Two taps on the window, and my stomach drops. I glance out and a fucking priest in the whole black outfit and white collar waves at me to roll down my window. For a brief moment, I consider talking in Spanish, but my luck, the asshole could also speak it.
I turn the ignition one notch to power the windows and roll them down. “Yeah?”
“Can I help you?” He’s middle-aged nosy, brown hair with a few gray strands in the sideburns, with a master’s degree in condescending looks.
“No.”
“You’ve been here awhile.”
“I have.” One of the first rules I learned in foster care is I don’t owe anyone an explanation at any time. I save that shit for the people-pleasers.
“Are you broke down?”
“No.”
He assesses the car, searching for the mobile meth lab a punk like me with Kentucky plates should have. “Are you lost?”
Hell, yeah, I am. “I’m good.”
“I stepped outside and saw you here earlier and just noticed you’re still here now.” He cranes his head toward the massive church. It’s old-school basilica-style. We took a family vacation once, road-tripping those big bastards. “I work there.”
“No shit.”
The priest actually smiles then rubs his nose with his thumb. “Why are you interested in the Perrys?”
Hearing him say my mother’s maiden name so casually is like having my nuts ripped open. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The Perrys aren’t here.”
I power the engine to fight asking where they are or when they’ll be back. “Let me guess, you’re the neighborhood block watch. Even pick up the mail while everyone’s gone and take out the trash.”
“No. I happen to notice when my parents are gone. They’re visiting friends on the other side of the state.”
My head snaps in his direction, and he taps the roof of the car again. “It’s time you move along.”
I rev the engine and throw the car into reverse, but this deep need keeps me from hitting the gas. He steps back to allow me room to leave.
“When you’re done with the attitude,” he says, “and ready to talk, you know where my office is.”
“What makes you think we have anything to say to each other?”
He smiles, and my heart stops. Jesus Christ, that’s my mom’s smile. “Kentucky plates, an email sent against my advice and my sister’s eyes. We have plenty to discuss.”
My mouth drops open, and he’s not done. “And Noah, don’t try to approach my parents on your own. There’s a reason why Sarah ran and why I followed in her footsteps. Talk to me before you cross that bridge.”
The priest...my uncle...walks away. I rake my hands through my hair and glance down, wondering where the fuck the blood is because I just got shot.
Echo
My canvas reminds me of my brain back when I repressed the memories of the night of the incident with my mom: color around the edges and a blank hole in the middle. I’ve got mere days to impress Hunter, and a blank canvas will not help my plight.
When I try to imagine painting the stars that comprise Aires, I freeze up, but the sky surrounding it, I can do.
“So you are human.” Hunter walks up beside me, and I can’t help but smile at his words. “I was worried I had an art-superwoman on my hands, and that the government would come and perform tests on you.”
“I’m very human.” Using my wrist, I wipe my hair from my forehead, but sigh when I lower it and spot dark blue streaking against my skin. I wave my hand. “Very, very human.”
Hunter doesn’t laugh at me; instead, he dips his head to the side as he looks at what I’ve done so far. “It’s more of a blue-black than a black sky. Why?”