Daniel’s concern for them—were slowing them down.
The truth was Luce was freezing, and hungry, and tired, but she didn’t want Daniel to coddle her. They had important things to do.
“I’m fine.”
“Luce, if you’re tired or afraid—”
“I said I’m fine, Daniel,” she snapped. She didn’t mean to and felt sorry immediately.
Through the blurring fog, she could make out horse-drawn carriages carting tourists and the hazy outlines of people tracing out their lives. Just like Luce was struggling to do.
“Have I complained too much since we left Sword & Cross?” she asked.
“No, you’ve been amazing—”
“I’m not going to die or faint just because it’s cold and rainy.”
“I know that.” Daniel’s directness surprised her. “I should have known you knew it, too. Generally, mortals are limited by their bodily needs and functions—food, sleep, warmth, shelter, oxygen, nagging fear of mortality, and so on. Because of that, most people wouldn’t be prepared to make this journey.”
“I’ve come a long way, Daniel. I want to be here. I wouldn’t have let you go without me. It was a mutual agreement.”
“Good, then listen to me: It is within your power to release yourself of mortal bonds. To be free of them.”
“What? I don’t need to worry about the cold?”
“Nope.”
“Right.” She stuffed icy hands into the pockets of her jeans. “And apple strudel?”
“Mind over matter.”
A reluctant smile found her face. “Well, we’ve already established that you can breathe for me.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself.” Daniel smiled back briefly. “This has to do more with you than me. Try it: Tell yourself that you are not cold, not hungry, not tired.”
“All right.” Luce sighed. “I am not . . .” She’d started to mumble, disbelieving, but then she caught Daniel’s eye. Daniel, who believed she could do things she never thought she was capable of, who believed that her will meant the difference between having the halo and letting it slip away. She was holding it in her hands. Proof.
Now he was telling her she had mortal needs only because she thought she did. She decided to give this crazy idea a try. She straightened her shoulders. She projected the words into the misty dusk. “I, Lucinda Price, am not cold, not hungry, not tired.” The wind blew, and the clock tower in the distance struck five—and something lifted off her so that she didn’t feel depleted anymore. She felt rested, equipped for whatever the night called for, determined to succeed.
“Nice touch, Lucinda Price,” Daniel said. “Five senses transcended at five o’clock.”