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him the sweetest smile I could manage. “We can’t all be as perfect as you, Leon.”
    It took him a second. A little furrow appeared on his forehead —there was flour there, too—then he shrugged. “True. But that’s no reason not to try.”
    “I hate doing things I’m not good at,” I said. “Perfection will have to remain beyond my grasp. But, hey, lucky me, I’ve got you here to show me the error of my ways.”
    That actually seemed to annoy him. His frown settled into a glower. “You must have a brain in there somewhere. It’s a shame you don’t use it.”
    “God forbid I disagree with Almighty Leon.”
    Mom banged her mug on the table like a gavel. “As entertaining as it is listening to you two bicker, I’m still waiting on that explanation, Audrey.”
    I shrugged, turning back toward her. She’d forgotten the coaster again, but I decided to let it go, just this once. “That cop knows something,” I said. “I wanted to see what I could find out.”
    “Did you get anything?”
    “Um … he likes fly fishing, and his favorite band is the Grateful Dead.”
    Mom sighed.
    “And he knows about you. I’m not sure what he knows, or how—but I think he has some idea of your abilities.”
    “Another reason it was irresponsible of you to give him a reading,” Leon interjected.
    “I said he knows about Mom,” I retorted. “You really think he’s going to take a teenager telling fortunes seriously? How about this: if he calls asking for lottery numbers, I’ll let you know.”
    “I’m more concerned about you not taking it seriously,” Leon shot back. His eyes were fixed on me, and that disapproving slant to his mouth meant he wasn’t done with whatever scolding he had in store. I decided to cut him off before he got the chance.
    “How is this even any of your business? I hate to break it to you, Leon, but tagging along after Mom doesn’t actually make you part of the family.”
    He went quiet for a moment. “I don’t tag along.”
    I ought to have felt bad.
    When it came down to it, we were pretty much the only family Leon had. He didn’t talk much about his life before Minneapolis, but I knew his parents were dead, and so was the grandfather who had raised him. He didn’t seem to have ties to anyone else in the Cities. Though he went to college, I didn’t think he had any friends. He took his life as Guardian so seriously, I doubted he had time for them.
    He’d arrived three years ago, showing up at the house one summer evening in the blank heat of twilight. I remembered that clearly; it was only a few weeks after Gram had died. Mom and I had been sitting outdoors, eating Popsicles in the grass because the air-conditioning was broken and it had been too hot to stay inside. And then Leon had appeared at the end of the drive, all puppyeyed and starved-looking and earnest, and instead of returning him to whatever pound he’d surely escaped from, Mom had let him be her sidekick. Or fellow Guardian. Or whatever.
    At the time, I’d found it exciting—the way he’d appeared out of nowhere, on that night when the heat was so thick the moon was nothing but a smear in the sky above us. The way he’d walked slowly toward us, seeming nervous and confused and somehow vulnerable. How he’d introduced himself to my mother, his voice steady and strong, a confidence at odds with the wariness in his blue eyes. How he’d turned, then, and looked at me. He’d looked at me a long time, and there was a puzzled little smile on his face, an expression I didn’t understand but wanted to. And then he’d told us he knew our secrets. That he had secrets, too.
    For the first few weeks, I’d idolized him. I’d followed him around, wanting to know everything about him—where he’d come from, why he’d come, how he’d known to find us. Back then, I actually thought he was perfect, with his dark hair that curled just slightly, that effortless way he moved. The gravity that never quite left his voice made