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.