Frustrated, I leaned forward until she backed up. "Go with him, Grace," I intoned. "Now. Until I say different. Otherwise, I'm going ghost and doing this tonight."
"Grace?" the guardian angel whispered as her glow dimmed. "You gave me a name?"
Josh was starting to look uncomfortable, which I could understand, since he couldn't see her and it looked like I was yelling at him. Lips pressed, I glared at the glow over the table. I refrained from pointing a finger at the stubborn angel, but just. "Grace—"
"I'll go with him," she said, her glow briefly becoming brighter. It was meek and mild, and she shocked my next words right out of me. "Madison," she continued, "if you get me into trouble, I'm going to be so mad at you! I've never been a guardian before. You're my first charge, and if I mess this up, I have to go back to sensitivity training for the living."
I stared as Grace shifted a bare three inches to move closer to Josh.
"I'll stay with him," she said, her voice flowing like liquid.
Josh was watching my stunned surprise with an inquiring look. "What just happened?"
Puzzled, I straightened. "Uh, she's going to stay with you," I said, and he exhaled in relief.
Eyebrows high, he leaned back. "So…we're going to wait?"
I nodded, much to Grace's relief. "But not any longer than tomorrow," I added, and she bristled, if the orange sparks she was shooting out meant anything. "If Barnabas or Ron doesn't show by morning, then I'm going to call Kairos out. Take his amulet."
"Shoot 'em down. Do your stuff," Josh added, laughing. "Good. That will give us some time to come up with a plan better than ‘get him. Tell you what. I'll come over tomorrow morning to pick you up to go to the carnival, and we'll go out to Rosewood Park instead to take care of Kairos. That way, you can get your angel back right away."
"That sounds like a plan," I said, glancing at Grace as she made an odd noise: part disapproval, part evil planning, part frustration. I didn't like the deception, but what would I tell my dad? Hi, Dad. Evil Father Time is going to kill Josh. Not to worry, since I'm going to steal his source of power again. I'll be back before lunch. Kiss-kiss!
"I'll get you home then," Josh said, standing up and gathering his stuff. "Do you have my cell number?"
"No," I said, distracted as I thought over what just happened. Dang, I had given an angel an order, and she had taken it. Went from outright defiance to agreement. And as I drank the last of my pop so we could get out of there, I shivered.
Me commanding angels. That couldn't be good.
CHAPTER 7
The sky was blue, the temperature was fabulous, and there was just a hint of a breeze. It was a perfect day. Or it would be, if I could get back inside before my dad woke up.
A few streets over, the morning traffic was a soft hush, and I quietly leaned my bike against the side of the garage and squinted at my watch in the post-dawn light. Six forty. Dad liked to sleep in on Saturday, but seeing as I had to be out the door in less than an hour, it was likely that he'd be up by now. I should have come home sooner, but it had been hard to trust Grace and leave Josh's street—especially after spotting that black wing on the distant horizon.
Josh and I had agreed to text each other all night, and when his messages had stopped around two, I'd snuck out to make sure he was okay. He'd been sleeping, but now I was stiff, dew-wet, and in danger of being grounded anyway.
I usually spent my dark hours, when everyone was sleeping, either on the Internet or on the roof with Barnabas, hammering my head against a wall, but the skills I'd developed sneaking out of my mom's house were never left to go fallow for long. At least once a week I would escape to wander around in the dark, pretending I could evade Barnabas and boredom both.
So when Josh's text messages had stopped, it had been a no-brainer to sneak out. There had been no black wings circling his house, but leaving hadn't sat well with me. I'd spent the rest of the night behind a tree talking to Grace, trying not to feel like a stalker. I didn't like sneaking out or lying to my dad, but it wasn't as if I had much of a choice.
The neighbor's dog barked at me, and I reached up behind the light fixture for the treat I'd put there last week, buying the golden retriever's silence. Seeing the dog tail-wagging happy, I carefully stepped up onto the silver trash can—the one I religiously replaced exactly where I wanted it after trash pickup. Gripping the outside of the garage's windowsill with one hand, I reached for the low roof with the other, swinging my foot up for purchase on the top of the window before throwing my other leg over to land stomach-down on the shingles. Pleased, I sat up, brushing the grit off as the dog panted at me, begging for more.
"Still got it," I whispered, smiling. It had been a stunt like this that had gotten me shipped up here to my dad's house. It was that, my mom had said, or she was going to put bars on my windows.
Hunched, I crab-walked to the peak of the garage roof, ignoring the lone black wing drifting aimlessly on the horizon. Easing down to my stomach, I peered over the top to find Mrs. Walsh sitting at her little kitchen table with curlers in her hair, reading the paper. "There you are, you old bat," I whispered.
I swear, the woman waited for me, itching to catch me at something. She reminded me of the bored, middle-aged women my mom made me be nice to over lunch in her attempts to raise money for whatever cause she was championing at the time. I kind of missed the formal teas, though, and the inevitable pre-tea battle over my newest hair color or temporary tattoo carefully placed to be seen while I was in my prissy-girl clothes. Seeing my mom dressed up in her perfumed best and being charming when I knew she wanted to throttle the tightfisted women for being so shortsighted had been a lot of fun. Maybe I was more like my mom than I thought.
A smile quirked the corners of my lips as I lay on the roof, thinking of my mom. I had talked to her last night when she had called to check on me, her trouble-radar working even from Florida. I honestly didn't know how she did it.
Twisting onto my side, I wedged my fingers into my pocket and pulled out my phone. A little jolt of excitement went through me when I saw Josh's text. He was up—which I knew already, having heard his alarm go off—and he would be here in half an hour. I shot off a C U, then punched speed-dial three. Seconds later, I heard a faint ring and Mrs. Walsh stood, vanishing deeper into the house. I couldn't help my grin.
The instant her back was turned, I closed the phone. Humming the music to Mission Impossible, I got to my feet and slid down the other side of the roof, easily making the hop to the roof over my room. Impatient, I wedged my screen back off the window and eased it to the carpet. Sitting on the sill, I took off my shoes and slipped inside. I couldn't leave wet marks on the floor to give me away. I'd learned that the hard way after a midnight walk on the beach in Florida and my sandy rug turned into a week's grounding.
My smile faded at the familiar sounds of my dad's shower and the smell of coffee.
"Great," I whispered, not knowing if my dad had looked in to make sure I'd gotten up before he hit the shower. I knew from experience that pillows under the comforter didn't work, so I'd left my bed unmade, hoping he'd think I was in my bathroom. Worried, I replaced the screen with fumbling fingers. I should have trusted Grace, and left sooner.
With nervous haste, I tugged my comforter up and tossed the pillows I'd shoved to the floor last night back on the bed. I hated getting home late. I was getting sloppy. I think my dad would have called me if he'd caught me sneaking out, but maybe not, wanting to see how much I'd dig myself into a lie before making me come clean. Though he was more easygoing than my mom, he had a devious streak in him. It was where I'd gotten it, I suppose.