by Неизвестный
I raised my camera and got a shot when one of the women laughed, catching her in a moment of happiness. Their participant badges were clearly visible, and I toyed with the idea of showing it to Ms. Cartwright to see if she wanted to use it in next year's promotion.
Turning, I spotted Covington High's girls' track team stretching under the shade of the birch trees. Colorful gym bags littered the grass, and I took a few shots, making sure Amy was not looking her best. Zooming in, I focused on the bandage over her purple nose, bruised and swollen, thanks to Grace, and with a grin, I took a really bad one with her mouth hanging open.
"Never tick off the photographer," I whispered, feeling good about catching her in more than one awkward, unflattering pose.
I'd been taking pictures now for about three hours and I was starting to get tired, even as my long-fallow photography muscles enjoyed the workout. The camera card I'd bought yesterday had been a godsend. I'd already filled it up once, taking time to dump everything into the printer before clearing it out and going back in search of more timely moments.
"Like that one," I whispered when I saw a man holding his child close and high to his face. He was pointing to one of the walkers on the field, and the baby, a girl by the looks of the bow and frills, was following his gaze. The man's face glowed as he talked to his daughter. Behind them was a stroller with a huge diaper bag shoved under it and a handful of toys tied to the front bar.
I took a picture of the stroller just because I thought it was cool that something so small needed so much stuff, then focused on the man and his child, waiting until the little girl recognized to whom he was pointing and made a delighted, wiggling gurgle. I snapped it, and the man turned as the camera whined.
I smiled, checking to make sure the ID tag Ms. Cartwright had given me was showing. "I'm taking photos to support the school," I said for the umpteenth time today. "Would you like me to print this for you? I can have it ready in about an hour."
His suspicion evaporated, turning into delight when I extended the back of the camera for him to see. "I didn't even know you were there," he said, jiggling the girl. "That is beautiful. How much?" He shifted his child to reach into his back pocket, and I waved my hand no.
"We're asking for a dollar, but you pay when you see them," I explained. "I've got them up at the green tent." The thump of fast feet came and went behind me, and the little girl squirmed, looking over my shoulder to follow the runners with her eyes.
"I'll be there," the man said as he scrambled to hold her. He gazed at the happy infant, saying in a falsetto, "Mommy will love to have a picture of us." His love for his daughter was still in his eyes when he turned back to me. "Thank you. I always forget to bring my camera to these things. Diapers, bottles, toys, and her snuggy, but never a camera."
Nodding, I gave him a reminder ticket before I waved at the cooing girl and walked away. It felt good to be out doing something instead of moping about in my room like it was a prison, missing my old friends. Yesterday at the Low D with Josh had been nice, even with Amy butting in and the looming trouble with Kairos. I'd forgotten how good it felt to be with someone and not afraid to be who I really was. Today, the sun was warm, the air was cool, and I was busy spending my dad's money on ink and paper. It didn't get much better than that.
From the nearby trees, I heard Amy shout an attention-getting, "Hi-i-i-i, Josh!" and I glanced up to see him run by again. Parker was out there with him now, and it looked like they were talking. I went to take a picture of them, but a card full message popped up.
"Cripes," I said with a sigh, then headed to the tent where I'd set up my table. Ms. Cartwright was really nice, not blinking an eye at my purple hair tips and skull earrings when she had given me a table where I could tape up some of the miscellaneous pictures that no one would likely claim.
"Madison! Is my picture done yet?" a tired, matronly voice called out, and my gaze went to a fatigued woman with three dusty boys. She looked ready to call it a day. I had a beautiful photo waiting of her and her boys on the merry-go-round before they'd worn her out and gotten cotton candy on their clothes. The sun glinting on the gold paint had matched their hair, and the straight up-and-down lines contrasted beautifully with the curling manes and bright paint on the horses. Side by side, the family resemblance that had changed little from age to age was striking. I'd printed out a second one for me just because I liked it.
"It's ready," I said, gesturing to the tent, but she was busy holding the two youngest apart as they argued about the goldfish they had won.
"I'll be along," she said quickly, then raised her voice to tell them they were going to kill the fish if they kept jiggling it like that.
No one even noticed me as I slipped inside the tent and wove my way to the back table. The shade was a welcome relief, and I eased in behind the long table to settle into my chair. A pleased sound escaped me when I realized a good portion of the photos were gone, even the ones that I'd thought no one would want. Happy, I plugged the camera into the printer and told it to print everything. It felt good to have my efforts appreciated.
The photos began coming out one by one, and I busied myself arranging them on the table so people could find them. A shadow fell over me, and I looked up when Ms. Cartwright said admiringly, "Oh, I'll take that one." She reached for the picture falling into the hopper, adding, "Howard's my brother. I'd love to give that to him for his birthday. It's wonderful."
I glanced at a picture of a man sitting in the dunk tank, casually talking to someone in the crowd. He was dripping wet, and a blur of a ball was headed right for the target. What would happen next was obvious. "Really?" I asked, gratified. "Thanks," I added, handing it over.
She smiled at it briefly, her tired green eyes traveling fondly over the photo. "No, thank you. He's hard to buy for," she said as she tucked a long strand of hair that had escaped her thick ponytail behind an ear. "And this is a nice one of Mark," she said as the photo of the man and the little girl at the track came out. "He owns the car wash. He doesn't get a chance to be with Jem much. That's what they call their daughter. Jem." Her expression brightened and her fingers traveled over the pictures. "And Mrs. Hall. Oh my, look at that shoe size. No wonder she didn't pick her photo up. That hoof is front and center."
I fidgeted, embarrassed, but it was cool hearing about the people I'd been stealing bits of life from. It made me feel like I belonged somehow. I couldn't help but wonder if that was what I had been trying to do today—capture life because mine had basically stopped and the world hadn't. Continuing on without me. Circling like the seasons.
Looking closer, I squinted, wanting to take the picture out into the sun. It was almost as if I could see a shimmer about her. Her aura? Nahhh. "I thought the way the purple of the balloons went with the soles of her shoes was neat," I said, trying to explain why Mrs. Hall's back was so fascinating. Neat? I think it's neat? God! I am such a nerd.
"It is." Ms. Cartwright smiled at the photo of someone's van, the back doors open to show it was crammed to the top with undelivered papers. "You have a real knack for composition. Seeing what matters. What we miss if we don't slow down."
Another picture rolled out of the printer, and I set it on the table. "Thanks. I belonged to the photography club in my last school. I guess I picked up more than I thought."
Ms. Cartwright made an interested sound. "You're not on my class list. Why not? You have an eye for this."
She's the photography teacher? "Uh, I don't know," I said, suddenly nervous.
The woman's eyebrows arched, and she set the picture of Mrs. Hall down. "Oh-h-h-h, you're one of those, are you?" she said, and I stared blankly. "You don't want to be labeled a geek, so you color your hair purple and avoid anything that says you're smart."
"No," I said quickly, but she made a knowing face at me, and I rolled my gaze to the dusty ceiling. "Photography class is almost as bad as the chess club," I protested, and she laughed, taking up the next photo as it came out. I had a feeling the photogra
phy club hadn't helped in my quest for popularity at my old school. I didn't think it would help me much here, either. But why was I even trying for the popular crowd anymore?
"Reconsider it, Madison," she said as she scrutinized a photo. "There's a lot of talent here. I've been looking at what you've been doing, and you're capturing life in a way that is uniquely beautiful; even the ugliness is beautiful. That kind of an eye is hard to develop, if you'll pardon the pun. You might be able to get a scholarship if you applied yourself."
I was dead, yeah, but I'd probably still have to go to school and get a good job. If I was going to live forever, I'd rather do it in a nice house than in an alley. "Do you think?" I asked her, wondering if I could make money doing something I loved. It almost didn't seem fair.
Ms. Cartwright set down the photo when another woman began looking over the pictures. Recognizing her, I pointed hers out. Her ooh of delight made me smile, and she lingered before going to pay for it, laughing at pictures of her neighbors.
"I'll talk to the counselor and get you into my advanced class," Ms. Cartwright said to bring my attention back. "You'll be a senior this year, right?"
A thrill ran through me. Senior. I liked the sound of that. "Okay," I said. "You convinced me." I was happier being myself—purple hair, loud music, dead, and everything—than trying to fit in with the Amys. And I didn't think that Josh would dump me just because I wasn't in the cool crowd. Not that we really were anything.
She nodded, sliding down to take the photo of Josh, one of the first to have printed out. "Another one of Josh?" she said, smiling. "Wow, you did good here. Did you take this from the bleachers?" I nodded, and she murmured, "Steady hand. Too bad about the glint of sun in the picture. Funny. Those don't usually show up when the sun is at that angle." She frowned, bringing the picture to her nose. "Something about this one makes me uneasy. The pinch of his eyes, perhaps…" Her shoulders lifted and fell. "It might be the crows in the background. My grandmother would chase them off her roof all the time. She hated crows."
My face stiffened. Crows?
Ms. Cartwright set the photo down. "You did great today, Madison," she said with a smile. "People have been giving more than the requested donation. You brought in over two hundred dollars."
There hadn't been any crows at the track—had there? Grace had been right there with Josh. I'd seen her.
"Better than the dunk tank," Ms. Cartwright was saying. "Howard will be disappointed. He's usually the big draw. Why don't you call it a day?" she suggested. "Go enjoy yourself. They're about to read the totals. You should find Josh and stick around for the party. There will be dancing…."
She gave me a final smile and was pulled away by a nervous woman holding a handful of tickets. I hardly noticed her leaving, and I snatched up the last picture I'd taken of Josh. Those weren't crows in the background; they were black wings. They were in the distance above the tree line, but that was what they were.
Frantic, I looked out from under the tent to search the line the trees made with the sky. Nothing. I could only see a small slice of heaven. Something must be wrong. Grace was supposed to be watching him, but there were black wings, and where there were black wings, there were reapers. Or Kairos. If he was here, I'd never know it. Grace's job was to protect Josh, not tell me when there was trouble.
In a surge of motion, I disconnected my camera from the printer. The pictures were already in the queue, and after making sure there was enough paper in the hopper, I slipped out under the ropes at the back of the tent. I had to find Josh.
CHAPTER 9
The people around me turned from beautiful representations of life to annoying obstacles, and I dodged through them trying to phone Josh and scan the skies at the same time. "Must be still running," I muttered when I got no answer, and I shoved my phone into a back pocket. I made better progress that way, but the occasional hail from some of the same people I'd taken pictures of earlier slowed me down as I begged off taking any new ones.
The sun was hot, but being dead had its advantages, and I wasn't even sweating when I finally got back to the track. Heat had pushed almost all the watchers to the nearby shade, and I spotted Josh quickly. He was running just as when I'd left him, looking strong and ready to go another lap or two. Relief unclenched my jaw, but it tightened again when I scanned the line of trees. Black wings. At least six.
"Crap," I whispered, climbing up onto the chain-link fence between the bleachers and the track to try to get Josh's attention. The black wings were distant, but they were there. It was as if they were confused. Finally Josh spotted me, and I frantically waved.
Immediately he gestured for a runner to come out to take his place and slowed to a walk. Breathing heavily, he caught the bottled water someone threw at him and headed my way.
"That's sixteen laps total!" a thick-looking man called, squinting from under a clip-on umbrella. "Good job, Josh. Are you coming to the Low D with the rest of the track team? Pizza's on me."
Josh searched my concerned expression, then waved him off. "No, thanks!" he called. "I gotta go." And the man went back to his clipboard. From the sidelines, Amy frowned, watching us with a hand on a hip. Beside her was a blond girl dressed exactly like her.
"What's up?" Josh said as I opened the latch to the gate and he came through. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Very funny. Ha-ha," I said, tugging him toward the parking lot. If Kairos was around, this was not the place to meet him. "Look at this," I said, handing him his picture.
A smile came over his face. "Look at the sweat on me! Is that Grace?"
From above us came a tiny giggle, and I glanced up, to be blinded by the sun. Blinking, I stumbled over to the pile of bags. "Check out the horizon," I suggested as my sight cleared, "not how good you look."
"Black wings?" he said.
"They're not crows," I said, ducking when Grace hovered close to the photo to see.
"It's not my fault," Grace said as Josh started to shove stuff into his bag. "I've been with him all day," she protested. "See, that's me in the photograph. And besides, they haven't gotten any closer. Much."
Josh zipped up his gym bag and straightened, shooting nervous glances at the tree line and the waiting black wings. "You knew they were there?" I questioned her, and the glow of her light brightened.
"Well, yeah. They've been there all along." Grace's tinkling voice sounded sarcastic. "Slowly circling in. It's as if a reaper is about, but not sure where they're going."
I looked at Josh, afraid and almost guilty. What was I doing enjoying myself, hiding among my neighbors like an ostrich? I should be in a back alley facing down this creep. The fact that Grace thought going invisible was dangerous shouldn't have stopped me.
"We gotta go," I said, and after glancing at his teammates, Josh nodded. His face was pale, and together we headed for the exit. "Grace, if you try to stop us, I swear I'm going to take your name away."
She was silent, and tension wound its way through my gut, worsening when we found the midway and the slowly milling people. We had to go past the bandstand to reach the parking lot, and it had gotten crowded as everyone was congregating to hear the totals. The middle school band was trying to organize, and between the parents waving for their kids' attention and the officials bringing in the last numbers, getting through the crowd was impossible.
There can't be this many people in all of Three Rivers, I thought sourly, then jerked to a halt to avoid running into a stroller when Josh caught my elbow. There was no way to get through this fast. Giving him a mirthless smile, I slowed down.
"Maybe the black wings can't find us among everyone," Josh said.
I nodded. "Maybe," I said, remembering the people whose lives I had stolen today. I'd never considered I might endanger them simply by walking among them, but I probably had. "I'm thinking Kairos is looking for us with his eyes, since he can't track our auras."
From above, Grace said, "It's not Kairos, and reapers don't hunt people with their eyes.
It takes too long and they make mistakes. You all look alike to them, especially to dark reapers."
"It is Kairos, and I don't think he cares if he makes a mistake," I protested. "All bets are off, Grace. He wants his amulet back, and he doesn't want anyone else to know he's lost it."
Josh's lips pressed together, and he angled for an opening in the crowd. "I can only hear half this conversation," he complained. "Maybe someone else is getting scythed," he suggested.
"They've been hanging on the horizon for hours," Grace said as we worked around the last of the watchers. "It would have happened by now and the black wings would be gone."
"Grace says if it was a normal scythe, it would have happened by now," I said for Josh's benefit. "I still think it's Kairos looking for us."
We dodged around a last group of people. Finally the way was clear. Leaving the band to start up an enthusiastic version of "Louie, Louie," we jogged to the parking lot, loaded down with our stuff. I relaxed somewhat when we reached it with its tired yellow balloons hanging from sticks marking the borders. Hesitating like a deer at the edge of the woods, I looked up and down the rows. Where had Josh parked?
"There," Josh said, pointing to the shade tree as if having read my mind, and we broke into a fast pace, hearing the cheer when the band stopped and Ms. Cartwright's voice come over the loudspeaker to thank everyone for coming. I sighed when the back of his truck became visible from around a big-butt van. But my relief turned to irritation when I noticed who was waiting for us.
"How did they get here before us?" I said. Amy was in the truck's bed, elbows on the top of the cab, trying to look sexy in her running shorts. That white bandage across her nose killed the effect. Parker stood by the tailgate, shuffling uneasily, and Len was leaning against the front door with his arms crossed, as if he wanted to start some trouble. My hands fisted. I didn't have time for this.
"Holy sweet seraph nubs," Grace muttered. "This has not been my day."
From the truck bed, Amy called out, "Hi, Madison, sweetie."