Daniel was taking her someplace safe.

Luce pictured him waiting for her in one of those gray plastic airport chairs, elbows on knees, his blond head tucked between his shoulders. Rocking back and forth in his black Converse sneakers. Standing up every few minutes to pace around the baggage carousel.

There was a jolt as the plane touched down. Suddenly she was nervous. Would he be as happy to see her as she was to see him?

She focused on the brown and beige pattern on the cloth seat in front of her. Her neck felt sti from the long ight and her clothes had a stale, stu y airline smell. The navy-blue-suited ground crew outside the window seemed to be taking an abnormally long time to direct the plane to its Jetway. Her knees bobbed with impatience.

"I take it you're staying in California for a while?" The guy next to her o ered a lazy smile that only made Luce more anxious to get up.

"Why would you say that?" she asked quickly. "What would make you think that?"

He blinked. "With that huge red du el bag and all."

Luce inched away from him. She hadn't even noticed this guy until two minutes ago when he'd jarred her awake. How did he know about her luggage?

"Hey, nothing creepy." He shot her a strange look. "I was just standing behind you in line when you checked in."

Luce smiled awkwardly. "I have a boyfriend" streamed from her mouth. Instantly, her cheeks reddened.

The guy coughed. "Got it."

Luce grimaced. She didn't know why she'd said that. She didn't want to be rude, but the seat belt light went o and all she wanted to do was barrel past this guy and right o the plane. He must have had the same idea, because he edged backward in the aisle and swept his hand forward. As politely as she could, Luce pushed past and bounded toward the exit.

Only to get caught in a bottleneck of agonizing slowness on the Jetway. Silently cursing all the casual Californians shu ing in front of her, Luce stood on her toes and shifted from foot to foot. By the time she stepped into the terminal, she'd driven herself half insane with impatience.

Finally, she could move. She wove expertly through the crowd and forgot all about the guy she'd just met on the plane. She forgot to feel nervous that she'd never been to California in her life--never been further west than Branson, Missouri, that time when her parents dragged her to see Yakov Smirno doing standup. And for the rst time in days, she even brie y forgot the horrible things she'd seen at Sword & Cross. She was headed toward the only thing in the world that had the power to make her feel better. The only thing that could make her feel that all the anguish she'd been through--all the shadows, that unreal battle in the cemetery, and worst of all, the heartbreak of Penn's death--might be worth surviving.

There he was.

Sitting exactly as she'd imagined he would, on the last in a block of sad gray chairs, next to an automatic sliding door that kept opening and closing behind him. For a second, Luce stood still and just enjoyed the view. closing behind him. For a second, Luce stood still and just enjoyed the view.

Daniel was wearing ip- ops and dark jeans she'd never seen before, and a stretched-out red T-shirt that was ripped near the front pocket. He looked the same, yet somehow di erent. More rested than he had when they'd said goodbye the other day. And was it just that she'd missed him so much, or was his skin even more radiant than she remembered? He looked up and nally saw her. His smile practically gleamed.

She took o running toward him. Within a second, his arms were around her, her face buried in his chest, and Luce let out the longest, deepest breath. Her mouth found his and they sank into a kiss. She went slack and happy in his arms.

She hadn't realized it until now, but a part of her had wondered whether she'd ever see him again, whether the whole thing might have been a dream. The love she felt, the love that Daniel reciprocated, all still felt so surreal.

Still caught up in his kiss, Luce lightly pinched his bicep. Not a dream. For the rst time in she didn't even know how long, she felt like she was home.

"You're here," he whispered into her ear.

"You're here."

"We're both here."

They laughed, still kissing, eating up every bit of the sweet awkwardness at seeing each other again. But when Luce was least expecting it, her laugh turned into a sni e. She was looking for a way to say how hard the last few days had been for her--without him, without anyone, half asleep and groggily aware that everything had changed--but in Daniel's arms now, she failed to nd the words.

"I know," he said. "Let's get your bag and get out of here."

Luce turned toward the baggage carousel and found her neighbor from the plane standing in front of her, the straps of her huge du el gripped in his hands. "I saw this go by," he said, a forced smile on his face, like he was hell-bent on proving his good intentions. "It's yours, isn't it?"

Before Luce had time to answer, Daniel relieved the guy of the unwieldy bag, using only one hand. "Thanks, man. I'll take it from here," he said, decisively enough to end the conversation.

The guy watched as Daniel slid his other hand around Luce's waist and steered her away. This was the rst time since Sword & Cross that Luce had been able to see Daniel as the world did, her rst chance to wonder whether other people could tell, just by looking, that there was something extraordinary about him.

Then they were through the sliding glass doors and she took her rst real breath of the West Coast. The early-November air felt fresh and brisk and somehow healthy, not soggy and chilled like the Savannah air this afternoon when her plane had taken o . The sky was a brilliant bright blue, no clouds on the horizon. Everything looked new-minted and clean--even the parking lot held row after row of recently washed cars. A line of mountains framed it all, tawny brown with scraggly dots of green trees, one hill rolling into the next.

She was not in Georgia anymore.

"I can't decide whether to be surprised," Daniel teased. "I let you out from under my wing for two days and another guy swoops in."

Luce rolled her eyes. "Come on. We barely spoke. Really, I slept the whole ight." She nudged him. "Dreaming of you."

Daniel's pursed lips turned into a smile and he gave the top of her head a kiss. She stood still, wanting more, not even realizing that Daniel had stopped in front of a car. And not just any car.

A black Alfa Romeo.

Luce's jaw dropped when Daniel unlocked the passenger door.

"Th-this ...," she stammered. "This is ... did you know this is my absolute dream car?"

"More than that," Daniel laughed. "This used to be your car."

He laughed when she practically jumped at his words. She was still getting used to the reincarnation part of their story. It was so unfair. A whole car she had no memory of. Whole lives she couldn't recall. She was desperate to know about them, almost like her former selves were siblings she'd been separated from at birth. She rested her hand on the windshield, searching for a wisp of something, for d?j? vu.

Nothing.

"It was a sweet sixteen present from your folks a couple of lifetimes ago." Daniel looked sideways, like he was trying to decide how much to say. Like he knew she was hungry for the details but might not be able to swallow too many at once. "I just bought it o this guy in Reno. He bought it after you, uh ... Well, after you ..."

Spontaneously combusted, Luce thought, lling in the bitter truth that Daniel wouldn't speak. That was the one thing about her past lives: The ending rarely changed.

Except, it seemed, this time it could. This time they could hold hands, kiss, and ... she didn't know what else they could do. But she was dying to

nd out. She caught herself. They had to be careful. Seventeen years was not enough, and in this lifetime, Luce was adamant about sticking around to see what it was like to really be with Daniel.

He cleared his throat and patted the gleaming black hood. "Still drives like a champ. The only problem is ..." He looked at the convertible's tiny trunk, then at Luce's du el bag, then back at the trunk.

Yes, Luce had a terrible habit of overpacking, she'd be the rst to admit. But for once, this wasn't her fault. Arriane and Gabbe had packed her things from her dorm room at Sword & Cross, every black and nonblack piece of clothing she'd never had a chance to wear. She'd been too busy saying goodbye to Daniel, and to Penn, to pack. She winced, feeling guilty for being out here in California with Daniel, so far from where she'd left her friend buried. It didn't seem fair. Mr. Cole had kept assuring her that Miss Sophia would be dealt with for what she'd done to Penn, but when Luce had pressed him about what exactly that meant, he'd tugged at his mustache and clammed up.

Daniel glanced suspiciously around the parking lot. He popped the trunk, Luce's massive du el bag in hand. It was an impossible t, but then a soft sucking sound came from the back of the car and Luce's bag began to shrink. A moment later, Daniel snapped the trunk shut.

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 pro le, 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 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 stu ng 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 tra c; 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 di erent 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 rst 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 anked 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."