A Dead and Stormy Night

by Steffanie Holmes

  “You okay there, gorgeous?” Morrie grabbed a second cake. “Your mouth’s hanging open like you’re trying to trap a fly in there.”

  I snapped my mouth shut. “I’m fly… I mean, I’m fine. Are you going to put clothes on? It’s miserable out tonight. I’d hate for you to catch your death.”

  “Can’t stand the sight of me, eh?” He tugged on a red shirt and buttoned a black-and-gold vest over top of it, rolling up the sleeves over his forearms. Be still my heart, that man knows how to dress.

  “I’m just a concerned citizen. I also brought some berries for the raven. They’re a bit smushed, but—” The words slipped away as I noticed a third pair of eyes watching me from the hallway. “Who… who else is there?”

  A figure stepped out of the shadows. Under the light of the chandelier, another guy came into focus, his features so striking he stole my breath. While Heathcliff had his rugged looks, and Morrie his slick charm, this guy’s skin radiated with a pale luminescence that wasn’t of this world. A pair of sensuous pouting lips turned up at me as long fingers reached up to sweep a silken strand of waist-length black hair from his face, grazing along a cheekbone that could cut glass. Eyes of deep brown, tinged with rings of fire like a Norwegian forest burning in the wake of Ragnarok, glared at me like he was the hunter and I his prey.

  “Who… who are you?” I managed to choke out the words.

  “The flatmate,” he whispered back, the words carrying the weight of a curse. “I’ll take the berries to the bird.”

  I started at his voice. That throaty tone, that rich timbre, like chocolate melting over ripe strawberries. He sounds just like that random voice I keep hearing around the shop!

  Then how come I’ve never seen him before?

  “Have you been spying on me?” I demanded. Extreme, otherworldly hotness did not excuse this bloke from being a creep.

  The flatmate’s eyes shifted, fire flaring through them as the forest gave way to the inferno. He closed his eyelids, tangling his feathery long lashes as he whipped the berries from my hand, turned on his heel, and marched back down the hall. His hair flared out behind him like the plumage of a songbird, collecting and reflecting the light, painting the stands in fleeting shades of color – indigo, lavender, copper, burnished gold.

  I rubbed the corner of my eye, wishing like crazy my wonky eyes could penetrate the gloom of the hallway, because I bet the view of his arse was fucking spectacular.

  “That’s Quoth,” Morrie said. “He’s a bit of a loner. You won’t see much of him.”

  “Probably for the best. But seriously, his name is Quoth?”

  Morrie nodded.

  “His real name? Not his World of Warcraft handle? Not his shitty post-punk band’s name? His parents actually called him Quoth?”

  “That’s what it says on his gym membership,” Heathcliff grunted from the chair.

  “Okay, this flat is too outrageous to be real. You’re sure only three of you live up here? I’m not about to meet Shakespeare and the Venerable Bede? Because I’m not sure my brain can handle the thees and thous right now.”

  “Just us three merry bachelors,” Morrie sang as he reached in for another cake.

  “Four, if you count the raven,” I added, surprised he’d forget the bird.

  “Right, yes. Of course. Four.”

  “Don’t you have some work to do?” Heathcliff picked up his book from the arm of the chair. “I believe there was a plot afoot to make my life miserable.”

  “You’re already miserable. I’m hoping a website will make you so miserable you come back around to joyful,” I said, managing to ruffle his hair a little before he shrugged me off.

  “I hope he does a little joyful jog.” Morrie waved me through. “That would make my whole year. This way into my lair.”

  In that small alcove off the living room that would probably have once served as a nursery when the house was a single Victorian residence, Morrie pulled up a chair beside a sleek black desk. Unlike everything else about Nevermore, this desk was a work of modern art – a gleaming expanse of steel and glass, holding three screens arranged in a semi-circle around a high-backed chair, and beneath it a black computer stack and mechanical keyboard.

  “So you’re a gamer.” I rolled my eyes, recognizing some of the gadgets from the apartment of a gamer boyfriend I’d had back in New York City. Judging by Morrie’s setup, he’d spent serious money on this rig.

  “In a manner of speaking.” Morrie pulled out the chair and beckoned me to sit. I did so, marveling how the chair conformed to my curves. A brief deviant fantasy of straddling Morrie while he sat in that chair and smirked up at me crossed my mind, and I reveled in it for a moment while he leaned across to adjust the keyboard. His arm brushed mine and I regretted not purchasing that box of condoms.

  He’s been text-flirting with you all day, Ashley’s voice scolded me inside my head. She did always know it all when it came to guys. He invited you back to his flat late at night. He keeps flashing you that smile. Go for it, honey!

  Not while Heathcliff and Quoth are here. These walls must be paper-thin and uninsulated. The idea of working with Heathcliff after he heard Morrie and I shagging made all sexual desire flee my body. I don’t need any more complications in my life right now. I’m just going to build a website, that’s all.

  I glanced around the different screens, deliberately avoiding perving at Morrie. Data streamed down one screen too fast for my eyes to track. “What’s all this? I thought you didn’t have a job anymore?”

  “Nope. I’m freelance now. I told you I’d be fine.”

  “What do you do, exactly?”

  “As my contemporaries like to say, I’ve been endowed with a phenomenal mathematical faculty.” Morrie’s hand brushed my shoulder as he settled me into the chair, sending a shiver through my body that had nothing to do with a draft. “This means I do whatever interests me. Some years back I published a book on asteroids. My last job was in finance. On the train today I taught myself to hard-code a website. Want to see what I’ve come up with?”

  “You mean, do I want to see the website you put together after teaching yourself on the train? Yes, please. I could use a laugh.” I pictured a terrible mess with flashing text and an overabundance of exclamation points.

  Moriarty leaned over to click the mouse, his body looming over mine. I sensed the tension in his muscles as he moved the mouse. Is he as turned-on as I am? “I’ve already purchased a domain name and set up this basic site. The online shop is a plugin for our catalogue on The-Store-That Shall-Not-Be-Named. I even managed to find a picture of Heathcliff looking somewhat normal. All it need is some text and photographs, and maybe a mailing list.”

  “No mailing list,” Heathcliff called from in front of the fire.

  “Go back to your book,” I shot back.

  “It’s hard to concentrate with you two trying to ruin my business.”

  Morrie showed me how to navigate between the different elements. “If you place the cursor in this box, you can add text for the homepage. There’s the About Us page, and the Find Us page, with an interactive map of Argleton.”

  I stared at the blank box on the screen, my fingers frozen over the keys. “What do I type?”

  “Just information about the shop. You’re trying to make it sound appealing so people will come visit us and then Heathcliff will stop being such a scrooge about using hot water.” Morrie wiped a sodden curl off his forehead. I gulped. Right, just write some stuff while Morrie watches. Uh-huh. Easy.

  I tapped my finger against the E key. Bookshop. Books. Reading. Escape. What could I say about Nevermore Books that captured the way I felt about the place?

  An idea sprung from thin air and tapped me on the shoulder. I typed, “Nevermore Books – where you find stories you never knew you needed.”

  “You’ve got this, gorgeous.” Morrie’s sexy voice caressed my ear. “Keep going.”

  My fingers flew over the keyboard as I called up my memories o
f escaping to Nevermore after school and of the solace and comfort I found between the pages here. I conjured up a labyrinth of shelves where anything could be lurking, and even made a note about meeting the “friendly bookshop raven.”

  “It’s a bit of a stretch,” I said, pointing to the raven part. “But he’s so unusual I think we have to include him.”

  “Croak,” agreed the raven, who’d fluttered in and perched on the back of the monitor.

  “Yes, yes.” I typed furiously. “I’m adding a bit about not quoting Poe.”

  “This is brilliant.” Morrie leaned over my shoulder to get a better look at the screen. My fingers slipped on the keys. I’d forgotten he was right there. “You’re a natural.”

  “A natural at not quoting Poe?”

  “No, a natural writer. I can solve a Navier-Stokes equation in seconds, but I’d have stared at that screen for hours and not come up with something as eloquent as what you’ve written in ten minutes. You could sell sand in the desert with your words.”

  “Please, don’t talk to me about selling sand.” One of my mum’s earliest schemes was a healing scrub made from ‘authentic' Damascus sand she’d scooped off the beach at Blackpool. I suspected she was still paying off the Environment Agency fine.

  I typed in some info on the rest of the pages, finishing up on the About Us page. I poised to tell our potential punters a little about their surly proprietor, then realized I didn’t know a thing about Heathcliff. His accent was Northern and he couldn’t have grown up in Argleton, because he’d have gone to my school and I would have remembered him. Everyone kept calling him a gypsy, and his dark skin and prominent nose certainly suggested an eastern lineage. Where did he come from? Had he gone to university? What made someone so young and built for hard labor decide to run a musty old bookshop?

  “Heathcliff, can you come in here?” I yelled.

  “I’m busy.”

  “It’ll only take a minute.”

  The raven fluttered into the living room. I leaned around the corner of the alcove in time to see it peck Heathcliff in the arm.

  “Croak!”

  “All right!” Heathcliff leaned forward to glower into the alcove. “What?”

  “I just need some biographical info for you, for the website.”

  “I don’t want people knowing anything about me.”

  “We’re not talking about your deepest, darkest secrets, just the basic stuff. Where you were born, why you got into the book trade—”

  “I’m in the book trade because I thought it wouldn’t be full of annoying people disturbing my calm with incessant questions. I was wrong.” Heathcliff swatted at the raven. It croaked in defiance and flew onto a perch above the hallway door.

  “Please?”

  Heathcliff sighed, as though I’d asked him to take the Queen’s shilling. “Fine.” He shoved his arse out of the chair, rooted around in his pockets, and recovered a faded leather wallet of old-fashioned design. He tossed it at me. “It’s all in there. Any other details you need, just make them up.”

  I stared down at the wallet. Heathcliff’s spice-and-cigarette scent spilled from the seams and assaulted my senses. I flipped it open and peeked inside, pulling out cards and scraps of paper tucked into every pocket, all containing Heathcliff’s details in tiny print. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. Even with the light from the computer screen, I’d never be able to read any of it.

  Why can’t he just tell me? Why does he have to make me…

  “You waiting for a written invitation?”

  “It’s not that,” I said quickly, tossing the wallet back at him. “I just can’t use this.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because… um…” I racked my brain for an excuse they’d believe.

  “Because she can’t read them,” said a throaty voice from the doorway. “She’s going blind.”

  Chapter Nine

  “That’s… that’s not true!” I whipped around. There, lurking in the shadows was the flatmate, Quoth, his arms folded across the front of his blood-red shirt, his fierce eyes watching me like a vulture.

  How can he know?

  On his lips, the shame that had sent me home from my beloved New York, that had cost me my dream job and my best friend and sent me into a spiral of self-loathing, mocked me. I wished the wood beneath my feet would rot away so I could fall through into the shelves below. Bury me beneath books. Or better yet, bury Quoth. How does he know, and why the fuck did he have to say something?

  “That true, gorgeous?” Morrie asked, his voice gentler than I’d imagined possible.

  No, don’t do that. Don’t pity me. I can’t deal with pity.

  “How… how did you know?” I whispered, my chest constricting. That was my secret. Quoth didn’t have the right to blab it to the whole flat, especially not to Heathcliff, who was probably getting ready to fire me.

  “I observe people,” Quoth tucked a silken strand of hair behind his ear.

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “I noticed when you were stacking the shelves today. You hold the books close to your face to read the titles, and you turn your head at an odd angle, as if you lack peripheral vision.”

  “So you were watching me in the shop. That’s creepy, especially since you haven’t bothered to show yourself.” With that body and those piercing eyes, I’d have remembered him. That was a fact.

  Quoth shrugged. “I’m always here. I blend into the background.”

  “You don’t—”

  “You can kill Quoth later. Lord knows it would solve half my problems,” Heathcliff glared at me. “Does he speak the truth?”

  “Yes, fine, it’s true.” I threw up my hands. “I’m going blind, okay?”

  I’m going blind. The words rung in the silent room – words I’d been terrified to utter out loud ever since the diagnosis. Words I’d only told one other person (not counting Mum) before, and she’d gone and ruined my life with them. Words that meant I lost everything I loved – color, art, words. All of it gone.

  Heathcliff shot to his feet. He patted the chair beside the fire. “Sit. Tell us about it.”

  Morrie looked aghast. “You’re letting her have your chair? I’ve lived here for three years and never once have you let me sit in that chair—”

  “Keep harping on about it and I’ll throw the chair out the window, and I’ll shut off the hot water,” Heathcliff growled. Morrie nudged my frozen body toward the chair.

  I stared at my feet, my whole body trembling. They know they know they know—

  “Bloody hell, Quoth, you’ve upset her,” Morrie punched his flatmate in the arm. “You can’t just blurt out shit like that.”

  Quoth leaned against the doorframe. “I didn’t know it was a secret,” he said.

  “Yeah, well.” I didn’t know a third flatmate who could place in a Brandon Lee lookalike competition was secretly watching me shelve books, but there you go.

  An arm slid around my stomach. Morrie’s head appeared under mine, his lips dangerously close. “Quoth didn’t mean anything by it. He’s not great at reading social cues. If it will make you feel better, I can concoct an elaborate revenge plan. I’m very good at revenge. Piano wire may be involved.”

  Quoth winced.

  “Can I think about it?” I sank into the chair. Warmth from the fire rolled over my body, taking the edge off the sting of my discovery. I stretched my fingers around the rolled arms, breathing in the scent that rose off the leather. Heathcliff’s unique scent – a spicy musk tinged with peat and fresh moss of the moors. Heathcliff leaned his elbow on the mantle and fossecked around in a packet of cigarettes. Drawing one to his lips, he flipped open a lighter and lit up.

  Morrie folded himself into his gaming chair and wheeled it across the room. Quoth didn’t approach, but I could still feel his strange eyes on the side of my face.

  “You look like you’re carrying some mighty burden, gorgeous,” Morrie mused, resting his chin in his hand. “Allow us to u
nburden you.”

  I glanced between their faces, the secret locking tight to my chest. Speaking it made it real, and if it was real I had to deal with it and I… I wasn’t ready. And yet… my tongue itched to speak. This secret had gnawed away on my insides for too long.

  These guys weren’t my friends. I’d barely known them two days. One of them was my employer. If they fucked me about, I could cut and run. I’d probably have to leave Argleton eventually, anyway – one of Mum’s crazy schemes would inevitably end up on the wrong side of the law, and if I stayed in my old room on the council estate much longer, I’d go insane.

  I had an out, if I needed it. I could afford to trust them a little, couldn’t I?

  My heart ached to trust someone again. I was sick of carrying this secret alone.

  I opened my mouth, intending to give them a couple of sentences in summary. Instead, words spewed out. “I grew up here in Argleton, but I spent my whole life wanting to escape. I can’t explain why, but people just never liked me. Kids at school bullied me because we were poor, because my mum’s weird, because I liked strange music and weird films and drawing pictures or writing stories instead of playing football. And because I read books, all the books, books way above my age level. As soon as I had my O levels, I booked my plane ticket out of here and I haven’t been back until now.”

  “Why did you come back, gorgeous?” Morrie reached across and ran his fingers over my knuckles, rising the hairs on the back of my hand.

  “Shhh, let her talk,” Heathcliff snapped.

  “I’ve spent the last four years in New York City, finishing my fashion degree, and then working at this amazing internship with Marcus Ribald – he’s one of my favorite designers. I got to shadow him for a year, work on the collections, manage the shoots, basically be his personal dogsbody. It was amazing. And what was even cooler was that my best friend, Ashley, was one of the other interns.”

  “I have a deduction!” Morrie cried. “Ashley’s the girl who came into the shop yesterday.”