Unforgiven (10 page)

“Don't tell anyone I told you this”—Luc leaned in—“but a while back, Cam was in a band with this chick singer—”

“Chick singer?”
Lilith narrowed her eyes. Guys sucked.

“Female vocalist, I mean,” Luc said with a slight eye roll. “She wrote all the songs. And she was totally in love with him.”

Lilith wasn't interested in Cam, but it wasn't a huge surprise that other girls were. She got it: Cam was sexy and magnetic, but he wasn't her type. When he turned his charm on her, it only made Lilith despise him more.

“Who cares?” she asked.

“You should,” Luc replied. “Especially if you're going to get into bed with him—musically speaking.”

“I'm not getting into bed with Cam in any sense,” Lilith said. “I just want to be left alone.”

“Good,” Luc said with a cryptic smile. “Because Cam is…how should I put this? He's more the love-'em-and-leave-'em type.”

Lilith thought she might throw up. “So what?”

“So one day, after things had been going so well—or at least so this young girl thought,” Luc said, “Cam just disappeared. No one heard from him for months. Though we did hear
of
him, eventually. You remember that song ‘Death of Stars'?”

“By Dysmorphia?” Lilith nodded. She'd only ever heard that one single, but she'd loved it. “It was never not on the radio last summer.”

“That's because of Cam.” Luc frowned. “He stole the girl's lyrics, claimed them as his own, and sold the song to Lowercase Records.”

“Why would he do that?” Lilith said. She thought back to that moment the day before when he'd gently coaxed her from paralyzing stage fright into song. She loathed him, and yet…that had been one of the nicest things anyone had ever done for her.

The bell rang, and the crowd in the hall thinned as students filtered into classrooms. Over Luc's shoulder, Lilith saw Tarkenton sweeping the halls for tardy students. “I have to go,” she said.

“I'm just saying,” Luc said, beginning to walk away, “your songs are good. Too good to let Cam strike again.”

Lilith walked toward her homeroom, her mind spinning. How could she waste her time in class when there was a songwriting competition judged by Ike Ligon coming up? She didn't even care that it was happening at prom. She could show up just for the Battle of the Bands. She didn't need a date or a dress. She only needed to be in the same room as Ike Ligon.

She should be practicing right now. She should be writing more songs.

Before she knew it, her feet had led her to the band room.

Cam sat on the floor, tuning the slim green electric guitar she'd seen him play the other day. Jean Rah was tapping out a rhythm on his jeans with his drumsticks. What were they doing in here?

“We were just talking about you,” Jean Rah said.

“You guys aren't supposed to be here,” Lilith said.

“Neither are you,” Cam said, and gave her another infuriating wink.

“Do you have some sort of tic?” Lilith asked. “Like a muscle spasm in your eye?”

Cam looked taken aback. “It's called a wink, Lilith. Some people actually find it charming.”

“Other people think it makes you look like a huge perv,” Lilith said.

Cam stared at her, and she waited for him to say something snarky, but instead he said, “Sorry. Won't happen again.”

Lilith sighed. She needed to focus on her music, and Cam was a distraction. Everything about him was distracting, from the way his fingers moved over his guitar, to the inscrutable smile crinkling his green eyes when he glanced up at her. She didn't like it.

And she'd never liked Jean. She wanted them both out. Her mouth pinched into a scowl. “Please leave,” she said. “Both of you.”

“We were here first,” Jean said. “If anyone needs to leave, it's you.”

“Both of you, chill,” Cam said. “Let's just jam. Wait until you hear this groove Jean and I just made up.”

“No,” Lilith said. “I came to work on something. Privately. I don't even have my guitar.”

Cam was already inside the band closet, pulling one from a case. He walked toward Lilith and rested the guitar in her hands, reaching behind her head to drape the strap over her shoulders. It was a Les Paul, with a thin neck and a cool silver spray-paint job on its fingerboard. She'd never held such a nice guitar before.

“Now what's your excuse?” Cam asked softly. His hands stayed at the nape of her neck longer than they needed to, like he didn't want to pull away.

So she did.

The smile on Cam's lips vanished, as if she'd hurt him somehow.

If she had, she told herself she didn't care. She didn't know why he was being so forward, what he meant by encouraging her music.

She thought about Chloe King, how rude she'd been to her about the open mic performance. It was the only time Lilith had ever played in public. Holding this guitar, she realized that she didn't want it to be the last.

It didn't mean they were starting a band. They could just, as Cam said,
jam.

“What do I do?” she said, feeling vulnerable. She didn't like being at anyone's mercy—especially Cam's.

Silently, Cam guided her hand up the guitar's warm neck. His right hand traced hers over the strings. She swayed a little.

“You know what to do,” Cam said.

“I don't. I've never—with other people—I…”

“Just start playing,” Cam said. “Wherever you go, we'll follow you.”

He nodded at Jean, who tapped his drumsticks together four times as Cam grabbed the slim green Jaguar bass with the vintage-style tremolo arm.

And then, like it was no big deal, Lilith set her fingers free.

Her guitar locked in with Jean Ra's kick drum like a heartbeat. Cam's scratchy chords crisscrossed the heavy rhythm like a Kurt-Cobain-and-Joe-Strummer hybrid. Every now and then, Jean fingered the short, black Moog synthesizer that sat next to his drum kit. The synth chords buzzed like fat and friendly bees, their vibrations finding safe homes in the spaces left by the other instruments.

After a while, Cam lifted his hand into the air. Lilith and Jean stopped playing. They could all sense they were onto something.

“Let's move on to some vocals,” Cam said.

“You mean, like, now?” Lilith asked. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.” Cam flipped a switch and tested the mic with a fingertip, then aimed the mic at Lilith and stepped back. “How about the song you sang yesterday?”

“ ‘Exile,' ” Lilith said, her heart racing. She took out her journal, the one with all her lyrics, but then she thought back to the day before, how much everyone had hated her performance. What was she doing? Performing in front of anyone else was only going to cause her more humiliation.

Then she thought of Ike Ligon singing her song in front of the entire school.

“I'm ready,” she said.

Softly, Cam said, “One, two, three, four,” and he and Jean began. Cam motioned for Lilith to start singing.

She couldn't.

“What's wrong?” Cam asked.

Everything,
she wanted to say. The only thing Lilith had ever known was disappointment. Nothing in her life ever worked out. Which, for the most part, was okay, because she never let herself expect anything, so she never really cared.

But this? Music?

It mattered to her. If she sang and she sucked, or if her song wasn't chosen for the battle, or if she, Cam, and Jean started a band and it all fell apart, Lilith would lose the only thing she cared about. The stakes were too high.

Best to back away now.

“I can't,” she said.

“Why not?” Cam asked. “We're good together. You know that—”

“I
don't
know that.” Her eyes met Cam's, and she felt tense, like a wire about to snap. She remembered her conversation with Luc that morning, and the chorus of Dismorphia's “Death of Stars” started playing in her mind:

The stars are on your face tonight

There is no outer space tonight

“What is it?” Cam said.

Should she ask him about the song? And the girl? Was that crazy?

What if Cam
was
a lyric thief? What if that was the real, secret reason he wanted to start a band with her? Aside from her guitar, Lilith's songs were the only things she valued. Without them, she had nothing.

“I have to go,” Lilith said. She set down the guitar and grabbed her bag. “And I'm not entering my lyrics in the competition. It's over.”

“Wait—” Cam called, but she was already out the band room door.

Outside, Lilith crossed the school parking lot toward the smoke-filled woods. She coughed, trying not to think about how good it had felt to make music with Cam and Jean. It was stupid to have jammed with them, stupid to hope for anything, because she was Lilith and everything always sucked and she never, ever got what she wanted in life.

Other kids didn't hesitate when they were asked about their dreams. “College,” they'd say, “then a career in finance.” Or, “Backpack in Europe for two years,” or, “Join the marines.” It was as if everyone but Lilith had gotten an email that explained which schools to apply to, and how to join Tri Delt once you were there, and what to do if you wanted to be a doctor.

Lilith wanted to be a musician, a singer of her own songs—but she knew better than to believe it was possible.

She sat down at her spot by the creek and unzipped her backpack, reaching inside for her journal. Her fingers groped for the book. She reached deeper, pushing aside her history textbook, her pencil bag, her key ring. Where was her journal? She opened the bag wide and dumped out its contents, but the bound black book wasn't there.

Then she remembered she'd taken it out in the band room when she thought she was going to sing. It was still in there. With Cam.

In a heartbeat, Lilith was on her feet and sprinting back to the band room, running faster than she knew she could. She shoved open the door, gasping for breath.

The band room was empty. Cam and Jean—and her black notebook—were gone.

Twelve Days

L
ilith's black notebook lay open on a bench in the boys' locker room the next morning as Cam got dressed for school. When she'd run out of the band room yesterday, his intention had been to return the journal to her immediately. He'd looked for her at Rattlesnake Creek, but she wasn't there, and he couldn't drop it at her house because he didn't know where she lived.

The longer he held the journal in his hands, though, the deeper the temptation became to open it. By sundown, he broke, and he'd stayed on the roof of the Trumbull gym all night, reading and rereading every one of Lilith's brilliant, devastating songs by the light of his cell phone.

He knew it was wrong. A violation of her privacy. But he couldn't stop himself. It was like someone had lifted the velvet rope outside Lilith's heart and given him VIP access. Once, long ago, Cam had touched this tender, vulnerable side of Lilith, but now he could only glimpse it through her songs.

And these songs? They wrecked him. Each one—from “Misery Loves” to “Standing at the Cliff's Edge” to Cam's personal favorite, “Somebody's Other Blues”—was dominated by suffering, humiliation, and betrayal. The worst part was knowing precisely where all this pain came from. Bearing the memories for both of them was torture.

The way Lilith looked at him now, like he was a stranger, was torture, too. Cam could finally empathize with Daniel, who'd had to start over with Lucinda every time they met.

Dressing in another stolen T-shirt and his usual jeans and leather jacket, Cam was so ashamed of the pain he'd caused Lilith that he found it hard to meet his own eyes in the mirror. He finger-combed his wet hair and was surprised to find that it felt a little thinner. And, now that he thought about it, his jeans felt a little tighter around the waist.

He leaned in to look at his reflection and was taken aback by a few age spots near his hairline—which, he could see, had receded a half inch. What was happening?

Then it hit him:
Lucifer
was happening to him, manipulating Cam's mortal appearance to make winning Lilith's love even harder. As if it wasn't hard enough already.

If the devil was slowly stripping away the good looks Cam took for granted, what advantage would he have left? He would have to up his game. His gaze fell on Lilith's journal, and suddenly he knew what he had to do.

The dismal, dusty library was the one place on Trumbull's campus that actually had reliable Wi-Fi. Cam grabbed a chair by the window so he could see when Lilith's bus arrived. It was a Saturday morning, which meant that under other circumstances Lilith might still be sleeping, but Saturday meant nothing in Crossroads. Lucifer had bragged that there were no weekends in this Hell. None of the other students noticed or cared, for instance, that their prom was taking place on a Wednesday.

Cam pitied them. They had no idea of the particular joy of a Friday afternoon at four o'clock, or the hedonistic thrill of a Saturday-midnight joyride that took all of Sunday to recover from—and they never would.

Through the library window Cam could see hints of orange light given off by the wildfires encircling Crossroads. He knew Lilith's temper would rival their blaze if she discovered what he was about to do, but he had to risk it.

He Googled the Four Horsemen and soon found an email address for Ike Ligon. It was a long shot that his email would reach the lead singer and not some assistant, but the only other way to reach Ike—through Lucifer—was not an option.

All the other songs submitted to the prom lyrics contest would be vetted by Luc. Cam knew the Four Horsemen wouldn't judge a thing, and that, as of yesterday, Lilith wasn't planning on submitting a song. She was more talented than everyone in Crossroads put together, and Cam wanted her favorite singer to hear her music—without being swayed by the devil.

He settled into his chair, and into Lilith's voice, as he crafted an email on his phone.

Dear Mr. Ligon,

I hope you don't mind me reaching out directly, but your songs have always inspired me, so I wanted to share one of mine with you. I can't wait to see you perform when you visit Crossroads. My bio and lyrics for the Battle of the Bands competition are attached. Thanks for everything.

The black journal sat on Cam's lap, but he found he didn't need to open it. He typed out the lyrics of his favorite, “Somebody's Other Blues,” from memory:

I dreamed life was a dream

Someone was having in my eyes

I was outside looking in

And all I saw was lies

It's not my life, it's not my life

I'm not the one not having fun

Cam typing out the rest of the lyrics, impressed by the power of Lilith's songwriting. The bio was trickier. No musician was candid in a bio. They listed their albums, maybe an influence, whether they had been lucky enough to hit the charts, then they said where they lived, and that was it.

But Cam found it impossible to write about Lilith's life and Lilith's unique situation from an objective point of view. Instead, he wrote:

I wrote this song at the creek behind my school, where I go to escape when the world gets suffocating. I go there every day. I'd live there if I could. I wrote this song after I got my heart broken, but not right after. I got hurt so bad that it took a long time before I could put what it felt like into words. There are still some things about my broken heart that I don't understand, and I don't know if I ever will. But music helps. That's why I write, and that's why I listen to music all the time. For what it's worth, your songs are my favorites.

I don't expect to win this contest. I've learned never to expect anything at all. It's an honor just to think of you reading something I wrote.

As he typed the final words, Cam's vision blurred. His eyes filled with tears.

He hadn't cried when he was exiled from the presence of the Throne, or when he'd fallen through the Void. He hadn't even cried when he'd first lost Lilith all those millennia ago.

But now he couldn't stop himself. Lilith had suffered so much. And Cam had been the cause of it. He'd known she was hurt when they split up—how could he not have known?—but he'd never expected the pain and anger to stay with her for so long, to dominate her as it did in Crossroads. The spirit of the girl he loved was still there, but it had been tortured, ruthlessly.

His tears came, hard and steady. He was glad to be alone in the library.

Hzzzzzz.

One of Cam's tears had fallen onto the table, making a sizzling sound. He watched it burn a hole through the Formica, and then through the carpet underneath. Black smoke swirled up from the floor.

Cam leapt to his feet, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his leather jacket—and watched his tears eat through the leather, too. What was happening?

“Demons should never cry.”

Cam turned to find Luc wearing a wireless headset, playing
Doom
on his tablet at the table behind Cam. How long had he been there?

The devil threw off his headset. “Don't you know what demon tears are made of?”

“I've never had a reason to know,” Cam said.

“Nasty stuff,” Luc said. “Toxic in the extreme. So be careful. Or don't be—your call.”

Cam glanced back at his phone, glad his tears hadn't fallen on it. He quickly hit Send. Lucifer whistled under his breath.

“You're losing it,” Luc said. “Lilith's going to hate that you just did that.”

“If you interfere with this,” Cam said, “it invalidates our wager.”

Lucifer chuckled. “You're doing enough damage on your own, bud. You don't need my help.” He paused. “In fact, your performance thus far is so pathetic, I feel sorry for you. So I'm going to throw you a bone.”

The devil held out a Post-it note, which Cam snatched. “What is this?”

“Lilith's address,” Luc said. “She's going to straight-up whale on you when you return the journal. Might be best to do it in private, not in front of the whole school.”

Cam grabbed his messenger bag and pushed past the devil and through the library doors. There was an hour until the bell. Maybe Lilith would still be at home.

He jogged to the back lot of the school, waited for a garbage truck to drive by, and then unpinned his wings. He felt good with his wings out. His hair could thin and his waist could thicken at Lucifer's whim, but his wings would always be his most beautiful feature. Broad and strong and glittering in the smoky light and—

Cam winced when he saw the tips of his wings looking thin and webbed, more like batwings than those of a glorious fallen angel. Another of Lucifer's attacks on his vanity. Cam couldn't let it paralyze him. He had twelve days left with Lilith, and far too much to do.

Clouds of ash drifted over his wings as he soared into the sky. He felt the heat of the burning hills lick his body, so he flew higher, until suddenly, above him, the sky seemed to curve, and a translucent barrier appeared before him, just like the glass encasing the snow globes Lucifer had shown him in Aevum.

He had reached the upper limits of Lilith's Hell.

From here, he could see everything. There wasn't much. The main roads in the town—even the highway next to school—were all loops, which sent the cars that drove on them in endless, pointless circles. Beyond the widest ring of road was the ring of burning hills.

Claustrophobia made his wings twitch. He had to break Lilith free of this place.

Cam banked left and soared downward, toward a run-down neighborhood near the end of High Meadow Road. He pulled up short and hovered in the air, twenty feet above Lilith's house. The roof was caving in in a few places, and the landscaping looked like it had been abandoned a decade ago. The air was particularly smoky in this part of town. It must have been an awful place to grow up.

He heard her voice from below. She sounded angry. She always sounded angry. He quickly furled his wings and landed on the dead brown grass of her backyard.

Lilith was sitting on the porch with a young boy who must have been her brother. At the sight of Cam rounding the corner, Lilith rose and balled her fists. “Where's my journal?”

Without speaking, Cam reached into his bag and handed the black book over. Their fingers touched as she took it from him, and Cam felt an electric surge through his body.

He wished suddenly that he could keep that journal. Having it with him last night had been almost like having Lilith with him. Tonight, he'd sleep alone again.

“Who's he?” her brother asked, nodding at Cam.

Cam held out his hand to the boy. “I'm Cam. What's your name?”

“Bruce,” the boy said brightly, before falling into a coughing fit. His hands and feet were big compared with the rest of him, like he should have been much larger but hadn't managed to grow.

“Don't talk to him,” Lilith said to her brother, clutching Bruce with one arm and her journal with the other. She glanced up at Cam. “See what you did?”

“Is he okay?” Cam asked.

“Like you care.” She glanced at her journal. “You didn't read it, did you?”

He had memorized every word. “Of course not,” Cam said. He didn't want to make a habit of lying to her, but this was different. She deserved to win that lyrics contest. If she did, Cam wanted her to be surprised. If she didn't—because of Lucifer's meddling—he didn't want her to be disappointed.

“Then why did you take it?” she asked.

“So that I could give it back,” he said, which was true. “I know it's important to you.” He dared a step closer and studied the way her hair caught the sunlight. “While I'm here, I also wanted to apologize.”

Lilith tilted her head, suspicious. “I don't have time for all the things you need to apologize for.”