13. Mina

Iwas tucked up in bed, trying to sleep, when Morrie returned for something. He and Quoth had a whispered conversation in the hallway. I tried to listen in, but I couldn't hear a thing. Morrie left again, and I pulled my phone out from beneath the blankets and scrolled my emails.

Nothing.

Not one of my invited literary guests had RSVPed to the book launch.

I bit back a flood of tears waiting behind my eyes and typed out a message for my social media. I posted it on my personal page and shared it on Nevermore's pages.

It's done.

A cold wave of grief mixed with relief swept over me. I tossed my phone at the end of the bed. Grimalkin yowled with surprise and jumped down, followed by a line of kittens, all rolling and stomping off in disgust. My grandmother was altogether a bad influence on them.

My fingers brushed the stack of Braille pages on the bedside table. My manuscript. I was supposed to get the final version to the printer this afternoon so they could print off enough copies in time for the launch, but I just couldn't make myself send the file.

The tears spilled over. This was it. This was the end of another dream. If I wasn't supposed to be a writer, then what…

"Mina, what's wrong?"

Quoth's worried voice came from the doorway. A bright shaft of light pierced the gloom – the hallway light shining from our open bedroom door.

"How did you know I was awake?" I rubbed my eyes.

"I could hear your phone talking."

"Right. Of course."

"Mina, what's wrong? You're crying."

"Nothing's wrong." I knew I didn't sound convincing. "I canceled my book launch."

The bed sagged as he laid down beside me, his hand stroking my cheek, his silken hair falling over my shoulder. "But why? You worked so hard to finish your manuscript. And it's perfect. You don't need to re-edit it. All your friends are coming. Why cancel?"

"I know I'm being silly, but I can't help the way I feel." I pressed my cheek into his warm hand. "All week I've had this gnawing sensation in my gut that I was making a huge mistake. Not a single one of the book people I invited is coming, and I think it's because they know my book won't be successful. They're embarrassed by the idea of being associated with me. I can't…I can't bear it. So I'm canceling, at least until I figure out what I'm going to do. Maybe Jen's right, and I should rewrite the book."

Quoth cleared his throat. "I don't think you should cancel."

I sniffed. "It's already done. I just put up the message now."

"Okay. I didn't want to have to do this, but I'm forced to."

He grabbed my hands, tugging me upright.

"What are you doing?"

"On your feet. We're dancing."

"What? I'm in my PJs."

"Exactly." His lips brushed the hollow of my neck as he dragged me out of bed. "You're beautiful and I want to dance with you."

Oscar grunted in his sleep, but he didn't make any move to rescue me.

Quoth dragged me into the living room and stood me beside the fireplace while he pushed the chairs out of the way (much to Grimalkin's disdain) and rolled up the rug.

"You're serious about this dancing thing."

"Of course I am. We're getting married in three days, and we have yet to practice for our first dance. And nothing will take your mind off the book launch like a swing around the floor."

"But…you've seen me dance. You know I'm hopeless," I say. "Remember when I kicked Heathcliff's shins raw during the Jane Austen Experience?"

"I'll never forget it," Heathcliff growled from behind me. "You crippled me for life."

I whirled around just as Morrie came up the stairs behind Heathcliff. They both smelled of fresh grass and sweat, as if they'd been running around the village in the moonlight, and I also caught a faint whiff of cake icing.

"You seem to be walking just fine," I said to Heathcliff. "Quoth dragged me out of bed to teach me how to dance."

"Quoth is full of good ideas. I don't want to be hobbled on my wedding day." Heathcliff shrugged off his coat. "Morrie and I will join you."

"I thought you detested dancing?"

"I do, but Morrie made us take lessons," Heathcliff said.

"I didn't want any of you to embarrass me on my wedding day," Morrie said. "That includes you, gorgeous."

"It's our wedding day, and I'll have you know that I was planning to headbang to Rancid and Metallica for the whole night. I am a champion headbanger."

"An excellent plan as always." Morrie took my hand and led me to the center of the room. "But not the plan we're enacting. We are going to wow everyone."

Quoth started the music, a low, crunchy, sexy song. Morrie yanked my arm, spinning me wildly and then capturing my back against his chest, his arms tight around me. He scraped his tongue along my collarbone, raising a trail of goosebumps over my skin.

"They didn't teach you to dance like this in that class you're taking," I whispered.

"The teacher told me to add my own flair." Morrie's lips captured mine, tipping my head back in a deep, sultry kiss as he dipped me lower.

I whimpered as his lips left mine, and he lifted me upright again before turning me in a complex series of steps that had me completely flustered and standing on his toes.

"I thought blind people were supposed to have excellent hearing," Morrie said, because he knew it would annoy me.

"That's a myth, and you know it. Our hearing doesn't magically become superhuman because we lose our sight. We just become more aware of sound. And right now, I'm aware of you being a prat?—"

My words cut off as Heathcliff and Quoth pressed themselves against me, their limbs tangling around me.

The three of them held me, turning me around the room with such speed and grace that all I could do was follow where they led. As they spun me, their lips took turns to graze my cheeks, my forehead, my collarbone, until my skin was alight with their caresses and the pulse of the music hummed in my veins.

I imagined us dancing like this on our wedding, all my friends and family watching…

Watching…

Raw panic gripped me, making me stop in my tracks and sending Heathcliff toppling heavily to the floor.

All our wedding guests were invited to the book launch, which I just canceled.

They'd spend the whole wedding asking what happened, and when they watched me dancing, they would whisper that Mina Wilde thought she could be a writer, but how foolish was she?

They would know that I'd failed. Again.

"I can't do this." I gripped Quoth's arm as Heathcliff staggered to his feet.

"You were dancing perfectly fine a moment ago," Morrie pointed out.

"Mina, what is it?" Quoth squeezed my hand.

"It's…" I glanced over my shoulder, which was silly, because no one was there, but I could already feel their pitying eyes on me. "I can't dance in front of everyone at the wedding."

"Don't worry, we won't let you trip," Heathcliff murmured, wrapping a reassuringly heavy arm around my middle.

"It's not that." I leaned back against Quoth's shoulder, shrugging out of Heathcliff's grip. "Everyone is going to know that I'm a failure."

"You're not a failure, Mina." Quoth brushed his lips against the top of my head. "Mina canceled her book launch."

"Gorgeous, no. Why did you do that?" Morrie's voice sounded unusually sincere.

"Because I didn't get a single book person interested in my novel. I don't want to put this book out in the world if it's not ready or it's not what people want to read. So I have to keep working." I swallowed down the lump of disappointment. "It's fine. I will keep plugging away at this book until it's perfect. But when I go to the wedding, everyone will know why I canceled. They'll talk about it, about how I was silly for even thinking I could write a book, about how I lost my dream job and now I can't even do this right. They'll laugh at me. They'll pity me."

"No one pities you," Heathcliff growled. "I'll have them slowly pecked to death by angry geese if they ever dared."

I smiled through the tears. "I'm so sorry. Here you three are, bending over backwards to make this a perfect wedding for me, taking dancing lessons, and I can't get out of my own head enough to appreciate it. I feel awful. But there are going to be so many people at the reception, and they will all know that I've failed, and I…"

"No one has to watch you if you don't want them to," Quoth said, his voice dark with determination.

Before I could protest, something warm and feathery grazed my cheek. Quoth spun me around and pressed me against his body, chest to chest, his heart racing against mine.

His body swayed to the music as he jerked a little, holding me tighter. With my head pressed against his chest, I could hear his bones snapping, remaking themselves as a warm blanket settled around my body.

What's going on?

It's as if he's shifting, but I'm still holding him, and there's a warm blanket wrapped around us both…

But how?

The blanket over me rustled, and another feather grazed my arm.

Feathers.

I gasped.

Quoth had enveloped me in his wings.

"What is happening?" I whispered as we kept on swaying. Inside his wings, the music was muffled, the air in the room pressed in tight by his wings.

"It's a new trick I learned." Quoth sounded so proud. "I can unfurl my wings without transforming completely. It means that they come out Quoth-sized instead of raven-sized."

I rested my cheek against the soft feathers, feeling the membrane beneath them shift as Quoth moved his body in time to the music. Cocooned inside his wings, I felt safe. Nothing could get me in here, neither judgment nor pity.

I let out the breath I'd been holding. "Quoth, this is…"

"If you don't want to dance in front of everyone, you don't have to," he whispered. "But I wish I could show you what you are to me. Mina, you are amazing. You wrote a book. Who cares what a bunch of literary snobs think about it?"

"I do," I sniffed. "And I don't know why."

"I think I do," he said, but he didn't elaborate. He only squeezed me tighter.