“Mr. Simson left that for me. He said I’d enjoy it.” Heathcliff stretched out his leg to demonstrate how the hole in the screen exactly corresponded to the toe of his boot. “He was wrong.”
My pocket buzzed again. I removed my phone and turned it off. Quoth raised an eyebrow at me.
Morrie held up the letter. “Can I hold on to this? I’ll do some investigation and see what we can find out. But it won’t be tonight, not if you’re staying.”
“She’s not staying,” Quoth said quietly. “I’ll walk you home, Mina.”
“You don’t speak for her, little birdie.”
“Neither do you. And Quoth’s right. I’m not staying. But I’m not going back to my flat, either. Jo and I are having a sleepover.” I lifted my rucksack from behind the chair. “I should get going. She’s waiting for me.”
“Why go to Jo’s when I’m here?” Morrie pouted.
Because you’re being a wanker and I need to not be around you right now. Also, because when you’re not a wanker, you’re a beautiful distraction, but I can’t have what happened last night happen again, not with this letter in my hands. “I just need some girl time, is all.”
“But I need you…” Morrie’s eyes darted to his computer, where Lydia was gyrating against his webcam.
“Have fun with Lydia and Ahmed!” I pecked him on the cheek. Heathcliff wrapped me in a bone-crushing hug, stealing a kiss that left me breathless. Quoth followed me down the stairs.
“Why aren’t you going home?” he whispered as he helped me into my coat.
“You know why.”
“You’re avoiding the guys and ignoring your mother.” Fire flickered in Quoth’s eyes. “You’re going to have to ask her about the letter. And your eyes.”
“I know.”
“What if the blood Victoria was talking about is hers—”
“I know!” I pulled my wool beanie down over my ears. “Trust me, I know. But not now. Not tonight.”
“Why are you avoiding dealing with this? I thought you wanted nothing more than to solve the mystery of Nevermore.”
“That was before I knew my father was involved.”
“Why does that change things?”
“Because… because it just does!”
Quoth winced. Remorse shot through me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. This letter has turned my head upside down. And Morrie’s being a cock and I just…”
Quoth leaned in and brushed his lips against mine. “I wish I understood. You sure you don’t just want to stay here? We could watch the stars through the attic window.”
The thought of snuggling up with Quoth made my stomach flip, but I shook my head. “That sounds amazing, but I can’t. I need to think, and I can’t do that if I’m with any of you. You turn my head all mushy.”
“You still want me to come with you in the morning?”
“What’s in the morning? Oh.”
My heart dropped like a stone.
In the morning.
I’d completely forgotten.
In the chaos of the letter and Lydia and the Jewel Thief and the Jane Austen Experience, it had slipped my mind that I made an appointment with a new ophthalmologist in nearby Barchester General Hospital. She was going to run tests on my eyes and hopefully give me a clue as to how fast I could expect to lose my vision now that I was seeing random neon lights. Only Quoth knew about it because I asked him to come with me. It was the whole reason I was staying at Jo’s that night. The appointment was first thing in the morning and I didn’t want Mum or the guys to ask questions.
Shit shit shit. On top of everything else, I had to face the news of my impending blindness. Great.
I squeezed Quoth’s hand. “Yes, please come with me.”
His hands felt warm even through my woolen gloves. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against my forehead. “It’s going to be okay, Mina.”
I almost believed him.
Chapter Seven
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay in the hospital?” I asked Quoth for the fiftieth time as our rideshare joined the dual carriageway heading down to Barchester. “It’s a big place, and there’ll be lots of people and weird beeping machines.”
Quoth leaned across the backseat and squeezed my hand. “You’ll be there, and that’s all that matters. Stop asking me if I’m okay. That’s supposed to be my job. Are you okay?”
I swallowed hard. Worrying about Quoth accidentally shifting in public was distracting me from the true purpose of our little excursion. I didn’t want to think about it.
“I’m fine. Better when I’m not talking about it. How’s Morrie coping with his new friend?”
“When I flew down this morning, he was huddled on the chaise lounge under the window. I think he got kicked out of his bed. Lydia bounced down after me. I left as she was measuring him for his wedding top hat.”
The driver pulled up in front of a gleaming hospital. I hadn’t been inside Barchester General since I was in high school and I broke my arm in the mosh pit at a local punk show. My initial diagnosis of retinitis pigmentosa came from an ophthalmologist in New York City, but since I didn’t have two quid to rub together (hilariously, being a bookshop assistant paid even less than my fashion internship), going back to him was out of the question. My new specialist’s office informed me that all my records had been successfully moved over.
Now there was nothing to do but face my doom.
My fingers curled around the edge of the seat. Quoth ran around the side of the car and opened the door for me. He took my hand. “You look like you’re heading to the gallows.”
“Maybe I am.”
“You’ve already had one shock this week,” he said. “If you want to go home and leave this for another day, I understand.”
My father’s letter flashed in front of my eyes. All night I stared at the ceiling in Jo’s flat, the words running over and over again, mingling with my fear of losing my sight. Twice last night I’d seen the floating neon lights, in lurid shades of pink and green. I couldn’t deal with that right now, but I had to deal with this.
I shook my head. “Don’t give me the option of turning this car around, because I’ll take it. I have to do this. Half the fear I have is the not-knowing. When I know, I can face it.”
Quoth nodded. He understood that better than anyone. Nothing in Quoth’s life had been defined. While Morrie and Heathcliff at least had memories from their book lives to turn to, Quoth had nothing but trochaic octameter, which was the least useful of all the poetic meters.
Quoth’s hand gripped mine as we made our way to the ophthalmologist’s clinic. A chirpy nurse behind the desk gave me a form to fill out and told me to take a seat. I scribbled some nonsense of the form and flipped through a fashion magazine while we waited for my name to be called. Marcus Ribald’s latest collection splashed across the cover. Seeing it felt weird, like another lifetime.
I tugged at the hem of the oversized Misfits shirt I’d made into a bodycon dress. After meeting the guys and learning about the book trade and solving two murders, I hadn’t thought about fashion in over a month.
“Mina Wilde, Dr. Clements will see you now.”
I stood up, steadying myself against the wall as my legs shook. Quoth rose too, turning toward me. He slipped his hand in mine and flashed me a beautiful, sad smile. I drew strength from his gentle kindness and forced my feet to move forward. We shuffled into a bright corner office overlooking the parking lot and a public garden beyond. The walls were covered with old black-and-white movie posters and vintage LPs. In the corner stood a black birdcage, where a cockatoo hopped along a perch.
Beside me, Quoth stiffened. I glanced at him in concern. Would he be able to remain in human form with another bird so close by? His jaw set hard. He gave a slight nod of his head and shuffled closer to me.
Dr. Clements stood to greet me. She was younger than I expected, with a friendly smile and head of layered red hair shot with bright pink streaks. I liked her immed
iately.
“Hello, Wilhelmina.”
“It’s Mina.” I pointed to a poster from the 1933 Dracula film that hung on the wall behind her. “Like Mina Harker. And this is my friend, Quoth. His parents were goths.”
“Mina and Quoth, it’s a pleasure to meet both of you.” She patted the chair beside her. “Have a seat. I’ve read your files from your New York specialist. It looks as though you’ve had all the usual diagnostic tests. I’m assuming you wanted to see me because there’s been some change in your vision.”
I squeezed Quoth’s hand. “I’m seeing these explosions of light,” I said. My voice sounded odd, hollow, as though I was listening to it from far away. I detached myself from the words I spoke, my consciousness to hovering above my body, so I looked over my own shoulder while I described my vision. It felt surreal, as though I spoke about some other person. “They look like fireworks or neon lights. They seem to happen when I’m particularly emotional or… or…”
In the middle of sex with one or more of my three fictional boyfriends, but I couldn’t exactly say that.
“Did Dr. Phillips explain to you about the typical stages of your type of RP?”
“A little bit.” Behind Dr. Clements, the cockatoo pecked at its feeder, squawking as it drew out a berry. Quoth’s fingers tightened against mine, but he remained still and human beside me.
“Your retina is a layer of light-sensitive tissue lining the back of your eye – they convert light into electrical signals that make their way to the brain, giving you an image. As the cells in the retina deteriorate, your brain attempts to create its own image to explain why it’s not getting signals any longer. That’s what you’re seeing.”
“Dr. Phillips explained that I might see lights or random shapes in the future, but he said it wouldn’t be for years.”
“That’s correct. I’d like to take a look at your eyes today, and we might be able to get a better idea of the rate of deterioration.” Dr. Clements wheeled over a diagnostic machine and took me through a series of tests. I studied graphs and arranged colors and looked at blinking lights. Quoth held my hand the entire time.
Back at her desk, Dr. Clements opened a drawer and offered me a Cadbury chocolate bar. I accepted it, peeling back the wrapper and shoving half the bar into my mouth. I offered the rest to Quoth, but he shook his head. While I chewed, Dr. Clements studied the screen. “I’m just looking at your results, Mina. What I’m seeing shows that the rate of deterioration on the retina has increased faster than Dr. Phillips predicted. This isn’t uncommon, as the deterioration can slow down or speed up during any stage, and we don’t know what triggers these changes.”
I nodded, my mouth too full of chocolate to speak. Chew, chew, chew. My stomach churned in knots.
“From this point, it’s very hard to give you an exact timeline. Every person is different. But you are progressing more rapidly than we’d usually expect.”
I swallowed, the chocolate sinking to my stomach like a stone. “Can you take a stab at a timeline? How long before I go completely blind?”
“With your particular strain of RP, you may never go completely blind,” she said. “I’ve seen many patients who’ve retained some central vision. You will almost certainly retain light sensitivity. But I think over the next eighteen months you could expect your peripheral vision to recede further and you’ll see more of these fireworks.”
Eighteen months.
Numbness shot through my body. My temples screamed, as though my head had been dunked in ice water. Quoth’s hand squeezed mine, but I barely registered his touch.
Eighteen months.
The only single bright side in this whole mess was that I was supposed to have years. ‘At least five years’, Dr. Philip had said. Five years to deal with the trauma and come to terms with being blind and learn how to read Braille and find a pair of dark sunglasses that suited my face and whatever else I had to do.
Now even that had been taken away from me. Eighteen months. Icy panic gripped my chest. What was I going to do? I wasn’t ready. I didn’t have a plan. I was hanging out in a bookshop and fooling around with three guys and getting mixed up in murders and meeting Lydia Bennet. In eighteen months time, I wouldn’t even be able to read Pride and Prejudice, let alone sell it to a customer. How will I count money for the till? How will I list books on The-Store-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named?
How will I see the iridescent colors in Quoth’s hair as it captures the light, or know when his feelings change because of the orange fire dancing in his eyes? How will I continue to learn chess so I can kick Morrie’s smug arse? How will my whole body shudder with ecstasy when Heathcliff locks his gaze on mine?
Quoth winced. I stared down at my lap, noticing with an odd detachment that I’d crushed his fingers so much the tips were turning white.
“I’m sorry.” Dr. Clements’ leaned across her desk, her eyes wide and open and sad. “It’s the worst part of my job, telling people shitty news, especially patients as young and with as good a taste in music and movies as you. I’m glad you have a friend here to support you. I don’t want to give you platitudes while you digest this news, but I think it’s important you know that all my patients diagnosed around your age go on to live full and happy lives. Every single one. RP does not have to hold you back.”
“Okay.” I heard her words, but behind the pounding chorus of doom in my head, they meant nothing. Eighteen months. I’ve only got eighteen months…
Dr. Clements leant against her hand. “I don’t want to overwhelm you, but have you thought about your adaptive needs?”
“What’s that?”
“There are new skills you’ll need to learn in order to continue being independent and doing the things you enjoy. You don’t need sight to lead a full and happy life. There are tools and support systems designed to help.” She slid a stack of pamphlets across the table to me. “This explains some of the adaptations and support you’ll need to consider. You’re rubbing your temple. Do you get migraines?”
“Sometimes.” I dropped my hand from my face.
“That’s common as well. Your brain and eyes strain to make use of the available light.” She scribbled a prescription on her pad and handed it to me. “These painkillers will help. Be careful not to take more than the recommended dose, as they can become addictive. I can help you with whatever you need.” Her pen poised above the pad. “That includes coping with the emotional impact of losing your sight. I’m happy to give you a referral to talk to someone.”
Isis’ tits, nope. “I’m fine. I don’t need a psychologist.”
“Are you sure? Many of my patients find it useful to talk to someone.”
I nodded, standing up. Quoth’s arm jerked as I pulled him up alongside me. “Yes. I… thank you very much, Dr. Clements. I’ve got to go. I have to get back to my job.”
“Of course. Come back to me whenever you want. I’m happy to take another look at your eyes and help you with anything you need.” She held out her hand to me. I stared at it, my brain shouting at my body that I was supposed to shake it. My hands remained at my sides, my fingers curled into a fist, crushing Quoth under my grip. I blinked, turned away, dropped Quoth’s hand, and fled into the hall.
“Mina, Mina. Slow down.” Quoth ran after me as I fled the hospital.
“I’m fine.” I jabbed at my phone app to call a driver. “It’s all fine.”
“That’s not what your expression says.” Soft fingers touched under my chin, turning my face. Quoth’s eyes bore into mine, the irises ringed with fire. “Mina, you’re absolutely crushed.”
His voice croaked. My shoulders sagged. I sank against his body, resting my head against his chest. His arms went around my shoulders. “I am,” I whispered.
Quoth’s heart thudded in his chest. I focused on the beat, synching my breathing with his, allowing his realness to bring me back from the brink. Yes, I would be blind in eighteen months, but these arms would still be there when I needed them, this heart would still
be beating. And that filled me with the certainty I needed to hold back my pain.
A car pulled up, and the driver honked the horn. Reluctantly, I slid out of Quoth’s embrace and got into the backseat. He climbed in beside me, his hand seeking mine again.
“You should consider talking to the psychologist,” Quoth said. He didn’t look at me.
“Why? It’s a shock, but I’ve accepted it and I’m fine. Besides, if I need to talk to someone, I’ve got you.”
“Are you sure? You’ve dealt with a lot these past few months, what with seeing Ashley dead, and Mrs. Scarlett and Ginny Button, and finding Mr. Winstone’s body, and now your father’s letter—”
“I’m fine.” I plastered a smile on my face. “Hey, I just realized, you survived that entire hospital visit without changing, even with Dr. Clements’ bird in the corner.”
“Yeah.” Quoth flashed me a brilliant smile. “You’re good for me, Mina Wilde.”
“And you’re good for me, Quoth the Raven.”
As the car pulled over in front of the village green, my phone beeped. It was a text message from Mum, demanding to know why I hadn’t come home for a second night in a row. I tossed it on the seat without replying.
“You should talk to her,” Quoth said.
“Of course I should. But I’m in a shite mood and I don’t want to.”
“She’s the only family you’ve got.”
“She’s not my only family anymore, since apparently my father writes to me now, in addition to being a small-time crook and a time-traveling Lothario.”
“Until you speak to your mother, you’re not going to get any answers about that letter. She cares about you, and she’s worried.”
I glared at Quoth. He was right, and I was pissed at him for it. He probably longed to have a meddling mother who constantly tried to ruin his life.
Pride and Premeditation Page 5