Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
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I’m strangely nervous as I head around the bar towards Lucy.
I could have just waved her over to meet everyone, but she looked a little lost there for a moment or two, and I was ducking through the bar flap and heading her way before I knew it.
The bar’s started to empty now, and those who haven’t left have migrated into the depths of booths and dark corners, so there’s really no need for the guiding hand on Lucy’s back as we walk towards the bar, but once it’s there I can’t quite bring myself to pull it away.
Quinn catches my eye and raises his brow in a question, that infuriating smile that I love and hate pulling at the edge of his mouth. He’s about to say something stupid, I know it.
Lucky for me, he’s not the only one who’s noticed my hand on Lucy’s back.
‘Emmy,’ I croon, as she wanders towards us, ‘come and meet Lucy.’ I widen my eyes as she looks at me – it’s a practised cry for help and an expression she recognises immediately. She elegantly inserts herself in front of Quinn and beams a huge, black-lipsticked smile at Lucy.
Emmy is easily the gothiest goth of any of us, and an absolute sweetheart.
She’s in neck-to-floor black lace today, topped with a Bitten T-shirt nipped in at the waist by a leather corset.
Her jewellery is no more understated: heavy chains around her neck and patent bands on her wrists with long metal spikes that graze along the bar as she reaches over it to shake Lucy’s hand.
‘Lovely to meet you,’ Emmy chirps, ignoring Quinn as he grumbles behind her before skipping off to serve someone at the other end of the bar.
‘You too,’ Lucy replies with a soft smile, and then I watch her eyes widen as she clocks the spikes. ‘I love these,’ she says, reaching out a finger to touch one. ‘You could do some real damage with them.’
Emmy’s grin pops a dimple in her pale cheek just as Fox bounces up behind her, purple curls bobbing as she throws heavily tattooed arms around Emmy’s shoulders.
‘Lucy, this is Emmy and Fox. They’re siblings.’ I wave my free hand awkwardly between them. I’ve never introduced a girl to my colleagues before. Not that Lucy is a girl girl, of course. ‘Guys, this is Lucy. She’s a journalist, and she’s writing a story on the Goth Weekend.’
‘Oh, sweet.’ Fox steps out from behind Emmy and thrusts out a hand to Lucy, who shakes it warmly. ‘It’s lovely to meet you, Lucy.’
‘Likewise,’ Lucy replies with a grin, and I’m just considering how similar their energy is when Dean Ratcliffe wafts up to us like a bad smell.
I didn’t even know he was here. I can count the number of times he’s stepped inside Bitten on one hand, so I can only assume it has something to do with Lucy being here. Or else he’s just trying to piss me off. I press my lips together to stop them curling into a sneer.
But he’s not even looking at me. He’s wheedled his way between me and Lucy, who is now chatting away animatedly to Fox about something or other.
‘I see you’ve met the real talent in this place,’ Dean says without waiting for an opening, and Lucy and Fox both spin to look at him. ‘On another level, aren’t you, Foxy? Juggles like a damn acrobat.’ He words it like a compliment, but I’ve known him long enough to know it’s actually a dig.
Fox doesn’t move, but I see the subtle wave of fury that grips her. She hates when people call her Foxy, although in fairness she did change her own display name in my phone to that, so maybe she just hates Dean.
Which, you know, fair.
‘I’m hoping to lure Fox over to the dark side.’ He’s still talking, even though literally no one has responded. ‘Ravenskull could really use the diversity of a he-she-they or whatever the hell pronouns we’re using now.’
He laughs at himself then, like he’s told the funniest joke in history but Fox just rolls her eyes. She looks like she’s about to tell him to take a hike when Lucy takes a step towards him.
‘What pronouns do you use, Dean?’ she asks, her voice steady and sweet. ‘You know, for my article.’
There’s silence for a second before he scoffs, his brow creasing. ‘Me?’ His snide little mouth pulls into a smile which is just the wrong side of confident. ‘I don’t use pronouns.’
‘Ok,’ Lucy replies, all sweetness and light. She reaches into her bag and pulls out her notebook, opening it with a practised flip. ‘I mean, you just used two, but I’ll make a note of it.’
Emmy and Fox barely try at all to conceal their twin snorts of laughter as Lucy scribbles something down underneath the notes she made in our interview.
‘Burn,’ one of them mutters before Dean fakes a laugh and struts off. We watch him until he reaches the door to the smoking area around the back. It won’t take him long to find someone else to bother out there.
Lucy snaps her notebook closed just as Fox catches my eye over the bar and mouths I LOVE HER.
And yeah, I get it. That was spectacular. She didn’t break poise even for a second.
‘Fox is nonbinary,’ I explain, and then before I can stop myself, I add, ‘and Dean is a dick.’
I mentally kick myself. It’s a damn good job Sammi isn’t within earshot – she’d kill me for that comment. I’m supposed to be making a good impression.
But Lucy just smiles, the forced sweetness replaced by genuine warmth as she turns back to Fox. ‘What pronouns do you use, Fox?’
I have to admit that when Fox first came out I had absolutely no idea what the right thing to say was, but Lucy seems to take this absolutely in her stride. I see Fox’s grin widen at the genuine interest.
‘I go by she/her at the moment, though I don’t mind any,’ Fox replies, sweeping her violet mop away from her face. ‘As long as you’re not a dick.’
Lucy laughs, and I don’t miss her eyes darting to me for a split second. ‘I try not to be.’
I don’t say anything. At this point it’s probably for the best, though I’m sure to get myself in trouble one way or the other.
Instead I try to pretend I’m not studying Lucy as she chats easily to Emmy and Fox, zoning out as I follow the path of a loose curl around the edge of her face and down her neck.
I imagine dragging my teeth over the pale skin there, and something turns over in my chest.
When I come back to the conversation, they’re all laughing.
‘Just be yourselves,’ Lucy says, ‘that’s what I’m interested in.’
I laugh too, even though I have absolutely no context for the comment, and I’m almost grateful when I hear Quinn’s voice behind me.
‘Who’s interested in who?’ he asks, as he strides over to where we are, apparently having abandoned tending the bar.
There’s a petite woman half-hidden behind him, which I can only assume is his new love interest. She’s peeking at us through a fringe so thick she almost disappears behind it, and all of a sudden I realise that this is the first I’ve seen of her, despite her being the reason I couldn’t stay in my own bar.
I try not to hold it against her – she looks scared enough as it is.
‘We’re all interested in where you’ve been hiding this one,’ Emmy says, not unkindly, black lips pulling into a soft smile as she turns her attention to the mystery woman. ‘Is he holding you against your will? Blink twice if you need us to intervene.’
‘Ok, you lot…’ Quinn says, gesturing vaguely around our group, ‘are arseholes.’ He straightens to his full height of not-quite-as-tall-as-me. ‘And this’—he twirls his girl out in front of him before artfully catching her and pulling her back against his chest protectively—‘is Stella. My fiancée.’
I damn near swallow my tongue.
My mouth must still be gaping when Sammi suddenly appears beside us, because she takes one look at me and laughs out loud. ‘I guess you’ve heard Quinn’s news?’ she asks, so casually that I almost can’t believe my ears.
‘Congrat … ulations,’ I manage, somehow making it sound like a question, which I’m not entirely sure it isn’t. But Quinn pays no heed to my uncertainty, just grins back at me while Fox and Emmy chirp matching congratulatory noises on either side of him. They’re practically bouncing with excitement.
It’s not that I’m not happy for Quinn, it’s just that he didn’t have a particularly stable home when he was a kid and he doesn’t always make the healthiest of choices in relationships.
Ok fine, I’m not happy for him. I’m worried for him.
I look over at Sammi, hoping she’ll be my fellow voice of reason here, but she just shrugs, her painted red lips curling into a smirk as she turns to Quinn. ‘Congrats, buddy.’
And then she turns to Lucy. ‘Samira Suleman,’ she says without missing a beat. She offers out her hand, and Lucy shakes it. ‘I manage this place. Best I can, anyway.’
‘Nice to meet you, Samira,’ Lucy says brightly. ‘I’m Lucy from the White Rose Gazette. I think you spoke to my boss on the phone?’
Sammi’s eyes widen in realisation and I don’t miss the way they dart to my hand on Lucy’s back for a second before snapping back up.
‘Of course. Lovely to meet you, Lucy,’ she says, her voice even and professional.
‘I can’t wait to read your article.’ And then she smiles and excuses herself, rushing off to do one of the million things on her to-do list, her parting gift a quick look in my direction – a look I seem to have seen a lot from her lately.
Be careful, it says. I’m watching.
But I can’t think for the life of me what I need to be careful of.
I’m still thinking about it as I step out of the door an hour later, zipping my leather jacket against the bite of the wind.
It’s not quite closing time, but Emmy and Fox shooed me out early, volunteering to take care of closing and cleaning down.
Not to mention that, with both Quinn and Sammi staying in the flat, there are more than enough people around to take care of business.