Eyes down, I dropped back to let three girls and three guys go by. They were in flip-flops and shorts, the girls chattering as if they didn't have a care in the world as they headed downhill to the dock. It all seemed normal—until a shadow passed over me and I looked up.
Black wing, I thought, stifling a shudder. They looked like crows to the living—when the living noticed them at all. The slimy black sheets were nearly invisible when viewed from the side but for an oddly bright, shimmering line. These scavengers fed on souls of the people taken by the dark reapers, and if it wasn't for the protection of my stolen amulet, they'd be all over me. Light reapers stayed with a scythed soul, protecting the deceased until they could be escorted from the earth.
I glanced at Barnabas, not needing to hear his thoughts to know that someone in the group was targeted for an early death. To find out who it was would be a mix of the sketchy description from Barnabas's boss, and Barnabas's intuition and ability to see auras.
"Can you tell who the victim is?" I asked. From what Barnabas had told me, auras had a telltale shimmer as to a person's age—which sort of gave Barnabas an excuse for why he had failed in protecting me. It had been my birthday, and he only worked with seventeen-year-olds. I'd been sixteen until right before the car flipped, and officially seventeen when I actually died.
Barnabas squinted, his eyes silvering for a moment as he drew on the divine. It totally creeped me out. "I can't tell," he said. "Everyone is seventeen but the girl in the red swimsuit and the short, dark-haired guy."
"How about the reaper, then?" I asked. No one was wearing an amulet—but since the stones could shift to look like anything, it didn't mean much. Just one more skill I didn't have.
He shrugged, still watching them. "The reaper might not even be here yet. His or her aura will look seventeen, just like ours. I don't know all the dark reapers by sight, and I won't know for sure until he or she pulls their sword."
Pull sword, stick it in a person, reap accomplished. Nice. By the time you knew who the threat was, it was too late.
I watched the black wings sport above the dock like gulls. Beside me, Barnabas fidgeted. "You want to follow them," I said.
"Yes."
It was too late to give the prevention to someone else. The memory of my heart seemed to pound harder—a shadowy remnant of being alive my mind couldn't let go of yet—and I grabbed Barnabas's arm. "Let's do this."
"We're leaving," he protested, but his feet were moving, and I watched his sneakers meet the earth in perfect synchronization with mine as we headed downhill.
"I'll just sit quiet. What's the big deal?" I asked.
Our steps echoed hollowly on the dock, and he drew me to a stop. "Madison, I don't want to make another mistake," he said, turning me to face him. "We're leaving. Now."
I looked past him, squinting in the brighter light and the fresh wind, shuddering when one of the slimy sheets of dripping black alighted on a pole—waiting. Oblivious, the group argued with the dockmaster. If we left, someone was going to die. I wasn't leaving. I took a breath to convince Barnabas I could do this, but from the dockmaster's hut a voice called, "Hey! You guys doing anything?"
Barnabas jumped, and I turned, smiling. "What's that?" I called back, tension hitting me.
"Skiing," the short, dark-haired guy said, holding a pair. "We can't take two boats unless we have eight people. You two want to be the designated watchers?"
A quiver rose through me. "Sure!" I said, sealing the deal. Barnabas wanted this. I wanted this. We were going to do this.
"Madison," he griped.
But everyone was enthusiastically piling into the boats, and I dragged him closer, scanning the faces to see who didn't fit. "Which boat has the victim on it? I'll take the other."
Barnabas's jaw was clenched. "It's not that easy. This is an art, not a memo."
"Then guess!" I pleaded. "For criminy's sakes, even if we're on different boats, you'll be like what…thirty feet away? What is the big deal? I'll just shout for you, okay?"
He hesitated, and I squinted at him, watching his thoughts play over his face. Bad idea or not, a life was on the line. Behind me, the black wing took flight.
Barnabas took a breath to say something, pausing when a guy in gray trunks came over. He held a towrope and was smiling. "I'm Bill," he said, extending his hand.
I turned sideways to Barnabas and took it. "Madison," I said shyly. I figured he wasn't the reaper. He was too normal-looking.
Barnabas muttered his name, and Bill looked him up and down. "Do either of you know how to drive?" Bill asked.
"I do," I said before Barnabas could think of an excuse to get us out of here. "But I've never pulled a skier. I'll just watch." I glanced at Barnabas. That last bit had been for him.
"Great!" Bill smiled devilishly. "You want to ride in my boat? Watch me?"
He was flirting, and I grinned. I'd been holed up with Barnabas for so long, working on this thought-touching stuff, that I'd forgotten how fun—and how normal—flirting was. And he was flirting with me, not the girl on the dock who'd stripped to a yellow bikini to show off her butt or the stunning girl with the long black hair, who was wearing shorts and a brilliantly patterned top.
"Yeah, I'll watch you," I said, taking a step after him, only to jerk to a halt when Barnabas snagged my arm.
"Hey," he said loudly, his eyes silvering again and making me shiver. "Let's do guys on one boat, girls on the other."
"Cool!" bikini girl said cheerfully, not seeming to notice his metallic-like irises, though she was looking right at him. "We get the blue boat."
I pulled out of Barnabas's hold, uneasy that I could see something that the living clearly couldn't. I didn't think even Barnabas knew I could see it. The level of noise increased as they rearranged themselves, boats starting to chug and lines being cast off. Still on the dock, I pulled Barnabas down so I could whisper, "Bill isn't the reaper, is he?"
"No," he whispered back. "But something's hazing him. He might be the victim."
I nodded and Barnabas turned away to talk to a guy in a blue shirt standing possessively behind the wheel of the red boat. Saying hi to the girls, I landed at the bottom of the small blue speedboat. Barnabas's plan must be to shadow the victim. I looked across the dock at Bill, wondering if I could see a dark haze about him, or if it was my imagination.
All too soon, we were on the water, speeding over a small lake with the girl in the red one-piece skiing behind our boat, and Bill behind the other. The rhythmic thump and the hissing of the shattered waves was like a familiar, glorious song. Sunshine beat heavy on my shoulders, its warmth stolen by the force of the wind whipping my hair into my eyes. The black wings had risen up in confusion at the dock, but the biggest were already making their way after us. My unease grew as I dropped my gaze to the skiers.
Bill looked like he knew what he was doing, as did the girl behind our boat. If they weren't dark reapers, and the guy in the gray trunks driving wasn't a reaper, then that left three possibilities, two of whom were with me. I resisted the urge to finger the black stone hiding behind my shirt, hoping that Barnabas hadn't put me on the wrong boat. Bikini girl had on a necklace.
"Are you a good skier?" I shouted to her, wanting to hear her talk.
She turned and smiled, holding her long blond hair tightly. "Not bad," she said, leaning in to be heard over the engine. "Think she'll fall soon? I'm dying to get on the water."
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."