01 Once Dead, Twice Shy by Kim Harrison

Author:Kim Harrison
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Bereavement, Social Issues, Death, Social Science, Action & Adventure, Family & Relationships, Juvenile Fiction, Philosophy, Good & Evil, Fantasy & Magic, Fiction, Grief, Fantasy, Horror & Ghost Stories, Dating & Sex, Supernatural, Dead, General, Death & Dying, Adolescence
ISBN: 9780061441684
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2010-04-27T05:00:00+00:00

Seven

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.

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