It’s my turn to snap my hand against the mirror, to bring her eyes back to me. “In my day, we met and married within weeks,or our brides were presented to us. Do not say it is permissible for me to give you this feeling of love without actually meaning it. I would never be so false—not to you. If love is the feeling that I would gladly endure a thousand years of pain again to end up by your side, then I love you, Agatha.”
She’s so beautiful when she cries this time. Happy mouth, overflowing eyes. Her palm pressed to mine.
“Thank you, Lucius. My love. So. Um. Shall we read?” she whispers, voice thick with tears.
“Yes, my dearest.”
Chapter Ten
“Idon’t like Wednesdays.”
Yes, I am sulking to a cat, but Berry sympathizes. Berry doesn’t like Wednesdays either. Who would, when our reason for existing is out late? Sometimes Aggie goes straight from the office to the book club, which starts around five, I believe. But sometimes she swings home first.
I hope tonight she stops by, just so I can remind her not to tarry too long at the end.
But at least the audiobook Agatha left on is serving two purposes. I’m thrilled by the five collected works of Agatha Christie, and the laptop generates enough heat that Berry has a new favorite spot, right next to me. Every now and again, I dare to reach out and pet her little soft triangular ears or wind her teensy tail around my finger. Sometimes I get frantic purring, and sometimes I get angry kitten kicks and love bites.
“Big scary phantasm, madly in love with a human and her cat,” I sigh, reluctantly withdrawing my hand. I don’t want to waste my energy. Tonight, I’ll emerge and pin my love to the wall, tentacles plunging home into her constantly wet pussy, hands binding hers above her head.
My paper doll, made flesh.
I crane my neck and look into the open closet. Wouldn’t I love to play dress-up with her? Or more like un-dress-up? Would she let me pound into her while she’s only wearing her white lace bra? Or just those black lace-up boots with the ruffles at the top?
“She’s ruined me,” I tell the cat, and the cat gives me a look that clearly agrees.
“But I’m so happy to be ruined,” I whisper to myself, eyes looking longingly at the tiny numbers in the corner of the laptop. Three-thirty.
Not long now.
In fact—
Berry leaps from the chair and runs excitedly to the front door—only to streak back in and dive under the bed as a man’s voice fills the apartment.
Damned warlocks!
“Thank you so much for letting me in. My daughter would absolutely kill me if she knew I already lost her spare key.”
“Well, Agatha’s a good tenant. Happy to help. You could let her know that in the future, we won’t open a resident’s door without a call-out fee. They can always hire a locksmith or leave a key with a neighbor. But since you drove all this way and showed me all those sweet pictures... What can I say? I have a daughter who’s out at Florida State.”
The conversation continues as I try to sort out what I’m hearing.
Aggie’s dad is in town? From Central America? He’s a medical missionary, and I thought he wasn’t coming home for months? Would Agatha even have had time to send him a spare key? What would be the use of that? He lives in Texas when he’s home—or am I mixing things up? After a millennium of only hearing bits and pieces of conversations, you get to be great at deductions but also have a crowded memory.
The door shuts, and I hear footsteps moving through the living room. Cabinets opening and closing in the kitchen.
