The City of Crows by Bethany Lovejoy (great books to read .txt) 📕

the public sentiment towards witches was anything but positive. But she didn’t say anything. Much like how she didn’t say anything whenever I was short on rent, always reassuring me that I could pay her back later but never specifying when exactly that later would be. When she saw me at home earlier than usual, she wouldn’t so much as a blink an eye. I knew that; when she saw my expression, however, we would go down the same road we’d been many times, only it would be a little bit worse of a journey than before. The only reason Yvie didn’t tell me to leave my bookstore job was that she knew how important my misguided idea of surviving outside of Magictown was to me, and that I gripped onto that slice of normalcy like a liferaft. If I so much as flinched, though? I glimpsed at my miserable expression in the reflection of a puddle outside our apartment building, my soaked hair and running mascara. Yvie would pounce tonight.

As if to reaffirm that fact, there it was when I opened my front door; a lithe tabby cat perched precariously on the countertop, her yellow eyes blinking curiously at me. She didn’t wait for me to enter the apartment, already jumping off the counter and weaving through my legs as I closed the door, her sides rubbing against me. Affectionate, always affectionate; I felt guilty as usual.

I looked out at our apartment, taking in the mess strewn across the wooden floorboards. Melted down candles and incense sticks sat perilously close to the rugs, their ash falling onto the floor in careless abandon. Our couch, an unfortunate purple monstrosity inherited from Yvie’s mother, had the same blankets thrown across it as it did this morning, just with the absence of a body underneath them. Beside the couch, a mug full of thick pink liquid sat, only growing thicker as time passed. Our boxy tv, the product of a successful secondhand shopping trip, sat awkwardly on its stand, as crooked as it always had been. Withered plants sat on our windowsills far away from a state of being that could be called alive, but thankfully, the fresh flowers that I’d bought still sat on our living room table, within reach on my way to the bathroom. At least, they were, before the cat once again got into my path as she sat on the table with an expectant gaze.

I sighed, kneeling to scratch her chin in greeting, my fingers brushing through her fur as I prayed that my wettened skin didn’t bother her.

“Meow,” the cat said, stretching against my leg.

“Yvie,” I rolled my eyes, withdrawing the plastic bag from my pocket. Hopefully, that would be enough to appease her. Her tail shot up at the sight of my offering and I bent to hand it to her, an unexpected paw batted at the bag. In a moment, she knocked it out of my hand and to the floor. I snorted, wondering if puncturing the bag and endangering the ingredients’ freshness was part of her plan.

Oh well, it wasn’t any of my business, I supposed. I stood up, brushing off my jeans as I unbuttoned my coat, shrugging it from my shoulders and throwing it on one of our barstools to dry.

“You’re home early,” Yvie pointed out, her human voice hitting the air as I was turned away. I looked back to see her stretching, a hint of dark skin visible on her belly as her tank top stretched out of the way, revealing the inked runes that sat above her hip bone as she shook out her short, curly purple hair from the two twists atop her head. Yvie always tried to wait for people to look away when she changed, never quite comfortable with others seeing the in-between stages.

“Yeah, well, another one of those days, you know?” I said, averting my eyes as I paid extra attention to my jacket, straightening it on the chair and trying to ignore the way that rain droplets hit the linoleum. “Rough,” I added, hoping that would be enough.

It wasn’t for once, surprisingly. “I thought you said flower shop guy was coming in today,” Yvie said, and I could hear the way that her nose scrunched in thought, her amber eyes observing me. Yvie had one of those faces, the kind that seemed built for observation. I could see gears turning behind her rounded amber eyes. “Not like you to miss a day that he’s stopping by. Especially since it means that you get to see him for free for once,” she said with a snort, gesturing back towards the various flowers scattered around our apartment. Yvie hated dead plants, she found them depressing.

“Yeah, well, his book didn’t come in,” I lied. “Shame, really,” I didn’t sound disappointed enough, I knew that. There was no way to make myself sound right, not when faced with Yvie.

“You said it came in last night,” Yvie pointed out, her footsteps growing nearer. “Remember, we had take out? You were positively gushing, excited even.”

I shot her a warning glare, unsurprised to see her face far closer than the average human distance. That was how Yvie was, always comfortable and always observant. Still, I couldn’t help but back up, my waist hitting the counter as I tried to escape her looks. “Wrong book?” I tried.

“You wrote down his order, you said so,” Yvie recounted. “Your fingers just barely brushed, and you were regaling me with those details. A little bit cold, clammy; you wanted to warm his hands up.”

“I wrote it wrong,” I lied.

She didn’t buy it, of course she didn’t buy it. “Right, you wrote the order wrong for the guy that you’ve been on about for months, likely story.” Her hand ran through her hair, separating her curls further. She seemed to decide the situation was futile, crossing the room to flop herself on the couch with dramatic flair. “I’m going to Gigi’s tonight,” she declared,