Once Dead, Twice Shy

My smile went stilted, and I hoped she wasn't foretelling her future. "She might. The jump is coming up."

"Maybe then." She glanced at the purple tips of my hair, dropping her gaze to my skull-and-crossbones earrings. Smiling, she said, "I'm Susan. Cabin Chippewa."

"Uh, Madison," I said, holding tight to the boat with one hand as my balance shifted. It was too windy to really talk, and as Susan watched the skier behind us jump our wake, I assessed the driver.

The petite girl behind the wheel had an enviable mane of black hair, long and thick. It streamed out behind her to show little ears, strong cheekbones, and a placid expression as she looked forward. Wide shoulders and a slim body made her seem as capable as she was attractive. Her Hawaiian top was glaring out here in the sun, making me wish I had worn sunglasses, too.

My attention shifted across the water to the red boat thirty yards off our starboard and Barnabas talking to the guy in the blue shirt. The wind shifted as the boat turned to the jump, and Susan leaned in, her long hair smacking my face before she grabbed it. The black wings had caught up. All of them. "How long are you here for?" she asked.

"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.