“I’m busy.”
“It’ll only take a minute.”
The raven fluttered into the living room. I leaned around the corner of the alcove in time to see it peck Heathcliff in the arm.
“Croak!”
“Allright!”Heathcliff leaned forward to glower into the alcove. “What?”
“I just need some biographical info for you, for the website.”
“I don’t want people knowing anything about me.”
“We’re not talking about your deepest, darkest secrets, just the basic stuff. Where you were born, why you got into the book trade—”
“I’m in the book trade because I thought it wouldn’t be full of annoying people disturbing my calm with incessant questions. I was wrong.” Heathcliff swatted at the raven. It croaked in defiance and flew onto a perch above the hallway door.
“Please?”
Heathcliff sighed, as though I’d asked him to take the Queen’s shilling. “Fine.” He shoved his arse out of the chair, rooted around in his pockets, and recovered a faded leather wallet of old-fashioned design. He tossed it at me. “It’s all in there. Any other details you need, just make them up.”
I stared down at the wallet. Heathcliff’s spice-and-cigarette scent spilled from the seams and assaulted my senses. I flipped it open and peeked inside, pulling out cards and scraps of paper tucked into every pocket, all containing Heathcliff’s details in tiny print. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. Even with the light from the computer screen, I’d never be able to read any of it.
Why can’t he just tell me? Why does he have to make me…
“You waiting for a written invitation?”
“It’s not that,” I said quickly, tossing the wallet back at him. “I just can’t use this.”
“Why not?”
“Because… um…” I racked my brain for an excuse they’d believe.
“Because she can’t read them,” said a throaty voice from the doorway. “She’s going blind.”
Chapter Nine
“That’s… that’s not true!” I whipped around. There, lurking in the shadows was the flatmate, Quoth, his arms folded across the front of his blood-red shirt, his fierce eyes watching me like a vulture.
How can he know?
On his lips, the shame that had sent me home from my beloved New York, that had cost me my dream job and my best friend and sent me into a spiral of self-loathing, mocked me. I wished the wood beneath my feet would rot away so I could fall through into the shelves below.Bury me beneath books. Or better yet, bury Quoth.How does he know, and why the fuck did he have to say something?
“That true, gorgeous?” Morrie asked, his voice gentler than I’d imagined possible.
No, don’t do that. Don’t pity me. I can’t deal with pity.
“How… how did you know?” I whispered, my chest constricting. That wasmysecret. Quoth didn’t have the right to blab it to the whole flat, especially not to Heathcliff, who was probably getting ready to fire me.
“I observe people,” Quoth tucked a silken strand of hair behind his ear.
“That’s not an answer.”
“I noticed when you were stacking the shelves today. You hold the books close to your face to read the titles, and you turn your head at an odd angle, as if you lack peripheral vision.”
“So youwerewatching me in the shop. That’s creepy, especially since you haven’t bothered to show yourself.” With that body and those piercing eyes, I’d have remembered him. That was a fact.
Quoth shrugged. “I’m always here. I blend into the background.”
