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I N S I D E F R A N C E S C A S O F F I C E

F rancesca was upset, and she wasnt sure why. It wasobvious in her short breaths and in the tense space be-hind her knees and in the incipient headache behind hereyes. She hated it when she was upset, hated being lessthan perfectly in control. But she wasnt in control, andshe didnt know why. Certainly it wasnt because of thiscallow new student.

When Roland Sparks had arrived at Shoreline,Francesca had not been surprised. Nearly all the fallen

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angels were on the move during the truce days, so it wasonly a matter of time before some of them came to her

and Steven for help.He sat before her desk now, in his ostentatious

starched white shirt, having just convinced Steven to al-low him to audit some of their Nephilim classes.Ridiculous. If Roland wanted to spy on Lucinda, therewere less obtrusive ways.

Youre going to have to change your clothes, shesaid to the fallen angelor, as custom dictated he becalled, demon coolly. Real students at Shoreline havenever heard of an ironing board. Let alone . . . what arethose? She leaned down to eye his boots.

His smile almost seemed to taunt her. Ferragamo.Ferragamo? Pick up a sweatshirt and some sneakers

at the Salvation Army down the street. She lookedaway and pointlessly shuffled her papers. No matterhow long shed lived with Stephen, demons always man-aged to unnerve her.

Francesca. Steven swiveled in his desk chair to leaninto her. Dont you want to talk about what happenedtoday?

Whats there to talk about? she said, closing hereyes to block out the image of her best students white-washed faces when she and Steven had offered them a

glimpse inside that dark Announcer. It was a mistake toeven try.

We took a chance. We got unlucky. Steven rested a

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warm hand across hers. He was always warm, and shewas always cold. Usually, that made her draw closer to

him every chance she got. But today, his heat oppressedher and his open affection in front of Roland Sparks em-barrassed her. She flinched away.

Unlucky? She scoffed. She could feel herself aboutto launch into a tirade about statistics and class safetyand those Nephilim kids not being ready to play hard-

balland while every word she spoke would be ab-solutely true, all three of them in that office knew thather rant was a foolish cover-up for their real concernthat day. For the real reason she was so off her game.

Lucinda Price was ready. And that terrified Francesca.

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Text 2011 by Tinderbox Books, LLC and Lauren Kate.Illustration 2011 by Fernanda Brussi Gonalves with Rebecca Roeske.