Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
QUINN
‘God, look at you,’ Bram says, striding round the back of the bar. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve met your second wife?’
I huff in response, rolling my eyes as dramatically as I can manage. ‘Whatever. I was just thinking about my lunch.’
That’s a lie. I was absolutely thinking about Florence.
‘You’ve met someone?’ asks Lucy, hoisting herself up on the barstool across from me, her eyes comically wide.
Our other bartender, Fox, appears from nowhere too, which is no real surprise.
She and Lucy are like carbon copies of each other.
Personality-wise, at least. They couldn’t look more different if they tried.
Even as a vampire Lucy is all pastel colours and long blonde waves, while Fox is rocking neon-green curls and an undercut, her outfit head-to-toe black.
‘I second that question,’ Fox says, sidling up to me. ‘I would also like to know the answer to this. Do I need to buy a hat?’
I fix her with a look. ‘You’ve got a hat. You wore it to my wedding.’
It was a plum velvet top hat, as I recall, and she looked cool as fuck in it.
‘I had a hat,’ Fox says, pointing at me with the bottle of spiced rum in her hand. ‘I burnt it in celebration when you finally split up with Robyn, remember?’
Do I remember that?
‘Noooo,’ Lucy interjects, stretching out the word until it’s several seconds long. She might have had one gin and lemonade too many. ‘He wasn’t there. It was me, you and Emmy.’
‘Huh.’ Fox shrugs before she turns back to me. ‘Well, we thought about you the entire time.’
‘I…’ I’m not really sure what the correct response is here. ‘Thank you?’
Fox waves me away. ‘So have you met someone?’
Yes.
‘No!’
Lucy studies me, eyes narrowing in thought. ‘That no was a yes.’
God, don’t tell me she’s caught the mind-reading bit from Bram. I’ll never be able to sneak anything past them if they’re working as a team.
‘What?’ I ask, making a special effort to sound as offended as possible by the very idea. ‘How do you know that?’
She flicks her blonde curls over one shoulder and smiles smugly at me. ‘It’s my razor-sharp journalistic instincts.’
‘Lucy, you work in a bookshop,’ I say, trying my hardest to look stern. From the way she’s grinning back, it doesn’t feel like it’s working.
Fox narrows her eyes at me. ‘Also, you’ve been wearing your nice shirt on a heavy rotation.’
My hand goes to my chest, like she’s mortally wounded me. ‘All my shirts are nice.’
Lucy gives me a look that says, are they? and Fox snorts a laugh. She’s definitely drunk. Sober Lucy would never.
I glare at them both. I’m being trolled by the two nicest people in Whitby. That’s a new low.
‘Don’t you have any work to do?’ I ask Fox, who’s leaning lightly against the counter while two people wait to be served further down the bar.
She flashes me a middle finger and a wink simultaneously, before striding down to take their orders.
I turn back to Bram, who’s still standing beside me, but I must whip around too fast because my vision darkens and spots dance in front of my eyes.
I try to pretend nothing’s wrong, but as I go to step around Bram, I stumble, fruitlessly grabbing at nothing as I fall into the solid wall of his body.
He grabs me by the upper arms and hauls me to my feet, his strength impressive even though I know it’s supernatural. His inked hands hold me steady until the darkness eases. When it does, I look up at him, almost afraid of what I might find.
He’s frowning at me, his brows knotted tightly with concern. ‘You ok?’ he asks, voice low, and I nod.
‘Just came over a bit dizzy,’ I say, but with the shake in my voice I’m fooling no one. It’s the first time any of the others have seen my symptoms and it feels like a turning point. Another nail in my coffin.
He considers me a moment before he lets go of my arms and turns to his wife.
‘I’ll cover him for a while. You make sure he’s ok,’ he says, like I’m not standing right here.
She nods and he turns back to me. ‘Take ten,’ he says.
‘Lucy will sit with you.’ And then he heads for the gaggle of women who’ve just appeared at the other side of the bar.
‘When did you last eat?’ Lucy asks, pulling me back into the flat by my forearm.
It feels a little like I’m being dragged into my house by my mother, but I don’t dare argue.
Lucy’s far too nice. If Bram is darkness, Lucy is light.
She’s only a few years into immortality and she wears it well, floating around my flat like she walks on air.
She deposits me on the sofa and heads for the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a cup of tea and a small stack of custard creams.
‘Thanks,’ I say, shoving an entire biscuit into my mouth. I kind of hope she’s going to go back out into the bar, but instead she sits down next to me on the sofa, one knee bent underneath her so she can face me.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’ she asks, and there’s a split second where I think I’m going to tell her everything, about the test results and my uncertain fate, and how it’s all becoming a little bit more bearable with help from my friendly neighbourhood vampire. But of course I don’t.
‘I’m just a bit run-down,’ I say instead. ‘I’m supposed to be sleeping more and eating well.’
Lucy nods, but I can feel her studying me.
She wasn’t kidding about her journalistic skills earlier; she used to be a reporter so she can sniff out a story from across the room.
In my defence, Cam did tell me to do both of those things, so it’s not exactly a lie.
It’s just not exactly the truth, either. And I feel like Lucy knows it.
‘Drink your tea,’ she says, not unkindly. I take a swig and nearly choke.
‘How many sugars are in this?’ I splutter, but she just shrugs.
‘Five-ish?’
I almost feel my soul leave my body. ‘Five? Jesus, Luce, I take it with one.’
She shrugs again, unrepentant. ‘I was trying to boost your blood sugar. It can make you dizzy if it’s low.’
If only it were that simple, I think, but don’t say.
Instead, I thank Lucy for her concern, down as much of the tea as I can without retching, and eat another biscuit.
I don’t know if it’s the sugar overdose destroying my tastebuds, but I’m sure they don’t taste as good as usual.
Not that I’m going to say as much to Lucy. That would be like kicking a kitten.
When she’s satisfied that I’m well enough to be released, Lucy allows me to return to the bar, with strict instructions to tell someone if I feel odd again. I nod my agreement, but I don’t mention that the person I’ll actually be telling is Florence.
All of a sudden, I’m struck by how urgent my situation could be.
If Cam’s warning was right, that I only have weeks left until I maybe turn, maybe die, I can’t afford to sit back and let things happen.
I need to start living my life, like he said.
Today it’s dizziness, but tomorrow, or two days from now, or next week, it could be something far worse.
And I’m not ready. For either eventuality. I have unfinished business.
I fish my phone out of my pocket and tap into my message thread with Florence.
QUINN
Ready for your first human date?
She replies almost immediately and it makes me wonder what she’s doing. What does Florence do with her time? I’m suddenly desperate to know.
FLORENCE
Not if you keep calling them that.
QUINN
I’ll take that as a yes. You free Saturday afternoon?
FLORENCE
I could be.
QUINN
3pm at mine.
You’re gonna LOVE it.
FLORENCE
If there’s garlic bread involved, I’m not coming.
QUINN
Please, give me some credit.
I would never lead with that. That’ll be my finale. My grand farewell to the human realm.
FLORENCE
I’ve changed my mind. I’m definitely not free on Saturday afternoon.
I’m so busy grinning at my phone that I don’t notice the packet of Scampi Fries sailing across the bar until they hit me square in the face. When I whip round, Fox is leaning a hip against the bar and assessing me, arms crossed against her chest.
‘You good?’ she asks, tipping her chin at me.
Fox plays the cool kid effortlessly, but at heart I know she’s a real softie and I hate that I’m worrying her. That I’m worrying any of my friends. I make a mental note to try and hide any future episodes from them as much as I can.
‘Yeah, fine now, thanks,’ I say, flashing her my most laid-back smile. Hoping it looks more nonchalant than it feels. ‘Good of you to check before assaulting me with bar snacks.’
She huffs a laugh before screwing her nose up at me and loping off to the end of the bar to serve a gaggle of men who’ve just appeared. And it’s right there, standing in the bar I manage, surrounded by the people I love, that I finally confront the possibility I’ve been ignoring.
There’s a very real possibility that in a few weeks or months – or whatever it turns out to be – I could die.
Really, actually die.
My heart speeds up and prickles of a cold sweat start at the back of my neck. I imagine Bram getting the news. Him telling Sammi. Fox and Emmy comforting each other. Lucy pulling on a black dress instead of her usual soft pastels.
I need to tell them, I know I do. I can’t let them find out I’ve been hiding this from them this whole time.
I will. I’ll do it soon.
I swear to myself I will.