Passion

she felt but didn’t understand. Her black hair falling from its long, lustrous braid. The wonderful sheerness of her nightgown, like gossamer floating over all that perfect skin.

Just then his past self rose and spun around. When he saw the gorgeous sight before him, the pain was obvious on his face.

If there had been something Daniel could have done to reach out and help his past self get through this, he would have done it. But all he could do was read his lips.

What are you doing here?

Luce drew closer and the color rose in her cheeks. The two of them moved together like magnets—pulled by a force greater than themselves one moment, then repelled with almost the same vigor the next.

Daniel hovered outside, in pain.

He couldn’t watch. He had to watch.

The way they reached for each other was tentative right up until the moment his skin connected with hers. Then they became instantly, hungrily passionate. They weren’t even kissing, just talking. When their lips were almost touching, their souls almost touching, a burning, pure, white-hot aura formed around them that neither was aware of.

It was something Daniel had never witnessed from the outside.

Was this what his Luce was after? Visual proof of how true their love was? For Daniel, their love was as much a part of him as his wings. But for Luce, it must be different. She didn’t have access to the splendor of their love. Only its fiery end.

Every moment would be an utter revelation.

He laid his cheek against the glass, sighing. Inside, his past self was caving in, losing the resolve that had been a charade from the beginning, anyway. His bags were packed, but it was Lucinda who had to go.

Now his past self took her in his arms; even through the window, Daniel could smell the rich, sweet scent of her skin. He envied himself, kissing her neck, running his hands across her back. His desire was so intense it could have shattered that window if he hadn’t willed himself to hold back.

Oh, draw it out, he willed his past self. Make it last a little longer. One more kiss. One more sweet touch before the room quakes and the Announcers begin to tremble in their shadows.

The glass warmed against his cheek. It was happening.

He wanted to close his eyes but could not. Lucinda writhed in his past self’s arms. Her face contorted with pain. She looked up, and her eyes widened at the sight of the shadows dancing on the ceiling. The half-born realization of something was already too much for her.

She screamed.

And erupted into a glowing tower of flames.

Inside the room, Daniel’s earlier self was blown back against the wall. He fell and lay huddled, like nothing more than the outline of a man. He buried his face in the carpet and shook.

Outside, Daniel watched with an awe he’d never managed before as the fire climbed the air and the walls. It hissed like a sauce simmering in a pan—and then it vanished, leaving no trace of her.

Miraculous. Every single inch of Daniel’s body was tingling. If it hadn’t wrecked his past self so completely, he might have found the spectacle of Lucinda’s death almost beautiful.

His old self slowly got to his feet. His mouth gaped open and his wings burst out of his black dress coat, taking up most of the room. He raised his fists toward the sky and bellowed.

Outside, Daniel couldn’t take it anymore. He rammed his wing through the window, sending shards of glass out into the night. Then he barreled through the jagged hole.

“What are you doing here?” his past self gasped, cheeks streaming with tears. With both pairs of wings fully extended, there almost wasn’t room for them in the enormous parlor. They rolled back their shoulders as much as possible to draw away from each other. Both knew the danger of touching.

“I was watching,” Daniel said.

“You—what? You come back to watch?” His past self flung out his arms and his wings. “Is this what you wanted to see?” The depths of his misery were achingly plain.

“This needed to happen, Daniel.”

“Don’t feed me those lies. Don’t you dare. Have you gone back to taking advice from Cam again?”

“No!” Daniel almost shouted at his past self. “Listen: There is a time, not so very far from now, when we will have a chance to change this game. Something has shifted, and things are different. When we have an opportunity to stop doing this over and over. When Lucinda at last might—”

“Break the cycle?” his past self whispered.

“Yes.” Daniel was beginning to feel light-headed. There was one too many of them in the room. It was time for him to go. “It will take some time,” he instructed, turning back when he reached the window. “But maintain hope.”

Then Daniel slipped through the broken window. His words—maintain hope— echoed in his mind as he took off across the sky, deep into the shadows of the night.

NINE SO WE BEAT ON

TAHITI • DECEMBER 11, 1775

Łuce found herself balanced on a splintery wooden beam.

It creaked as it tilted slightly to the left, then creaked again as it eased very slowly to the right. The rocking was steady and ceaseless, as if the beam were attached to a very short pendulum.

A hot wind sent her hair lashing across her face and blew her servant’s bonnet off her head. The beam beneath her swayed again, and her feet slipped. She fell against the beam and barely managed to hug it to herself before she went tumbling down—

Where was she? In front of her was the endless blue of open sky. A darker blue at what must have been the horizon. She looked down.

She was incredibly high up.

A waterlogged pole stretched a hundred feet beneath her, ending in a wooden deck. Oh. It was a mast. Luce was sitting on the top yard of a very large sailboat.

A very large shipwrecked sailboat, just off the coast of a black-shored island.

The bow had been smashed violently against a cluster of razor-sharp lava rocks that had left it a pulverized mess. The mainsail was shredded: tattered pieces of tawny canvas flapping loosely in the wind. The air smelled like the morning after a great storm, but this ship was so weathered, it looked like it had been there for years.

Every time the waves rushed up the black-sand shores, water sprayed dozens of feet up from the crevices in the rocks. The waves made the wreck—and the beam Luce clutched—sway so roughly she felt she might be sick.

How was she going to get down? How was she going to get to shore?

“Aha! Look who’s landed like a bird on a perch.” Bill’s voice broke over the crashing waves. He appeared at the far tip of the ship’s rotting yard, walking with his arms extended from his sides as if he were on a balance beam.

“Where are we?” Luce was too nervous to make any sudden movements.

Bill sucked in a big lungful of air. “Can’t you taste it? The north coast of Tahiti!” He plopped down next to Luce, kicked out his stubby legs, stretched his short gray arms up, and clasped his hands behind his head. “Isn’t it paradise?”

“I think I’m going to throw up.”

“Nonsense. You just have to find your sea legs.”

“How did we get—” Luce glanced around again for an Announcer. She didn’t see a single shadow, just the endless blank blue of empty skies.

“I took care of the logistics for you. Think of me as your travel agent, and of yourself as on vacation!”

“We’re not on vacation, Bill.”