A lot of the art wasn’t his style—too twee, or too abstract—but one he thought would fit well in the house. Neither of the dogs painted sitting on the dock were cocker spaniels, but one had a glint in its eye that reminded him of Mabel.
At the desk, the woman—who’d barely glanced up from her book when he’d entered—caught his eye. “Find everything?”
Quin bobbed his head from side to side. “Considering this one, but I’m looking for something for my partner.”
She gave him a discerning look. “Do they like jewellery?”
Quin considered this. “Yes?” Kit didn’t wear any jewellery other than a watch, but Quin assumed he just hadn’t bothered to buy himself nice things as opposed to having a genuine dislike of it.
Her eyes twinkled. “We’ve got a variety in the case there”—she pointed to her left at a tall cabinet with rows of earrings, bracelets, necklaces and other items lining the inside—“or I can show you the ones that are handcrafted by local artists. They’re pricier, but they’re all one-offs.”
She knew what she was doing. Quin couldn’t resist. “The one-offs, please.”
She unlocked a drawer in her desk, pulling it out to reveal a small selection of rings, andonlyrings.
“They’re all rings,” he said, stating the obvious.
“Uh-huh.”
“For…” He mimed putting a ring on the fourth finger on his left hand.
“Yes,” she said, giving him a serene smile.
“Right.” He looked down at the rings. “We’ve not been together long,” he hedged.
“If you know, you know.”
“You’re correct, even if you’re only trying to make a sale.”
She lifted an unrepentant shoulder. “So,doyou know?”
He paused, considering. The ring that sat on his own hand seemed to taunt him. How nice it would be to get rid of Lawrence and be free to take the next step with Kit, unburdened by either of their pasts.
“Yeah,” he said, firming up his decision. “I know.”
By the early evening, Quin was pretty sure he’d seen almost everything the town had to offer. The tiny box in his pocket felt heavy as he made his way through the gate to a public walled garden that had been recommended to him by the gallery owner. The sun finally made an appearance as he wandered, so he sat on a bench next to a small pond, listening to the faint buzzing of bees above the flowerbeds as he scrolled through notifications on his phone.
A small splash drew his attention to the pond. He went over and knelt down, phone in hand, trying to spot where in the aquatic foliage the creature that had made the noise was hidden. A frog perhaps, or a fish. Another splash at the other side of the pond made him jump, and he fumbled his phone. It dropped towards the water, plopping in before he could save it. Quin stared forlornly at the spot where it had disappeared until a flash of bright colour drew his eye.
The sight of Lawrence’s face where his own should have been froze Quin in place.
His chest heaved as he drew nervous breaths in and out, unable to look away from the wrong reflection. Quin’s pinky began to throb, and he broke away from Lawrence’s transfixing gaze only to watch in horror as Xavier’s ring snapped in two, falling onto the wet grass, useless.
A sense of powerlessness washed over Quin, and his control slipped. Lawrence snuck behind his meagre personal defences. Quin had a split second to make a panicked decision, so took the first action that came to mind.
He threw himself forwards into the pond, dunking his head.
The shock of the cold hitting his face had him gasping for breath, water filling his mouth and nose. Darkness swamped his vision as he strained for air.
The next thing Quin knew, he stood upright on the grass, retching. But it wasn’t him who coughed and spluttered as bile spewed from his throat, the acid burning on his tongue.
Water dripped from his wet hair as Lawrence forced Quin’s body to move. Every step was robotic as Quin warred with him for control over his movements. Legs burning, chest tight, head hammering, Quin fought. Despite it all, he couldn’t so much as wiggle a toe.
He strove to stay awake, to not fall into the unconscious blackness that he had the previous times he’d been taken over. It took all of his energy not to fade away, so it felt inevitable when Lawrence’s thoughts replaced his own.
Quin was a prisoner in his body, and he could do nothing to fight it.
“Drowning yourself would have been inconvenient for the both of us.” The words were not his. Lawrence craned his neck back, looking up at the sky. “Stop pouting, Quin. It’s unbecoming.”
