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“Fate is an excuse,” Ron blurted. “You don’t know what people will choose. Ace might have changed someday without all this.”
“Wrong!” I barked, and Paul’s expression became pensive. “But I’m not going to argue with you. Whether you accept it or not, I believe in choice as much as you do. But that pile of shepherd dung,” I said, pointing to Ace, who was hearing everything but ignoring us as he nursed his hurts, “wasn’t going to change without some heavy intervention. He might now, but not the way you left him, knowing he had a guardian angel and a get-out-of-death-free card.”
Paul’s ears went red. Ron turned to him with a hush of sliding fabric.
“Will you just leave?” I said, retreating to Barnabas. “And take your spying apprentice with you,” I added.
Paul’s mouth fell open at my caustic words, but I winked at him when Ron glanced away, and Grace giggled.
“You should give him more respect. He knows more than you do,” Ron said as he drew Paul closer to him, and Barnabas snorted.
“I think he knows more than you do, Ron,” I said. “Go already. And don’t let the scythe hit you on the way out.”
Nakita was fidgeting beside me, but I gave it little thought as Ron turned. “Come on, Paul,” he said in a low, dangerous voice.
Suddenly, Nakita blurted, “I’m sorry I hit you, rising timekeeper,” and both Barnabas and I jerked. She was red, and at our blank looks, she added, “What? I’m sorry. Can’t I apologize?”
Stoic and silent, Ron simply vanished. Paul, though, was still here. His sandals scuffing the tile, Paul looked at the empty space beside him where Ron had been. “Um,” he mumbled as his attention came back to us. “Thanks, Nakita. It’s okay.”
“You know I said that only to get him off your case, right?” I said, and Paul touched his nose, smiling before he vanished as well in a shining line of light.
With a heavy exhale, Shoe fell back onto the bench seat, muttering.
Barnabas took his seat as well, thoughtful. “Did you notice the rising timekeeper’s amulet is the same color as mine?” he asked.
“Really?” I said, but then the oddity of Barnabas’s question hit me, and I turned to him. “Is that important?”
Startled out of his thoughts, Barnabas looked everywhere but at me. “It should be shifting up the spectrum to red.” The reaper’s eyes landed on mine. “I bet Ron isn’t happy about that.”
My lips parted as I wondered what that might mean, but Barnabas cleared his throat and looked to the silent kitchen. “We need to go. Nakita, are the cook and the waitress set?”
Nakita was taking a picture of the dusty light fixture, holding the camera at a very odd angle. “They’re fine,” she said as she looked at the screen. “Where’s your wallet, Madison?” she asked. “Still in the truck?”
“Oh, yeah!” I said, turning back to my plate of food. “My phone is out there, too.” But when I looked at the golden, crispy fries, my reach for them hesitated. Slowly my smile evaporated, replaced by a feeling of despair.
“I’m not hungry anymore!” I wailed, and Nakita blinked at me. “Don’t you get it?” I cried, looking down at my amulet. “I was eating because my amulet wasn’t working right. Ron fixed it, and now I’m not hungry anymore!”
“Thank God for small favors,” Barnabas muttered as he pulled himself upright. “It was really gross, Madison.”
Depressed, I sank back down. “But I like eating,” I said mournfully. Darn it, it wasn’t fair! Unhappy, I fingered a French fry. Grace dropped down, warming my hand as she offered condolences the only way she could—until she thought up a poem, that was.
“There once was a girl who liked fries,” Grace started, and Barnabas made an exasperated sound.
“Your wallet, Madison?” Nakita offered.
“Yeah, right.” I muttered, and I stood.
“Sorry, Madison,” Shoe said, clearly not understanding why fries were so important to me, but knowing I was upset.
“It’s okay.” Head down, I angled toward the door, slowing as my amulet seemed to grow heavy, warm almost, but a sudden thought pulled me to a stop. How had Nakita known my wallet was in the truck?
Suspicious, I spun back to the table, my guess borne out when I saw Barnabas’s eyes had silvered.
“What…wait!” I exclaimed, lurching back to the table. “Shoe! Don’t look at him!”
Barnabas’s head swiveled to me. A drop of fear slid through me at his alien eyes, silver and glowing with a holy light. Across the table from him, Shoe gasped, breaking the grip Barnabas had on him and dropping his head. Ace was already staring vacantly, his lips parted, clearly still under Barnabas’s influence.
“Madison!” Barnabas barked, eyes still glowing as Shoe rubbed his face and blinked.
I tugged Shoe up and out of the booth. “Not Shoe,” I said. “I promised him he could remember.”
Barnabas’s jaw clenched and his brow furrowed. “Madison…” he grumbled, his eyes again a steady brown.
“Yeah, that’s my name,” I said hotly. “Mad Madison. I say Shoe can remember, and I’m your boss.”
Grace made a long oooooh sound, and the second guardian angel on the light fixture went quiet, her wings stilling to make her vanish. Barnabas’s eyes narrowed as he turned in the seat and looked me up and down. “No, you’re not,” he said, and Nakita scuffed her feet behind me. “I’m grim. Anytime I want, I’m out of here.”
He wouldn’t, I thought, panicking. “Oh, yeah?” I said, almost daring him.
“Yeah,” Barnabas said, clearly not happy.
Beside me, Shoe looked frightened. I took a slow breath, trying to find some way to keep from alienating Barnabas. He’d been there when I had died, tried to save me, believed in me. I trusted him, and he was probably the only person who might really understand me.
“Yeah,” I said more softly. “Okay. I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m not your boss.” I turned to Nakita, seeing her eyes wide and frightened. “Nakita, I’m not yours, either, but this is my scythe, and I want Shoe to remember.”
“Yes, you are,” Nakita said immediately, the surety of her voice making Shoe frown. “I’m sworn to your will and your bidding.”
I was sooooo glad that Ace was out of it. It was embarrassing enough having Shoe hear this. “My being your boss is not the world I want to live in,” I said, trying to make her understand. Pleading now, I looked back to the table. “Barnabas, I told Shoe I’d let him remember tonight. Please.”
“I didn’t promise him,” he said tightly, but the anger directed toward me was gone.
“Please,” I tried again.
Barnabas seemed to grow smaller as he exhaled, hands gesturing loosely. “I can’t let him run around knowing what happened! It just isn’t done!”
“Why not?” I asked bluntly. “How are people supposed to make a change in their lives if they don’t remember? Dreams? That’s poppycock.”
“Poppycock?” Nakita echoed, clearly confused.
“I want Shoe and Ace both to remember,” I decided suddenly. “No fake memories for either of them.”
Barnabas looked at Ace, who was still blinking stupidly at nothing. “No!” he exclaimed, pointing a finger at me, which made the guardian angels above whisper among themselves, making bets as to how this was going to end. “Not going to happen,” he added loudly, glowering up at them as they giggled. “It’s the rules, Madison.”
I stared at him, the fingers of one hand making a slow roll of sound against the tabletop.
“Stare all you want,” Barnabas said, not looking at me. “I’m clearing their memories.”
Taking Shoe’s elbow, I moved him to stand behind me.
“Uh, Barnabas?” Nakita finally said. “I don’t think saying no to the dark timekeeper is a good idea, even if she’s wrong. She’s going to be able to stop time eventually.”
Behind me, Shoe said softly, “I want to remember.”
“Memory is all we have,” I said, trying to make Barnabas understand. “It’s why we make the choices we do. How do you expect anyone to change if you smother the past in a lie?”