"Miller, for now. We've changed it a few times over the centuries. Duncan and I are your cousins," Sofia continued, "If anybody asks."
Lucian looked back down at the birth certificate. There were unfamiliar names listed as his mother and father, and below that was a birthday. He snorted in disbelief as he calculated his age. "Seventeen?"
"It looks that way. We were surprised too. Everyone crosses into a young body, but you're the first crosser to arrive underage. We thought you looked young when we found you, but we weren't sure until the papers arrived."
"Maybe it's a mistake."
He knew the words weren't true before they left his mouth. In his world, there were no mistakes. "I need to focus on my mission. I have to figure out what they key is, what I'm supposed to do. I'm not here to go to school!"
"Yes." Sofia's voice was flat with finality. "You are. We all arrive just as we should be. You accepted a task, and obviously this is one of its contingencies.
"Unfortunately, because it took you so long to wake, there isn't much transition time. School starts tomorrow, so today is our only chance to help you prepare." She tapped a slender finger against the stack of papers. "You should probably start memorizing your personal history."
Chapter 6
Lucian's muscles were tight and exhausted when he collapsed into bed and stretched comfortably into the mattress. According to the digital clock flashing on the nightstand it was early, not even nine o'clock. He knew the body, his body, needed rest, but he couldn't shake the feeling that it was wasteful to spend hours sleeping. He had never spent large chunks of time in inactivity, and he hoped the amount of sleep his body required would lessen as he adapted. The sounds of music and laughter drifted beneath the bedroom door, and he briefly wondered how long Duncan and Sofia had to sleep.
Although his body longed to shut down, his mind was still spinning. Duncan had returned home quickly and had spent the day giving Lucian a crash course on what it meant to be human, something he had broken in down into three categories: consumption, interaction, and activity. They had spent most of the day people watching: couples eating lunch, families in the park, men at a shelter, stretchers coming into an ER. The people mostly seemed like strangers, but they were connected with one another in small ways, and their interactions with one another seemed to propel them forward from one event to the next.
After hours of studying human behavior, they had moved on to consumption. Duncan had taken him to an enormous grocery superstore where he was introduced to common foods and snacks, and then on to a mall where he had purchased enough clothes to completely fill the empty dresser in his room. Duncan had also purchased the wallet that now rested on top of his dresser, filled with cash and two credit cards.
Activity had been last. He felt a twinge beneath his shoulder blade and rubbed his hand across the back of his shoulder, trailing his fingers over the smooth, unfamiliar skin where his wings should be. His new body was undeniably limited; he had been surprised to discover its strengths. He slid one hand behind his head and rested the other on his abdomen as he remembered how the air snapped against his skin when he ran. He was strong. And fast. His supernatural abilities were suppressed, but physically he was in perfect condition.
And most important, he could remember. Every word the Guardians had spoken, every lesson from his training, every nuance of language that had eluded him at breakfast had flooded in during the last few hours. Although everything was new, his body had begun to feel completely natural. Familiar. "Instinct," Sofia had called it. He could also remember every moment of his past, but without the Timeline to guide him, he was blind.
Thirty-two days could've changed everything.
His eyes closed heavily and his mind grew fuzzy with sleep. He hadn't seen a key today, not the real one. The one that he was destined to find. What was it? Images flashed through his mind one after another, pictures of Heaven and Earth. They merged together, jumbled into one another, until he couldn't tell if he was awake or dreaming.
Chapter 7
Samara groaned quietly and slid down in the front seat of her car as she scanned the familiar faces trickling across the parking lot toward the entrance of West Wimberley High School. One of her mother's favorite quotes, "Every morning is a fresh beginning, every day the world is new," popped into her head and she snorted softly. Whoever said that skipped high school.
Even though it was only the first day of school, she had lived in Wimberley her whole life so she knew something about everyone that passed. A few girls scuttled past her car without meeting her eye, and she slid farther down in the seat until her forehead rested against the steering wheel. She knew about them, but they knew about her too. What do they think about me now? she wondered. The girl whose dad died?
She shook her head and pressed it harder against the steering wheel as soon as the thought flashed through her mind. Presumed dead, she reminded herself. Disappeared.
Her father, William Haye, was a geologist, an area of expertise that wasn't in high demand in the small town of Wimberley. He'd spent most of the past thirteen years teaching intro level science classes and doing research with grad students at the state college forty miles away. He hadn't seemed to have a particularly fulfilling life, and she had wondered if he regretted his decision to leave the East Coast and move back home.
A few years ago, when he was passed over for tenure and had one scotch too many, he had confided to her that he yearned to discover something great. Something truly unique. Something that would demand attention. "Then," he'd said, "the world will notice me." Then he'd be published in something besides the Hays County Gazette.
He had been loved by his students and the community, but unfortunately disappearing was the most outstanding thing he'd ever done.
It happened on an advance trip to the South Pole, the last one before his upcoming research expedition began. Each summer Professor Haye took a group of students to some far flung excavation site for the months of June and July, then spent the remainder of the year analyzing the collected samples in his lab at the University. This year her father had planned to take six graduate students to Antarctica, to the southernmost tip of the Pacific Ring of Fire. He'd been there several years before collecting samples of soil and ice, but when he'd analyzed the samples there had been unusual data, patterns that he couldn't interpret.
The trip was a short one, just long enough for her father to confirm the students' housing arrangements and to inspect the equipment that had been shipped to the base camp. She'd woken up early to sit in the kitchen with her father before his red eye flight and pressed a thermos of coffee into his hand as he walked out the door.
He had given her a quick kiss on the cheek. Then he was gone.
The media storm that followed his disappearance reported that Professor Haye had never arrived at his destination. A local news reporter had secured a copy of the airport security feed from the Falklands, and Samara had sat at the kitchen table with her mother and watched the tiny, grainy image of her father boarding a prop plane to Antarctica. The whole time she was watching, she believed he would return.
She'd stayed by the phone for nine days, expecting to hear his voice each time she answered. Then the police told her mother that Professor Haye's plane had deviated from the logged flight plan. Instead of landing at the Ice Runway, the plane had touched down in a more isolated area. A safe landing had been confirmed, but her father's whereabouts were untraceable.
The end of her Junior year was a blur. All she remembered about the last few days of the semester was the way the other students watched her when they thought she wasn't looking. She'd almost felt sorry for them; she could tell they didn't know what to say. It seemed like everyone was looking at her all the time. Waiting. Wondering when she was going to have a breakdown or scream or do something crazy.
She left town as soon as finals were over. Her mother's parents lived on a goat ranch in the tiny town of Archedale fifty miles a
way, the perfect place to flee. It had been years since she'd been there, and the isolation that she normally hated had been a haven. Things had seemed normal there. She'd gone weeks without seeing anyone who knew her, or knew about her father. No one there had stared at her with sad, sympathetic eyes.
She sighed. The quiet weeks of June and July had been a relief, but they were over. She couldn't keep hiding.
Her class schedule lay on the passenger seat beside her, and she propped it against the steering wheel and read over it again even though she already had it memorized. First hour: office elective. She closed her eyes and took deep, cleansing breaths as she fought the growing sense of dread in her stomach. You can do this. She leaned her head back and contorted her lips into what she hoped was a natural smile, one that would pass for fine.
She was interrupted by a jarring thump against the hood of her car and her eyes flew open to see the pale face of a freshman peering at her through the windshield. She waved him away in frustration and shook her head as he blundered off. The first bell rang, and at its shrill signal hordes of students began swarming up the front steps of the school. She couldn't postpone the inevitable any longer. She had to go in.
Chapter 8
The front lawn had cleared out by the time Samara made it into the building. The main hall was crowded with students talking and laughing, and echoed with the clanging of hundreds of locker doors. She noticed a few people staring at her, and she raised her chin defiantly and headed for the front office. As she ducked through the crowd she was surprised to discover that she was comforted by the noise and crowded familiarity. Everything that mattered in her life had changed, but somehow this remained the same.
The office was a large, open room with a wide front counter and phones that seemed to never stop ringing. Mrs. Ferrison, the school's matronly secretary, glanced down at her schedule, then gestured across the office to a tiny metal table with chairs on either side. "That's where you'll be dear," she said. "Now you can't answer the phones or use the computers. You'll be making copies, running errands around the school, filing, things like that.
"We have a few new students coming in this morning," she continued. "You and your coworker can show them around." Mrs. Ferrison waved in the general direction of the table where a girl was already sitting.
"Hi!" the girl said. She bounced up and shook Samara's hand enthusiastically. "I'm so glad it's you! I mean not that I wanted you in particular or anything, but we're going to be in here every single day and I really wanted to be assigned to work with someone who wouldn't get on my nerves, because I just don't know if I could take it first thing in the morning. I really don't! You know?"
"Um, yeah," Samara stammered. She took a small step back and took in Carin Taylor's curly black hair and bright eyes. She had known Carin since the 6th grade when she had loaned her a quarter for an icy pop, but they had never been close. Obviously that was about to change. "How was your summer?"
"We went on vacation. To Georgia of all places, because that's where my aunt Mildred lives and my mom said we should spend time with her before she dies.…" Carin's voice trailed off, her eyes widened, and she clapped a hand over her mouth.
"Sorry," she whispered. "I shouldn't have brought it up. The D word. I totally forgot. I mean, I didn't forget, but I wasn't thinking about it, and-"
"It's fine," Samara broke in. She had been taken aback by Carin's exuberant greeting, and now she looked genuinely distressed. "I'm fine."
Carin didn't respond, and Samara wondered if she was waiting for her to say something else. She was trying to formulate a follow up statement when Mrs. Ferrison interrupted their awkward silence. "Here's our first new student," she said. "Who would like to show him to class?"
"Me!" Samara leapt up from her chair, eager to escape.
"Good dear. Here's his schedule. He's a senior too, so I'm sure you'll have some of the same classes."
Mrs. Ferrison pushed a piece of paper into Samara's grasp as she turned toward the counter, but she didn't even notice. She was staring into the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen. They were an unnatural shade of blue, a deep cerulean that faded into dusky indigo around the edges. They were bright and clear, and somehow reminded her of the mountain lake her family had once visited on vacation.
She forced herself to look away and saw that they belonged to a tall boy whose long, smooth hands held a notebook on the counter. He was wearing a plaid shirt that pulled slightly across his shoulders and had dark hair that fell over one eye.
"Ready dear?" Mrs. Ferrison asked.
Her fingers dug into Samara's shoulder blades and prodded her forward. She nodded and fumbled with the boy's schedule as she reached across the counter to shake his hand.
"Hi," he said. "I'm Lucian Smith." His voice had a low timbre that vibrated through her chest, and when his fingers wrapped firmly around hers she felt a flush creep into her cheeks. Do not blush! she admonished herself. His hand was warm and strong, and she felt like heat was radiating up her arm.
"Samara Haye." She could see Carin grinning and waving out of the corner of her eye, and she hurried around the counter. "Ready to go?"
"Sure." Lucian gave her an easy smile that revealed straight white teeth, and she forced herself to look away from his face. She started to reach for the door handle but he was faster. He stretched his arm past her shoulder and opened the door for her. As she passed, the edge of his shirt brushed again her neck and a shiver tingled down her spine.
The hallway was empty as they walked toward the classrooms. They passed several closed doors before Samara snuck a peek at Lucian from under her lashes. He was staring at her with a quizzical expression, and she quickly flicked her eyes forward. He broke the silence first. "Do you know where you're taking me?" he asked.
Samara realized that in her eagerness to get out of the office she had forgotten to look at his schedule. It was still clenched in her right hand and she held it up and smoothed it over her palm so she could read his list of classes. "Looks like you have world history with Mr. Bradford. He's been teaching here forever. You never know what he'll bring up."
She cringed as she heard herself babbling, but she couldn't stop herself. "I had him last year and I really had to study because he loves including random things on his tests. I think he wants to be on Jeopardy."
Lucian laughed softly. "I think I'll be okay. I've spent a lot of time studying world history."
"Did you take it at your old school?"
"Not exactly," he said. "It was more of an independent study."
Samara stopped outside one of the nondescript doors lining the corridor. "Here you are. Room 28." She glanced back down at the schedule. "Your next class is in room 36, down the hall on the right."
Lucian smiled again, and Samara felt herself being drawn into his mesmerizing eyes. "It's been nice meeting you," he said.
He leaned toward her, and for one, ridiculous moment she wondered if he was trying kiss her. When she didn't move he pointed to the schedule she still held in her hand. "I think I might need that, unless you're offering to be my guide for the day."
"Oh, right!" She held up the crumpled paper. "Sorry!"
She was burning with humiliation as she shoved the schedule toward him, but Lucian didn't appear to notice anything out of the ordinary. He just gave her another devastating smile and disappeared inside room 28. She rested her head against the cool surface of the nearest locker and tried to breathe slowly, but her heart kept racing like she'd just finished a marathon. It was too much to hope for, but maybe, somehow, he hadn't noticed the effect he'd had on her.
Chapter 9
Mr. Bradford gave Lucian a cursory nod when he entered and indicated for him to take the single, empty desk next to the window. He slid quietly into the seat and glanced around the classroom. The top half of the walls was papered with posters while short bookcases crammed with books, papers, and a thick covering of dust filled the bottom half. There was one open space at t
he front of the room where photographs of prehistoric drawings were being projected.
All of the other students had open notebooks in front of them, and whenever Mr. Bradford spoke, they wrote feverishly. Lucian recognized the first few pictures that flashed onto the screen, but he followed the lead of his classmates and opened his notebook. Mr. Bradford tapped a key on the computer, and a new photograph swirled into view.
It was a cave drawing of a spoked half circle resting on top of a squiggly line. Lucian listened as Mr. Bradford rattled off a few theories about what the drawing might mean, then copied the symbol into his notebook. He wrote down Mr. Bradford's words, but jotted a tiny note to himself in the margin: first successful boat exploration downriver.
He remembered the people that had made this drawing. They had simple lives compared to the ones humans led now, governed by the flow of the seasons and the ebb of the river. The accomplishment of sending a boat away and having the tribe members return safely was the beginning of a great time for them. Unfortunately, it also meant that they came to the attention of more fierce tribes, and they were destroyed a few decades later. It reminded him of why he was here on Earth, in Wimberley, sitting in a classroom. The perspective of humans was so short. They threw things into motion without realizing what the end could bring.
He tried to pull his attention back to the lecture and failed. Instead he thought about how the day had gone so far; his first full day alone with the humans.
He had arrived at school early, unsure of what to expect. He'd parked near the front of the lot, then sat in his truck and watched groups of students enter the building. He observed them all closely, his sharp eyes noticing every detail of their interactions with one another. Duncan had told him to watch carefully so he could model his behavior after theirs. Apparently it would be harder to acclimate if he seemed different.