“Are you going to investigate Widow Hardcastle’s murder? I’m coming too.” I try to stand, but end up melting off the stool and knocking my head on the counter. “I’m a good investegerrer…”
Rafe’s warm arms lift me under my elbows and deposit me back on the stool. “Where I’m going, one needs stealth, the ability to walk in a straight line, and jump off high things and land on your feet, none of which are skills you currently possess. I won’t be long. Try not to give yourself alcohol poisoning until I get back.”
He kicks his clothes into the corner and transforms into his cat form. The door closes behind him. I down my mead and chase it with the final drops straight from the bottle.
I told you it would never work.
Even though Warrick’s gone, it feels like he’s here. I can see his face hovering in front of me, that face he gets when he readies himself to tell me something I don’t want to hear.
We’re not going on holiday this year. I have too many trips down to London, and you don’t even enjoy holidays. You prefer being in your garden.
I just don’t think you should distract yourself with a market stall when we’re trying to have a baby.
My family are extremely fertile, so this must be from your side of the family. I bet it’s all that magic, that’s why witches are always lonely old spinsters. But don’t worry, I’m always here to look after you. I’ll never let you be a lonely old spinster. You’ll always have me.
I never should have attempted this. I didn’t even do any research. I jumped in. I didn’t read the fine print. This is just like university, just like the honey stall, just like all those times I thought I’d try something new…
It serves me right for the way I’ve been acting. My husband ismissing, and I’ve been running around playing shopkeeper and trying to kiss another man?—
I miss Warrick. More than I’ve ever missed him before. I need his arms around me, telling me that he’ll look after me, that he’ll fix whatever it is I’ve broken, and I know that having him back means I’ll never leave the house, I don’t have to talk to anyone or help a cat break a curse, but I never ever have to face a shop filled with my failure ever again.
I throw my arms around myself and squeeze tight, but it’s not the same. I rest my head on the counter and fade between sleep and waking, not sure which one is worse. The sleep is haunted by blurry nightmares, my waking with the horror of how stupid I’ve been.
Tears roll down my cheeks, making it even harder to see. My ears fill with buzzing. Bees? Are there bees in here?Oh, Warrick I’m so sorry I don’t know what I’m doing why are there bees are they guilt bees oh I think I’m just drunk Warrick I didn’t mean to?—
“Meorrw.”
Eight orange paws appear at the window, scrabbling at the glass. No, not eight, two paws, but I’m seeing doubles of doubles. It’s Rafe. He’s back, and he’s in his cat form. I blink at the little toe beans on the glass and realise my eyes are still filled with tears. I swipe them away, but my vision’s still all blurry. I slide off the stool, but my legs aren’t working properly, and I fall into the counter. I drag myself along and fling my body at the window. Something crashes behind me. A glass. I’ve knocked it off.
Oh well, it doesn’t matter. It’s not as if I need them for the grand opening.
It takes me three tries to unlock the window. All the while, Rafe’s octopus beans scrabble at the glass.
“It musssssh be terrible not to have opposable thumbs—” my words cut off as Rafe darts through the window with something in his mouth and triumphantly hurls it at my feet.
“Mrrrrw.” He hops up on his hind legs.
I return triumphant, and I bring gifts. Ooooh, you look really trashed.
“Rafe…what is…” I cover my mouth with my hands. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
On the floor, weeping wine-dark blood onto the freshly oiled floorboards, is a human finger.
XIV
Celeste: Councillor Douglas is running around the pub, clutching his bloody hand and screaming about a demon cat…and he’s covered in luxurious body hair. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?
Ihave never seen so much puke come out of a person before.Rafe peers over my shoulder as I splutter into the sink.It’s such a beautiful honey colour.
“I hate you,” I mumble. I turn on the tap and gargle water. My temple pounds. I passed out after I saw what Rafe brought me, and now it’s hours later and my drunken wallowing has given way to hungover regret. “Why would you bring me a finger?”
You’re snubbing my gift. I’m wounded!
“Of course I’m snubbing it. It’s a literal human finger.”
I didn’t know you were such a delicate flower.He makes what can only be described as a pouting face, his tail swishing with indignation.And after I got it especially for you.
I flick water at him. He howls and backs away.
