Free Home for a Spell by Madelyn Alt

times, I guess. Sad, but true.”
    I could see that. The protective posture of the boy spoke volumes of shouldering the harshness of the world away from his chosen one. “Why would she have been in that apartment?”
    He shook his head, as baffled as I was. “I don’t know. She’s not the type of kid who would break into a place for the hell of it. Wonder if I should make mention of it to her counselor. Probably so, probably so. Head off any trouble before it can get started.”
    Some world-wizened folk might suspect drug use as a possible reason. Only a person with no other course of action might feel called upon to risk personal safety and freedom by doing something stupid. Like breaking into an unoccupied apartment, for instance. What on earth could that possibly gain? It’s not like there was anything in there for her to steal, if that was her objective.
    Of course, we were talking about a teenager here. Logic and reason didn’t always apply.
    “Abbie Cornwall,” I mused. I saw her again, in my mind’s eye, frozen in time for one split second when she paused in midflight and turned back toward me, surprise and something else in those ultra-green cat eyes. Despite the heavy rimming of smudged eyeliner, I couldn’t help thinking that the something else I had seen was regret. Even apology. And then she had flown for real, out the door, up the pass-through to the parking lot, and down the street . . . straight to her boyfriend’s arms. That could only mean one thing. Whatever it was that drove Abbie Cornwall, it was something that they were both in on.
    Tenth grade. Hm. I wondered whether Evie or Tara, shop-girls extraordinaire and fellow N.I.G.H.T.S., knew either the girl or the boyfriend.
    Perhaps I should have been wondering why I cared. Idle curiosity, I supposed.
    “Mind if I stop somewhere before I take you home?”
    Lou’s question broke into my reverie. “Sure. Suit yourself.”
    “I promised Molly I’d bring home dinner since I have a meeting tonight—that way, she and Tara get a night off cooking, too.”
    I smiled. “Aw, you’re a peach, Uncle Lou.”
    “I know which side my bread’s buttered on.” He chuckled. “Got any suggestions?”
    “How about Annie-Thing Good? Have you ever been?”
    “Downtown?” he asked. “Nah, I never have. Marcus has raved about it before, and I keep meaning to, but for some reason we always seem to go to the same old tried-and-trues. Is it that good?”
    “Trust me. It is outta-this-world a- ma -zing.”
    “When you put it that way, it sounds like a thing I shouldn’t pass up. It’ll do us good to break out of the mold. Molly’s always telling me things like that. She’ll be surprised I listened.”
    Lou was in for a treat. I remembered my first time at Annie Miller’s gourmet version of a small-town café—I thought I’d died and gone to restaurant heaven. I still felt that way, every time I had one of her double-fudge caramel cheesecake brownies. Annie’s place wasn’t just a café. It was an experience.
    It was also kind of out of the way, but Lou didn’t seem to mind. He tooled across town, chattering away about his track team and his history classes and the silly things kids did these days. They were all subjects he was passionate about. You could tell by the light that came into his eyes.
    “Do you want to stay here in the car?” Lou asked me when he pulled into a parking spot.
    “I’ll go in to say hello, too. It’s been awhile.”
    I was out of the car before he could help me up, but he did get to the door before I could manage it, so I guessed it balanced out. Oriental brass bells rang in a minor key, somehow still melodic, as we ducked inside. It was a little early for the dinner rush, but we were right on the first fringes. Good timing. Everything would be uber-fresh. My mouth was watering already.
    While Lou went to stand in what for Annie’s was a relatively short line, I crutched my way carefully between the tables, bedecked as