Page 71 of The Devil’s Feather

He shook his head slowly. “Not anymore. Get the blue and black tape and the bottle with the red stopper from the cabinet.”

“Definitely not your first time at this rodeo, I see.” I caught his chin and tilted his face to look at me. “I was really worried about you last night. First, when I thought you were going to kill that man, then when you were so exhausted afterward you could barely function. Did you not eat before the fight? How do you usually get home afterward?”

“Normally, the comedown does not hit so hard or so fast. I forced it because I did not want to risk being agitated around you. I never eat before a fight because I do not enjoy vomiting, and I drive myself. The only time I needed a ride was after a broken collarbone.” Rafael said it like he was reading a grocery list.

I brushed his unruly hair away from his face, unsure of what to say.

He sighed. “Maybe it is a good sign, controlling the rage like that.”

“Maybe so. You had a night terror last night.”

“Unsurprising,” Rafael gave me a tired nod, “I hope I did not scare you.”

“It was ok. Just some flailing around and muttering. It lasted about 15 minutes.”

The supplies were where he said they’d be, and he sat at the edge of the bed, holding his arms up. I began with the lightest kiss on the injury, and he gave me the first smile of the day. The liniment’s sharp mix of camphor and menthol stung my nose as I massaged it gently into his bruised side. He showed me where and how to place the tape. I’d really wanted to wrap his chest, mostly for how intimate it seemed when I’d seen it done in movies—and how good it would look with his pecs—but the blue and black stripes suited him.

“Thank you, nurse. Wash your hands before you accidentally touch your eyes.”

I was halfway to doing just that, froze with my arms in the air, and turned theatrically to tiptoe into the bathroom. Rafael’s low laugh followed me.

“Have you made that mistake before?” I called over the running water in the sink.

“Only once.”

Rafael was lying flat on his back with his hands beneath his head, staring at the ceiling when I returned.

“Are you ok?”

He pointed up. A kaleidoscope of spring-colored tiles splashed across the high ceiling in a mosaic styled like a stained-glass window. Light from the actual window hit the metallic glaze of select tiles, making them glimmer. Small, flush can lights were sprinkled strategically through the curlicues so as not to disrupt the lines. Three banners flowed upward diagonally across the center, stating “WIDE-UNCLASP-THE-TABLES-OF-THEIR-THOUGHTS.”

“Rafael Nazim, you beautiful nerd. Is that a stained-glass design from the Winchester House? It’s incredible!” Clambering onto the bed without tearing my eyes from the mosaic, I laid myself down beside him on my back. “The saying is from Shakespeare, right?” I smacked my forehead. “I can’t believe this is the first time I’ve noticed this.”

“It only lights up when the sun hits, and you know how foggy it is here. I find that house inspiring. Sarah Winchester crafted her life to suit her artistic vision in defiance of society. So I brought a wisp of her spirit home.” He took my hand. “I liked the message to open your mind and let your true self spill forth.”

I vibrated in place like an excited puppy. “The Winchester House might be a little bit of a special interest—wait, how have I never noticed that the motif behind the banner looks like a vulva? Ooh, Ms. Sarah. Is that a double entendre?”

Rafael hummed approval. “Fie, fie upon her!

There’s language in her eye, her cheek, her lip

Nay her foot speaks; her wanton spirits look out

At every joint and motive of her body.

O, these encounters, so glib of tongue,

That give accosting welcome ere it comes,

And wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts

To every ticklish reader! Set them down

For sluttish spoils of opportunity

And daughters of the game.”

My reptile brain levitated me off the bed and draped me across his naked body before my conscious mind had the chance to catch up. “That was the hottest thing I have ever heard. Can I be your sluttish spoil of opportunity?”