“Why were you so upset about the video this morning?” I asked her.

“Because, what if—wait, how do you know it’s fake?” She squinted at her screen. “These pictures defy explanation because they can’t be explained. That’s the whole point.”

The photo she was looking at was of a little girl with a fairy on her shoulder. “Seriously?”

“Okay,” she said, caving, “but what about this one?”

It was an image of a man in a straitjacket, levitating off a bed.

“Fake.”

“So, levitating crazy men aren’t real, but grim reapers are?”

She had a point. “’Parently.” I took another bite.

“Fine, but this next one truly defies—”

“Fake,” I said the second she clicked the next photo. “Just what, exactly, do you think will happen?”

“I don’t know. What about this one?”

“Fake.” It was of a little boy sitting cross-legged and hovering inside an old Radio Flyer wagon. “And I think you do know.”

“You could be exposed,” she said at last.

“I’ve exposed myself before. It’s never bothered you.”

“Not your normal one-too-many-margaritas exposed. And how do you know?”

“I don’t know. You’ve never told me it’s bothered you.”

“No, I mean about the picture.”

I pointed from around my fork at the picture. “Can you see the little boy floating?”

“Of course. That’s why it’s strange and unexplained.”

“People don’t float. Not live ones. If he were really floating, he’d be incorporeal. Or an incorporeal entity would be lifting him up. If you can see him, he’s not incorporeal. And if I can’t see an incorporeal entity lifting him up, there isn’t one. And so what if I’m exposed? A little exposure never hurt anyone. It’s not like the grim reaper police are going to arrest me.”

She clicked again. “I guess, but you don’t know who, or what, that video could attract. Do you think that’s why the Vatican has a file on you?”

“What, that video?” I took another bite. “According to their watchdog, they’ve had a file on me since the day I was born. So, probably not.” In the next photo, a boy was covered in scales. “Fake.”

She didn’t bother to ask before clicking again. “What if the wrong forces get ahold of it, though?”

“Like what forces? Unless you mean the armed forces, because that could get fun. All the other forces know what I am. And I’m a freaking beacon, so they also know where I am. I don’t know how a person could be less hidable. To the supernatural world, anyway. Fake … fake … fake … just creepy … fake…”

“But what about someone in this world? Someone who doesn’t know but would be very interested? I mean, very, very interested.”

I could feel her anxiety level rising. “Cook, who cares? What will something like that mean to anyone?”

“But—”

“First of all,” I said, totally interrupting, “nobody will believe it. They’ll think it was wires or CGI.”

She shrugged one shoulder as she studied the next photo.

“And second, even if someone did take note, I ask you again, what could they do?” I glanced at the next picture. “As fake as the day is long.”

“You know, you kind of take the magic out of this stuff.”

“I know. Sor—” I’d started to apologize, but the next image on her screen stopped me mid-grovel. I leaned forward. Squinted. Then stilled. “What is that?”

Cookie stilled, too, her fork halfway to her mouth. “Don’t even tell me that little girl could really remove her head like that.”

“Oh, no, that’s totally fake, but that in the background.” I pointed closer. “That little boy. What’s he doing?”

In the background of a ridiculous picture of a little girl holding what looked like her own head by her long blond locks was a little boy pointing to a storefront window.

“That little boy?” She pointed to the one in the street, as there were several in the background. He wore vintage clothing. Short pants. Knee socks. Suspenders. A newsboy cap on his head. He was looking straight at the camera and yet pointing at the store window.

“Yes.” I put down my fork, pushed my plate aside, and leaned all the way over the desk, flashing my cleavage, but Cookie never took the bait. Damn it. She coulda been a contender. “Print that.”