Kim Harrison - Something Deadly This Way Comes

I exhaled, smiling wryly up at it. “This is the best I’m going to get, isn’t it?”

The seraph arced its wings to touch over its head, an angel’s version of a shrug I’d seen Barnabas do. It extended a hand for me, and feeling renewed, I slipped my hand among the angel’s fingers as we turned to the sun.

A clear light filled me at the touch, thrilling me down to my toes. The desert vanished with a crack of real lightning. I gasped, and then felt myself go misty. The first patters of large, heavy drops of rain hit my face. I was both there to feel it, and gone, half of me feeling the warm plops of rain, and half the emptiness of nothing. And then the warm wetness vanished and I was nowhere.

I panicked, disembodied and unreal. I clutched at my amulet as if it could save me, but I wasn’t sure I even had hands anymore.

A girl once dared walk the line, came Grace’s thought into mine, and I grasped it. Seeking union of soul and divine. Light and dark work together, for now, perhaps forever, but it’s going to take eons of time.

Eons of time, I mused, calming as I realized I was safe. I just wasn’t sure where I was anymore. I felt my body seem to lift, finishing the move that the angel had started in the Arizona desert. I took a breath not knowing if it was real. It made my heart beat and my blood move.

A blinding light pulsed over me, and I cowered, my hand that had been in the seraph’s grip falling to my side. Blinking, I brought my head up to see that I was standing in my room, not Ron’s patio. My reflection stared back at me from my mirror, and Grace darted over everything as if she hadn’t seen it in years. Numb, I stared at myself in that ridiculous black outfit. I looked tired, small, and really dirty.

Heart pounding, I turned, not believing it. I was home. Alive.

I looked down, the hand clenching my amulet falling open.

And I still had my amulet.

“Now what?” I wondered aloud, peering into its depths to see sparkles and rainbows.

The mall was pleasantly busy, the weekend traffic moving quickly past the displayed photographs, most people not seeing them apart from being something to avoid on the way to a new pair of jeans or an iced mocha. But that was how we lived our lives, most times—unless something smacked us hard enough to realize that life is fleeting—too busy with the details of existence to recognize the things that turn existing into living. No, I wasn’t depressed, just introspective, and as I stood before Nakita’s photograph of a silent hospital at night, I hoped no one noticed the out-of-state plates. She’d taken it at a slant, then went on to blur it to make the lights glow and overtake everything, almost like what I saw in a far-distant flash forward. But still . . . if you looked close . . .

“Did she blur it intentionally?” my dad asked from behind me, and I jumped, almost spilling the milk shake I was slamming down. Josh had gotten it for me before excusing himself to lurk in the nearby food court. He liked my photography, but after five minutes of it, he’d had his fill. Barnabas and Nakita were AWOL, but I figured they were around, avoiding my mother like most people. Yes, my mother. She had shown up unannounced this morning claiming to be here for the mall show, but I think she had been on her way to a California youth detention center and got diverted. Thank you, God, Barnabas, seraphs, and maybe, Grace.

“Gosh, I’ve no clue what’s in Nakita’s mind when she takes pictures,” I said. “She just points and clicks. At everything.”

“Yes, well, you used to be the same way,” my dad good-naturedly chided me as I rolled my eyes. His hand on my shoulder made me feel like I belonged, and I took it, tugging him away before he noticed the out-of-state plates. Neck craning, he tried to get a longer look.

“Whatever she’s doing, she needs to keep doing it,” he said, squinting behind him. “All her work has a unique . . . feral quality. It’s as if I’m seeing sorrow, concern, or joy for the very first time through her.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” he said, then he did a double take. “That’s not our local hospital, is it?”

“I hadn’t noticed.” Flustered, I stopped at Nakita’s last entry, then had a mild panic attack. I hadn’t seen this one—didn’t even remember her taking it. It had won top honors according to the little sticker on the auction slip, but that’s not what had me tense. The photograph was of me from the back as I walked down a dark sidewalk, head down and arms over my middle. It was Shoe’s house at night, and there were orbs trailing behind me like bubbles. At least fifty. Crap, had there been guardian angels following me and I never even knew it?

“Um, you want to see mine?” I said, tugging on my dad’s arm to get him to where my mother stood alone before my three entries, her trendy purse over an arm and her heels planted firmly on the scratched mall floor as if mine were the only photographs out here, but he didn’t move, his eyes fixed on Nakita’s black-and-white photograph of me with the angels.

“How did she do that?” he asked, finger hovering over the orbs. “And why? Two photos superimposed, you think?”

“Probably,” I said, becoming more nervous. Had they been following me to evaluate me as a timekeeper? Barnabas seemed to think that for all their small size, guardian angels were more powerful than even the seraphs. Could be. Someone told me once that cherubs sat next to God’s throne, but the more I heard from the “experts” the more I realized we didn’t have a clue.

Slowly my dad’s shoulders slumped and his eyes became sorrowful as he peered at the picture. I hesitated, and then, knowing that he wouldn’t move until he satisfied his curiosity, I dropped back to stand with him and tried to see what he was looking at—not what was behind the glass, but what was in the mind of the person taking the picture.

The black-and-white threw everything into a misty sharpness, and it looked like the weight of the world was on me. I remembered that night. Nakita had perfectly captured my worry, the need to fix what I’d broken. And as I looked at it, that same tiredness seemed to soak into me again. Nakita was good. Really good.

“Has it been that hard?” my dad whispered, turning to me with a soft pain still in his gaze. “I thought you were happy here. If you want to go back with your mother . . .”

“No!” I quickly assured him, giving him a sideways hug and almost spilling my shake again. “I’m happy. I like it here. I like living with you. I feel . . . centered,” I said, using one of his favorite words. “It was just a rough night. You know . . . boyfriends. But we’re okay now.” I glanced at Josh at the food court, then blinked. Barnabas had joined him. “I didn’t even know she took it,” I finished.

My dad was looking at my mother, who was standing before my photographs like they were the Mona Lisa . “If you’re sure.”

“One hundred percent,” I said fervently, then added, “Just don’t tell Mom, okay? She makes me wear funny clothes.”

He laughed at that, looking at my short skirt, tights, and the top that was so uncoordinated with the rest that it worked. Much of the tension he’d adopted since finding out my mom was in town seemed to evaporate. He’d been looking at me all morning as if he was trying to figure out what was different. I think his subconscious knew I was alive again, and he was trying to find a more reasonable explanation as to what the change was. Smiling, he put an arm over my shoulder and we slowly moved toward my mom. I’d won an honorable mention, and it was at this one that my mother was standing, her pride radiating from her more than her three-hundred-dollar perfume.