where the sky people can contact me. And you have to sleep with your head at the foot of the bed."
"Why? Will it, like, scramble my power signature or something?"
"I have Liza Minnelli’s signature on my arm."
*
Safe in her room, Isabel checked her messages and called her father back at his hotel. Conference was going great, blah, blah, blah. New York funds seemed interested in buying in, yadda, yadda, yadda.
"Izzy, are you listening to me?"
"Sure, Dad. I'm just tired. I'll see you Friday. Love you. Bye." She hung up before he could answer and glared at her bed. Wondering why she was listening to someone who ate pizza crusts covered in someone else's spit, she yanked up the sheets and moved the pillows down against the foot-board.
The first time she woke, gasping for breath, she turned on every light in her bedroom before going back to sleep. The second time, she stuffed a pair of jeans along the crack under the door. The third time, she shoved her mattress off the box spring and onto the floor so they couldn’t come up at her from below.
At least I don’t have to worry about Dad.
Hands rolled in the sheet, she stared at the ceiling and counted backwards from a hundred in French.
*
"You look like crap."
"You look like you'd go with cranberry sauce." Stepping past the crow, Isabel swept a searching glare around the terrace. "Where's Fred?"
"He left about sunrise."
"Contacted by the sky people?"
"Not likely," Godfry snorted. "They're just a figment of old Fred's imagination – his reason for why he goes completely buggy if he sleeps inside."
"Great."
"Hey, be glad he's not wearing the tinfoil helmet anymore."
"I'm just glad he's gone." Feeling nothing but relief – the thought of getting Fred out of the building unseen had tied her stomach in knots – she headed for the terrace door. "Tell him I'll see him after school."
"He's expecting you to join him."
That stopped her cold. Turning, she frowned down at Godfry. "What now? Are you nuts. No way I'm cutting. My dad would kill me."
"And the shadows will what? Lecture you on responsibility?" He preened immaculate breast feathers. "Still, it's your choice, you can learn to be a wizard or you can put on that little fetish outfit and learn to be a productive member of society for as long as you manage to survive."
"Fine. I'll join Fred. But he'd better teach me the spell that makes lame excuses sound convincing."
*
Apparently, it was too much to ask that the elevator be empty on her way out.
"Mrs. Harris."
Wearing her default expression – disapproval with a touch of disdain – Mrs. Harris glared at Isabel's clothes. "You're not going to school today?"
Isabel glanced down at her jeans. "Casual Friday."
"It's Thursday."
"Okay, casual Thursday then."
"I heard men's voices on your terrace last night and this morning. I thought your father was in New York."
"He is. You probably heard one of my CDs."
"No." A thin lip curled. "I know what they sound like."
"Can't think what it might have been then."
"Can't you?"
The elevator door whispered open. "Have a nice day, Mrs. Harris." Isabel charged through and across the lobby.
Half a block away, Godfry dropped out of a tree and landed on her left shoulder. He weighed a ton and his claws hurt even through her jean jacket and he was still the most obnoxious creature she'd ever met, but it was so cool to be walking around with a crow on her shoulder Isabel didn’t care.
"Who's the old broad with the pickle up her butt watching us from the door?"
"Mrs. Harris. She's always watching. She's totally bent out of shape that my dad's gay."
"Yeah? I'm usually pretty cheerful myself."
*
They found Fred back at the Second Cup at Bloor and Brunswick. He rose up out of the garbage as they approached, holding two half eaten blueberry muffins. "Good morning, apprentice. Breakfast?"
"No, thanks." She flexed her shoulder as Godfry dove for one of the muffins. "I'll get my own. Then
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