"A vote, then," Cam suggested eagerly. "All those in favor of letting me into Revenge?"
The three boys raised their hands.
Lilith rolled her eyes. "This is not a democracy. I don't...I don't--"
"You don't have a good reason to say no?" Cam asked.
It was true. She didn't. Lilith had a million dumb reasons to tell Cam to leave the rehearsal, to go away forever. But she didn't have a single legitimate one.
"Trial period," she said finally, through gritted teeth. "One practice. Then I make the final decision."
"Good enough for me," Cam said.
Lilith jerked the butcher paper off the mystery object--and found herself holding a glittering disco ball. Even in the dingy light of the band room, it sparkled. She glanced at Cam, remembering that the first time she'd said she wanted to name her band Revenge, Cam had laughed and said they'd need a big synthesizer and a disco ball. Jean had contributed the Moog, and now Cam had brought the disco.
"Can we stop staring at that thing and play?" Luis asked.
Cam pulled his guitar case from the closet and winked at Lilith. That same annoying wink, only...this time she didn't mind so much. "Let us rock."
"Bitch, you're standing in my way," Chloe King said.
For the first time, Lilith had been looking forward to lunch in the cafeteria, because she would have people to sit with. Her band.
She'd forgotten about Chloe.
"I was just admiring your new ink," Lilith said, nodding at Chloe's chest, which bore a brand-new tattoo. The skin around it was still red and raw, but she recognized the scrawling letters of Ike Ligon's signature just above the neckline of Chloe's low-cut shirt. Lilith thought the tattoo was ugly, but it ignited a flash of envy in her anyway. She didn't have the money to make such an obvious suck-up gesture to the Four Horsemen. She barely had enough money for the turkey sandwich on her tray.
The three Perceived Slights fanned out behind Chloe. Kara crossed her arms over her chest, and Teresa had a hungry look in her hazel eyes, like she'd pounce on Lilith if she tried to attack Chloe again. June was the only one slacking at being a stereotypical mean girl, plucking split ends distractedly from her blond hair.
Chloe put a hand up to keep Lilith at a distance. "If you can read my tattoo, you're too close. I should get a restraining order after what you did the other day."
A part of Lilith wanted to throw down her tray and rip Chloe's tattoo right out of her skin.
But it was a smaller, quieter part of her today. The bigger part of Lilith was preoccupied with thoughts of her band: changes she wanted to make to one chorus, ideas for a drum solo she wanted to bounce off Luis, even--she had to admit--a question she wanted to ask Cam about his guitar technique. For the first time, Lilith had too much good stuff knocking around in her mind to let rage overtake her.
I believe in Lilith, Cam had said earlier, in the band room. And it had stuck with her. Maybe it was time Lilith started believing in herself.
"You're a straight-up bitch clown, Lilith," Chloe said. "Always have been, always will be."
"What does that even mean?" Lilith asked. "No, never mind." She swallowed. "I'm sorry I pulled out your weave. I thought I was defending my brother, but I was just being a jerk."
Kara nudged June, who let go of the split end she was picking and started paying attention.
"I know," Chloe said, a little stunned. "Thank you for saying that." Then, wordlessly, she summoned her friends, nodded once at Lilith, and left the cafeteria, leaving Lilith with the new experience of eating lunch in peace.
When Lilith swung by her homeroom class after lunch, Mrs. Richards looked up from her computer guardedly. "Your detention is nonnegotiable, Ms. Foscor."
"I'm not here to try to get out of it." Lilith pulled up a chair next to her teacher. "I came to apologize for skipping class, for being late so much, for generally being the kind of student teachers dread."
Mrs. Richards blinked, then took off her glasses. "What brought on this change of attitude?"
Lilith wasn't sure where to start. Bruce was back in school. Her mother had been treating her like a human. Her band felt whole and right. She'd even attempted to reconcile with Chloe King. Things were going so well, Lilith didn't want it to stop.
"My brother's been sick," she said.
"I'm aware of that," Mrs. Richards said. "If you need time off or extensions on your assignments, the faculty can work with you, but you'll need documentation from your mother or a doctor. You can't just run out of class whenever you feel like it."
"I know," Lilith said. "There is something I thought you might be able to help with. See, Bruce is feeling better, and I want to keep it that way. You know so much about the environment, I thought maybe you could help me make some changes around my house."
Mrs. Richards's eyes softened as she studied Lilith. "I'm a big believer that we can all change our world for the better, but sometimes, Lilith, these things are out of our control. I know how sick Bruce gets. I just don't want you to expect a miracle." She smiled, and Lilith could tell her teacher felt genuinely bad for her. "Of course, it wouldn't hurt to throw out any harsh cleaning products, and start cooking good, wholesome meals for the whole family. Homemade chicken soup. Iron-rich leafy greens. That sort of thing."
Lilith nodded. "I'll do that." She didn't know where she would get the money. Ramen noodles were her mom's idea of a good, wholesome meal. But she would find a way. "Thanks."
"You're welcome," Mrs. Richards said as Lilith moved toward the door to head to history class. "You still have detention this afternoon. But maybe we can try to make it your last."
As Lilith stepped outside after detention, the huge student parking lot was empty. It gave the school a ghostly feel. Ash gathered like gray snow along the curb, and Lilith wondered if she would ever see or smell or taste real snow. She walked toward the edge of campus, putting on her headphones, listening to some old Four Horsemen songs about broken hearts and dreams.
She was used to being one of the last kids to leave school--detention let out after soccer practice ended and the choir went home for the day--but she never really stopped to look around as she left campus. A sharp wind had loosed several of the prom court posters from the walls of the school. They swirled around the pavement like fallen leaves wearing her classmates' faces.
The sun was going down, but it was still hot. The wildfires on the hills seemed fiercer than usual as Lilith neared the cluster of trees marking the entrance to Rattlesnake Creek. She hadn't been to her spot in a few days, and she wanted a quiet place to study for her biology quiz before she headed home.
She heard a rustling in the trees and looked around but didn't see anyone. Then she heard a voice.
"I knew you couldn't stay away." Luc appeared between the carob trees. His arms were crossed, and he was looking up through the branches at the smoky sky.
"I can't talk right now," Lilith said. There was something strange about the intern, and it wasn't just the stabbing memory of opening that envelope and seeing her emailed lyrics inside. Why was he hanging out at Trumball so much anyway? This internship couldn't require his presence here full-time.
Luc smiled. "I'll make it quick. I just got off the phone with Ike Ligon, and I thought you might be interested in our conversation."
Without meaning to, Lilith stepped toward him.
"As you know," Luc said, "the Four Horsemen are coming to town to play at prom and judge the Battle of the Bands. Now, I know all the cool kids are going to Chloe's after-party, but--"
"I'm not going to Chloe's after-party," Lilith said.
"Good." Luc smiled. "Because I was thinking I'd have a few people back to my place afterward. Something intimate. Would you like to come?"
"No, thanks--"
"Ike Ligon will be there," Luc said.
Lilith inhaled sharply. How could she pass up an opportunity to spend time with Ike Ligon? She could ask him where he got the ideas for his songs, what his approach to writing mus
ic was...It would be like a crash course in rock-stardom.
"Yeah, okay."
"Great," Luc said. "Just you, though. Not Cam. I heard you let him into your band. Personally, I think that's a career mistake."
"I get it, you hate Cam." Lilith wondered how Luc had heard this news. It had only happened this morning, and he didn't even go to school with them.
"He's got a reputation," Luc said. "He's been around the block. He's been under the block. I mean, look at that guy. You know the saying live fast, die young, and leave an attractive corpse? I guess old Cam is proving the lie to that. His sins are wearing him down--he even looks like a sinner."
"I hear looks are only skin-deep," Lilith said.
"With skin like Cam's, I hope so." Luc laughed. "King Media also caught wind that Cam was the one who submitted your lyrics to the contest. If he did it without your approval, that would be grounds for disqualification."
"It's okay," Lilith said, realizing quickly that she didn't want to be disqualified. "He, um, had my approval. Can I ask you something?"
Luc raised an eyebrow. "Anything."
"It seems like you and Cam have history. What is it with you two?"
Luc's gaze burned into Lilith as his voice went icy cold. "He thinks he's the exception to every rule. But some rules, Lilith, must be followed."
Lilith swallowed. "It sounds like you do go back a ways."
"The past is the past," Luc said, softening again. "But if you care about your future, you'll kick Cam out of the band."
"Thanks for the tip." Lilith left Luc and ducked under the branches. She found her favorite place by the creek. As she neared her carob tree, she saw something unusual: a pocked and battered antique rolltop desk sat beside it. It had a heavy wrought-iron frame and must have weighed a ton. Who had brought it here? And how? Whoever they were, they'd covered its wooden top with iris petals.
Lilith had always adored irises, even though she'd only ever seen pictures of them online. She'd been inside Crossroads's one junky florist, Kay's Blooms, dozens of times to pick up a bouquet of yellow carnations--Bruce's favorite--when he was feeling bad. Mr. Kay and his sons owned the business, and ever since Mrs. Kay had died, they stocked the basics only. Red roses, carnations, tulips. Lilith hadn't ever seen anything as exotic as irises in there.
She admired the blue-and-yellow blossoms, and she slid into the low-backed chair and rolled back the top of the desk. Inside was a handwritten note:
Every songwriter needs a proper desk. Found this on the curb in front of the Palace of Versailles. Pour toi.
He must have found it on someone's curb in the fancy part of Crossroads, waiting to be picked up and taken to the dump. But she liked that Cam had seen the desk and thought of her. She liked that he'd probably cleaned it up so she could use it. She read the last line of the note:
Love, Cam
"Love," Lilith said, tracing the letters with a finger. "Cam."
She couldn't remember a single time anyone had used that word with her. Her family didn't talk like that, and she'd certainly never gotten anywhere near close enough to a boy for him to say it. Had Cam dashed the word out casually, like he did so many things? She shifted uncomfortably in the desk and could barely look at the word on the page.
She wanted to ask him what the deal was with this note, this desk--but it wasn't the note or the desk, it was the word. It did something to her, stirred something deep in her soul. It made her sweat. She wanted to confront Cam, but she didn't know where he lived. Instead, she took out her black notebook and let it come out as a song.
That word. What could it mean?
Eight Days
High above Lilith, Cam spread his wings and watched her read the note he'd left on the antique desk. He'd stolen it from Chloe King, of all people--from the attic of her family's house in the fancy part of Crossroads. He would have gone to Versailles to bring Lilith back a present, he would have gone anywhere--but right now he was stuck in her Hell, so this would have to do.
He studied the way she ran her fingers over the paper several times. He watched her smell the irises--her old favorite, he knew--then take her notebook out of her backpack. When she started writing a new song, Cam smiled. This had been his vision when he'd brought the desk there for her.
It was nice just to watch Lilith at peace for a little while. Since Cam had arrived in Crossroads, it seemed like all he ever did was try to smooth over Lucifer's interventions, each one geared to make Lilith despise Cam a little more. He shouldn't complain--after all, Lilith had suffered far more and for far longer than Cam--but it was hard to get close to Lilith when she so rarely showed him anything but rage.
He looked down from the clouds and knew that even if he showered Lilith with presents and love notes every hour, every day, it wouldn't be enough. Once in a while Cam broke through to her--that day, band practice had been pretty good--and he relished those moments. But he knew they wouldn't last, that tomorrow Lucifer would find a way to undo Cam's progress and the cycle would continue until Lilith's Hell expired.
He'd torn up his first draft of the note, which asked her to go to prom with him. Lilith backed away swiftly whenever Cam came on too strong. He would save that question, plan something special, and ask her in person. He mouthed the memorized words of the note he had left on the desk. He hoped the word love hadn't scared her.
He thought about Daniel and Lucinda. They had embodied love for so long, as far as the fallen angels were concerned. He wished they were beside him now, playing the role of the happy couple offering sage advice to their suffering friend.
Fight for her, they would tell him. Even when it seems like all is lost, do not give up the fight for love.
How had Luce and Daniel done it for so long? It took a strength Cam wasn't sure he had. The pain when she refused him--and, so far, almost all she did was refuse him--was staggering. And yet he went for it again and again and again. Why?
To save her. To help her. Because he loved her. Because if he gave up...
He could not give up.
When dawn beckoned, Cam shot down to Trumbull's campus. Wings unfurled, he alit on a dead carob tree and caught the sun rising over a hulking new structure in the center of the football field. He shook the falling ash from his hair and perched at the end of a long, sturdy branch to get a better view.
The half-constructed amphitheater had been modeled after the Roman Colosseum. It was only a couple of stories tall, but it had the same architectural features: three tiers of stylized arches encircling a space as big as the cafeteria. Cam understood instantly what Lucifer had in mind.
"Like it?" Lucifer asked, appearing as Luc on the branch behind Cam. He wore sunglasses to battle the glare, and not being able to see the devil's eyes made Cam nervous.
"This is for prom?" Cam asked.
"King Media thought the students deserved a grander venue for their gladiatorial battle," Lucifer said. "It's all made of ash, but it looks impressive, right? No mortal architect could have done this. It's a shame. That Gehry guy showed promise."
"Do you want an award?" Cam asked.
"I wouldn't turn one down," Lucifer said. "And it wouldn't kill you to acknowledge my other work from time to time." The devil pulled a small square mirror from his jeans' pocket and flashed it before Cam.
Cam pushed the mirror away. He didn't have to look at his reflection to know what he would find. By now he could feel the effects of whatever curse the devil had cast upon his body. He was haggard, puffy, pathetic to look at. Girls at Trumbull who'd stopped mid-conversation just to watch him walk down the hall on his first day here now only noticed Cam when he was standing in their way. He wasn't used to this. His good looks had always been a part of the package, just like with all the angels. Not anymore.
It nagged at him, though he tried not to let it. He would have to meet this challenge and prove, once and for all, that he was more than just a beautiful face.
"Pretty boy is becoming an ugly boy." Lucifer bellowed a laugh la
yered with darkness. "I've often wondered whether you had any depth. Without those muscles, what will the ladies see in you?"
Cam touched the place where he was accustomed to finding his taut, firm abdomen. It had gone soft and flabby. He knew his hair was thinning, too, his face filling out, his cheeks growing jowly. He'd never thought of himself as particularly shallow; his confidence had always come from somewhere deep within. But would he be able to attract Lilith now that he looked like this?
"Lilith didn't fall in love with me in Canaan because of the way I looked," Cam told the devil. "You can make me as hideous as you want. It won't stop her from falling for me again." He was deeply worried that this wasn't true, but he'd never give Lucifer the satisfaction of knowing he was throwing Cam off his game.
"Sure about that?" The devil's angry laugh shot a chill up Cam's spine. "You've got eight days to open her heart, and none of your old tender glances will change her mind now. But if this gentle makeover isn't enough of an obstacle, you'll be pleased to know this isn't the only trick I've got up my sleeve."
"Of course not," Cam muttered. "That would be too easy."
"Exactly." Lucifer's eyes narrowed. "Ah, there she is."
The devil pointed through the trees, to where Lilith was stepping off her school bus, with a girl Cam didn't know.
Lilith was dressed all in black except for a colorful scarf around her neck. Her long hair was pulled back in a braid today instead of hiding her face. She looked happier than she had the first time Cam saw her in Crossroads. There was even a bounce in her step as she carried her guitar.
Cam smiled at first, but then a dark thought entered his mind. What if she became so happy here she lost her sense of rebellion, her desire to flee Crossroads?
What if she started to actually like it here?
He leaped from the tree, drawing his wings back in and untucking his T-shirt to hide his gut. He could feel the students' eyes on him as he jogged across the parking lot.
"Lilith--"
But before Lilith heard him, a red Escalade lurched forward and Chloe King climbed out from the backseat, an expensive-looking patent-leather backpack slung over her shoulder. Her bandmates slid out behind her, each sporting a similar bag and a similar expression.