I pasted on my best glare. “I’ll deal with you later.”
Though the captain wasn’t used to being treated so harshly, especially by one of APD’s lowly consultants, he didn’t argue. He didn’t threaten. He just stood there, observing, probably taking notes and weighing the possibility of getting me fired for mental instability.
After a while, Quentin finally pulled back and told me he couldn’t get on the cable car. He couldn’t go home.
“Is it the girl?” I asked him.
A look of surprise flashed across his face, but it didn’t last. He knew who I was, what I was, and that we had a lot in common. He nodded.
“I saw her, too,” I signed. “She was scared and lost.”
He gaped at me. “She was scared and lost?”
“Yes, she crossed through me. She didn’t want to at first, but I … convinced her. She was very hurt by her family.”
“They abused her?” he asked.
I nodded. “Bad.”
“Like hit her?”
“And worse. She was so scared.”
He looked down. “I could feel that, too. I could feel how dark her world was. How empty. It made my stomach hurt.”
“Mine, too, but how did you feel that?” I was beginning to realize Quentin could do more than just see the departed.
“I didn’t tell you.”
“So, tell me now,” I said. I reached over and ruffled his hair.
That got his attention. He smoothed it into place, peeking at Amber, then did the same to mine, ruffling my chocolaty locks while wearing a mischievous glint in his eyes. My hair was a mess anyway, so I just left it.
“If the spirit touches me, I can see how it feels,” he said.
“Wow. That’s crazy.”
“It’s messed up. I don’t like it.” He shrank back when he thought about it.
“I’m sorry. Sometimes the departed carry a lot of baggage.”
“Like suitcases?” he asked, confused.
I chuckled. “Sorry, hearing idiom. Like they have a lot of problems weighing them down.”
“Oh, yeah. Just like people, I guess.”
“Yeah, but that’s super cool that you can do that.” When he stabbed me with a dubious stare, I said, “Try it on Angel.”
“Screw that, pendeja.” Angel jumped up, but I took his arm before he could vanish on me and jerked him back down. “This is Angel.”
Angel graced him with the ever-popular head nod, then stuck out his hand to shake. Quentin shook his hand, then asked him, “Do you know ASL?”
Angel shrugged, so I interpreted.
“No, man, I’m sorry. I wish I did.”
I relayed that message but added, “He will learn.”
Angel’s brows shot up, and he nodded in agreement. “That’d be cool.”
“Okay, now that that’s settled, did you feel anything when you touched him?”
Quentin shrugged. “He’s pretty happy. It’s nice.”
“It’s because he has me,” I said, then winked at them both.
“I want to learn that stuff,” Angel said, now very into the idea. “You have to teach me.”
“I ain’t teaching you anything,” I said, speaking and signing at the same time. “Go hang with him at the school in Santa Fe. You’ll learn all kinds of signs.”
“That’s true,” Quentin said; then he looked up at Amber. The minute he did, she fell to her knees in front of us. “I’m so sorry,” he said to her.
“Please, don’t be,” she signed. I was so proud of her. She’d learned a lot in the last two weeks since meeting him. Kids. Freaking little sponges. “I understand. You see things I can’t. I want—” She struggled with the next words, then added, “—I want me and you to be the same. I want to see what you see.”
He frowned. “No, you don’t. It’s not fun.”
“I know it’s not easy. I’ve known Charley for a long time. She always tries to help dead people and gets in trouble. I wish,” she voiced but didn’t know the sign, so she started that sentence again. “I want I could help her.”
I made sure to put it into my next sentence so she’d pick it up. “I wish we were off this mountain. Your mother is going to kill me about fifteen minutes after the nuns trample me to death trying to get to you. They are all worried sick.”
Their guilt hit me in one rock-solid wave. Good. Served ’em right. Then a thought occurred.
“Wait a minute,” I said as we stood and gathered ourselves. “How many times have you two done this?”
“This is the first time,” Quentin said, his expression full of earnestness.
“I meant, how many times have you two skipped school?”
Their gazes instantly locked; then Amber’s dropped to the ground in guilt.
“Quentin!” I shouted. Or, well, signed really fast. “Amber is twelve years old.”
“I’ll be thirteen next week!” she said.
“I’m thirteen,” Angel said.
I ignored him. “You are sixteen, Quentin. That is so wrong.”
He gaped at me. “You think—?” He stopped and shook his head at me. “No way. She’s just a kid. We’re friends.”
Well, I’d put my foot in it. Amber winced at the pain that overtook her. His words had hurt. Clearly she thought they were more.