Part 33 (1/2)

”I want a sonata.” Sarit leaned her head against Cris's shoulder. ”And a symphony. Yes, I think that will do.”

Across the table, Stef laughed, his voice deep and full. ”You don't want much, do you?”

”Only what I deserve.” Sarit grinned and took a bite of her sticky bun.

Sam closed his eyes and enjoyed his friends' presence and the sweet cacophony of Heart, but the flutist playing ”Ana Incarnate” somewhere toward Phoenix Memorial caught his attention. A deep ache welled up in his chest as he saw her again: Ana, giving up the light; Ana, choosing him; Ana, giving up her life to ensure that others survived.

The grief was infinite.

Something about the vibrato caught him, and a section of triplets. Familiar . . .

”Are you okay, Sam?” Stef raised his eyebrows.

”I think so.” They all knew how he felt about the waltz, both a blessing and a curse. Most days, he wished no one would ever play it again. But this flutist. The way they played. Sam s.h.i.+vered. ”I have to see something.”

He pushed himself away from the table and navigated the crowd of tents and people, catching a glimpse of himself in a mirror he pa.s.sed: white-blond hair, fair skin already red from suns.h.i.+ne. The stranger in the mirror every lifetime never got less unsettling.

He pa.s.sed advertis.e.m.e.nts for newsoul-focused communities, others for oldsoul-only communities. Not everyone was satisfied with their second chance.

Where the temple once stood, now there was a memorial, an obsidian phoenix wreathed in roses of every color. The flutist played somewhere on the steps leading up to it.

He pushed between tents and stalls until finally he saw a girl on the stairs, lost in the music of ”Ana Incarnate.” Heavy black hair tumbled over her shoulders, and her limbs were all angles, like someone who hadn't fully grown into her body. She would be tall, and for someone who looked barely a quindec, she played remarkably well.

He wasn't the only music teacher in Range, but still. The way she moved with the music. The way she connected with it.

As he pushed through the crowd, the girl's attention snapped up, and she looked at him. Her cheeks tightened as she played toward the coda, as though she were trying not to smile.

He couldn't breathe. Couldn't hope. Couldn't stop remembering the light flooding from Ana into the silver chain.

Sam climbed the stairs two at a time as the black-haired girl played four long notes and lowered her flute. When she bent to place it in her case, obsidian-black wings stretched behind her: the phoenix statue.

He wanted to believe. Wanted more than anything.

He stopped only a step away from her while people milled around, ignoring them. Stef called his name in the distance, but he didn't turn.

”Is it really you?” He'd never wished for anything so much.

The girl looked up at him. Her eyes were so blue they put the sky to shame. She could have been anyone, but she'd drawn him with her music. Even if he couldn't trust his eyes, he could trust his ears and heart. She wasn't just anyone.

With a strangled cry, he caught her in his arms. ”I've been too afraid to hope,” he breathed. She was hugging him back, and they were both trembling. ”I've missed you so much.”

She pulled away to turn her palms up, revealing pale scars. Chain links. When shadows pa.s.sed over her skin, the scars glowed.

Ana leaned close and whispered, ”I've been reborn.”

ACKNOWLEDMENTS.

UNENDING THANKS TO:.

Lauren MacLeod, my agent. I can't imagine doing this publis.h.i.+ng thing without you. From midnight crazy emails to editorial advice to contract negotiations: you handle it all, and more. Thank you for always believing in me.

Sarah Shumway, my editor. I've always thought the best kind of editor is one who can see through a messy draft to the heart of the story and help the author tell the tale they intended. You are that kind of editor, and I couldn't be more grateful. Thank you for always pus.h.i.+ng me to look deeper and work harder.

The entire team at Katherine Tegen Books, including: Alana Whitman, Aubry Parks-Fried, Lauren Flower, Margot Wood, Megan Sugrue, Stephanie Stein, and King Snarkles, an epic team of epic people (and stuffed hedgehog) who make epic things happen for epic books. Love you ladies (and hedgie)!

Amy Ryan and Joel Tippie, art director and designer, who gave the Incarnate trilogy a series of amazing covers and gorgeous insides. You guys are magic.