Liam Davis & The Raven Read online

  With studded breaths, I hobbled back into my room and jerked on my linen pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt, the difference between a cat and a comma showcased on the front.

  Perhaps Quinn might find it informative.

  A wave of dizziness washed over me and I fought through it. I would not get sick. Not today. It would have to wait for the weekend.

  The hairdryer seemed only to pump cool air, so I switched to scrubbing with a towel.

  My phone beeped, and I checked the calendar update. I had to attend three classes and the weekly Scribe meeting. A glance at my watch said I was going to be late.

  Shrugging my bag over my shoulder, I straggled into the kitchen, where Quinn was standing in his flannel pajama pants, tank-top, and worn gray slippers with his back against the counter listening to the radio as he shoveled cereal into his mouth.

  “Morning,” he said, sliding to the side as I filled a glass with water to soothe my dry throat. I took a sip and winced. Swallowing would not be fun today.

  “You’re looking a little flushed this morning,” Quinn said, scraping the bowl clean.

  I convulsed in another shiver and resettled my bag strap higher on my shoulder. “Flushed? It’s freezing in here.” I grabbed an orange from the fruit bowl. Behind me came the clatter of dishes. “Right,” I said. “Bye.”

  A hand gripped my elbow, and Quinn coaxed me around. I dropped the orange to the counter and yielded, chasing after the warmth of that touch.

  Quinn’s mouth firmed into a thin line as he pressed a palm to my forehead. His gaze dropped to mine. “Yeah, you’re not going anywhere.”

  “I’ll be okay. I can hold off whatever this is until tomorrow.”

  Quinn pulled at my bag strap and my load lightened. Quinn chucked it over his shoulder and steered me around. “Back to bed.”

  “I really need to get to class—”

  “You really need to get to bed. No arguing. Keep walking, or I will carry you there.”

  I feebly attempted to brush him off, but the fever took over, deciding Quinn’s plans of snuggling back into bed were far superior to mine.

  “Maybe just for an hour,” I conceded. I would pump down a few painkillers and when they kicked in, I would make it to my second class.

  Quinn laughed as he peeled back my sheets.

  I collapsed onto the bed and let him tuck me in. He molded the covers around me, firmly pressing them to my sides, and then ducked out of my room only to return with more blankets.

  They smelled faintly of Quinn. Quinn right after a shower, a mix of Axe and cashmere shampoo. “Have you washed these since you got sick?”

  “Of course you’d ask that.” He pinched my foot on his way out. “Yesterday.”

  “You must have slept with them since then. They have your scent.”

  He paused at the door. “Does that bother you?”

  “It might have a couple weeks ago, but your smell has grown on me. I’ll tell you when I’m sick of it.”

  I thought that was it, that Quinn would go off and do whatever he had to do. But he didn’t. Throughout the delirium of my fever, he brought me cups of hot tea, hot water bottles, and hot chicken broth.

  After I’d sweated through the first bout, he pulled me out of bed with cool hands. “Time to take off that funny shirt of yours and hop into the shower.”

  I pinched the sweaty comma-cat T-shirt from my skin, a flutter of cool air skittering over my chest. “It’s not just funny. It’s true.”

  Grabbing a fistful of material at the back, I pried the thing off me and it sounded like Velcro being ripped apart. Positively nasty.

  Quinn scrunched his nose. “Dump it on the bed and go wash.”

  The last of the fever followed his orders, and I came back to a freshly-made bed and comfortable clothes to climb into.

  “So much for working,” I told myself as I greedily climbed back into bed. I slapped a hand toward my bedside table, feeling for my phone. At least I’d give Hannah some notice that I wouldn’t be at the meeting today.

  “You’re not the only one missing the meeting,” Hannah said, lowering her voice. “I overheard Jill telling the chief that Jack had to visit his brother in the prison infirmary. Apparently he got hurt pretty badly. But don’t worry about the politics page. Chief said something about asking you, but I’d be totally happy to help out. You just get yourself better.”

  I groaned again. Why did I have to be sick the week I had the opportunity to write something good? I murmured a goodbye, hung up and curled an arm over my forehead.

  That’s when Quinn poked his head around my door. “Just gonna hurry to the laundry room so I can dry these. When I come back, we’re watching a movie.”

  True to his word, when returned he set his laptop on the end of the bed and turned on Batman.

  Watching the vigilantes reap justice had me dreaming of my own vigilante. I sank against the mountain of pillows at my back and pulled the blankets up to my chin.

  That cold itch was coming back. “I’m glad for The Raven,” I suddenly said. “For that night. He saved me. I want to do the same for him.”

  “If he wears a hood to protect his identity, I’d say he doesn’t want to be found.”

  I shivered, twisting onto my side, my arms and feet stretching toward Quinn’s side of the bed, searching for warmth. He sensed the change and shuffled closer, gently tucking the blankets tightly to my sides.

  Through chattering teeth, I asked, “Was this what I should have done when you were sick?”

  His profile, layered in colored light from the small screen, tilted toward me. “Nah, you did just fine.”

  I shut my eyes, straining to feel more warmth than just those words. “Two more questions, Quinn. Did you have any pets? And, when is your birthday?”

  CHAPTER 10

  Beeswax and booze and fake blood. Lots of fake blood. A mixture of wealth and boredom decorated the mansion.

  I took a deep breath, rearranging the cowl on the knight costume Quinn had thought all three of us guys should wear. I wasn’t sure where he was going with the idea, or if the store had run out of all other costumes, but there we were in helmets, cowls, black shirts, tunics, maroon belts to match our leggings, and boots with a good one-inch heel.

  It was far more comfortable than I’d have thought.

  “What are we waiting for?” Hunter asked and rolled to the doorbell. He buzzed, and the door swung in. Nobody greeted us in the foyer, though the hollow breathing of someone standing behind the door indicated we were not alone.

  A creepy coating of dust and cobwebs covered the surfaces and signposts pointing toward the party. Shannon, who dressed up as Zsadist—some warrior-vampire character I’d never heard of—drew out a fake dagger she’d slipped into her shit-kickers. “Fear fucking not,” she said, scooting to the front. “I’ll lead the way.”

  Children’s voices started singing, interrupted by a scream that echoed through the dark hall. I inched toward Quinn with as much subtlety as I could muster. Logically, I knew there was nothing to be frightened about—

  More screams and quickly-moving shadows. My mind filled with images of Freddy Krueger lurking in a bedroom doorway, waiting to jump out. My step faltered and I rippled with a shudder.

  “Are you sure you want to be here, Liam?” Quinn’s voice crackled, as if undecided whether to whisper or speak normally.

  I straightened and veered away from Quinn to prove I could handle the rest of the night just fine.

  “Because I can take you home,” he added quietly as he took off his helmet. He ran a hand through his hair and tucked the helmet under his other arm. “It’s okay if you don’t want to be here.”

  “I have a column to write.” Absently, I patted the synthetic pouch hooked onto my belt that carried my notebook and pen. “That’s my priority. The whole reason I’m here.”

  “No other reason to be at a party, is there?” I didn’t fail to notice the sarcasm.

  We turned a corner and the hall w
idened into a large room with a dark mahogany staircase snaking up to the next level.

  Pounding footsteps came behind us. A zombie football team charged down the hall. “Race you up!” one of them yelled.

  They burst past us on either side, forcing Quinn and I to inch nearer. His arm pressed against mine as the convoy streamed around us and dodged Hunter and Shannon at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Zombies?” I shook my head. “Seem more like roadrunners to me.”

  A grin twitched Quinn’s lips but it faltered again as Shannon called out. “No damn elevator. Give us a hand?”

  Quinn passed me his silver helmet and strutted to Hunter, hands on his hips, swagger in his tone. “Looks like it’s the white knight to the rescue.”

  Hunter snorted and wrapped his arms around Quinn. “You’re maroon, bro. And it’s not your best color.”

  Quinn hooked one arm around Hunter’s back and the other under Hunter’s knees, and carefully lifted him. With a cheeky smile, Quinn dipped Hunter. His gaze lifted to mine for a second before he bumped his nose against Hunter’s. “One kiss, my sweet, bonny lad. I’m after a prize tonight—”

  Hunter clapped him over the back the head. “Just get me upstairs. Christ.”

  Music vibrated through the ceiling, making the chandelier jingle. I stepped out from under it and helped Shannon with Hunter’s chair, trying to avoid the gobs of fake, sticky-looking blood that dripped down the stair rail.

  At the top of the stairs we set the chair down, and Quinn lowered Hunter into it. As soon as he was seated, he wheeled off toward the open double doors and the pulsating crowds within. “Come, Liam,” he called over his shoulder. “I’m going to help you find the perfect bloody angle tonight.”

  “Coming,” I said and, stepping in front of Quinn, lifted the helmet and set it down on his head. He gave me a startled look that quickly melted into a smile and a wink.

  “Thanks.”

  I gave a sharp nod, abruptly turned, and ran off to find the “perfect bloody angle.”

  I really wanted to explore how the customs and traditions of Halloween manifested in the party, but Hunter vetoed.

  “How about you find three case studies of drunken students”—he pointed to some hags in the corner, drinking out of a cauldron—“and make up scarily disgusting hangover remedies for each?”

  “How about a column on the dangers of candy-poisoning?” For the tenth—twentieth?—time, I glanced to the middle of the room where Quinn was dancing. It was almost a game the way we scoured the crowds for one another.

  This time he was grooving with one of the football zombies. His head lifted and our gazes collided once more. A strange, static energy pulsed in the air as he continued to stare at me.

  The zombie twisted Quinn around and the connection broke. I blinked hard a couple times. Quinn really should stop grinding with that guy; he might get infected and turn into a zombie roadrunner.

  I shook off the thought, but before I dragged my gaze away, the zombie wrapped his arms around Quinn’s neck, bringing his blood-stained mouth toward that smooth, soft part of skin just under the ear—

  And there went the love bite! I swallowed tightly.

  What was the protocol here? Was Quinn hooking up with this guy? Did it mean I had to find my own way home?

  Hunter slapped my ass with a solid bite to it. I jerked in his direction. “Stop ogling Quinn,” he said, shaking his head and grinning.

  Ogling? No. “I was merely trying to determine how I should get home tonight, since he was our ride.”

  “Whatever you say. And Shannon will take us back. No worries. Now . . .” Hunter choked on his words. His jaw hardened and he cast his gaze sideways, toward a hockey player with a plastic chainsaw pouring himself some punch.

  It took me a few seconds before I figured out his reaction. There by the door, dressed as a pirate with smudgy eyeliner and a bandana, stood Mitch, talking with Jack of all people. At least Mitch didn’t look happy about the discussion. That said something for good taste.

  “Fuck. I need a drink,” Hunter said, and I escorted him to the fruity punch. He poured us both one. The plastic cup was sticky, but the rest of it was quite okay. Fruity and easy on the taste buds.

  “You know what?” I slurped down the last of the drink. “I think your angle could work.”

  Mitch’s idea for an angle wasn’t what I’d have gone for myself, but I could handle it for one column if it took Hunter’s mind off Mitch.

  Setting my cup on the table behind me, I fished in my pouch and pulled out my notebook and pen, resisting the urge to search for Quinn on the dance floor again. “Talk me through the idea . . .”

  Forty minutes (and only two glances at Quinn) later, I had all the grizzly, alcohol-drenched details I needed.

  “This will work just fine,” I said, draining another punch.

  I choked on the liquid as a gap in the dancing crowds revealed Mitch across the room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His casual smile faded as he took us both in. He pushed off the wall with his shoulders and stepped forward.

  Hunter’s wheels squeaked over the wooden floor as he spun his chair around. The tightness of his jaw made it clear he wasn’t interested in having a confrontation tonight.

  Mitch took another step forward and stopped, watching as Hunter wheeled away. I gave him a shrug and bounded after Hunter, rolling through a set of double doors.

  I caught up with him on a cozy balcony that overlooked the back garden, a trellis of jasmine spilling over the side to the lawn below. In the distance, a silhouette of the Cathedral of Learning dominated the skyline.

  I folded my arms. “I suppose I should ask if you’re okay?”

  Hunter rested his head against the back of his chair, staring at the moonlit sky. “Yeah, I think I’m going to call it a night and get Shannon to drive me back.”

  I patted my pouch that held my notebook full of description ready to be molded into something readable. “I’m ready too.”

  When the coast was clear of Mitch, we snuck back into the party. Hunter beelined for Shannon, who was dancing with a witch from my English Literature class. I followed at a distance, scanning the dance floor—

  A hideous green goblin with pointy ears and long, sharp fingers pushed into my side. I shivered at the touch, and then again at the voice.

  “Fucking Davis.”

  Marc Jillson.

  “Here to write a report on the University of Halloween?” Jill sniggered. He reeked of alcohol and something sickeningly sweet. I switched to breathing through my mouth.

  Jill dragged one of his long fingernails down my neck, and it was just sharp enough that it would leave a scratch mark. “Let’s see how many people laugh at your next party page. Did you read the comments in the opinions page, taking the piss out of you? I almost felt sorry for you.”

  I brushed Jill’s fake fingers off me. I had just enough punch in me to not feel intimidated, though not enough to stop me from being curious. There’d been comments about me? I needed to look over last week’s Scribe again.

  “Haven’t read them, have you?” Jill’s lip twitched. “Well let me summarize. They think you’ve got a stick up your ass, like you don’t even know how to party.”

  Over Jill’s shoulder, Hunter was snagging Shannon and waving at me to get going.

  I looked between him and Jill and back again. Hunter raised his brow. Coming or not?

  That was the question.

  I could go with him and be in bed before midnight, maybe even get an outline typed up. Or I could stay at this party and prove Jill wrong. If I wanted to, I could party. How hard could it be? It was just drinking and dancing. Anyone could do it.

  I caught Hunter’s gaze and shook my head. He saluted me goodbye.

  That was the moment Quinn strode up to Shannon. He said something, and then scoured the crowds. When he caught sight of me, he mouthed something and held up a finger, which I assumed meant he’d be back in a minute.

>   Jill bumped rudely past me and bled into the crowd, calling out to Jack to wait up.

  Left standing in the middle of the room in a sea of swarming monsters, I decided a drink might be a good start to proving just how much I could party.

  Without anyone to talk to, I easily downed three cups of punch. I was starting on my fourth when Quinn returned.

  The zombie he’d been dancing with clung onto his arm, but Quinn searched the crowds until he spotted me. Then, towing his zombie along, he wove through a crowd of dancing elves and closed the distance between us.

  His eyes were on me, but mine wavered quickly to the zombie. He wore rags and painted-on blood, but his form was solid and he obviously looked after himself.

  I took another large gulp of punch.

  “Shannon’s coming back after she drops Hunter off,” Quinn said, stopping in front of me. His gaze dipped to my cup. “Punch, Liam? You know it’s spiked, right?” He took a sniff of the bowl. “Really spiked.”

  “I can drink, you know,” I said more sharply than I’d intended. I drained the remainder of the cup and wiped my sticky hands on my leggings. “I can dance as well.”

  Framed by thick, dark lashes, his eyes gleamed like I’d just told him I’d been to the moon. He tipped his helmet back and folded his arms. He nibbled on his bottom lip before he smirked and said, “I’d love to see that.”

  Mr. Zombie brooded next to him and tugged on Quinn’s arm. “Maybe we should dance some more too?”

  My cup crackled as my grip tightened on it. If I didn’t know better, I’d say this was a classic symptom of jealousy.

  I chuckled at the thought, dismissing it as a case of the jitters from having Jill in the room watching me party. “You guys go do your thing. I’ll dance after one more cup of this scrumptious spiked punch.” Somehow, a hiccup escaped me.

  Quinn drew closer. He plucked the cup from my hand and threw it in one of the bins under the table. “I promised I’d keep close to you at these parties. Keep you safe.”

  I shrugged, and a small wave of dizziness passed over me. “I’ve managed to stay safe on my own while you were off grinding away.”