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“Does it feel different from Ghostshade?”
Opening her eyes just barely, she says, “Hmmm. It’s more relaxing.”
I make an attempt at moving back but she holds me in place. “Stay with me for a bit? I’m sorry I was a bitch earlier.”
“Of course.”
As if he’s been waiting for his cue, the orange cat slinks out from beneath the bed.He must have gotten frightened when Celeste was rummaging through the house,I think. Celeste doesn’t know that I’ve been giving him table scraps and letting him in and out the living room door. After stretching leisurely, he jumps on the bed.
“What is he doing here?” she asks with narrowed eyes.
“I thought we could name him Pumpkin,” I suggest.
Ss he attempts to get comfortable at her feet, she says, “No! You’re not getting a name! Go away!” She waves her hand at him in a shooing motion. “There are so many houses around here who would love to take you in. People that are so much less selfish than me. I’m bad at taking care of others.”
He stretches out his front paws and begins kneading the blanket.
“I. Will. Fail. You,” Celeste enunciates to the cat. “You’re making a bad choice, Pumpkin.”
I tilt my head. “That’swhy you don’t want him?”
She shrugs. “There’s nothing more hurtful than letting down a cat.” Nudging me, she adds, “Or a kitten.”
Carefully, I lean back and reach out to the cat. He sniffs my fingers and bumps his head against them.
“You could never disappoint us.”
15. THIRTEEN MISSED CALLS FROM THE ONLY PERSON THAT CARES
If I’d thought that would be the end of Celeste’s withdrawal, I was dead wrong. I spend the next two days nurturing what can only be described as a frightening and profoundly ungrateful dragon, who, though being no less beautiful than the woman it evolved from, threatens to bite off my head at any moment. Despite this, she has her moments of clarity, during which, after cursing at me for not letting her have enough venom to basically turn her into a vampire and then for foiling her plan to heist some Ghostshade out of the Charon’s Veil headquarters, comes to her senses enough to apologise.
It’s more exhausting than one might expect and yet, somehow, I never have the urge to leave. It occurs to me that despite all her struggles, I don’t once fear having a plate thrown at my head. Not once do I have to hear her drag out the most vile and hurtful personal insults she can come up with just so I’ll give her what she wants. The worst is when she calls me a bitchfor trying to make her eat something after two days of starvation, just to then immediately start crying about what a horrible person she is. What helps is that I’ve done this dance with Mav before and know that there are better days coming.
Also surprisingly, it doesn’t make the stupid tingly butterfly feeling in my stomach go away. It only takes her thanking me and being nice to me exactly once to shackle me to helping her for the rest of eternity.
By day three, she looks more tired than I thought a person could look but begins to behave like a functional, if highly irritable, human again.
“Are you sure this is really a good idea?” I ask as I watch her don a long coat, wide-brimmed hat, and dark sunglasses. She looks like she’s off to solve small town murders.
“I can’t let them see me weak.” Her voice is rough. “If they want war, they can have it. Although just the thought of Mel with a machine gun makes me see flashing lights.”
I shudder at the mental image. “Sounds delightful.”
“On the off chance that I don’t come back, just wait for Ibrahim or Mel to come and get you, alright?”
“How off is the chance?”
She smiles and kisses my cheek. “I’ll be fine. Just promise me you’ll stay here, where you’re safe.”
“Promise,” I say.
The house feels oddly quiet after she’s gone, full off ominous anticipation. Unsure of what to do, I find myself in the kitchen, tidying up the last of the scattered kitchenware. Now that I don’t have Celeste to look after, my mind has plenty of time to roam back over the events of the last few weeks. Annoyingly tinted by the strange tingly feeling that’s been stuck to me, they feel like the beginning of something good that not even Alastor can take away. Even though I still need to look over my shoulder every few minutes to make sure nobody has crept into the house to beat me back into Deni-flavoured jam, I allow myself to feel a little bit happy, no matter how out of place the emotion.
Because of this, I almost forget to send my daily ‘Where are you?’ text to Mav. There is some comfort in knowing your friend is immortal, though that doesn’t mean he can’t be irreparably harmed, at least mentally. Still, I’ve lived the last few days under the illusion that he must be fine.
The first sign he might not be comes as I’m standing in the hallway, two seconds after texting him, in the form of a low buzzing sound. Eyebrows suspiciously narrowed, I send a simple, “Hello?”
A moment later, the buzzing sounds again. A small but pervasive pit opens in my stomach and I decide to call him. My phone dials for a moment, then signals me it is ringing. The sound of something vibrating echoes through the house.
