Speed of Light by Amber Kizer

that neither of us could pronounce. “You’re sure you can’t read that either?” she asked repeatedly.
    “I’m sure. It’s French. It’s Japanese. It’s squiggly something,” I assured her each time. I tried to spark conversations, but she turned her back or interrupted me with questions about products and what dishes an ingredient might be used for. I mostly shrugged my shoulders, unable to answer, and wished I’d paid more attention when my mother turned the channel to the Food Network.
    Juliet’s experience at DG was sheltered to the point of prison. The headmistress received food deliveries weekly, generic packages of industrial calories. Juliet never visited a supermarket, a mall, or a movie theater. She was slowly letting us expose her to these.
One down, two million to go
. Then Nicole appeared at DG and mysteriously produced the ingredients Juliet needed to cook off the soul dust. When we got to the fresh fruits, I paled when her fondling became so enthusiastic we drew the attention of a clerk. He eyed us like we were going to shoplift the cherries and melons.
    At the mangoes, I had to stop her from simply taking a bite. I wasn’t sure how we’d be charged by the pound when they’d disappeared into her stomach.
    I gave her room to explore and added a few more exoticgreens to the cart to appease the weary stocker. When the radio station stopped playing light jazz and broke in with a special news bulletin, it drew my attention.
    “Practice sessions this week at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, but things have heated up and not in a good way. Reports are a large fire under the stands was finally noticed when the smoke drifted into the pit lane. Officials are saying they spotted the camping site of a squatter under the bleachers in Turn Four. Looks like a simple garbage fire was abandoned when it got out of control. Officials say no one was hurt. If the flames had been another fifty feet to the right, they could have touched off highly flammable storage tanks, and then we’d be talking about a whole different incident. Again, no one was hurt. Let’s hope the rest of the month proves as lucky. I’m Jessica Martin for Eyewitness News Channel Six.”
    “Excuse me. Excuse me?”
    It took a minute for me to realize the woman was speaking to me. “Yes?”
    Juliet froze. She seemed ready to run out of the store.
    The stranger continued. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I don’t normally talk to teenagers in stores, but this is so odd—I can see your light. Both of you. Like I’m dying again. Why can I see it?” Her voice quivered and her intense grip on the shopping cart was noticeable.
    “Huh? What?” I tried to evade, buying time.
Can she really see Light through us?
    Juliet ducked behind an aisle header and I lost sight of her.
Thanks for the backup
.
    The woman continued pressing. “The light of Heaven. I can see it through you. Why?”
    We drew interested, eavesdropping glances.
    Middle-aged with a rich espresso complexion and a short cropped Afro, there was nothing sinister about this woman. Her question was polite, if baffled. She began to get louder as she spoke.
    I grabbed her hand and pulled her over toward the relative privacy of the cheese section.
    “Could you lower your voice, please?”
    She nodded. “Did you die too?” she whispered with wide eyes.
    “Excuse me?” I tried to motion Juliet over, but she completely evaded my gaze and kept half hiding, half staring at the food around her. It was as if the allure of the tastes overrode her fear. I glanced around for Tens, who’d gone off to grab coffee to give us space.
Too much space
.
    “I thought maybe you’d understand …” The lady frowned. “Maybe I’m wrong. I’m sorry. Never mind.”
    “Wait.”
Crap, can I trust her? Is she Nocti? Is this a trap?
“Do you have time for coffee?” I asked, looking deeply into her eyes and seeing no void, no darkness.
Not Nocti
. “I’m Meridian.”
    “Delia.” She relaxed.