The Whispering Dead (Gravekeeper #1) - Darcy Coates Page 0,55
eye contact, but Harry spared her from it by flopping back and staring at the ceiling.
Keira was surprised by a sudden rush of sympathy for Polly. The florist was giving everything she had to make a good first impression for her son; the china was clearly only for special occasions, and her nervous chattering served to underline how eager she was. But her chances of success were less than zero. Even if Keira had been interested in the brooding goth, he was clearly not interested in her. Or, she suspected, in much of anything.
“Let me help you with that,” Keira said, hoping she could subvert the awkwardness by spending the visit with her host. But Polly shooed her back to the couch. “Don’t be silly, honey. I’ve got this sorted. I’m sure you two want to get to know each other.”
Keira had no choice but to slide back into her seat. Harry continued to ignore her in favor of watching the white paint above his head. She cleared her throat and tried to find some way to break the silence. Her eyes landed on his hands, which he’d rested in his lap. “Nice nails.”
His head straightened, and he gave another incredibly long, incredibly slow blink. “They’re black.”
Keira could only manage a tight-lipped nod. “They definitely are.”
Polly appeared at their side, a tray of cups balanced in her hands. “Here we go, kids. How do you like yours, Keira? Tea? Coffee? Or I could make some hot chocolate if you—”
“Tea’s fine,” Keira quickly interjected. “Uh, milk, no sugar, thanks.”
“Absolutely, dear. Harry, why don’t you invite Keira to your next band rehearsal? You have such a pretty voice. I’m sure she’d enjoy it.”
Another heavy, laborious sigh escaped Harry. “It’s post-transient death grunge. You’re not supposed to enjoy it.”
“Harry,” his mother hissed, kicking at his foot. He ignored her.
Keira tried her best to divert the conversation. “You have a gorgeous store. I admire it every time I pass by.”
“Ooh, thank you, dear!” Polly almost glowed. “It’s my pride and joy. My sister owns the coffeehouse by the fountain. Has Beans and Two Bees. Clever, eh?”
Harry’s lips pulled back from his teeth in a grimace at the same time as Keira said, “Yes, very.”
“And you’re visiting with nice Mr. Adage, aren’t you, Keira?”
“Yes. He’s been very kind to let me stay.” Keira glanced at Harry, who was pointedly ignoring them. She knew she shouldn’t prod him, but the opportunity was too good to pass up. “Harry, I bet you can appreciate a good cemetery.”
His ocher-lined eyes lit on her. “I do. I visit it at night and sit beneath the stones and imagine I’m sinking down, down, down, into my tomb.”
“Harry!” Polly sounded scandalized. She tweaked her son’s ear, shaking his long hair into disarray. Keira tensed up, expecting a fight, but Harry simply ran his fingers through his locks and leaned back in the chair. A potato would have shown more emotion.
Deep mortification flushed color over Polly’s cheeks and widened her eyes. “I’m sure he’s just joking, dear. He’s really quite a sweet boy. He writes his own songs, you know; he’s very good at it.”
“They’re all about pain and death.”
“Harry.”
“Oh good, my favorite.” Keira was trying furiously not to laugh. She knew her face muscles were twitching and could only hope that Polly was so distracted by her son that she didn’t notice.
Polly’s smile was very near cracking. She sat on the edge of her seat, shooting desperate glances between Keira and Harry, with her hands clasped in her lap. “He plays in the local pub sometimes. You should come along for one of his concerts.”
Harry added, “I like to see how quickly we can empty the place. My record is six minutes.”
Polly loosed another strained, desperate laugh. “You’re such a joker, Harry. People love your little songs. And…and…” She was clearly clutching at straws but refused to give up. “He’s quite artistic too! If painting everything you own black counts—”
“Mum.” Harry’s voice carried no inflection. “You have a store to watch.”
She gave a small, defeated exhale and rose. “Yes, yes, of course. I’ll leave you two to get to know each other better. No rush, Keira, no rush at all! There’s plenty more tea!”
They both waited as Polly hurried to the stairs, shot them a hopeful glance over her shoulder, and descended out of sight.
Silence filled the room. Keira let her eyes rove over the decorations. Unable to tolerate the silence, she cleared her throat. “So—”