Chapter 10
Morrie
Ireturn from escorting Lancelot onto the Eurostar (you wouldn’t believe the amount of paperwork involved to get a noble steed across the Channel) to find the flat in a state of chaos. And that’s saying a lot, considering the state it’s usually in.
I attempt to retreat to my room, but a black shirt hits me in the face.
It’s followed by another black shirt.
“I have nothing to wear!” Heathcliff yells as he tosses clothing over his shoulder.
“Croak!” Quoth dives for safety as a shoe hits the wall where his head used to be.
“What’s the problem?” I swoop into his room, taking in the closet chaos and the piles of un-rinsed dishes stacked beside the door.
Heathcliff might have a fine arse, but his personal hygiene habits are his biggest turn-off.
Although part of me did relish all the ways I might punish him for not cleaning his room…
You can’t think those things; as if Heathcliff could ever be yours. He barely tolerates your presence. You have a much better chance with Mina, although you’re going to have to trample Heathcliff and Quoth to win her heart.
If only she’d consider sharing the three of us. Now there’s a titillating proposition…
“What’s the problem?” Heathcliff turns three hundred pounds of pure Romani fury on me. “The problem is, some poxy bastard invited Mina around this evening, fully knowing that I’m not going to be ready in time.”
“To be fair, I didn’t invite her around for you.” I kick a pile of rumpled jeans out of the doorway. “I have plans for Ms Mina Wilde, and they involve the hook in my ceiling and the hot wax in my bedside drawer—”
“This is your fault. Help me find something to wear.”
I sigh. “Fine.” I step over a mountain of rumpled black shirts into Heathcliff’s disaster of a room, steeling my resolve as I navigate around discarded dishes, books with the spines cracked, and crumpled copies of the Argleton Gazette with the crosswords filled out and the word ‘Bollocks’ scrawled over articles he disagrees with.
I dump a clean-ish pair of jeans on his bed. “Wear those. They don’t smell, and they hug that rather attractive arse of yours. And you have that shirt with the silver buttons in the washing pile. Wear that.”
“That shirt’s rumpled.”
“Everything you own is rumpled. Hang it up over the bathtub. I’m going to take a shower.
The steam will get out the wrinkles.” I glare at him.
“And unless you intend to join me in the shower, which I categorically encourage, you might like to pick up a little out here so Mina doesn’t think that she’s walked into a tornado fucking a horror film set. ”
“I did clean up.” Heathcliff jabs his thumb towards the sitting room, where I notice a pile of books shoved under the coffee table.
I sigh. “Then what about moving a few more lamps into this room, so that Mina can see? And maybe get rid of the rug where Lancelot’s noble steed relieved himself.”
When I emerge from the shower forty-five minutes later (all of this raw masculine beauty takes time and maintenance), Heathcliff has rolled up the rug and stashed it in the kitchen.
I have to admit that he looks quite smashing with his hair artfully tousled and the perpetual scowl on his face tamed with a hint of desperation.
I pull on some black dress slacks and one of my favourite belts, but decide to leave my shirt off and my hair damp.
All’s fair in love and war, and I’m using every asset I have to make Mina Wilde mine.
I open the kitchen window and drop the rolled-up rug through it, where it hits the rim of the skip bin and bounces into the alley.
“Croak,” Quoth admonishes me from on top of the refrigerator. You’re littering.
“I’m not. I’ve placed it near the bins, haven’t I? All we have to do is wait a few million years, and erosion will have moved it for me. Besides, do you want Mina to trip over it if she comes in here for tea?”
“Croak.”
“I thought as much.”
I pour myself a glass of the 2018 Chateau Petrus and head out to the sitting room.
The air crackles with tension. Heathcliff drops into his chair beside the fire, his eyes flicking nervously over the same page in his book.
Quoth hops along the windowsill, his corvid eyes scanning the street below.
I lower myself into my desk chair in my alcove and scan my screens, checking that the money I’d liberated from my old job is making its way undetected onto the markets.
Nothing like a good math problem to calm the nerves, especially when that problem will result in your bank account growing an extra zero…
“Croak!” Quoth dives from the windowsill.
She’s here. I see her walking down Butcher Street now!
The three of us crowd in the window, watching as Mina enters the shop.
Mina looks up, and Heathcliff and Quoth surge back from the window, forgetting that she won’t be able to see us from that distance.
Quoth settles into his perch in the corner, pecking at his bowl of dried fruit.
Heathcliff disappears into the shadows, too nervous to even return to his chair.
I remain by the window, listening for footsteps on the stairs.
I listen for a loooong time. I can’t hear anyone in the shop below. “Do you think that she’s lost?”
“We didn’t leave any lights on.” Heathcliff looks miserable. “We should have left some—”
There’s a knock on the door.
“It’s open,” I call out.
My cock springs to life as Mina steps into the room, wearing a red jersey dress with black lace panels down the sides that show a flash of pale skin, and her scuffed red patent Docs.
She’s holding a box from the bakery. She gazes around, and I know that the lights we placed around the room are helping her.
She opens her mouth and closes it again without speaking as she mentally reframes her impressions of us based on the flat.
I bet she thinks all the artwork on the walls are fakes.
As soon as her eyes fell on Quoth’s perch, the scaredy-bird swoops off down the hall.
Sorry, I can’t do this, his voice lands in my skull. She’s too… perfect.
She is that.
“Where are you going?” Mina calls after him. “I promise I’m not going to quote any Poe.”
I glare at Heathcliff, but he doesn’t emerge from the gloom. I guess it’s up to Morrie to act as gracious host. As usual. “Welcome to our humble chambers.”
“This place is so cool.” Mina steps into the room. Her knees hit the coffee table, and she inches around it, heading towards Heathcliff’s unoccupied chair. “I could just imagine reading here, with Grimalkin curled up in my lap—”
In an unusual show of stealth, Heathcliff leaps out of the shadows and slithers into the chair ahead of her. “That’s mine. No one else sits in this chair.”
“Hello to you, too.” Mina beams at him. Grimalkin jumps on the back of the chair and swipes playfully at Mina’s long, wavy hair.
Mina pats her furry head. I crack up as she tries to pat Heathcliff’s head, but he ducks under her and slouches deeper into his chair.
Mina gives him an exaggerated pout. “At least Grimalkin is happy to see me.”
“You didn’t try to purloin her property.” Heathcliff folds his arms, his shirt pulling over his broad shoulders in a way that makes my mouth go dry. I do have excellent taste in fashion.
“Come on now, is that any way to treat someone who brought dessert?” Mina lifts the lid of the box in her hands to reveal a stack of sticky toffee pudding cakes.
“I was the picture of politeness.” I grab a cake from the box.
Mina’s mouth falls open as I step under the light, and I know my calculated move to appear with damp hair and no shirt was wise.
Her gaze fixes on the ‘I must confess. I covet your skull,’ tattoo running across my chest before moving steadily downwards. She swallows.
I manage to tear my gaze from her to grin triumphantly at Heathcliff, who looks as though he’s ready to flay me alive.
“You okay, gorgeous?” I grab a second cake. “Your mouth’s hanging open like you’re trying to trap a fly in there.”
Mina snaps my mouth shut. “I’m fly… I mean, I’m fine. Are you going to put clothes on? It’s miserable out tonight. I’d hate for you to catch your death.”
“Can’t stand the sight of me, eh?” I reach for the shirt I’d folded over the arm of the opposite chair and tug it on, rolling the sleeves over my inked forearms.
“I’m just a concerned citizen.” She doesn’t sound concerned. She sounds a little breathless. “I also brought some berries for the raven. They’re a bit smushed, but—” The words slip away as Mina notices something in the hallway. “Who… who else is there?”
Argh, she saw me!
Quoth sighs as he steps out of the shadows in his human form.
The lamps cast an otherworldly light on his pale skin.
He reaches up with long fingers to sweep a silken strand of waist-length black hair from his face, grazing along one of his impressively sharp cheekbones.
He blinks, his eyes ringed in fire as he takes in Mina and she takes in him.
Around the world, clocks stop for a moment. Big Ben wobbles on his foundations. The ravens of the Tower of London raise their beaks in solidarity.
“Who… who are you?” Mina manages to choke out.
Damn you, Quoth. Why do you have to be so beautiful?
I am going to have to kick things up a notch if I want to maintain my lead over the other two.
“I’m the flatmate,” Quoth whispers, the words carrying the weight of a curse. “I’ll take the berries to the bird.”
Mina startles at his voice. I assume it’s because of the throaty, rich tone of it, but what she says next surprises me. “Have you been spying on me?”
Quoth’s eyes shift to me, wide with fear. He whips the berries from Mina’s hand, turns on his heel, and flees down the hall. A moment later, I hear the hatch of his room slam shut.
Oh, Quoth, what have you been doing?
Mina rubs her eyes. She looks as though she’s seen a ghost.
“That’s Quoth,” I say. “He’s a bit of a loner. You won’t see much of him.”