Page 87 of How to Kidnap a Fake Date
The song ends, and we break apart, clapping along with the applause for the singer.
‘You ready for bed?’ she asks, voice low and teasing.
My pulse skips half a dozen beats. ‘I’m sure I could be persuaded.’
She traces her fingers along my collar. ‘I need to wee and then grab a bottle of fizz. Meet me at the staircase closest to my room?’
The crowd swallows her up, and half a dozen people stop her to chat on the way to the bathroom. No one bothers with me; I’m still a virtual stranger to them all.
I make my way towards the rear staircase, far less showy than the main one that Eddie pushed me down. The noise of the party dulls to a distant murmur as I loosen my tie and open my top button, taking a much-needed breather. As far as weddings went, I’d been to much worse. The Hamiltons certainly know how to party.
I wait.
And wait.
A thought hits me like a ten-ton truck. I’m no longer counting down to escape.
I’m willingly waiting for Maggie.
I shift my weight, glance back towards the ballroom, wishing I had a phone to lose myself in.
Maggie’s taking her sweet time.
Unless something’s happened to her…
A noise behind me has me spinning, my arms lifting to protect myself.
There’s a flutter of dark wings as Coffin flies past my head. I laugh, glad no one is there to see me near shit my pants at the family pet.
He drops something black at my feet.
I crouch to investigate, only to find a fat beetle, its legs flailing in the air.
Poor thing must have had a terrible day. Using the toe of my shoe, I right the insect and watch as it scuttles off.
Coffin regards me with a tip of his glossy head. He ruffles his feathers before tilting his good eye to watch the beetle depart. I hope I haven’t offended him by not eating it.
Are crows like cats?
Probably not.
But… maybe?
‘Why, thank you,’ I say. ‘A kind gift indeed.’
Coffin makes a pleased sound and hops a few inches closer to me along the bannister. When I reach out, he doesn’t move away.
The feathers are warm and sleek.Please don’t eat my fingers.
‘You’re a funny little thing, aren’t you?’ I say as I stroke his chest. I’ve never been taught how to pet a bird, and I hope that it’s okay.
Coffin’s feathers puff, and he flies up to the level above me, spreading his wings wide.
He gives a panicked squawk.
Was he mad at me? I stare at Coffin, but his eye isn’t fixed on me; it’s watching a space behind me.
I turn as something whistles towards my head.
