Kim Harrison - Early to Death, Early to Rise

“It’s ketchup. I had some fries after school,” I explained, and he sighed. “I’m sorry! I got hungry!”

He winced, draping it over my desk chair, right next to my torn tights.

“Madison!” he said, snatching them up. “What did you do to your nylons?”

“I cut them. Everyone is wearing them like that!” Oh, man. I was not getting out of this.

“These were brand-new!” my dad complained loudly, shaking them.

“Jeez, Dad…” I complained, proud of myself that I hadn’t panicked. Much. “Didn’t you ever wear cutoff jeans?”

Shoulders slumping, he looked at my fingernails, seeing the black nails that I’d been wearing to help Nakita blend in, his gaze lingering on the two red nails I’d half painted. “Torn tights and a lab coat? Wearing shoes without laces? I’ll never understand your fashion sense.”

I leaned over to look at my yellow sneakers. It isn’t fashion sense; it’s fallout, I thought dryly.

“But at least I know you’re eating,” he added, his attention going back to the ketchup-splattered lab coat. “How about skipping the after-school snacks for a while and eating at home?”

“Okay.” I stretched, hoping he wouldn’t look into my bathroom, where my torn shirt lay on the floor. That would be very hard to explain. I felt pretty good, but food was the last thing on my mind. Especially when my dad sat on the edge of the bed beside me and pointedly set my phone on the nightstand.

Crap. I’d forgotten to call Mom.

“Anything you want to tell me?” he asked, looking at it.

“Sorry. I forgot to call Mom,” I said immediately, but his frown deepened, telling me that wasn’t it. Clueless, I fiddled with my comforter, glad I’d changed into my nightgown last night after Barnabas had dropped me off, even if it had put my torn tights and Marty’s lab coat on my dad’s radar. “Is something wrong?” I asked hesitantly.

Is something wrong? I actually asked, “Is something wrong”? Can I sound any guiltier?

My dad waited until I looked at him. “I got a strange call this morning. Some guy named Sneaker.”

“Shoe!” I blurted before I remembered to shut my mouth. For crying out loud. And I’d told Shoe to be good when I couldn’t go five minutes without lying to my dad?

“Shoe?” my dad echoed, touching the phone to make it exactly square with the corner of the nightstand. “You know him?”

“Uh, yes.” I shrugged, trying to look like I didn’t care. “But I never gave him the house number.” Barnabas? I thought. Had he gone to see Shoe last night and tried to change his memories? Son of a dead puppy.

“Pen pal?” I tried, working to keep the question from my voice, but it sneaked in there somehow.

My dad made an unconvincing sound. “He wanted me to tell you he’s suspended and that he is, and I quote, ‘being good.’” His eyebrows high, he waited for an explanation.

“Really?” What else could I say? I couldn’t look at him, and I fidgeted in the silence.

“Madison…” he started, and I threw the covers back to get out of bed on the other side.

“Dad, I gotta go,” I blurted, reaching for my robe just inside my bathroom. The sight of my torn shirt met me, and I yanked the door shut. “I’m late for school and I have to take a shower. I don’t know why Shoe said that weird stuff. He’s just a guy I met a while ago.”

Like last night, a while ago, but it was a while ago.

Exhaling slowly and long, my dad stood. “I’ll see you downstairs,” he said, sounding disappointed. “What do you want for dinner tonight?”

I hesitated, thinking what I could hide in my pockets the easiest. “Soup and fries,” I said, imagining that I could down soup easily enough. And I had really enjoyed the fries last night. If I could save Ace’s life, I could eat a couple.

My dad’s expression screwed up. “Soup and fries?” he echoed, then sighed. “If that’s what you want. Breakfast is ready. Don’t be long.”

“I won’t,” I said, thinking that if I waited until the last moment to come down, I could run out the door with a piece of toast to give to Sandy. Smiling, I waved to my dad when he stood in the hall, and I shut the door. I mentally kicked myself as I listened to his steps clump down the stairs. I’d waved to him? I was so stupid !

I hadn’t been lying about wanting to take a shower, and, still worried, I went into my bathroom to get the water started as I wiggled out of my pj’s. A soft tap on my bathroom door made me snatch a towel, and I called through the door, “I’ll be right down, Dad!”

But it wasn’t my dad who said, “Uh, Madison?”

I froze. Worried, I cracked the door open.

“You!” I shouted, flinging the door wide when I saw Paul standing in the middle of my room, my window shoved all the way open and the screen propped up against the wall. “What are you doing here?” I almost hissed as I stormed out, slowing down when I remembered I was in a towel. “You can’t just pop in like this! My dad’s downstairs. If he saw you up here, he’d have kittens!”

Paul turned red, and he fidgeted with his button-down shirt tucked into a pair of black slacks. His clothes were still kind of straitlaced, but at least he wasn’t dressed like an actor in a space opera anymore. “Sorry,” he said, not looking at me, seemingly fascinated with my carpet. “I wanted to ask you something, and Ron doesn’t let me off the leash much.”

“What?” I snapped, feeling very naked under my big fluffy towel.

Paul glanced at me, then up to the ceiling. “You believe in choice?”

I hesitated, my anger sputtering out. “Yes,” I said softly. He had helped me. I owed him a few answers.

“But you’re the dark timekeeper,” Paul stated, sounding confused.

“Apparently,” I said dryly, then added, “It doesn’t make sense, but that’s the way it is. As soon as I find my body, I’m out of here. Unless…I can change things.”

Paul’s shiny shoes shifted on my carpet. “You don’t want to be a timekeeper?”

My thoughts returned to the awful feeling of helplessness when I had flashed forward, and then my elation when Shoe had walked away, his entire life ahead of him. “I don’t know anymore.”

“Maybe you just got my job,” Paul said, surprising me.

Surprised, I leaned against the doorframe, then pushed myself up. No matter how much I tried, I’d never look confident dressed in a towel. “You believe in fate?” I asked.

Paul made a face, backing up to sit on the open window’s sill. “I don’t know what I believe. But Ron left when Ace got his guardian angel, and you stuck around to try to save people’s lives.”

I tightened my grip on my towel, not knowing what to say.

“I gotta go,” Paul said as he stood. “I’m supposed to be practicing my jumps, but if I’m not back when he thinks I should be, he tracks me down.”

“Must be nice having a teacher,” I said, more than a little jealous and not wanting him to leave yet. “You didn’t come all the way over here to ask me if I believed in choice.”

Paul lifted a shoulder and let it fall in a half shrug. “No. I thought you might like to know that Ron did a far-seeing search on both of them and found that neither Ace nor Shoe is fated to drop any more viruses. In fact, Shoe eventually goes to work for the CIA and tracks down other hackers. He’s probably the one who prevents a cyber terrorist attack at the turn of the decade. Right now Ace is in a padded room because he’s talking about reapers and timekeepers, but he eventually learns to keep his mouth shut, gets out of rehab, starts a band called Melting Crows, and dies of a drug overdose in his thirties.”