by Kim Harrison
Devoting your life to the person who had accidentally put black wings inside of you to eat your memories and teach you the meaning of death could not be an easy thing to do.
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 h
e 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 thous
and 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.”