A SHIMMER OF ANGELS (First Book in the Angel Sight Series)

By: Lisa M. Basso Publication date: January 29, 2013 Publisher: Month9Books

Chapter One

Doctor Graham said I was in remission the day he signed my release papers, and I believed him. God knows I wanted to believe him. Armed with three prescriptions and an outpatient schedule requiring weekly visits with an outpatient counselor, Id left, because anything was better than that place. The thing about beliefs? Even the strongest can be shattered by the simplest of things. Hallucination-free for six months now, I should have expected it wouldnt last. And judging by the golden-haired boy across the streetthe one sporting the curved wingsremission had just become a fond and distant memory.
I squeezed my eyes closed. Please dont be real. Please dont be real. My heart sputtered and cold disbelief coiled around my lungs, reminding me that pleading never worked. So I sucked in a breath and opted for common sense instead. Angels dont exist. They never had. Dr. G had made me see that

during our therapy sessions. And yet, three months, twelve days, and fifteen hours after my release, there they were. Again. I used to see them all the timewinged beings, walking around. They were the cause of my frequent, thirty-day stints at the Sunflower Serenity Mental Health Clinicor the SS Crazy, as I called itover the past three years. But they were just projections of an unstable mind. I understood that now.

I pulled in a slow breath and forced my eyes open. I felt all kinds of stupid relieved to find the wings gone, the guy theyd belonged to swallowed up by the crowd outside the window. I would have laughed at my foolishness had my pulse not still been jumping. It was a slip, nothing more. The first in months. A plastic cup bounced off the black-and-white checkered floor, pulling me back to the hectic shuffle of the diner. Waitresses scrambled to talk, shouting over the louder patrons. Exhaustedlooking parents wrestled with squirming kids, shoveling food down their throats before dropping them at school. It was Heaven compared to the silence of a mental institutions cell, and nowhere near as . . . colorful as mealtimes with the clinically insane. This place is crazy busy. Lee leaned across our table, his bony elbows bumping the salt shaker on one side, his empty hot chocolate mug on the other. Are you sure you want to work here? Leland Alexander Kyonspikey-haired beanpole and geek extraordinairewas not only a total dork, but the best friend Id ever had. He knew me better than anyone, and if he thought this was a bad idea, I probably should have listened. Well, I need a job. My dad says kids today should learn the value of a dollar. I laid the back of my hand over my forehead and sighed dramatically, mostly to distract him from my bouncing knee and trembling fingers set against my own mug of hot chocolate. So Laylah and I are destined for a life of diner servitude and bad tips. It wasnt a total lie. Dads tech job paid well, but my stints at the SS Crazy had resulted not only in my restored sanity, but also huge medical bills. Dad swore it hadnt affected our financial situation, but I knew he wasnt being straight with me. It was the little things: the off-brand

cereal, the badly patched uniform skirt Laylah had worn every day for a week, even the way he emptied the swear jar every Saturday morning before wed get up. My family was hurting, and it was my fault. Besides, there was college to think about. I couldnt let Dad take out loans for me. Not after everything Id put him through. Too bad neither Dr. G nor Dad agreed with me that I should have a job. Something about the risk of stress-induced relapse. But Dr. G didnt have to worry about college. Hed already put his son and daughter through grad school. I probably couldve chosen any old job, but I wanted something that would make me feel normal again. And whats more normal than a waitress at the all-American Roxys Diner? I straightened the silverware over my folded paper napkin, making sure the bottoms of the fork and knife lined up, even as I inched the spoon up to balance the difference in length. A toddler in a highchair across the aisle screamed and flung his chocolate milk at the floor, dousing a passing waitress in a wave of brown, milky rain. I tensed, my fingers knocking the silverware askew. Lee and I watched the mother send the poor waitress scampering off for a milk refill, and then Lee shook his head. Whatever, Ray. Its your sanity. I froze, cutting him a shocked glance. Id never told Lee about the sanitarium. So his mention of my sanity and the craziness of the idea was merely Lee being Lee. Unless he suspected. But he wasnt looking at me, turning instead to dig some cash from his book bag. I sucked in a quiet, strengthening breath. He doesnt know how messed up you are, I reminded myself. And he wont, if you just breathe, act normal. I hated keeping the truth from him, but I hated the thought of him knowing it even more. He was the only friend I had, and I intended to keep him. Besides, he didnt deserve to be dragged into my dark world of panic, fear, and desolation.

Lee tossed a five on the table. Just remember what I told you: stay positive. He leaned back in his seat and crunched down on a dark piece of sourdough toast. Perky wouldnt hurt, either. I speared him a glance. Perky? Really? Darlin? Our waitress called, her voice grating like sandpaper. Weathered laugh lines and crows feet defined an otherwise pretty face. You still interested in the job? I nodded and murmured, Wish me luck. Lee shot me a double thumbs-up. I followed the waitress to a booth by the window. She angled for the seat facing the back of the building, which would leave me the seat with a clear view out the front window, where angel-guy had been. There was no way Id let the possibility of seeing another set of imaginary wings doom this interview. I moved quickly, sliding in behind the waitress to claim her seat. The back wall of the caf was blissfully angel-free, and I let out a small breath. See? You can do this. Have a seat, the waitress invited, her voice sharp with sarcasm as she took the seat across from me. My face flushed with embarrassment. She examined me, much the same way Doctor G had so many times. Like there was something not quite right with the person across from her. Nerves turned my stomach in on itself, and I wrung my hands together under the table. During my time at the facility, Id learned that when youre wearing a smile, its easier to pass yourself off as happy. As normal. So I flipped the happy switchthe one Id been perfectingand skirted the chill that always rose at the thought of going back there. The corners of my lips fluttered as I tried to hold a smile that wasnt as convincing, or as solid, as it used to be.

Pull it together, Ray. Normal kids hold down jobs, and youre normal now. The nametag pinned to the waitresss pink-and-white frilly uniform read Daphne. She leaned across the table to flick a crumb onto the floor, and I noticed the dark line of a hairnet behind her ear. And here Id thought the nude stockings and white nurses shoes were the worst part of the uniform. I prayed the revulsion knotting my stomach didnt show. Just in case, I widened my grin. Can you tell me about the job? Daphne slapped her notepad down on the green-and-pink speckled tabletop. We open at six every morning. We close at ten, midnight on weekends. The work is hard, the tips are crap, and the neighborhood gets rough after dark. I was sold. Daphne tilted her head, propping it up with her hand. A dull sheen coated her hooded eyes, mirroring the luggage and yellow-tinted concealer beneath them. We pay minimum wage, offer flexible hours for students, and were desperate. She leaned in closer, dropping her arm. I waited, wondering if her head would fall without the support. Whats your name, darlin? Rayna, but I go by Ray. You know, Ray, you have to be at least sixteen to A siren cut through the air. I jerked my gaze to the window in time to watch an ambulance squeal around the corner, and out of sight. Daphne was still talking. I knew that, but I couldnt make myself hear the words. Couldnt tear my gaze from the corner of the building, where the ambulance had disappeared. Couldnt quite make myself believe that it wasnt coming back for me.

Daphnes cigarette-etched voice rose above the fading wail, a note of suspicion lacing her next words. Youre not one of those runaways, are you? Cause Ill need a parent or guardians signature for the work permit. I dragged my attention back to the interview. Its just an ambulance, I told myself, willing my shaky hands still. At least they were under the table, out of sight. I dug my nails into my palms to keep myself in the moment. Im sixteen and definitely not a runaway. Just new to San Francisco. Runaway, I thought. Maybe she was right. I had been running nearly my whole life. First, with Dad and Laylah after my moms death, then from my hallucinationsto Northern California into the care of Dr. G at the SS Crazy. Then, when Dr. G had given the latest green light to go home, I ran right out of there. I ran all right, but that did not make me a runaway. A dish crashed to the floor. I flinched, immediately hating myself for it. The time away from the SS Crazy hadnt made me any less jumpy. But there was little difference between the sound of that dish breaking into a million white pieces and that of my fellow schizophrenic throwing the contents of her tray in every direction, including directly at my head. I couldnt help but touch a finger to the tiny scar, invisible beneath my thick ponytail. A waitress with way too much cleavage stooped beside the counter to pick up the pieces. The bell above the cooks station chimed, and a man at table behind Lee bellowed for service. Daphne and I turned toward the yelling customer, totally busting Lee, who was watching Cleavage Waitress a little too closely. Daphne squirmed to the edge of the booth. Glamour calls. Do you want the job or not? My first big decision on the outside. I had to do it, if only to show Dad and Dr. G that I wasnt some fragile girl afraid of her own shadow. Of course I will take the job!

Youve got yourself a new waitress. Daphnes shoulders relaxed, and she slid her ordering pad and pen toward me. She seemed almost as relieved as I was. She climbed the rest of the way out of the booth, her joints popping as she stood. Jot down the hours youre available and any previous references you have. She shuffled toward the pick-up window, favoring her left leg. I watched her balance five omelet specials across her arm, dropping them off at the table behind Lee, despite the obvious pain in her leg. She returned to the counter and shoved a broom into the struggling waitresss hands. I looked down at the blank ordering pad in front of me. Previous references. I cradled the pen in my hand, waiting for it to write something anything that would make me appear experienced, confident, sane. Somehow, I didnt think library apprentice or gardening instructor at a mental health clinic were the kind of experience she meant. Daphne returned quicker than I had anticipated. Her hands popped up to her hips, and she quirked her lips, waiting. So, I began, determined not to let my anxiety get the best of me. I dont have any previous references, and I can be here by three-thirty, but I have a standing appointment on the second Wednesday of every month. My monthly check-in with Dr. Fritz, the local psychiatrist who monitored my medsnot to be confused with the therapist at school I met with once a week could not be missed. Ms. Morehouse, my school therapist, was the only reason Dad let me attend public school. Thank God for her . . . most days. Daphne drummed the table with her finger, her droopy eyes peeling back the layers of my psyche. Hmm. Youve got a sweet face.

I bored the toe of my Converse into the linoleum. I didnt like her examining me like that. She had no idea what lay beneath the sweet face. Its a good face, she continued. The kind that could bring in more business. Daphne tugged a thin stack of papers from her apron pocket. Fill these out, and bring them back in a day or two. She shook a finger at me. Dont forget a parents signature. Yes, yes, yes! Great, no problem. She shuffled off to a table closer to the counter, stockings sagging around her left ankle. My lip curled as I took one last critical look at the uniform. Id been dressed in worse. I rolled the papers between my hands as I walked back to Lee. Did you get the job? Lee asked between clicks of his phone. I pulled my backpack up from the floor by its purple handle and tucked Daphnes papers into my English binder. You know what? I think I did. He looked up from his tiny screen long enough to offer me a smile. Thats great, Ray! Yeah, its great now, but wait until Dad and Dr. G find out. Then, not so great. Not in the least. Movement in the window caught my eye. I almost glanced out, but reigned myself in. I couldnt allow myself to see anything that would set me back. What if Dr. G and Dad were right? What if I really was too fragile to hold down a job, to interact with a demanding public, to pour coffee for low-caffeinated patrons? I tucked my hands behind my elbows. What if I wasnt really better at all? I checked my breath and dragged my gaze up from the table, forcing myself to look out the window. Throngs of people passed through Union Square daily for the shopping and world-

famous cable cars. Today was no different. The corner of Powell and Sutter bustled with business men and women and tourists in shorts toting cameras over their shoulders. But not a wing in sight. My heart slowed to a normal pace, and a relaxed smile crept across my face. I did it. I was stronger than the madness. I grabbed my backpack, hoisting it over my shoulder. You know, Lee, I think today might just be a good day.