Once Dead, Twice Shy

by Kim Harrison

  “Uh, not long,” I answered truthfully. “School starts up in about two weeks.”

  Susan nodded. “Same here.”

  I shifted on the spray-splattered vinyl, nervous. I was supposed to be the designated watcher, but I really wanted to watch the driver. No mortal had a right to be that gorgeous. If I could find the guts to talk to her, I might be able to tell if she wasn’t. And what if she isn’t, Madison? I thought, growing nervous. It wasn’t like I could tell Barnabas. Maybe splitting up hadn’t been such a good idea.

  “My parents made me come here,” Susan said, pulling my attention back. “I had to leave my job and everything,” she added with an eye roll. “Lost a month of pay. I work at a newspaper, and my dad didn’t want me staring at a computer screen all summer. They still think I’m twelve.”

  I nodded, my expression freezing when a kite-sized sheet of dripping black glided between the boats as if we were standing still. Stifling a shudder, I sent my gaze to Barnabas; I could see his frown from here. Frolicking both above the water and under it, the black wings grew close, winding my tension tighter, starting at my feet and climbing higher.

  Susan stood and wobbled to the bow of the boat to glory in the wind. In a surge of worry, I forced my hand down from the black, water-washed smoothness of my amulet and held my middle. I was getting seasick, not from the jarring boat, but from what was going to happen. Unless Barnabas could do a better job than he had with me, someone would die. I’d done that—well, half of it, anyway—and waking up in the morgue wasn’t fun.

  My gaze slid from the skier to Barnabas as the red speedboat inched closer; we were nearing the jump. His brown hair streamed back from the wind, and he was talking to the driver, his knees spread wide for balance, looking every bit like the casual seventeen-year-old he was trying to save. As if feeling my attention, Barnabas looked up and our eyes met. Between us, a black wing dove into the water. Son of a dead puppy. They were getting bold. It was almost time.

  “Hey!” Susan shouted, looking to where the black wing had vanished. “Did you see that?” she asked, eyes wide. “It looked like a stingray. I didn’t know they had stingrays in freshwater.”

  Because they don’t in this hemisphere, I thought, scanning the horizon. Black wings were everywhere, keeping pace with the boats above and below the water.

  Susan gripped the gunwale with two hands as she stared at the water off the starboard. She clearly wasn’t seeing half of what was out there, but she’d noticed something. My illusionary pulse quickened. The more anxious I became, the more my mind relied on memories of being alive. Something was about to happen, and I didn’t know what to do. What if that beautiful girl at the wheel was the reaper?

  Tense, I listened to the water hiss as we raced past the ski jump. Our skier took it, letting out a war whoop at the top of her arc. She lost her balance on the landing but fell into the water gracefully, as if she knew what she was doing.

  Bill, moments behind her, shied off at the last second. The toe of his ski snagged the ramp. I gasped, helpless as he pinwheeled. Reapers loved to work by accident, adding a deathblow to an already injured person to hide their actions. Barnabas had been right. The victim, and hence the reaper, must be on his boat. “Turn around!” I shouted. “Bill hit the jump.”

  Our boat shifted, and Susan grabbed the rail. “Oh my God!” she cried. “Is he okay?”

  He’d be fine as long as Barnabas got to him first. I glanced at our driver as she turned the boat, silently urging her to hurry up. Her eyes were now showing over her sunglasses. Blue, I first noted, and then fear slid through me. Even as I watched, they shifted to silver as she smiled in quiet satisfaction. She was a reaper. The driver was the dark reaper. Barnabas was on the wrong boat. Damn it, I knew she was too pretty to be alive.

  Scared, I forced my eyes down before she could see that I knew. Edging to the back of the boat, I clasped my arms about myself, becoming frantic as we slowed. Our skier was swimming toward Bill, but Barnabas had dived into the water and would get there first. Susan joined me at the side of the boat when Barnabas slipped his arm around Bill to start pulling him to my boat, not his. The fear in me deepened. He didn’t know the reaper was with me. He was bringing him right to her! Damn it, why had I insisted on doing this when I couldn’t even communicate with Barnabas!

  The two boats were coming together, the engines softening to a chugging rumble that died when they were both turned off. Everyone was at the edges, shouting. I tried to get Barnabas’s attention without alerting the dark reaper that I knew who she was—all the while not letting her out of my sight. But Barnabas never looked up.

  Hands went down to Bill. He was conscious but bleeding from a head wound. Coughing, he weakly extended a shaky hand for help. I shivered when the shadow of a black wing slid over me and was gone. Beside me, Susan shuddered as well, clearly feeling but not seeing the dripping black sheets above us. “Get him up,” I whispered, thinking they looked like sharks gliding smoothly under the surface. “Get him out of the water.”

  My boat, though, wasn’t any safer, and I lurched to get between the dark reaper and Bill as he was lugged over the edge and a wash of water soaked the plastic green rug. The dark reaper had to know someone was here to stop her, though she probably thought it was Barnabas, since he was the one who’d jumped in.

  “Is he all right?” Susan said, letting out a little yelp when our boats gently hit and the driver of the red boat threw a rope to tie us together. Dropping to her knees in the narrow space before the back bench seat, Susan yanked a beach towel from her bag. “You’re bleeding. Here, put this on your head,” she said, and Bill blinked vacantly at her.

  Crouched beside Bill, Barnabas wasn’t looking at me, and my heart hammered as I inched closer to a beautiful death in a Hawaiian top and flip-flops, smelling faintly of feathers and an overly sweet, cloying perfume. She won’t recognize me. I’m safe, I tried to convince myself. But when Barnabas stood and started to make the jump to the other boat to leave me, I lost it.

  “Barnabas!” I cried, then froze as I felt, more than heard, the hiss of metal through air.

  Tension slammed through me, and I whipped my head around. The dark reaper stood with her feet planted firmly apart in the narrow space up front, the light shining gloriously upon her and her sword. It had a violet stone above the grip that matched the one around her neck. I could see it now. Both stones blazed with a deep intensity. She wasn’t looking at Bill. She was looking at Susan.

  “No!” I shouted, panicked. There was a flash of light against a blade, and, unthinking, I lunged to get between them, hitting Susan with my shoulder to send her sprawling. Yelping, she fell beside Bill at the back of the boat. My knees burned as they hit the plastic carpet. Looking up, I was blinded by the sun reflecting upon a moving blade, and I gasped as it sliced cleanly through me with the sensation of dry feathers against my soul.

  It was as if time stopped, though the wind still blew and the boat still bobbed. The people on the other boat broke from their shock and started shouting. Oblivious to them, the dark reaper stared at me, her lips parted in horror when she realized she’d scythed the wrong person. “By the seraphs…” she whispered as the confused babble rose higher.

  “Damn it, Madison,” Barnabas said, his voice clear over the rest. “You said you were just going to watch.”

  Still kneeling before her, I splayed my hand against my unmarked middle and remembered the awful feeling of when I’d sat dazed in a flipped car at the bottom of a ravine, shaken but alive. And then the helpless terror when the dark reaper had pulled his sword, meeting my confusion with his anger because I hadn’t died in the crash and he had to kill me with his own blade.

  “Uh, you missed,” I said as I shook off the memory of my death.

  Susan staggered up, and the dark reaper dissolved her blade, sending its power back into the stone around her neck. Her lips parted when her gaze found my amulet resting against my chest, shaken from its hiding place by my fall. “K
airos’s stone!” she said. “You have Kairos’s amulet? How? He’s…” She hesitated, peering at me in confusion. “Who are you?”

  Who the devil is Kairos? I thought. Seth was the dark reaper who’d killed me. Licking my lips, I got up, almost stepping on Bill. “Madison,” I said boldly, scared to death. “I took an amulet, yeah. Leave, or I’ll take yours, too.”

  It was an idle threat, but the reaper’s expression went from surprise to determination. “If you’ve got Kairos’s amulet, he probably wants it back,” she said, her slim hand reaching for it.

  “Madison, get away from her!” Barnabas shouted.

  Frightened, I backpedaled, tripping over Bill and landing on the long bench seat at the back. Face grim, she followed. Sure, she couldn’t kill me again, but she could drag me off.

  People shouted, and a blur darted between us. It was Barnabas, and I stared, gaping as he suddenly stood before me and the dark reaper in his perfectly average jeans and T-shirt, dark and dripping from the water. His presence was overwhelming—the stance of a warrior. “You’ll not have her,” he intoned, looking at the dark reaper from under his wet curls.

  “She has Kairos’s amulet,” the dark reaper said, and with a violet pulse from her amulet, a blade was again in her hand. “She belongs to us.”

  What did she mean, belongs to us? I shrank back into the stiff cushions, but Barnabas had created his own blade, pulled from the power of his amulet, now glowing a violent orange. The two clanged as they hit, followed by a deep thrum echoing between my ears. From around us came the noise of frightened people scrambling back, trying to get out of the way.

  Swiftly, Barnabas stepped forward and swung his weapon against hers in a rasping spin, violet and orange streaks of light marking their paths. The dark reaper’s blade was torn from her hand, arcing through the air to slide cleanly into the water with hardly a ripple.

  Shocked, she hunched over, holding her wrist as if she had been stung. Her amulet was as dark as her expression. Someone swore a muffled oath of a question.

  “Get back,” Barnabas said. “I’ve heard of you, Nakita, and you’re out of your depth. Don’t reap in my sphere. You’ll fail every time.”

  The dark reaper’s eyes narrowed. Jaw clenched, she looked at Susan, then me. “Something’s not right. You know it. I hear it in the seraphs’ songs,” she said, and when Barnabas’s chin rose, she dove into the water to retrieve her blade.

  Seconds passed. The dark reaper didn’t surface, but if she was like Barnabas, she didn’t need to breathe and was likely gone.

  The guy in the blue shirt darted to the back of his boat and looked down. “Did you see that?” he said, spinning from the water, to us, and the water again, his eyes wide. “Did you freaking see that?”

  Barnabas took a breath to speak, losing his mien of wrathful warrior on his exhale when he changed his mind. The light reaper’s eyes met mine, and I cringed when the silver sheen was replaced by worry.

  From the corner of the boat, Susan asked, “Did you just shove her in the water?”

  Whoops. This might be kind of hard to explain.

  Barnabas grimaced, and with his hand gripping his amulet, he calmly said, “Who?”

  Bill was staring at the sky, his gaze clearly tracking the dispersing black wings.

  Susan’s expression became confused. “There was a girl,” she said, sitting up. “She had black hair.” Susan looked at Bill. “And a knife. It was a knife, wasn’t it? You saw it, right?”

  Taking the towel from his head, Bill looked at the red stain and said, “I saw it.”

  Barnabas walked with perfect balance through the boat and dropped to one knee before Bill. “I didn’t see anything.” Still holding his amulet, he peered into Bill’s eyes as he put the towel back against his cut. “You hit your head pretty hard. You feel okay? How many fingers am I holding up?”

  Bill didn’t answer, and I looked over the water, avoiding Barnabas’s gaze. His eyes had gone silver again, and I thought to look now would be a mistake. “Bill hit his head,” Barnabas said calmly. “He needs to go to the dock and get it looked at.”

  Like magic, the fear and confusion turned to concern as everyone rearranged themselves on the two boats. My knees were shaking as Barnabas got our boat started, and in the sudden noise, I leaned into him. “They won’t remember?” I asked, not realizing he had the skill to change memories.

  Barnabas slid out from behind the wheel. “You drive,” he said shortly. Putting a hand on my shoulder, he pushed me into the seat. “Hurry up before someone remembers you didn’t drive out here.”

  He sounded peeved and I started fiddling with the levers. Yeah, I could drive a freaking boat. I’d grown up in the Florida Keys and had been able to put a boat in a slip before I could ride a bike.

  Barnabas was stowing the skis and wet ropes when I shifted into a slow crawl. The other boat had taken off fast, and I followed its path to make the ride easier. Susan was on her cell phone, shouting, “He hit his head on the ski jump! Camp Hidden Lake. The one with the big red canoe over the road? We’re headed for the dock. He’s awake but needs stitches, maybe.”

  Edging into a faster speed, I pressed into the cooling vinyl and felt my shoulder go cold where Barnabas had touched it. The black wings were gone, apart from a single smudge skirting the edge of the lake. The scythe had been prevented, but Barnabas wasn’t happy.

  Closing her phone, Susan wobbled back to sit beside Bill at the back of the boat. “Hey,” she said, shouting over the engine noise. “I’ve got an ambulance coming. You doing okay?”

  He was flushed and he looked confused. “Where’s the girl with the sword?” he asked, and I caught Barnabas making the “crazy” sign, twirling his finger beside his ear.

  “Take it easy,” Susan said, softer, but still almost yelling. “We’ll be there in a minute.”

  The lights of the ambulance at the dock gave me a point to aim at, and I slowed our speed as we closed in. People had gathered, and I hoped Barnabas and I could make our escape before we were noticed.

  “Where’s the girl with the sword?” Bill asked again, and Barnabas went to sit on his other side.

  “There is no girl with a sword,” he said tightly.

  “I saw her,” he insisted. “She had black hair. You had a sword too. Where’s your sword?”

  I glanced back and Barnabas gave me a tired look, making me feel like I’d really messed this up. Maybe having to change people’s memories was a sign of sloppiness.

  “Just relax, Bill,” the light reaper was saying. “You hit your head hard.”

  I gripped the wheel tighter and wondered if Bill’s head injury made him less susceptible to having his memory changed. Just how badly had I screwed this up? Jeez, all I’d done was shove Susan out of the way. I wasn’t going to just stand there and let her be killed. Susan was blissfully ignorant. She was alive. She would finish her life and probably do something great with it, or she never would’ve been unfairly targeted by the dark reapers in the first place.

  My furrowed brow eased, and I pulled a strand of spray-damp hair out of my eyes. I was glad I’d intervened, and nothing Barnabas could say would convince me it hadn’t been the right thing to do. I couldn’t help but feel a little sheepish, though. Two years of martial arts practice, and all I’d done was shove her out of the way?

  Barnabas left Bill and Susan clustered together on the back bench and sat in the seat across from mine. “I put in for a guardian angel,” he said as he leaned close enough for me to catch the scent of sunflowers at dusk. “Susan will be fine.”

  “Good.” I eased the throttle down as we neared the dock, refusing to drop his gaze. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  Leaning back, he huffed. “You have no idea the trouble you caused,” he said. “Saints protect you, Madison. Five people saw her cut right through you. Five people I have to cobble alternate memories for. You think thought-touching is hard, you should try altering memories. I shouldn’t have brought you. I knew
it wasn’t safe.”

  I clenched my teeth and stared at the approaching dock, thick with people. “I saved her life. Wasn’t that the point?”

  “You were identified by a reaper,” he said darkly. “You said you’d simply observe, and you go and…get recognized! They know the resonance your amulet gives off now. They can follow it. Find you.”

  I took a breath to protest. Reapers had amulet resonances; living people had auras. Either could be used by reapers to find people both at a great distance and close-up, sort of like a noisy fingerprint or photo. “Are you telling me I should have let her die, Barney?” I said bitterly, knowing he hated the nickname. “Let that reaper cut her down just so I wouldn’t get recognized? Call Ron. He can change my amulet’s resonance. He has before.”

  Arms crossed over his chest, Barnabas frowned. I was right, though, and he knew it. “I’m going to have to, aren’t I?” he said, sounding like the seventeen-year-old he was masquerading as. “I haven’t been pinged in three hundred years. Apart from your reap, that is. I need to get my resonance changed, now, too.” Sullen, he stared ahead. A sullen angel. How sweet.

  But the more I thought about it, the worse I felt. It seemed that ever since I’d made his acquaintance, I’d been screwing up his life. My special talent. Now he had to call on his boss to fix things, and I knew he hated looking bad. “Sorry,” I said softly, but I knew he heard me.

  “Until we get the resonance of our amulets changed, we’re as vulnerable as ducks sitting on the water,” he muttered.

  Chilled, I looked for black wings, but they were gone. The water reflected the trees close to the dock, flat in the lee of the wind, and I shifted the engine into neutral. “I said I’m sorry,” I said, and Barnabas looked up from the flashing ambulance lights.

  His brown eyes were black in the shade, and it was as if I was seeing them for the first time, finding something different in their depths. “There’s a lot you don’t know,” he said as I swung the boat around to dock beside the first. “Maybe you should start acting like it.”