23. Quoth

Mina and I were hanging out in Nevermore Gallery – I was hanging a new exhibition of local watercolors, and she was sitting on a stool, listening to an audiobook – when the cat door clattered. Grimalkin sauntered in, tail high in the air, looking rather pleased with herself.

"Well?" I demanded, setting down the painting of ducks beside the King's Cross stream and hitting PAUSE on the book. "Did you find Hercules?"

Grimalkin sat her ass down on the rug, facing deliberately away from us, and licked her paw.

"Grandmother," Mina said.

Lick, lick, lick.

Mina sighed. She grabbed her purse from beside her stool, pulled out a can, and slid it across the floor. "Open it yourself, Grandmother."

Grimalkin forced her shift. Her black fur retracted into her skin, her slinky legs elongating, bones cracking in new directions as her sleek cat figure transformed into an even sleeker and rather naked human.

I turned away just as she hooked a long finger through the tab on the salmon can. "This isn't the one with lemon pepper," she scolded Mina. I heard the can pop. "You know that I like the one with lemon pepper."

"Just tell us what you saw, Grimalkin."

"Humans, so impatient." Grimalkin made happy chewing sounds. "You really need to learn how to stop and smell the roses?—"

"Don't make me turn on the vacuum cleaner."

"Fine, fine. Hercules is not the cat you're looking for. He said that he's been eyeing up that duck for months, but James Pond bit his tail through the mesh of the cage once when he got too close, so he decided it wasn't worth the trouble."

Mina sighed again. "What about another cat? Maybe that handsome fellow who's been hanging around?—"

Grimalkin's voice was ice. "My Minnaloushe is not your duck-napper. I would have smelled duck on his breath, and inquired as to why he hadn't shared with me. I took the liberty of asking around the scent trails for your walking dinner, but none of the local cats are claiming the kill. Mr. Muffins said that something must be going on with the local ducks, because he used to chase a duck family that lived beside the Kings' Copse stream, but they seem to have disappeared. He said you could try talking to the ducks that live on the pond at the Lachlan estate, maybe they could tell you what's going on. Now, unless you have more manual labour you plan to subject me to, I have a hot date with this salmon."

Grimalkin made a purring noise as she slurped at the tin with her tongue. I took Mina's hand and led her into the art studio so we didn't have to watch her naked grandmother demolish her prize. As soon as I closed the studio partition behind us, Mina threw herself down on the paint-splattered sofa.

"It's no use." Mina buried her face into a cushion. "I'm out of ideas. I think James Pond is gone forever. I couldn't even find a bloody missing duck."

I knelt down beside her, my fingers trailing a pattern of swirls over her back, something that usually calms her. "Mina, what's wrong? You don't sound like yourself. It's not like you to give up."

"What choice do I have? I've ruled out my chief suspects. I have to face it, Quoth, I thought I was good at solving mysteries, but I think I've just got lucky so far. I mean, with Angus Donahue, I didn't figure it out until he put the scarf around my neck, and with Brenda Winstone, I just happened to smell her husband's body in the linen cupboard…I'm useless at detective work. I'm useless at everything."

Her shoulders trembled, and my heart turned to lead in my chest. I knew this wasn't really about James Pond. Mina was still upset about her book launch.

The beautiful, confident woman who'd captured my soul was retreating into herself, exactly the way I used to do. I'd hide up in my attic, painting canvas after canvas while staring out the window and wishing fervently that I was someone else, someone normal, someone who didn't suffer this affliction that kept me apart.

Mina taught me that I didn't have to hide away, that I could find a place in the world where people loved and appreciated me, just as I am. I could be different without being apart. She'd been the one to encourage me to sell my artwork and sign up for art school, even as she was dealing with the fallout of her diagnosis.

My girl had worked so hard not to feel apart because of her vision, and when Jen said those things to her, and not one of her book people RSVPed, it made her feel apart again. Sometimes, we think that our scars have healed over, and then one tiny action tears them open once more, as raw and bloody as the first time we were cut.

Mina was bleeding in front of me, and this time, I knew what I had to do to help her. I knew, because it was exactly what she did to help me.

I needed to make her see herself again.

"I can't remember the last time you were in my studio," I said, slowly running my fingers in wide circles over her back, down her bare shoulders and arms.

"Probably before you kicked me out so you could do all your secret wedding stuff." She let out a single laugh, but there was no humor in it.

"True. But I don't have any secrets here anymore. I'm working on something new. A masterpiece. I want to show you." I slotted my finger into hers and tugged, encouraging her to sit up.

Mina knelt back on her knees, and I leaned in, running my fingertips along the back of her exposed neck. Goosebumps prickled from my touch as she shivered.

Catching her gasp on my lips, I kissed her slowly, deeply. I tried to use my body to show her how beautiful she was. How much she deserved to be worshiped. No matter what happened with her book, she was incredible to me.

Mina's tongue met mine in a delicious dance, and when she moaned into my mouth, I couldn't hold back my groan. My cock came to life beneath my trousers, but this wasn't about me. I had to show her. I had to make her see what I saw in her, what she meant to me and Heathcliff and Morrie and everyone whose life she touched with her brightness.

I grabbed the hem of her vest and tugged it over her head, exposing her pale skin and the exquisite curve of her stomach. I broke our kiss to trail my tongue along her collarbone and kiss over the curve of her breasts as I removed her bra.

As much as I wanted to take her right there, I drew back. My lips stung, begging to return to hers. And it didn't help when she looked the way she did, her eyes all inky and drunk, her hair tousled and plastered to her cheek.

"What about that artwork you were going to show me?" Her words came out breathy as she raised herself on her knees, chasing the heat of our kiss.

"She's right here." I picked her up beneath the arms and lifted her.

"Hey!" Mina yelped as I carried her over to my easel and set her feet on the floor. I knelt in front of her, my fingers undoing the buttons on her black wide-leg trousers, sending them and her knickers toppling to the floor.

Mina Wilde stood before me, beautiful in her skin, so perfect I had to bite my lip to keep from wanting to cry.

My muse. My fiancée. And today, my canvas.

I stepped back, adjusting myself as I rummaged through my brushes for a clean one.

"This is some Morrie-level dirty trick, leaving me here after that kiss," Mina pouted.

Once I found a clean brush and swirled it in an emerald green that reminded me of her eyes, I whirled back to her, crouching down and breathing along the bare skin of her leg, watching the goosebumps prickle.

Mina didn't say anything, but her breathing picked up as I slowly dragged the brush from

her ankle up to her knee, painting everything she was to me.

"Every time I sit down to paint in this studio, I remember the first time you came to my room in the attic. The first time you truly saw me. You were so taken with my artwork that you didn't even notice me at first, sitting on the bed with a beak and black feathered wings retracting into my back."

I punctuated each word, swirling the brush down her kneecap and then up to her thigh, watching her legs tremble under my touch.

"And when you looked at me, you didn't freak out or scream or run away. Well, you did a little freak-out. But you looked as if…as if everything in your life had suddenly fallen into place. As if my strangeness somehow made me relatable to you. Knowable. You don't know how long I wished for that."

"Haven't you heard?" she said ruefully, her voice trembling a little as I continued my path with the brush. "I'm not relatable."

"You are to me."

I wiped the paint off the brush and washed it, returning to her with clean bristles. Pushing her legs apart, I traced the brush up her bare thighs, relishing in the way she shivered under my touch.

"Quoth, you forget that I've seen your paintings. Even now, the memory of your colors and lines is imprinted in my mind. You are an objectively incredible artist. You've spent years honing your gift, and all you needed was a little confidence to put your work out in the world." Her words wavered as I dragged the brush over her pussy, circling it around her clit. "But I'm…I'm no writer. I thought this was what I was supposed to do, the creative path that called me now that I'm done with the fashion world, but I was wrong. I'm supposed to run the bookshop and that's it. I should be happy with that."

"You're an objectively good writer, Mina. Take it from someone who is borne of literature. Everything I am is words on a page – a dream within a dream. I know of which I speak. But objectivity matters little in a creative pursuit. I know this, too. My creator toiled for his whole life for critical recognition of his work, and received it only after his death. In Poe's obituary in the New York Tribune, a critic named Rufus Griswold wrote that ‘few will be grieved' by his death. I thought that was my path, too. On the path to being a working artist, you will encounter more critics than heralds. Every critique stings. Every review flays open your skin and lays your organs bare for the vultures to feed upon." I pressed the brush against her, listening to the delicious sound she made. "But if you have something to say about the world, you have to keep going despite the open wounds, because someone out there needs to hear it."

"Quoth, I…"

Her legs trembled as I moved the brush to tease her entrance, before returning to circle her clit.

"You say my work is objectively good. I don't see how. I never saw my work as anything special or worthwhile. But you did, Mina. Everything I've created since has been because of you. Sometimes, it takes someone else to really see the beauty in our creations. You might not see the beauty in your words, but I do. Just like my artwork, sometimes it takes someone else to really help us see it."

She shook her head. "I don't think it's really the same."

"What can I do to convince you?" I asked, slowly swirling my paintbrush over her damp panties.

She let out a shaky breath. "Quoth."

"Mina."

I said her name like a prayer, leaning closer so that my words would fall between her legs.

"Do you know how beautiful you are?"

She shuddered as I kissed her mound.

"Not just your body. But your soul. The way you see people for who they really are. It's what makes you a great amateur detective, bookstore owner, writer, and an even better friend. You make people feel welcome and loved and interesting. Being near you is like being bathed in sunlight."

She swallowed hard, and when she didn't respond, I laved my tongue over her clit and relished in her shivering thighs around me. "See? So beautiful."

Tasting her was sweeter than the wedding cake that the saboteur destroyed, but I wanted more than just to have her come on my tongue. I wanted all of the beautiful woman I'd fallen in love with. I wanted her to know how amazing she was and exactly how she deserved to be worshiped.

If my words wouldn't get her, maybe my actions would.

Mina's hands went to my head. Her fingers tangled through my hair, pulling it loose of its ribbon as I wrapped my lips over her wanting clit, sucking on the hardened nub before returning to laving it with the flat of my tongue.

Her little moans filled the air as she bucked her hips to meet my tongue. But I wasn't going

to let her come yet.

I pulled my lips away, kissing a trail down her thigh before pulling back.

"Tell me that you know you're amazing. Tell me that your words have value."

"Quoth," she breathed.

"Tell me, or I'm not going to let you come," I said with a laugh, kissing the back of her knee, her calves, anywhere but where she wanted it.

Fuck, if my cock wasn't already aching, now it was straining against my trousers, begging to

be buried deep inside her.

But I needed to take it slow. I needed her to understand the beauty in being an artist and being raw and vulnerable to the world.

"Quoth…"

"Say it."

"I'm amazing," she muttered.

"Nope, that doesn't count. I need you to say it louder. Shout it," I said, gazing up at her. Her pretty pink nipples stared back at me, and I wanted to taste them.

But I held back, gripping onto her knees.

"Say it, Mina."

"I'm amazing," she said with a laugh as she tilted her head back. "This is ridiculous."

"No." I brushed my lips over her clit again. "It's not ridiculous. Say the rest of it."

"I'm amazing! I'm amazing and my words have value!" she screamed as I sucked her clit into my mouth.

She came apart around me, her hands gripping my shoulders and her knees digging into me as she slumped forward. Her legs clamped around my head as she rode out her orgasm. I tasted her sweetness on my tongue, and I didn't want to eat or drink anything else ever again. She sated me in a way that food never could.

"See, that wasn't so hard, was it?" I asked, getting to my feet and taking her lips in mine.

I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her against me, wishing I could get closer still, that I could crawl inside her skin and push out all those bad feelings and doubts she had about herself.

Mina's kisses were desperate, pleading, as she tugged apart the buttons on my shirt, forcing me out of my clothes so she could press her naked body against mine. Our skin sizzled and burned where we touched – rows of fire ants dancing conga lines across our bodies.

Picking Mina up around the waist, I laid her down on the table, never breaking our kiss. My hands roamed over her body, my fingers dragging over her nipples until she bit down on my tongue with need.

When I couldn't take any more and I thought my body would implode from wanting her, I pulled back and lined myself up against her entrance, the head of my cock teasing her as she thrust her hips against me, trying to drive me inside her.

"Tell me that you know you're beautiful, inside and out."

"Quoth," she said again with a laugh. "You have been hanging around Morrie too long."

"Tell me, please," I begged, my cock jerking with need of her. She angled her hips, trying to get me to give in, but I wouldn't do it. "Tell me, Mina. You're tearing me apart."

"I'm beautiful inside and out, and so are you." She let out a deep breath as I slid

inside her.

She felt amazing, her warmth squeezing around me. She gripped onto my back as I thrust inside her and claimed her lips in a hungry kiss.

"You're so beautiful, Mina. Not just your eyes and your hair and your mind, but your soul," I whispered against her lips before leaving a trail of kisses on the tip of her nose, over her cheek, and down her neck.

Mina's pulse raced against mine. Her hands scrambled against the table, knocking brushes and palettes onto the floor.

Gripping onto the sides of her face, I met her heated gaze. "I mean it, Mina. You're

beautiful. You deserve to be worshiped and to bare your soul for the world."

A single tear fell from her eye, and I wiped it away. "Don't cry, please. I don't want to make you cry."

She tightened around me, her chest rising with her ragged breath. "I'm not crying because I'm sad; it's because of how you make me feel. It's…" she sighed, her eyes closing slowly then opening again. "Beautiful, I guess."

"There is no exquisite beauty without some strangeness in the proportions," I said seriously. "Someone told me that once."

Mina laughed, but her breath caught in her throat as she gripped onto my waist, her hips

meeting mine.

"You're so beautiful," I whispered again, thrusting hard and relishing the way her body fit so perfectly in mine.

"So. Beautiful." I punctuated my words with each thrust as little whimpers left her lips.

Mina gripped hard onto my waist as her body shook around me, my name spilling from her

lips as she came apart for me. It didn't take too long for me to follow, spilling into her with a fierceness that made red dots dance in front of my eyes.

Brushes rolled off the table as I collapsed against her chest, holding her to me, never wanting to let her go. We didn't say anything for a while; we just lay together, our hearts beating together, our breath kissing each other's lips.

I studied her eyes. Mina's eyes were still a window into her soul, and right now, her soul was more at peace than it had been in a long time. Maybe I didn't wholly convince her that her work was as valuable as she was, but at least it was a start?—

I remembered something. "Why don't we ask Marjorie?"

"Your art teacher?" Mina blinked, trying to follow my line of thinking. "What are we asking her about?"

"She has two pet ducks. With all the wedding plans, I'd completely forgotten about it. Maybe she could give us some insight about James Pond?—"

"That's perfect." Mina's face lit up, her mind already whirring with another potential lead. "Let's go talk to her right now!"

We cleaned up the studio and ourselves, and I called an Uber while Mina brushed out her long hair and made herself ‘presentable' – which is ridiculous, because Mina always looked stunning, but also because Marjorie was also blind. But I know that Mina admired Marjorie greatly – she helped Mina a lot with adaptations when she started to rapidly lose her sight.

I went downstairs to wait for the car to arrive. As I opened the door to the shop, I noticed something pinned to the door. A note.

I unfolded it, my heart stuttering as I saw the same glued letters that had been on the others:

HOW WILL YOU GET MARRIED WITHOUT A CELEbrANT

YOU DESTROYED MY ONE CHANCE OF HAPPINESS. I WON'T LET YOU HAVE A HAPPILY-EVER-AFTER.