Early to Death, Early to Rise

Five

The spaghetti sauce smelled spicy, just the way I liked it. Or had liked it. I sent my fork twirling, winding up a wad I was going to pass to Josh as soon as my dad looked away. Being dead sucked dishwater. I’d never realized how much I had enjoyed food until I couldn’t. Sitting across from me in my dad’s kitchen, Nakita pushed her food around as well. Josh wasn’t helping her eat her spaghetti, and my dad was starting to look worried at her full plate.

“Too much oregano?” he asked, pushing his glasses to the bridge of his nose.

“It’s great, Mr. A,” Josh said cheerfully around his full mouth.

My dad’s eyes were on me, though, and I smiled, forcing myself to put a forkful in my mouth and chew. It just wasn’t the same. The solid illusion of my body took what it needed from my amulet. I didn’t need outside energy to exist, and the desire to eat just wasn’t there. I could do it, but it was like chewing on rice cakes.

“Top-notch, Dad,” I said, but it was clear by his suspicious mmmm that he didn’t believe me. “I had a snack when I got home from school,” I said, mentally adding, Last year, when I was a junior, to sort of try to keep it from being a lie.

“Well, don’t tomorrow, okay?” he said, wiping his fingers on a napkin before taking a sip of his water. “I’m tired of making food that sits on your plate.”

My dad stood and went to open the window over the sink. Early cricket song and the hush of a passing car on our quiet residential street slipped in with the golden haze of a low sun. I quickly exchanged forks with Josh, and Nakita frowned. She was going to have to get rid of her food another way. Josh was eager enough, but he wasn’t that big a guy.

Nakita and I had gotten back about three thirty to find Josh on my front steps, looking good as he sat with a stack of new textbooks. I owed him big. Bigger than dinner at my house. I had checked in with my dad from the house phone and then we’d sat around in the backyard, watching Josh eat chips as I’d told him the story. Josh had listened to it all, clearly disappointed that he hadn’t been there.

It was about seven, and I was getting anxious about Shoe. Ron must have found something out by now, but Barnabas hadn’t said a word, meaning the status quo hadn’t changed. Sighing, I wound up another wad of spaghetti and passed it over to Josh, who cheerfully took it, head bobbing and mouth still chewing the last forkful. My dad’s shoes scraped on the faded linoleum when he turned back around, and I breathed in the scent of oil and ink that clung to him from work as he came back to the table. His thoughts were clearly not on dinner. They were probably on me.

My dad was the classic lab rat, kind of tall, thin, geeky maybe when he had been younger, more comfortable in a lab coat than a tie or trendy shirt. Apart from the gray starting to show in his hair and the faint smile wrinkles around his eyes, he looked the same as he had when he and my mom had separated almost ten years ago.

Mom had moved to Florida with me in tow. She was a variable funds procurement expert, which basically meant she was a hired gun for reputable charities. Her specialty was seducing money from old women—something she was really good at but that was a constant source of strife between us when I couldn’t stomach putting on my white gloves and serving as a prop in her spiel. My dad had stayed here.

The rumble of thunder was faint but growing stronger, and the haze of sun coming in the window dimmed as the clouds overtook it. An early dusk was starting to take hold. I skated another wad of spaghetti around on my plate, cringing when I met Nakita’s eyes. She had an entire plateful. I made a nod toward Josh for her to give him at least a forkful, and her lips pressed as she thought it over.

My dad sat down and leaned back, assessing me as he chewed. “You two ladies don’t look too skinny,” he said, his brown eyes still holding a layer of hurt.

“What?” I stammered, looking down at myself.

“Must be a high school–girl thing,” he added, smiling at Nakita. “Tell you what. How about you help me make dinner tomorrow night, Madison? Whatever you want.”

Josh snorted, hunched over his plate, and I winced, remembering making dinner with my dad when I’d been five. Having a preschooler cook peas did not make her any more eager to eat them, but my parents choking down the barbecue-sauce-laced veggies had been hilarious to my five-year-old self. The evening had ended in giggles and laughter. Maybe we should have had barbecue peas more often. “Okay,” I said, eyes lowered as I remembered.

Again my dad made that mmmm sound, as if looking into the future. Or maybe the past. A melancholy sadness had taken me, and I forced down a bite of pasta, trying to enjoy the tang of tomatoes and the musky sweetness of the oregano.

I’d been shipped up here almost six months ago, right at the tail end of my junior grade. I’d missed my prom and everything. What had been the straw that broke my mom’s camel’s back was still a mystery. It could have been the cops bringing me in for breaking curfew when she thought I’d been upstairs on the internet. Or my going to that beach party when I said I wasn’t, or that twilight cruise with the guys and swimming around the far buoy—which was totally not my fault. I’d called to say where I was. My mom had nearly popped her pearls that time.

But for whatever reason Mom had decided to ship me back north, I was glad for it, and I smiled as I looked at the ugly wallpaper with yellow roses on it that I vaguely remembered from my childhood. I had thought it was going to be a transfer from one unreasonable jailer to another, but getting to know my dad again had been a pleasant surprise, especially when he actually listened to me when I told him why I had to have one pair of sandals over another. My mom didn’t get my sense of style at all. My dad didn’t, either, but at least he tried.

In all seriousness, I was trying to be good. I hadn’t snuck out of the house in almost a week, apart from the time I had to keep black wings off of Josh. I called when I was going to be late, and I was always here for dinner unless I was pretending to eat at Josh’s house. It would get harder, though, if I were fighting off dark timekeepers and trying to save souls.

“All of you are very quiet,” he said out of nowhere, and I jerked my head up. “School okay today?”

Crap, he wants to talk about school?

“I’m taking home economics,” Nakita offered hesitantly, seeing me almost panicking.

A faint grimace crossed my dad’s face, but he relaxed, putting an elbow on the table. “I hated that class. Do they have you making book bags this year?”

Nakita wedged the wad of pasta off her fork and started to wind up another spool. “Why would a book need a bag?”

“Uh, Nakita and I are taking photography together,” I broke in, trying to distract him from her puzzled expression. For all my dad knew, Nakita was from Nova Scotia and spoke French as her first language. That the school thought she was living at my house was a bit of angel intervention. No one had bothered to check whether she was. Actually, I didn’t know where she went when she left.

Josh ate a bite of bread. “We’ve got physics together,” he said around his food. “Yay.”

I smiled at his lackluster exclamation. “It was great to get back and see everyone,” I said as I wound up another fork of pasta.

My dad smiled knowingly. “This year will be better. Just you watch,” he predicted as he pulled a chunk of bread from the loaf and dipped it in the olive oil and vinegar. “And then college.”

“Can I get through physics first?” I asked with a moan. “At least I’ve got photography this year. That will be fun.”

My dad’s head bobbed. “That reminds me,” he said, glancing over my shoulder at the corkboard by the phone on the wall. “I got a call from your photography teacher with a list of class supplies. Why on earth didn’t she just give it to you when you were at school?”

“Ms. Cartwright?” I asked, feeling a flush of worry, and he nodded. “Um, maybe she didn’t know at the time,” I offered, trying not to lie. Great, I thought as I glanced at Josh, who shrugged.

“Do you need to run out to the mall tonight?” my dad asked, his gaze touching on Nakita’s black fingernails.

“I can take you,” Josh volunteered, clearly seeing a way to get back into the scythe prevention, but my first impulse to say yes died. It would be a great way to slip off my dad’s radar for a couple of hours, but I couldn’t leave until he thought I was in bed.

“Uh, no,” I stammered, and Josh stifled his disappointment. “I’ve probably got most of it upstairs.” I hadn’t seen the list, but I had all my stuff from last year.

“I need a camera,” Nakita said suddenly, her voice worried.

“I’ve got one you can borrow,” I said quickly. “Don’t worry about it, Nakita.”

She wiped her lips with a napkin. “I’ve never used one before. I don’t want to break it.”

Nakita seemed genuinely concerned, and my dad laughed. “If it’s the one I’m thinking of, you can’t.” He put an elbow on the table and leaned in. “Madison used to be really rough on her cameras, but you can’t blame her. She’s been taking pictures since she was four. How long have you been behind the lens?”

Nakita blinked, surprised as she always was when my dad tried to include her in the conversation. My dad liked her, thought the quiet studiousness she showed him would settle me down. But I could probably bring home a biker chick and he’d ask her to stay for dinner, seeing it as proof that I wasn’t moping around upstairs by myself, or avoiding people, like I had been when I first moved up here. That I had two friends over for dinner had probably made his week.

“Not long,” she said, as in never, then added, “I’m not creative. I’m there because Madison thinks it will help me fit in.”

“At a new school,” I blurted.

“I’ll never be able to take pictures like Madison,” Nakita said.

“Yeah,” Josh exclaimed as he wiped the last of his sauce up with a scrap of bread. “Madison takes great pictures.”

“Ah!” my dad exclaimed, making me jump. “Everyone has creativity. You just need to stretch your muscles. Madison’s been at it a long time,” he said, his focus going distant in memory. “She probably doesn’t remember it, but I used to take her with me when I’d go out to remote sites for samples. Her mother gave her a camera to keep her busy.”

“I remember,” I said, wondering if Dad would notice if I switched plates with Josh. I’d tried to throw out the photo albums of corners and clouds almost three years ago, but my mom had rescued them from the trash and hidden them somewhere. “I’ve got my old camera upstairs.” And seeing a way to get out of there, I stood, taking my almost-full plate in hand.

“You’re finished?” my dad exclaimed, looking up at me with a lost expression when Nakita followed my lead. Josh blinked up at us, then snatched a last piece of bread as he stood, too.

Again, guilt hit me, even as I dumped the food and turned on the tap to rinse the plate. My dad had been really great since I’d moved back, making me feel wanted and yet giving me the space I needed. Dying and not being able to tell anyone had seemed to put a bigger wall between us than when we had been separated by a thousand miles.

But I couldn’t dismiss the feeling that he recalled the night I had died. It wasn’t that he ever said anything, but there was a hesitation now where there hadn’t been one before. Barnabas had fixed it so my dad didn’t remember, but I think he did—on some level. And I didn’t want to be alone with him, afraid he was going to bring it up.

Nakita was silent as she threw her food away. Beside her, Josh rinsed his plate off. “I’d better get home,” Josh said, sounding disappointed. I’d love it if he could have come with me back to Fort Banks, but Nakita could carry only one. “I’ve got time to help with the dishes, though,” he added.

“Nakita and I have them okay,” I offered quickly. I sort of owe you, I thought, but I didn’t say it. “You probably want to get home before it rains.”

“I can drive in the rain,” Josh said with a grin.

My dad pushed back and joined us at the sink. “Thanks for coming over, Josh,” he said brightly. “I like having a noisy house and cooking for more than one.”

“Dad…” I complained. “I’m just not hungry.”

He didn’t say anything, eyebrows high. Josh wiped his hands on his jeans, rocking back from the sink as he looked at me, clearly wanting to say something. “I have to get my stuff,” he finally said, then ducked out of the kitchen to leave an uncomfortable silence.

Nakita brought the plate of bread to the sink, hesitating only a moment before reaching for the bag to put it in. “Can we do the dishes later?” I asked my dad. “I want to…” I want to what? I thought in panic. I couldn’t admit I wanted to talk to Josh! My dad might think he was my boyfriend or something. I mean, he sort of was, but it wasn’t like we’d even kissed or anything. Yet.

“Go, go, go,” he said, making a shooing motion. “I’ll clean up. You go talk to Josh.”

Nakita was scowling. She didn’t like Josh much. I, though, was delighted, and I spun around, wiping my hands on the drying towel. “Thanks, Dad!”

“I have to call Officer Levy back anyway,” he said, looking at the clock on the stove.

Officer Levy? Oh, crap.

I rocked to a stop. Nakita and I exchanged looks, mine worried, hers peeved, probably at Barnabas for stopping her from scything the woman. My dad, though, didn’t look concerned as he pulled himself up to his full height.

“Dad, I can explain,” I started. How am I going to explain? I thought, mentally cursing Barnabas. This was the second time he had changed people’s memories, only to have them return enough to complicate my life. It probably came from his previous habit of save-the-human-then-split. He never had to deal with people remembering the lies he told them to believe.

But my dad didn’t appear to be upset as he rinsed out his glass. “She called me at work. Something about making sure you had a permit to park in the school lot,” he said, sounding amused as he worked the taps. “I told her you didn’t have a car, and she got confused. But in any case, she wanted to talk to me about a fund-raiser.”

“Oh,” I said, relaxing. Behind him, Nakita’s eyes were a steady blue. If they had gone silver, she would have been doing damage control. Whatever Barnabas had done was apparently holding. “Well, I guess we don’t have to worry about a car, huh?” I said sourly, and he sighed. I’d been moaning about my car being down in Florida since I got here, and his answer was always the same: “Not yet.”

But this time, instead of giving his pat answer, he turned to me with worried eyes and asked, “Madison, is everything okay?”

I could hear Josh thumping down the stairs, and I nodded, shoving the drying towel over the rack when I realized I was winding it about my fingers. “Trust me, Dad,” I said, with what I hoped was the right amount of annoyance and sincerity as I walked backward to the hallway, snagging Nakita on the way. “I like it here. I’m not going to screw it up. I have friends now and everything. Even if I don’t have a car.”

His attention flicked to Nakita, and, smiling, he said, “Just promise you’ll tell me if you need to talk. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s broken.”

It was too close to what I really wanted—to come clean and ask his advice. But what I did was yank the class supply list from the fridge and mutter, “It’s just normal teen stuff.”

“‘Normal’ and ‘teen’ don’t go together,” he said, and I edged to the archway to the hall. “Call your mom tonight, okay?” he added when Nakita slipped out before me. “She called this afternoon, wanting to talk to you. Right during school hours. I told her you can’t have a phone on in school and to calm down, but you know your mom.”

His voice held an old frustration, and I halted in the archway, watching him relive the past. I, though, was a little more concerned with the present. My mother was a thousand miles away, and her trouble radar was still working. “I’ll call her. And thanks for letting Nakita spend the night.”

“I don’t know how I let you talk me into stuff like this,” he grumped as he turned to the sink and rolled up his sleeves. “I was never allowed to have anyone sleep over, much less on a school night.”

Smiling, I came back in, going up on tiptoe to give him a kiss on the cheek. It was stubbly, and he smelled like…Dad. “Because I’m your favorite,” I said, bringing back a family joke that hadn’t been said in ten years.

My dad smiled, wiping away all my uneasy feelings. “My one and only,” he said, giving me an awkward hug as he tried not to get soap suds on me. “Lights out at ten. I mean it!”

We were cool, and, walking with a lighter step, I went into the hallway to find Josh standing with Nakita, his book bag over his shoulder. Seeing me, he let it slide to the floor. From the kitchen, the rush of water filling the sink drifted out.

Josh glanced at the kitchen as I came forward. “See you tomorrow?” he said, and I nodded. It would probably be over one way or another by sunup.

“Thanks for everything,” I said, looking at his book bag, then winced. “Josh, I’m sorry. I know you wanted to come with us.”

His eyes were on the ceiling. “Next time, maybe,” he said, making me feel worse.

Nakita crossed her arms over her chest, shifting her weight to one foot. Josh’s gaze came back to her, and he frowned. “Do you mind if I talk to Madison alone?” he asked.

She exhaled, eyes rolling. In a huff, she spun on a heel and stomped upstairs. I swear, some of this fitting-in stuff she picked up fast.

I was still smiling when I brought my attention back to Josh. But seeing his eyes light up when I looked at him, I felt a spark of nervousness fill me. He wants to be alone with me?

“Got all your assignments?” he asked, looking at the note in my grip.

“Yes, thanks to you,” I said, shoving the note in a pocket. “I really wanted you to come. Nakita can’t carry more than one person.”

His eyes went to the open archway to the kitchen. “It’s okay,” he said, dropping a step back to the door. “Just don’t make me into the librarian guy who looks things up for you and always misses out.” He smiled. “Dinner was good.”

“I’ll take your word on that.”

Josh took his truck keys from his pocket and reached for the door behind him. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, slinging his book bag over his shoulder.

Disappointment seeped into me, but what had I expected? It wasn’t like we’d been on a date—except for last year’s prom, and that was a disaster. Reaching out, I touched his hand. Josh halted, the door cracked open.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “Josh, I mean it.”

He looked down at our hands, then at the kitchen where my dad was noisily putting dishes in the dishwasher. “Will your dad freak if I kiss you good-bye?” he asked.

I blinked, my heart giving a thump before I stopped it. “Probably,” I said, feeling breathless. I’d kissed boys before—my mom didn’t ground me because I was a saint—but I’d been flaking out lately about being dead and had been holding myself apart. That he might want to kiss me thrilled me down to my toes.

Josh took my hand more firmly. From the kitchen came a clatter of pans in the sink. I held my breath, feeling the memory of my heart pound all the harder. “Don’t forget about me?” he whispered, his head beside mine, not kissing me, but really close.

The scent of spaghetti, bread, and shampoo filled me with a feeling of security. “Never,” I said, meaning it. Tilting my head, I closed my eyes. Our lips touched, like I hoped they would. Warm against mine, his were hardly there before he dropped back. A quiver rose and fell through me, and my eyes opened, finding his. He was smiling softly. It had happened too fast, and he ducked his head when the silverware clinked. I felt flushed, warm. Excited and calm all at the same time.

“I should go,” he said, hoisting his bag to his shoulder again.

“Yeah,” I said, wondering how something so simple made the world look so different.

“See you tomorrow, Madison,” he added, glancing at the kitchen.

“Bye.” I really didn’t want him to go.

Josh reached out, taking my hand and then letting it slip from his as he walked through the door and shut it behind him.

I let go of a breath I’d taken who knew how long ago, my attention flicking to the kitchen when my dad shouted through the open window, “Bye, Josh. Take it easy going home.”

“You got it, Mr. A,” came back faintly, and I turned to the stairway, jerking when I saw Nakita waiting for me at the top. Josh hadn’t given any indication that she’d been there, but I knew from her bothered expression that she’d seen the entire thing.

“He kissed you,” she said before I was even halfway up.

“You want to say that a little louder?” I said sourly. “My dad might not have heard you.”

She stepped aside as I came even with her, her posture uneasy. “It made your pulse start,” she said, falling into step behind me.

“Yep,” I said, smiling. Through the house, I heard Josh’s truck rev. My thoughts were still on him as I flopped onto my bed. He really was a nice guy.

Nakita shut the door behind her. “Do you think I should paint my nails?”

The shift of topics pulled my attention from the ceiling, and I propped myself up on an elbow. “You saw my dad look at them?” I asked, and she nodded, her beautiful face holding an almost comical amount of worry. “If you want.”

“I want to,” she said, looking relieved now. “And my toes.”

“I like them the way they are,” I said, rolling onto my stomach to reach the bedside table. Pulling it open, I rummaged until I found a bright red that went with her purse, now sitting on my dresser beside our textbooks. Josh had brought them over, too. Man, I really owed him.

“Good?” I asked as I held it up to her.

Nakita took it, her expression empty. “Do you have a paler color?”

I suddenly realized she was trying to look normal—to fit in—and I rolled back to look again. “I’ve got pink,” I said, and Nakita visibly relaxed.

“Thank you.”

She was all smiles again. Thinking that anyone else would get labeled with bipolar disorder, I shoved the drawer shut and dug the photography class–supplies list out of my pocket, going over the crumpled paper and mentally comparing it to what I had in my closet. “Most of this I’ve got,” I said, rolling over and finding my feet. “Do you want my red camera or the black one?”

“Black. No, red,” she said immediately, and then followed it with, “Which one would you pick?”

I opened my closet. Hands on my hips, I looked for the box I’d stashed them in. Josh said I took great pictures. My dad had said the same thing, but hearing it come from Josh so casually left me feeling warm—when warmth was something I hadn’t felt in months.

“There it is,” I said softly, leaning in past my skirts, tops, and jeans to reach the box in the back. It was from my mother’s grocery store, and I felt a twinge of homesickness as I set it on my desk. Call Mom. Don’t forget.

The unmistakable scent of electronics sifted out when I opened it up, tickling memories. “The red one is newer, but the black one has more versatility,” I said, and when she blinked vacantly at me, I handed her the black one. “This one takes better pictures. It doesn’t focus automatically, and you can choose what you focus on. Sometimes shooting something fuzzy makes it easier to see what you’re trying to show.”

Okay, it didn’t make much sense, but she took the old camera, carefully unzipping her purse and setting it inside. I swore I saw her smile as the up-to-now-useless bag suddenly had a purpose. It was the only thing in there.

“You can keep the nail polish, too,” I said, thinking that a purse should really have more than one thing in it.

“Thank you,” she said seriously as she set the bag beside her books and kicked off her sandals like a normal person. Normal, yes, but the wedges landed neatly under my wide window as if having been placed there. “I’ll never be as good as you,” she said wistfully.

I glanced at her perfect feet, then looked away. Jeez, no wonder the guys fell over themselves to talk to her. Even her feet were beautiful. “Being as ‘good’ as someone else isn’t the goal,” I said, dropping back on the bed to stare at my ceiling. I’d call my mom later. “Finding a way to show how something makes you feel is. There’s no wrong way to take a picture. If it makes you feel something, then you’ve done it right.”

The bed moved as she sat down on the end, and I shifted my weight. “Do you think your dad will like them?” she asked. “My pictures, I mean.”

Nakita was so confident of herself when she was on a scythe, it was odd to see her so unsure. “I know he will.” A smile curved up the corners of my mouth as I imagined her showing them to him. My dad loved my photography. He had an entire wall in the formal dining room devoted to my stuff, with lights shining on his favorites and everything. He was the one who told me about capturing how something makes you feel, and I think he tried to figure out what was going on in my head by what was coming out of my printer.

The biting smell of polish was strong. This waiting-around stuff was aggravating, but we couldn’t leave until my dad was in bed. My gaze drifted, finding the picture of Wendy and my ex-boyfriend, Ted, on my mirror. They looked happy together on the beach at sunset. I rolled over so I could see my old friends upright. I’d let go of the idea of Ted in my life almost as soon as I’d moved up here. Guys were like puppies sometimes—loyal but easily distracted—and I had known that as soon as I was gone, he’d find someone else to follow around. That it had been my best friend, Wendy, wasn’t a surprise. Squinting, I wondered if I could see a haze of blue around Wendy, mixing with a shadow of yellow about Ted. Their auras? My thoughts flitted back to Josh and that first kiss. And I smiled.

“Do you think Barnabas is doing okay?” I asked Nakita.

“I don’t know. I can’t reach him,” she said, sounding almost catty.

Jeez, what is with her tonight? I turned, seeing her bent at a sharp angle to put her face near her toes. Her hair draped to one side, framing her strong cheekbones and accentuating her perfect complexion. Her amulet gently swayed as she covered her black nails in pink, hiding what she was. Frankly, she looked like a model. Me, I was too flat chested, and since I was now dead, I was stuck waiting for the boob fairy for the rest of my existence. Isn’t that nice…?

Nakita knew I couldn’t contact Barnabas, but that didn’t mean I’d have to waste the next couple of hours. My body was somewhere between the now and the next, according to the seraph who had witnessed me taking on the role of the dark timekeeper. If I could find it, then I could go back to really living and give up being the boss of a system I didn’t agree with. I could forget all about timekeepers, amulets, reapers, and black wings. I could be myself again. Even if it meant forgetting all of this.

Glancing at Nakita, I wondered if that was something I still wanted to do.

Of course it is, I told myself, then stared up at the ceiling, wondering how one found the space between the now and the next.

Silence filled my soul, and I closed my eyes. I didn’t know where to even look. But wherever it was, I probably had to find it using my head, not my eyes. Taking three slow breaths, I held the last one, letting it out slowly until my lungs were empty. It was the first step in Barnabas’s “center yourself” exercise.

“What are you doing?” Nakita asked, startling me even though her voice had been soft.

I took a breath. “Besides waiting for my dad to go to sleep? Seeing if I can find the now and the next.” It was either that or call my mom.

I heard her shift position and start on the other foot. “Good luck with that.”

My eyebrows rose. The modern phrase had sounded odd coming from her. She was mad. “You’re fitting in great, Nakita,” I said as I opened my eyes and sat cross-legged on my bed. “You sounded almost like a real teenager there.”

“You don’t want to be a timekeeper,” she accused, blue eyes flashing, then amended it, saying sullenly, “You don’t want to be the dark timekeeper. I think if you had the chance, you’d put a guardian angel on Shoe.”

Is that what’s bothering her? “I am not going to put a guardian angel on Shoe,” I said. “A guardian angel won’t accomplish anything.” I snatched up the red nail polish and rubbed the bottle between my palms to mix it without putting air into it.

Nakita watched me mix the polish, and I could almost see her file the information away. Eyes coming up, she pressed her lips together and glared. “You don’t believe in fate. Soon as you don’t need that amulet to stay alive, you’ll give it back. And then you’ll forget everything. I was there. I heard you tell the seraph.”

“Nakita…” I coaxed.

“It’s okay,” she said tightly, and dipped the brush back in the bottle balanced precariously on her bent knee. “I’m a dark reaper. It’s my job to kill people. I don’t expect you to like me.”

This was getting worse and worse. Sighing, I set the bottle on my dresser and carefully opened it. “I do like you,” I said, unable to look at her as I put a red stripe on my black nails. “I think you’re great. God, Nakita, you can fly!” I looked up. “But I miss sleeping. I like being hungry, and then feeling good after I eat. I feel bad about lying to my dad and changing his memories. And I can’t be the boss of a system that I don’t believe in. If I can’t change things, then I’m going to give it up as soon as I get my body back.”

She took a breath to speak. Her eyes fixed on mine, and I couldn’t look away. “But you’re good at this,” she said softly.

I’m good at this? Shocked, I stared at her, and a drop of red hit my comforter. “How so?” I said, dropping the brush into the bottle and scrambling for a tissue. “You’ve made it clear you think I’m doing the wrong thing. How can I convince the seraphs if I can’t even convince you?”

Great. Dad’s going to be mad about the comforter, I thought, flustered as I dabbed to get the worst of it, but confusion was pinching her eyes when I looked up.

“I don’t know,” she said, “but you believe in what you’re doing. Timekeepers change for a reason. You’re…passionate about helping people, even if I don’t understand what you’re trying to do. The mistakes don’t matter. It’s what you do when you mess up that does.”

I met her lost expression with my own. I understood what she was saying, sort of, but I couldn’t have it both ways.

“Besides,” Nakita said softly as she turned her attention back to her nails, “I’d miss you if you were gone.”

I sat on my bed, two nails painted, the rest still utterly black. I didn’t know what to say. My curtains moved in a gust of wind, and a roll of thunder gave her last words more weight. The sun was probably still up, but I couldn’t see it behind the dark clouds.

Nakita’s sigh mixed with the first drops of rain hitting the roof. I had to say something, but nothing rose through my blissfully empty mind as big plops of rain hit sporadically and the smell of wet shingles drifted in with the breeze. Still searching for something to say that would give her solace and yet make my intentions clear, I moved to close my window.

“Nakita—” I started, gazing out at the early darkness and the flat gray clouds.

But a soft, oh-so-familiar sound scraped across my awareness like a knife. It was the sound of sneakers finding a grip on the roof. And then the soft tinkling of Grace singing, “There once was a boy on a roof, who kept himself far too aloof. Like a snail he did crawl, till he took a big fall. ’Cause really he was a big stupe.”

Is Barnabas back? “Barnabas?” I called loudly, leaning out the window.

Nakita looked up from finishing her toenails. A sudden scrabbling from higher up on the roof shocked through me. Reaching for the screen, I lifted it free and set it aside. A yelp of alarm from the roof pulled Nakita to her feet, and with the frightening sound of sliding grit, a white shadow fell past my window. Arms and legs flailing, someone dropped off the roof. A loud thump followed by a groan rose up with the soft roll of thunder.

I turned to Nakita. “I don’t think that was Barnabas,” I said.

Her face was calm, but her eyes were silver. “I can’t tell. Whoever it is, he’s shielding his aura.” Eager to find out, she handed me her polish. “I’ll be right back.”

My eyes widened. “Nakita!” I hissed, but she had already sent her hand about her amulet. A shimmer of violet light ran over her, and then her sword appeared in her free hand. “Nakita, wait!” I demanded as I set the polish down, but she was halfway through my window and on the roof.

“Puppy presents on the rug,” I whispered as she stood on the edge of the roof and looked at the ground with a hand on her hip. The wind gusted, and the rain pattered down heavier, the branches over my room blocking most of it.

“Who are you?” she said loudly as she looked down; then she dropped out of sight.

“Grace!” I shouted. Okay, it hadn’t been Barnabas eavesdropping, but someone was, and Grace had made him fall.

The messenger angel flew in, bringing with her the smell of ozone and rain, darting about in chagrin, if a ball of light could look chagrined.

“Darn it, Madison! I didn’t want you to know I was here,” she said, sounding disappointed. “I wasn’t spying on you. I promise! It was that boy of a rising timekeeper. Paul wasn’t being nice, so I made him fall. You weren’t supposed to know I was here!”

“Go get Barnabas,” I said, my hand on the sill.

“You’re not mad?” The glow that was all I could see of her vanished as her wings stopped moving.

“No, but I will be if you don’t get Barnabas. He’s shielded, and I can’t reach him.” Actually, I was furious, but I was more concerned about Nakita and whoever had fallen off the roof.

“Be right back,” she chimed in relief, and she darted out the window.

Taking a breath, I reached for the window again. A faint huff of surprise came from the yard under my window, followed by a ping. It was more of a feeling than a sound, and a wash of violet colored the underside of the leaves of the oak tree arching over my room.

That did not look good. Pushing the curtains aside, I vaulted onto the warm, damp roof and into the heavy night.