Liam Davis & The Raven (11 page)

Quinn blinked
, resembling a live human for a moment. Sort of. “Dude,” he said, “it’s the crack of dawn.”

“Not really. Technically, dawn would be
—”

He reached out and pinched my lips shut with his thumb and forefinger. The pads of his fingers weren’t very soft
or smooth but rather calloused. His fingertip tickled my lip in a way that gave me the shivers. “It’s eight on a freaking Sunday.
Ten o’clock
would still be dawn to me.”

My
grip tightened on the weighty box. What was in here? Bricks?

“Be that as it may,” I tried to say around his fingers, but it came out more a vibration than anything. My voice must have tunneled over Quinn’s
hand because he jerked his hand back. Suddenly he looked like someone had poured ice water over him.

“Is
this work urgent?” he asked.

“The deadline is Tuesday, but
—”

“T
uesday. Right. Then this is how it’s going to work, Liam. You’re going to suffer through a quick move for maybe an hour or so, and then I will take us all out for brunch to say thanks, man. After that, you can go to uni and type to your heart’s content, okay?”

I shifted, changing my grip to the underside of the box.
“I’m not a fan of moving. It really bores me.”

Quinn
veered around me and held open the study door for me. “You’re not the only one.”

I trudged into the room and lowered the box to the floor. Quinn had a point
—if I’d been the one moving in, I guess I’d have appreciated the help. “What do you want me to do? Keep in mind, I’m allergic to power tools.”

Well, not allergic
per se
, but I couldn’t use one without hurting myself or getting shocked, so allergic seemed an appropriate description.

“
Not keen on them myself. But don’t worry”—he pointed to the box—“I thought you could help me with my books.”

I snappe
d to attention, already nodding and moving toward some empty shelves in the bookcase. “Now
that
I can handle.”

The chuckle Quinn left me with bubbled around the room
, and a sudden burst of sunlight escaped a gap in the clouds and flowed into the study.

I soaked
in it a moment before busying myself with Quinn’s . . .
comic
books. They held a familiar weight. I leafed through a couple as I did with the
Scribe
. They were in pristine condition, no dog-eared corners, no coffee stains, no sticky pages.

Fanning a few dozen, I
organized the issues before carefully stacking them onto the shelf.

Each new comic
conjured more images of The Raven. Inky blue, graceful, face shadowed by his hood . . . part of my desire to go to the university today was to find more names of people who had seen or heard about The Raven.

Hearing Quinn in the background, I stilled
, my fingers splayed over a series of Superman issues. What did Quinn know about the vigilante? I hadn’t forgotten the night after the hospital, how he’d stiffened at the mention of someone saving me . . .

Hunter rolled into the back of my legs and yanked me down onto his lap.
A comic book flew out of my grasp and clattered against the shelf before slumping to the floor.

“What was that for?” I asked
, trying to pull myself off him and reach the comic before it bent for good. His grip tightened around my waist.

“
Don’t mess with the hummingbirds, man,” he said with a grin and a flex of his arms. “They’ll win. Look, you have to help me.”

Over my shoulder, I asked,
“With what?”

“Mitch, of course. He’s
 . . . he’s a dream, and I want it to come true.”

“How am I supposed to help?”

“I told him you work for
Scribe
and that you wanted him to come say hi sometime.”

“Why?”

“Look, Mitch is . . . a bit unsure about this.” Hunter tapped the arms of the chair and then prodded my back. “I want you to figure out what part bothers him.”

“Why don’t you just ask yourself?”

“Because I don’t want to scare him off or make him uncomfortable. And I think it’s the same for him. He might be worried he’ll say the wrong thing or . . . ” He sighed. “Sometimes it’s easier to talk to someone else about it, you know?”

“I’m sure he has friends he’s doing that with
—”

“Yeah.”
The distinct sound of a smile lingered in his voice and a quick glance proved it to be true. “But I’m all about making my luck, aren’t I? For that, I need to get inside his head, and you”—he gently pushed me off him—“are my mole.”

“And what if the answer
’s not something you want to hear?”

When I
faced him, he shrugged. “And what if it
is
?”

Quinn and Shannon
stumbled in, struggling with the base of Quinn’s bed. They dropped it with a heavy
thunk
in the middle of the room.

Hunter, holding my gaze, rolled out of the room. “I’ve got
to get to basketball. Shan, are you good to get home on your own?”

Shannon
smiled. “No problem, Travis. Do you want me to come with you? I could—”

Hunter raised his hand.
“Sis, just don’t. I can handle it.”

Hunter left and
for a few moments the aftertaste of awkwardness lingered in the air. Swiveling from box to bookcase, I concentrated on stacking the DC comic books below the Marvel ones.

Shannon and Quinn ducked out again,
but they returned with large trash bags filled with clothes and sheets. Shannon plunked her load onto the floor. “That’s the last of it.”

Quinn
cheered, took out his phone and played some music. His croaky singing voice sounded like murder—the murder of crows squawking in a summer breeze. He swung his hips to his ill-timed chorus singing, and I forgot about the comics for a moment and enjoyed the show.

“This is really awesome of you, Liam.” Shannon
startled me out of my Quinn-induced reverie. I nodded, taking out the hundredth comic from the box and arranging it by issue. She added, “I couldn’t have stood the guy a day longer.”

Quinn
’s singing halted. He pulled a pillow out of a box and tossed it at her. “Hey! You know you love me at your place.”

“
Nuh-uh. You promised no Pringles in bed.”

“I
was
grieving
. Besides, I didn’t do it while you were in there.”

“Yeah,
” Shannon drawled. “That makes it so much better.”

Quinn leaped over his thick
gray blankets and a bunch of clothes to engulf Shannon in a hug that made her burst into a shriek. She twisted in his grip and pushed him until suddenly Quinn was flat on his back, lying on his blankets. She pinned him down, and the guy roared in an uncensored laughter that seemed to make the rain on the windows glow with silver light. As if his laugh were magic, the true meaning of a silver lining.

“I am
gonna miss your hugs,” she said as she clambered off him. “Guess Liam will be the one getting most of them now.”

Quinn sat up and pushed to his feet, glancing over my way and grinning. “Yeah, and he really needs them too.”

“Me?” I fervently shook my head. “I don’t—”

D
amp arms curled around me and the air left my lungs as—in one bound—Quinn crushed me to his warm chest.

“Yeah, y
ou do,” he whispered in my ear.

The
unfamiliar sensation froze me for a second. I pulled against Quinn, but then his warmth molded against me, supportive and comfortable.

S
lowly, he released his grip, pulling back to shrug at me. “If you really hate it, I won’t, of course.”

I didn’t really hate it. “There are worse roomma
tes out there than ones that hug.” I bent to pick up another comic with a slight tremble in my fingers. “Now when you said you had books, I thought you meant
real
ones.”

“
Uh-oh,” Shannon said, an evil grin quirking her lip, “I wouldn’t insult his comic stuff. He’s quite the sensitive man-boy when it comes to them.”

“Comic
stuff
, Shannon? Really?” Quinn folded him arms and pouted.

“See what I mean?”
she said, brushing a blue strand of hair from her eyes.

I looked from Quinn
to Shannon. They were such good friends and so . . . close. If I’d focused on finding friends instead of working non-stop, would I have had a friendship like this by now? Would it have made me a better writer for the party page? Would I have known Jack and Jill were such dicks?

Quinn said, “
Our Liam here is thinking, Shan. You can tell by the clicking.”

I
dropped the pen I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding, and drew my hand out of my pocket.

“What are you thinking about?” Shannon asked,
and before I could stumble over an answer, she moved out of the room carrying a potted Aloe Vera.

If
I hadn’t peeked at Quinn, I might not have had to answer at all. But his not-so-subtle eyebrow raise forced me to answer.

“
I . . .” I grabbed another comic and slipped it onto the correct shelf. “Who’s your favorite character?” I asked him.

“I
like Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent. I like them most without their costumes on.”

“
That’s a bit too much information.”

Quinn flushed. “I meant their
superhero
costumes
. I like them with their clothes on.”

I nodded and pushed up my glasses.
“It’s okay, Quinn. I’m not going to freak out, remember?” I picked up a comic and flipped through it. “I’ve never read comics much, but maybe I could take one to look at?”

“You can tak
e as many as you like. Even”—Quinn plucked out a comic sealed in a Ziploc bag—“my most prized.” He held it out, but when I reached for it, he pulled it back a fraction. “Just, please, no food or drink around it.”

I
jerked my head up. “Ohh, I
like
you.”

Quinn’s brow rose, and his
gaze sparkled with a repressed laugh. “
That
’s the reason you like me?”

“Books
should never be disrespected.”

A
comic featuring Booster Gold caught my eye. “This guy sort of looks like you. I think I have to read this one too.”

“He gets shirtless in th
at issue quite a bit.” He clapped a hand on my shoulder and said, just before he pushed away to find Shannon, “You’ll like it. There’s a lot to . . .
observe
.”

Chapter 7

Tuesday evening
, I came home to the delicious smell of stew and Quinn draped over the couch chatting with Shannon over the phone. He wagged his eyebrows in hello and pointed to the stove. “Help yourself,” he mouthed. He switched the phone to his other hand. Into the mouthpiece, he said, “No shit? Seriously?”

I
peeled off my parka—

Wait. What was with the bandage peeking out from under Quinn’s sleeve? I tried to get a better look as I shuffled into the kitchen,
but I banged into the corner of the bar.

“Ouch,” I yelped, quickly steering around the sharp corner and into the actual kitchen.

“Got to go, Shan. Lunch tomorrow? . . . Sweet.”

I rubbed my side and took one of the clean bowls from the dish rack.

“You all right?” Quinn asked, coming up to the stove and stirring the stew with a ladle.

“Swell.”

With a snort, Quinn grabbed my bowl and filled it with stew. “Eat up.”

I took it to the table, grabbed a spoon and dug in. The hot, meaty gravy hit my tongue with an explosion of flavor and comfort. Quinn was perched on the end of the table, fiddling his thumbs.

I pointed my spoon toward him. “What happened to your wrist?”

Quinn yanked his sleeve further down. “Nothing much.
Light sprain is all. Happens teaching self-defense sometimes. It’ll be fine in a day or so.” He slid off the table, grabbed his laptop from the glass coffee table in front of the couch and settled on the couch to work.

As soon as I’d licked my bowl clean, I rinsed it and quietly snuck into my bedroom. It was strange
constantly sharing the same space with someone, and I wasn’t yet sure where the line was drawn when it came to encroaching on Quinn’s privacy.

I tucked myself into bed with my laptop and emailed a student
named Garret, who’d been rescued by The Raven last year. After that, I sent Mom a quick update on my roommate, and then I swapped the laptop for my English Literature readings.

Alone in my room was fine. It was
normal, and it . . . well, there was something comforting about knowing there was someone in the next room.

Dum-da-da-dum-dum
came a knock at my door.

I straightened. “Yes?”

Quinn opened the door and let himself in, swinging his arms into a clap. “See, the thing is,” he said and jumped onto the bed, pinning one of my feet. I wedged it free. “You don’t have a TV.”

“It’s not my thing,” I said, slipping a bookmark into my book and resting it on the second pillow.

“I’ve been bored out of my mind the last few nights,” he said as he laid himself on his side and propped his head up with his elbow.

“Don’t you have studying to do?”

“I can’t be studying all the time, I’d go nuts.”

I glanced at my required reading. “Yo
u could invite someone over if you like. I won’t disturb you.”

“Don’t have anyone I want to invite
over right now.”

“Not Shannon? Hunter?”

“Nope.” He shook his head sadly. “Shannon is taking Hunter out to dinner tonight.”

“Is there something wrong with that?”
I asked.

“No. It’s just
 . . . she tries too hard sometimes. Not that she’d ever listen to me when it comes to Hunter.”

I thought back to the moment at
Crazy Mocha Coffee. “She’s very protective of him. I’m sure that’s normal for a sibling.”

Quinn plucked at the blankets close to my toes. “Yeah, sometimes.” He pinched my foot. “Let’s play some cards or something. Game?”

I hesitated a moment and then pointed toward the small bookshelf I had in the corner next to the dresser.

“Third shelf from the top.
And Quinn?”

“Yeah?
”

“I’m good
at cards.”

Chief Benedict leaned back in his chair and gazed at each of us
sitting around the oval table. I sat at the perfect angle—the Cathedral of Learning looked like an extension of his prominence.

I shifted on the hard seat, my fingers gripp
ing my pen, poised to take more notes. After an hour in the room, surely we were close to winding down.

“Last delegations,” Chief said,
focusing on Jack, who sat next to Jill with crossed arms. He jerked a thumb behind him toward the cathedral. “Write a report on the reopening of the 32nd floor. The rest of you, BCA placements twenty-five through fifty come out the beginning of November. I’ll hang a list on the noticeboard.”

Chief stroked the spine of his frayed leather binder.
“One last thing before you go.” He cleared his throat. “I am pleased at the results I am getting from you. I’m proud of this team, and I look forward to reading more of your skilled work. Thank you.”

Jill slumped further in his seat, and both he and Jack sent me a withering glance
—one I happily reciprocated.

“Well? What are you all still sitting here for? Get back to work.
Liam, hang on a moment.”

I waited until the others left before I approached
Chief Benedict. “Yes, chief?”

He
stood from his chair, coming to a stand in front of me. “How’s it going?”

“As well as can be expected.
I am assuming you held me back for a reason?”

He let out an amused huff.
“About your party page pieces . . .”

My fingers
itched for my pen as I waited for him to continue.

Chief stroked his beard. “
They’re solid, and they’ll do, but I think you might be missing the point.”

I folded my arms. “And what point is that?”

“To diversify your style. To get you to jump into the shoes of others.” The chief glanced over my shoulder at the thrum of the office behind us. “What you are giving me is the same in tone as your politics articles. I want to see you challenge yourself by pitching your writing to your target audience.”

I had nothing to say to that,
so I gave him a sharp nod. I wasn’t expecting his hand to clasp my shoulder, but when it did, the awful tightness in my throat made it difficult to swallow.

“I truly just want to help you become a better writer,” he said. “That’s all.
”

“Yes, sir. I want that position we talked about.”

“You know it won’t be the end of your career if you don’t get it, right?”

I did know that. There would be other
jobs out there for me, but I wanted the apprenticeship, and maybe . . . maybe there was a part that wondered what it would be like to have my father’s approval. “I’m going to land the position.”

The chief dropped his hand. “I like your focus, but be prepared for me to say you’re not ready.”

Dismissed, I went back to my desk and finished jotting down the names from past
Scribe
issues that had anything to do with The Raven.

Hannah looked over
her desk at me and gave a shy smile as she picked up an eraser and fiddled with it.

“You seem like you want to say something,” I said, leaning back in my chair to focus on her.

In this light, her hair looked less like mahogany and more like sixty-percent chocolate. She tucked a strand behind her ear as she cleared her throat. “Sunday’s only a few days away now . . . ”

I grabbed my pen and started clicking. “Yes, it is.”

Click. Click. Click.

“Liam?” Hannah asked.

“Yeah, I still need to think. We work together. Things could get awkward—”

Two things interrupted me at the same time.

The first was Mitch—clad in a fitted brown T-shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots—strolling through the door and scanning the room for me.

The second was my phone
ringing. I let it shrill two times as I waved to catch Mitch’s attention before answering it. I mouthed an apology to Hannah, who shrugged and ducked her head.

“Liam Davis,
Scribe
.”

“Hi, this is Garret. I’m calling about the email.”

“Garret? Yes, yes. I am looking for any information I can get on The Raven.” Just that morning, an anonymous thank-you letter arrived at
Scribe
, addressed to The Raven. He’d saved again, and at no small cost. The victim worried The Raven had a torn wing.

Hannah
’s head snapped up and she gave me a quizzical look. At the same time, Mitch slowed to a stop at my desk.

Garret breathed heavily down the line. “I don’t remember much. I was in
the hospital for a few days afterward.”

“Anything you know might help me
piece things together.”

“You want to find him?”

“Yes.”

Mitch
looked curiously at my stapler, and more specifically at the eyes-and-mouth stickers decorating it. A Jack and Jill prank. Seeing I had no real friends, they’d stuck faces on all my office supplies—coffee cup, paper tray, tape holder. My office
friends
, they’d said.

It
hadn’t bothered me much.

Until
Mitch jokingly pressed against the end of the stapler as if it could speak. I swallowed an angry lump.

Mitch would
want to know why I’d done it, and when I explained, he might just think me as pathetic and laughable as the rest of campus sniggering over my party page columns.

“Why?
” Garret asked, bringing me back to the call. “This guy saved me, I don’t want to snitch and get him into trouble.”

“I don’t want that either.”

I might have initially wanted to expose him just so I could feel better about myself and secure the features editor position, but my incentive changed the moment I read the threat at Hannah’s desk.

The Raven’s gonna lose his wings

We’ll smile while he sings and sings

Then we’d love to watch him fly

Through a deep, dark, angry sky

I stared at the stack of
Scribe
magazines on the corner of my desk. From the swirls of colors, the haunting memory of Freddy’s fingers surfaced. I shivered.

“
I only really remember his shit-kickers,” Garret said. “They were black and sort of fitting, and they sort of made me think the guy was gay. Which, hell, I know is a stereotype, but trust me
I
wouldn’t have minded a jot.”

“
Thank you, Garret,” I said before ending the call.

Mitch
frowned. “Interesting call?”

I snapped out of my chair.
“Yes. Come with me.” I pulled my jacket off the back of my chair and slipped it on. “Let’s go someplace we can talk.”