Dawn barked, but to Luce's surprise, she instantly ratcheted up her swordsmanship, swishing her blade skillfully through the air and knocking Shelby's aside. Dawn was a fencing badass.
Next to Luce, Jasmine was doubled over laughing. "A match made in Hell."
A smile had crept onto Luce's face, too, because she'd never met anyone as unshakably upbeat as Dawn. At rst, Luce had suspected phoniness, a fa?ade--where Luce came from, the South, that always-happy bit wouldn't have been real. But Luce had been impressed by how quickly Dawn rebounded after that day on the yacht. Dawn's optimism seemed to know no limits. By now, it was hard for Luce to be around the girl without chuckling. And it was especially hard when Dawn was focusing her girly cheer on beating the crap out of someone as bleakly opposite as Shelby.
Things between Luce and Shelby were still a little weird. She knew it, Shelby knew it, even the Buddha night-light in their room seemed to know it. The truth was, Luce kind of enjoyed seeing Shelby ghting for her life while Dawn happily attacked her.
Shelby was a steady, patient ghter. Where Dawn's technique was showy and eye-catching, her limbs whirling in a virtual tango across the deck, Shelby was careful with her lunges, almost as if she had only so many to ration out. She kept her knees bent and never gave up anything.
Yet she'd said she had given up on Daniel after one night. Had been quick to say it was because of Daniel's feelings for Luce--that they interfered with everything else. But Luce didn't believe her. Something was weird about Shelby's confession; something didn't match up with Daniel's reaction when Luce had almost-sort-of brought it up the night before. He'd acted like there wasn't anything to tell.
A loud thump snapped Luce back to attention.
Across the deck, Miles had somehow landed on his back. Roland hovered over him. Literally. He was ying.
The enormous wings that had unfurled from Roland's shoulders were as large as a great cape and feathered like an eagle's, but with a beautiful golden marbling woven through their dark pinions. He must have had the same slits cut into his fencing garb that Daniel had in his T-shirt. Luce had never seen Roland's wings before, and like the other Nephilim, she couldn't stop staring. Shelby had told her that only a very few Nephilim had wings, and none of them went to Shoreline. Seeing Roland's come out in a battle, even a practice sword ght, sent a ripple of nervous excitement through the crowd.
The wings commanded so much attention, it took Luce a moment to realize that the tip of Roland's sword was hovering just over Miles's breastbone, pinning him to the ground. Roland's bright white fencing suit and golden wings cut a stark silhouette against the dark, lush trees bordering the deck. With his black mesh mask pulled down, Roland looked even more intimidating, more menacing than if she'd been able to see his face. She hoped his expression would look playful, because he really had Miles in a vulnerable situation. Luce jumped to her feet to go to him, surprised to nd her knees shaking.
"OhmigodMiles!" Dawn called out from across the deck, forgetting her own battle just long enough for Shelby to go in with a whip-over, touch Dawn's unshielded chest, and score the winning point.
"Not the most sportsmanlike way to win," Shelby said, sheathing her sword. "But sometimes that's the way it goes."
Luce hurried past them and the rest of the Nephilim who weren't engaged in duels to Roland and Miles. Both were panting. By then Roland had settled to the ground, his wings retracted inside his skin. Miles looked ne; it was Luce who couldn't stop trembling.
"You got me." Miles laughed nervously, pushing away the point of the sword. "Didn't see your secret weapon coming." "You got me." Miles laughed nervously, pushing away the point of the sword. "Didn't see your secret weapon coming."
"Sorry, man," Roland said sincerely. "Didn't mean to unleash the wings on you. Sometimes that just happens when I get going."
"Well, good game. Up until then, anyway." Miles raised his right hand to be helped o the ground. "Do they say `good game' in fencing?"
"No, no one says that." Roland ipped up his mask with one hand and, grinning, dropped the sword from his other. He grasped Miles's hand and pulled him up in one swift move. "Good game yourself."
Luce let out her breath. Of course Roland wasn't really going to harm