Passion - By Lauren Kate Page 0,70

the duke anticipated my escape, figured out where I'd go. He was waiting in Savoy, waiting at my patron's dinner table with his men. Waiting to drag me back here.

Daniel remembered. The punishment felt like something I'd earned.

Daniel. The prisoner's forlorn face looked like it had been given a jolt of electricity. He looked alive again, or at least, his eyes did. They glowed violet. I think I've got it. The words rushed carelessly out. Take a lesson from the duke.

Daniel licked his lips. Excuse me?

All these lives you say that you've been trailing after her. Do as the duke did with us. Anticipate her. Don't just catch up. Get there first. Wait her out.

But I don't know where her Announcers will take her.

Of course you do, his past self insisted. You must have faint memories of where she'll end up. Maybe not every step along the way, but eventually, it all has to end where it started.

A silent understanding passed between them. Running his hands along the wall near the window, Daniel summoned a shadow. It was invisible to him in the darkness, but he could feel it moving toward him, and he deftly worked it into shape. This Announcer seemed as despondent as he felt. You're right, he said, jerking open the portal. There is one place she's sure to go.

Yes.

And you. You should take your own advice and leave this place, Daniel said grimly. You're rotting in here.

At least this body's pain distracts me from the pain in my soul, his past self said. No. I wish you luck, but I won't leave these walls now. Not until she's settled in her next incarnation.

Daniel's wings bristled at his neck. He tried to sort out time and lives and memories in his head, but he kept circling around the same irksome thought. She--she should be settled now. In conception. Can't you feel it?

Oh, his imprisoned past self said softly. He closed his eyes. I don't know that I can feel anything anymore. The prisoner sighed heavily. Life's a nightmare.

No, it's not. Not anymore. I'll find her. I'll redeem us both, Daniel shouted, desperate to get out of there, desperately taking another leap of faith through time.
Chapter Thirteen
STAR-CROSSED

LONDON, ENGLAND JUNE 29, 1613

Something crunched under Luce's feet.

She raised the hem of her black gown: A layer of discarded walnut shells on the ground was so thick the stringy brown bits rose up over the buckles of her emerald-green high-heeled slippers.

She was at the rear of a noisy crowd of people. Almost everyone around her was dressed in muted browns or grays, the women in long gowns with ruched bodices and wide cuffs at the ends of their bell sleeves. The men wore tapered pants, broad mantles draping their shoulders, and flat caps made of wool. She'd never stepped out of an Announcer into such a public place before, but here she was, in the middle of a packed amphitheater. It was startling--and riotously loud.

Look out! Bill grabbed the neck of her velvet capelet and yanked her backward, pinning her against the wooden rail of a staircase.

A heartbeat later, two grimy boys barreled past in a reckless game of tag that sent a trio of women in their path falling over one another. The women heaved themselves back up and shouted curses at the boys, who jeered back, barely slowing down.

Next time, Bill shouted in her ear, cupping his stone claws around his mouth, could you try directing your little stepping-through exercises into a more--I don't know--serene setting? How am I supposed to do your costuming in the middle of this mob?

Sure, Bill, I'll work on that. Luce edged back just as the boys playing tag zipped by again. Where are we?

You've circled the globe to find yourself in the Globe, milady. Bill sketched a little bow.

The Globe Theatre? Luce ducked as the woman in front of her discarded a gnawed-on turkey leg by tossing it over her shoulder. You mean, like, Shakespeare?

Well, he claims to be retired. You know those artist types. So moody. Bill swooped down near the ground, tugging at the hem of her dress and humming to himself.

Othello happened here, Luce said, taking a moment to let it all sink in. The Tempest. Romeo and Juliet. We're practically standing in the center of all the greatest love stories ever written.

Actually, you're standing in walnut shells. Why do you have to be so glib about everything? This is amazing!

Sorry, I didn't realize we'd need a moment of bardolatry.