“Oh, crap!” I said a third time. It wasn’t obvious, but there was a hint of shadow where the bed was, and even a shape of pillows.
This was so not what I needed. Josh was ready to knock on my door to carry me off to battle the evil reaper master and steal his amulet. I didn’t have time to be substance challenged. Worried, I gripped my amulet and loosened my focus, trying to jump into that misty state I’d been in yesterday to check things out. Maybe I’d broken too many threads when I’d practiced going invisible? Maybe I’d begun an unraveling that I couldn’t fix? Grace had told me not to do it. But I’d never know if I didn’t stop shaking!
My time spent with Barnabas on my roof learning to relax paid off, and slowly my pulse vanished. My teeth unclenched, and I found in my thoughts the hazy imagination of my life thread and the lacy spider-silk net joining it to the cosmos. Immediately the knot in my gut relaxed. The threads of connection were obvious, tying me to the present as the future slipped into the now. My thoughts were throwing out new threads as fast as the sun ticked across the sky, pulling me along with the rest of the world. I hadn’t broken anything.
“Then why can I see through myself?” I whispered. Panic subsiding to concern, I pulled up my picture of my shoes on my laptop. I’d been in them at the time I’d taken the photo. Squinting, I looked again, but the little I could see of my ankles seemed normal. Relieved, I dumped both pictures into the trash and emptied it. Wendy would have to do without. No way was I ever going to let anyone take another picture of me.
The sound of a vehicle coming up the quiet residential street made me lean out the window. A smile grew when I saw Josh’s old blue pickup. He was here. Finally.
Scrambling, I unplugged my camera, grabbed my wallet, slapped my back pocket to make sure I had my phone, and started into the hall.Please, please, please don’t let my dad know I’ve been out this morning. This could all come to a nasty, screeching halt really fast.
“Madison?” my dad’s voice echoed faintly. “Josh is here!”
He sounded unbothered, and I exhaled. “Be right there!” I called as I flounced down the stairs in relief.
My dad waited at the bottom beside the front door, looking casual in jeans and a lightweight shirt, smiling. I’d done it again, but just.
“Don’t forget the printer,” he said, handing me a small camera case. “I put extra paper and ink in there,”
he said as I looped the strap over my shoulder, feeling guilty. “Enough to take as many pictures as you want.”
“Jeez, Dad,” I said as I looked inside. “How many pictures do you think people are going to want?” I wasn’t even going to be there. How was I going to explain not using any of this? But I had to confront Kairos now, disapproving Grace or not. If she really thought I was in danger, then she ought to go get Ron.
“I know you,” my dad said. “When you get behind a camera, you can’t help yourself. Consider it my contribution. It’s tax deductible!” he said, his smile turning into a wide grin that made his long face seem to light up. “And I like your pictures,” he said, giving me a hug good-bye. “Everyone else will too. You look nice today. You were right. Purple is your color.” His expression went thoughtful, and he looked out at Josh’s truck. “You and Barnabas aren’t having trouble, are you?”
I jerked to a stop.Oh, yeah. “Dad, I told you Barnabas and I are just friends.”
“He hangs around an awful lot for being just a friend,” my dad warned.
“Just a friend,” I said firmly. “And he knows it. I’m only spending the day with Josh. It’s not a big deal.
If we’re lucky, Barnabas will show up, and we can do the fair together.”
Nodding, he put a hand on my shoulder. “Sounds like you’ve got it under control,” he said, and I strangled what would have been a hysterical-sounding laugh. “Have fun today.”
“I will,” I said, my worry and guilt rising. I could almost hear Grace singing about the girl who was a liar and fell into a fryer. “Thanks for the printer and everything.” I was such a bad daughter. But he’d known what he was getting when my mom shipped me up here—mostly.
My dad followed me as far as the porch when Josh got out of his truck. “Hi, Mr. A.,” Josh said, waving.
He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, but I could see his gym bag shoved up against the back, window dressing for today’s performance, I guess.
Scanning for black wings, I hurriedly got in his truck and slammed the door, anxious to leave. The Harley bell was glowing, and I leaned forward as I put my seat belt on. “Grace, do I look okay to you?”
I asked, remembering my picture. “Am I thin? I mean, transparent?”
The thrum of her wings grew obvious. “No,” she said, hovering before me. “Why?”
I took a breath to tell her, then changed my mind when Josh opened his door. “Later.”