Torment - Lauren Kate [7]
Luce blinked. “Do that again!”
Daniel didn’t laugh. He seemed nervous. He slid into the driver’s seat and started the car without a word. It was a strange, new thing for Luce: seeing his face look so serene on the surface, but knowing him well enough to sense something deeper underneath.
“What’s wrong?”
“Mr. Cole told you about keeping a low profile, didn’t he?”
She nodded.
Daniel backed out of the spot, then wheeled around to the parking lot’s exit, slipping a credit card into the machine on their way out. “That was stupid. I should have thought—”
“What’s the big deal?” Luce tucked her dark hair behind her ears as the car began to pick up speed. “You think you’re going to attract Cam’s attention by stuffing a bag into a trunk?”
Daniel got a faraway look in his eyes and shook his head. “Not Cam. No.” A moment later, he squeezed her knee. “Forget I said anything. I just—We both just have to be cautious.”
Luce heard him but was too overwhelmed to listen too closely. She loved watching Daniel expertly work the gearshift as they took the ramp onto the freeway and zipped through traffic; loved feeling the wind whipping through the car as they sped toward the towering San Francisco skyline; loved—most of all—just being with Daniel.
In San Francisco proper, the road turned much hillier. Every time they crested one peak and started careening down another, Luce caught a different glimpse of the city. It looked old and new at the same time: Mirror-windowed skyscrapers backed right up against restaurants and bars that looked a century old. Tiny cars lined the streets, parked at gravity-defying angles. Dogs and strollers everywhere. The sparkle of blue water all around the city’s edge. And the first candy-apple-red glimpse of the Golden Gate Bridge in the distance.
Her eyes darted around to keep up with all the sights. And even though she had spent most of the past few days sleeping, she suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion.
Daniel stretched his arm around her and guided her head toward his shoulder. “Little-known fact about angels: We make excellent pillows.”
Luce laughed, lifting her head to kiss his cheek. “I couldn’t possibly sleep,” she said, nuzzling his neck.
On the Golden Gate Bridge, throngs of pedestrians, spandexed bicyclers, and joggers flanked the cars. Far below was the brilliant bay, dotted with white sailboats and the beginning notes of a violet sunset. “It’s been days since we’ve seen each other. I want to catch up,” she said. “Tell me what you’ve been doing. Tell me everything.”
For an instant, she thought she saw Daniel’s hands tighten around the steering wheel. “If your goal is not to go to sleep,” he said, cracking a smile, “then I really shouldn’t delve into the minutiae of the eight-hour-long Council of the Angels meeting I was stuck in all day yesterday. See, the board met to discuss an amendment to proposition 362B, which details the sanctioned format for cherubic participation in the third circuit of—”
“Okay, I get it.” She swatted him. Daniel was joking, but it was a strange new kind of joke. He was actually being open about being an angel, which she loved—or at least she would love it, once she’d had a little more time to process it. Luce still felt like her heart and brain were both struggling to catch up to the changes in her life.
But they were back together for good now, so everything was infinitely easier. There was nothing to hold back from one another anymore. She pulled on his arm. “At least tell me where we’re going.”
Daniel flinched, and Luce felt a knot of cold unfold inside her chest. She moved to put her hand on his, but he pulled away to downshift.
“A school in Fort Bragg called Shoreline. Classes start tomorrow.”
“We’re enrolling at another school?” she asked. “Why?” It sounded so permanent. This was supposed to