Chapter 13
XIII
Celeste: What do you mean we don’t get a meadery? This is an outrage! We’ll organise a protest!
Mina: All I’m saying is that my husband Moriarty has a criminal empire of rogues and scallywags, and he knows how to use them to persuade councillors to change their minds. Just say the word.
It was a silly dream anyway.
I top up my glass from the bottle of mead next to me.
It’s the first bottle of apple and amaranth I’ve opened for myself, and I know as soon as I taste it that I’ve messed up the recipe.
It’s much more potent than it should be.
But I don’t stop drinking it. It promises oblivion, and right now that’s what I want most of all – to slip into a magical, meady haze and disappear forever.
“Why aren’t you more upset?” Rafe asks as he sips his own drink. He’s still on his first glass. Slacker.
“Because alcohol.” I slam my empty glass on the counter and pour another. My skull feels like a bee’s crop – filled to the brim with sweet honey, with no room for any other thoughts.
“Easy there, Mead Menace.” Rafe catches my glass as I raise it to my lips. “Answer me. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”
“Ooooooh you think I’m pretty.”
“Of course I think you’re pretty.”
“Then why wouldn’t you kiss me?”
Rafe sighs. “Autumn. Don’t make me take your mead away.”
“In my heart, I knew it wasn’t going to happen,” I shrug. “Nothing ever works out for me. It’s a relief. I don’t know what I was thinking – opening a meadery! It isn’t 1426! I haven’t lost anything except a bit of money—what are you doing?”
Through my blurred vision, I see him unbuttoning his shirt. “I have to go out. Important cat business. Are you going to be okay on your own, or do I need to get Celeste to babysit you?”
“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 is missing, 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.