“Okay,” I said meekly, not liking to see him depressed. He had been a light reaper for a long time. He wasn’t ever going to fit in with the dark reapers, even if his amulet shifted as black as mine. He was going to be alone and apart for the rest of his life.

I edged toward Nakita, never having flown with her before but figuring that if Barnabas could do it, she could, too. For a moment it looked as if she were going to protest, but upon seeing how unhappy Barnabas was, she simply arched her wings to make the tips touch high above her head. I stared up at them, thinking they were beautiful, even if they didn’t go with her brightly colored clothes and sandals. I eyed Barnabas, feeling funny leaving him when he was like this.

“Are you able to fly with another person?” I asked her, and Nakita flicked her gaze to Barnabas and back to me.

“I’ll let you know in a moment,” she said, making me glad I was already dead.

Seeing us getting ready to leave, Barnabas mustered a smile. “Go,” he said. “I’ll get myself in a distant place where I can watch Shoe without giving away who I’m watching. I’d think we have at least until midnight for Ron to pick out Shoe’s resonance from the fabric of time.”

By his uneasy stance, I didn’t know if I should believe him. Sighing, I dropped back to stand with Nakita. Her arm hesitantly wrapped around my waist, and I stumbled as her wings opened, making us lift an inch and then drop. My heart pounded, and she shifted her weight.

“I’m sorry you’re different now,” she said to Barnabas. Her words were soft, but I knew he heard her as his shaggy mop of hair shifted. “She changes people,” she said, as if I weren’t standing right there. “Maybe that’s her purpose.”

“Maybe,” Barnabas said; then he ducked as Nakita pushed down with her wings.

I gasped as the corn around us flattened and we were suddenly airborne. The sudden air-pressure shift made me wince—not to mention Nakita’s wobbly ascent—and I looked down as Barnabas gazed up. He was standing in the middle of the deserted road, the impressions of Nakita’s wings making what looked almost like part of a crop circle around him. My stomach lurched, and I gripped Nakita’s arm holding me to her. She wasn’t as good as Barnabas in carrying my weight, but she could do it, and I relaxed, hearing her sigh in relief.

As she winged us back to Three Rivers, my mind kept swirling over the fact that Nakita had felt sorrow for Barnabas when she had once felt only disdain. I had changed her, too.

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.

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.