“I’ll go with you, if you need me.”
“Thank you.” I knew what a promise like that meant to Quoth – every moment he risked exposing what he was. I squeezed his fingers. If I was crushing him, he gave no indication.
I flopped back on the bed, my eyes focusing on the bright circle of light from my single bulb, illuminating the Misfits poster and the outline of Quoth’s head, his hair flowing down his back – a river of midnight.
Quoth lay down beside me, his head inches from mine. I watched our chests rising and falling in perfect synergy. My body buzzed with emotion. I itched to roll over and kiss him, but I held back. I didn’t want my first kiss with Quoth to be with tears in my eyes and snot running out of my nose.
Here I am, talking about our first kiss as though it’s inevitable.
“Quoth,” I breathed.Even his name is poetry.
“Yes?”
“Don’t tell the others about this yet. Please.”
“Mina—”
“I just… I need time to process it, okay? Promise me you won’t tell.”
“I promise. But you should tell them.”
“I will.” I squeezed his hand, and my heart squeezed and tightened, too. I was supposed to have years left, but it might only be months before I went blind and so many pleasures were no longer open to me. Quoth’s warm hand in mine steadied me about the darkness on the edges of my eyes and the darkness inside me that threatened to take over.
He was right, of course. I would mourn. I would mourn my motherfucking arse off. But now was not the time, not while I still had eyes to see. Itwastime I stopped giving a fuck about what other people thought of me and my life and my relationships. Maybe I needed to live to excess and indulge all my senses while I still had the use of them.
Maybe it was time I took Morrie’s challenge to the next level.
Chapter Thirteen
“… Ithink the KT Strange werewolf rock band romance would be a great read for your Amalfi Coast holiday, and this book will make a lovely gift for your six-year-old niece,” I finished, holding out a beautifully-illustrated story about an elephant and his balloon to the customer. “Just don’t mix them up.”
“Yes,” she beamed. “That’s perfect. You’ve been very helpful!”
Warmth flushed my cheeks from her praise. There was something satisfying for the soul about helping a customer find the perfect book. “I’m so glad you’re pleased. I’ll just ring these up for you, and—”
“Oh, no, no.” She whipped out her phone and tapped the screen. “I’m buying them online. They’re always so much cheaper. Thank you for the recommendations!”
Rage flared inside me as I watched her meander into the hallway, tapping her way merrily through The-Store-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named.Thanks for wasting half an hour of my time. Heathcliff’s customer-ire was starting to make sense to me.
“Croak?” Quoth landed on the desk in front of me, tapping his beak against the till. He’d stayed with me all night last night, perched on the end of my bed while I slept, his superior avian vision scanning the darkness for danger. I told him again and again to go back to the flat, that I didn’t need protecting, but he remained my solitary watchtower all night. We didn’t do anything more than hug goodnight before he shifted into his raven form, but I’d never been more intimate with a person before. We’d both laid a piece of ourselves bare for each other.
“Go for it,” I muttered.
Quoth fluttered out of the room and a moment later, a high-pitched squeal reverberated through the shop. I rushed to the archway and peered around in time to see the woman storm out, frantically dabbing at a stain on her shoulder with a lace handkerchief.
Gotcha.
The woman was so busy dealing with Quoth’s present, she crashed into Mrs. Ellis coming up the steps.
“Where’s the fire?” Mrs. Ellis called gaily after the woman, who sobbed in reply.
“Hello, Mrs. Ellis,” I held the door open for her. Quoth fluttered down and landed on my shoulder, his talons digging into my collarbone. “Are you doing okay?”
“Oh, I’m surviving.” Mrs. Ellis took off her gloves, her hands shaking. Her usual rosy-cheeked complexion was pallid and sallow. “Mina, I wanted to ask you something. We’re having a little fete at the church after Gladys’ funeral on Saturday. She was important to so many people and I know she’d want to bring the community together even in death. There will be no tears, just good old fashioned fun. We wondered if you’d like a book stall, maybe even some of your book artwork? Perhaps your friend with the beautiful black hair might like to paint a commemorative picture—”
“No.” Heathcliff said without looking up.
Mrs. Ellis’ lip quivered. “Oh, that’s fine. I understand, of course. You’re very busy, you must be run off your feet. I just thought I’d ask…”
