by Lily Morton
“And your point is?” he says blankly.
I grin at him. “It’s bad for your health.”
“I’m far more likely to die being crushed by a stack of books than I am of a smoking-related disease.”
I look at the teetering piles of books on his counter. “You should really shelve them.”
He sniffs. “My old bones aren’t happy with the stairs. Someone will want something from the pile at some point, so they can just stay here.”
I shake my head. “We’re just going to look at the local history section,” I say, pointing to the stairs.
“Can I just express my sincere appreciation for you bringing me another book shop lodger? It’s such good company for me in my old age.”
I grin again. “This one’s a payer,” I stage whisper, pointing at Levi who immediately looks like he wants to vanish on the spot.
The old man opens his mouth in a startled fashion. “You mean this one won’t read and put back on the shelves?”
“Nope. This one will buy before reading.”
“Best get him up there then, lad. He can pay a bit towards the cost of keeping you entertained over the years.”
I laugh and push Levi towards the stairs. “Age before beauty,” I say demurely.
“Shit,” he whispers as his foot catches a stack of books, causing them to topple over.
“Now I see the truth,” the old man shouts. “This one’s going to destroy them before reading.”
“It’s okay,” I shout back. “Just putting them back properly.”
“Good luck with that, lad.”
I restack the books on the stairs, where more stacks lie higgledy-piggledy on the steps and on open shelves in the stairwell. Free wall space is crammed with paintings and drawings of the local area.
We round the steps without any more incidents, and I steer Levi over to the local history section. “You have a look here,” I instruct. “I’ll do the occult section.”
He nods and begins to peruse the shelves. I step over to the occult section which is a cosy corner by a sashed window looking out onto the lane below. I used to spend hours in here, not just to get warm, but to try and find any information about my peculiar talents.
I smile as I see the battered beanbag on the floor which had suddenly appeared a few weeks after I started coming in here. I’m also remembering how the old man had always had plates of food on the counter that he claimed he was trialling for a local café and could I taste test for him. He accompanied the offer with tart observations about youth and hair dye, but it’s a sure fact that some days that was the only food I’d eat.
I know the old bloke’s cutting and everyone runs scared of him, but somehow I’ve always felt safe with him, and after a while the remarks became a sort of banter between us. I wonder how much he saw. Probably everything. Teenagers tend to think of themselves as mysterious, when really they’re as see-through as a window.
I start to look along the shelves for local ghost legends. Sitting here and reading these books gave me the information I needed to run my ghost tour, but I’d never really focused on Levi’s house beyond the knowledge of a Victorian murderess killing her brother in there.
I wonder again at her actions from last night. Why do I get the feeling that she was trying to protect me? This woman slit her brother’s throat in cold blood and then calmly went back to her room and took off her wedding ring before she hung herself without any words of regret. What could she possibly fear so badly in that house?
I remember that chuckle in the dark and a chill runs down my back. There had been something in those shadows, something malevolent. Was it a spirit older than Rosalind? Maybe it was responsible for what she did. Maybe she was haunted by it too.
I turn back to the shelves with renewed interest, grabbing two slim books and a huge leather-bound tome entitled York’s Spirits and Monsters. “Sounds promising,” I say.
I make my way over to where Levi is sitting on the floor, leaning against a bookcase. He’s absorbed in a book, long legs stretched out and his brown hair falling over that starkly beautiful face.
I kick his foot gently. “Found anything?”
Startled, he looks up. His grin does strange things to my heart rate. It’s so wide I can see the snaggle tooth on the right side, giving his expression a crooked edge that’s oddly charming.
“There’s a whole book written about the house,” he says, showing me a cover with a picture of the house on the front.
“It looks like something an old professor would write and accidently bore himself into death while he was doing it.”
He blinks. “It’s quite interesting, actually. It traces the house occupancy right back to when it was built, but get this, it was constructed on the site of a much older house that was around at the time the first brick on the Minster was laid.”
“That’s York for you,” I say, lowering myself to sit next to him.
I lean into him, relaxing against his body and inhaling his woodsy scent. He hums and turns another page, his face intent. I sigh and look at the shelves before pulling down a book on the York Devil and other murders in York. It was good when I read it a few years ago and I could do with reading up some more for my tour. I need to add a bit of new detail.
The light outside grows dim as the yellowish sky ladles out more snow. The flakes tumble down outside the window, but inside we’re sitting together in a cosy nest surrounded by towering stacks of books. A safe and warm den—that’s how it used to feel to me. This was my safe place.
My book lies forgotten on my lap as I lean further into him, his body heating my side. I watch a lady walk past us dressed in the outfit of a Victorian maid. I incline my head respectfully and look up to find Levi watching me. “What?”
“What do you see?” he asks, shutting the book and adding it to the stack next to him.
“A maid.” She walks past me and disappears into a bookcase. “She’s gone now, but she’ll be back. She shows up every hour during the daytime.”
He shakes his head. “It’s amazing what you can see.”
I shrug. “Not sure about that.”
“Are you ever scared?”
I turn to him. His face is closer than I’d thought. I breathe in sharply and focus on his question.
“When I was younger, yes. I was scared shitless most of the time because they came to me and tried to talk, and I didn’t know what to do. It was no use asking my mum, either, because she was more scared of them than me. But not in this shop,” I say slowly. “This place was safe.”
“When’s the last time you were scared?”
I stare at him. “Last night,” I finally whisper. “I was fucking petrified.”
“Of the lady?” Levi asks, looking troubled.
“Strangely, no. I know she murdered someone, but I was more scared of what was waiting in the dark. Maybe it’s like predators,” I muse as he watches me with his kind eyes. “She’s the tiger shark, but there’s a Great White circling in the dark.”
I shudder, and he flings his arm around me. “Cold?”
I shake my head. “No.”
His face comes closer and closer. My eyes close and my head falls gently against the bookcase as he kisses me. It’s a soft kiss with none of the passion from the street. He rubs his lips over mine, playing with my lip ring, sending his tongue to glide over my lower lip and tracing the fullness before pulling back to blow on it. It electrifies me, my spine arching and my cock hard.
He pulls back, breathing heavily. “This isn’t the time or the place.”
“Not sure about that,” I say, tugging his head back towards me. His lips have just touched mine when a voice shouts from downstairs.
“You two okay up there? Shall I ring the butler and ask him to prepare a tray of tea?”
I groan and rest my head against him, panting gently. “Shit,” I whisper, and he laughs. “We’re just coming down,” I shout. I look at Levi, noting the huge pupils and the slight swollenness of his lip
s. “You got everything?”
“Everything I need,” he says solemnly.
I shake my head, jumping up and extending a hand to help him up. “You can’t say things like that,” I instruct. “It’s just not done.”
“Those are other people’s rules,” he says steadily, cupping my face in one of his big hands. “I play by my own rules.”
I smile. “Is that actually true?”
He laughs loudly. “No, but it sounded good. A bit anarchic.”
I pull back. “Come on then, Johnny Rotten.”
He lets me lead him towards the stairs, pausing to bend and pick up the book I was looking at and adding it to his pile.
“No,” I protest. “There’s no need for that. I was just looking up some juicy stuff for the ghost walk.”
He shrugs carelessly. “Okay.” But the book stays on the pile, and I follow him downstairs, standing to one side as the old man starts to total the purchases. “Thank you,” I mutter to Levi.
He grins at me. “You’re welcome.”
I shrug awkwardly and turn to study the cramped room which was the front room of the original house. As per usual, the ghost of an old lady is sitting on the orange velvet armchair sleeping peacefully.
“It’s rude to stare,” the old man at the counter says suddenly.
“What?” I jerk my head towards him.
“It’s rude to stare at the dead.”
Levi stares at me in astonishment.
“Oh my God.” I take two steps towards the counter. “Fucking hell, you can see her. And you know that I can see her too. Fuck!”
Levi looks from the old man to me like he’s at a tennis match.
The old man shrugs. “Of course you can see her.”
“How did you know? How could you tell?” The words topple out of me. “Can you tell from just looking at me that I can do that?”
“I’m psychic, not fucking Merlin,” he says grumpily. “Of course you can see her. You were properly staring at the poor old bat.”
“Fucking hell,” I say again.
He huffs and turns to Levi. “Shame he didn’t spend more time looking at a thesaurus up there rather than reading the rude bits in Jackie Collins books and sleeping.”
Chapter 9
Levi
I stare in amazement at the old man behind the counter and then turn to look at Blue.
He’s sheet white apart from two spots of bright red on his cheeks, his expression both freaked out and excited.
“Have you ever met anyone who can do what you can?” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “No. Fuck no, apart from my mum. I’ve met loads of pretenders though.”
The old man sniffs. “Some of those idiots who used to wait for you outside the shop, I expect.” Blue nods dazedly, and the old man rubs his forehead. “They couldn’t read the bloody tea leaves if you stapled their head to the cup.” He leans forward, looking at Blue intently. “There are plenty of people who can see the dead, lad.”
“But how can I tell who they are?” Blue says crossly. “I mean, I’ve been coming in here for years, and I never guessed about you.”
He shrugs. “I’m not the easiest person to read.” I can’t help the snort, and he looks at me wryly before turning back to Blue. “Did your mam or dad never tell you any of this?”
Blue shakes his head, sitting down on the stool across the counter from the old man. “My mum died when I was young. There wasn’t anyone else.”
“Nobody in foster care?”
Blue gives him a look.
The old man shrugs. “I figured you were in care or not happy at home and came here for a bit of a getaway.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because he was clean enough but he never looked cared for properly.”
“He wasn’t in care,” I say crossly. “He was homeless.”
The old man looks startled for the first time, paling and sitting down on his chair with a thump. “Homeless?” he echoes, looking at Blue who shakes his head crossly at me before shrugging and nodding. “Ah, lad, I’m sorry.”
“What for?” Blue now just looks freaked out.
“I figured you just wanted an escape. I never asked because you didn’t seem to want to talk about it.”
“I didn’t, and it wasn’t your problem anyway.”
The old man sighs. “And not my business. That’s what I’ve always told myself. I work best when I’m on my own. I can’t be looking after people.”
I’m sensing that there’s a story here, but I don’t think it’s one I’ll ever hear.
Blue shrugs. “I’m the same.” He looks intently at the old man. “But I would love to know more about what I can do.” He leans forward. “I mean, I can see them and they look like they want to talk to me and sometimes their voices get through, but other times I can’t. And then there are the colours and sometimes if I touch objects…” He stops and inhales. “I just really need to know,” he says passionately. “I can’t protect Levi if I don’t know.”
“Protect me,” I say, revolted. “I don’t need protecting.”
The old man ignores me and looks at Blue for a long second before he sighs resignedly. “Blue, go and put the closed sign on the door, and Levi can make a cup of tea for us.” He points to the back of the shop. “The kitchen’s through there, lad.”
Blue winks at me before running off happily to do the old man’s bidding. I stare after him, already feeling the lightening in his mood that someone shares his gift. That he isn’t alone. I smile, and when I look back at the old man, he’s watching me.
“Is he homeless now?” he asks abruptly.
“No, he’s staying with me.” His gaze holds mine. “He can stay as long as he likes,” I say firmly.
He nods slowly, his expression enigmatic. “Okay then, go and make the tea.”
I blink and jump to action, finding the small kitchen at the back of the house where he indicated. It looks down onto a cobbled yard surrounded by high brick walls, and I stare out at the view while I wait for the kettle to boil.
I hope this man has some answers for Blue and for me too, I suppose. If we can get some advice about the house, we can maybe do something to stop the activity. I pour the water into the old red ceramic teapot. But if the ghost stuff stops, then Blue will go.
I put the kettle down with a thud. I don’t want him to go, I realise with a start. He’s only been in the house for a night but already it feels full of him. Full of life and colour replacing the perfect shell it was before. Just the sight of his jacket slung over the newel post, his combat boots kicked off, and the smell of peaches on the air makes me happy. Even the blue dye smudges from his hair make me feel more alive than ever.
I’ve never felt so alive as I have since I came here. I’ve lived a fairly boring life. Mason and I never really had any highs or lows until he started shagging another man. Ghosts and a fey-looking, blue-haired man have certainly given me a new perspective on life.
I snort and grab the mugs. Blue and the old man are seated at the counter talking intently, and when I step through, Blue looks up and grins at me. It’s a warm, familiar smile that makes me feel good. I smile back and, plopping the mugs down on the counter, I go to sit on a ratty old orange velvet chair.
“No!” Blue and the old man shout in unison. I jump and pause with my bum hovering over the chair.
“What?” I gasp.
“You’ll sit on her,” Blue says.
The old man nods. “Come to the counter, lad. All the other chairs are taken.”
I look around the empty room. “Okay,” I say slowly.
Blue snorts, and I grimace at him as I sit on the stool he pushes towards me with his foot.
“You can call me Tom,” the old man says as if conferring a great honour upon me. I stop myself from grinning and incline my head respectfully. “Blue was telling me what house you own.”
I nod. “Do you know it?”
“Of course I do, lad. I’ve lived here all my life
and my mam and dad and my grandparents were the same. There isn’t much that the Pattisons don’t know about York.”
I lean forward. “So, what can you tell me?”
He looks regretful. “About as much as you know already.” I sag and he sips his tea. “My great-grandmother was in service to Rosalind and Alfred though.”
I jerk. “The maid who said Rosalind’s brother was unkind to her? The one who discovered the bodies?” He nods. “Did she have the…”
He smiles. “The second sight. Call it that. No, she didn’t. It was my great-grandfather who had that, and, although he was courting her, he was never allowed in the house. Rosalind was a stickler for appearances.”
“I’m not sure murdering your own brother fits in with that concept,” I say.
“It’s a mystery. It was a mystery to my great-grandmother too.” He stares into space. “She never really got over finding the bodies. It changed her. Apparently, she was a confident, happy woman before, but afterwards she’d have depressions and she was always nervy. Can’t say I blame her.”
“Did she ever say anything apart from the bit that Blue told me?”
He shakes his head. “Knowledge culled from the books upstairs, I suppose.”
Blue grins and nibbles on a biscuit.
Tom looks deep in thought for a second. “I don’t think so. She didn’t like to talk about it and so my great-grandfather always shut it down. I know Rosalind and her brother were very well liked in the community. They were regular churchgoers and did a lot for charity. The family were wealthy, but Alfred had vastly extended that through his knowledge of banking. Rosalind spent her days visiting the sick and trying to save women from prostitution by finding them work. Now, why this lovely lady that did so much for charity took a cutthroat razor to him, is something nobody knows. I will tell you one thing though.” He leans forward. In the gloomy light of the shop, his eyes gleam mysteriously.
“I went in the house one day as a lad. It was empty at the time. It never kept owners and was always changing hands. The lower window was broken and my friends dared me to go in and stay for fifteen minutes. I didn’t want to lose face, but I should have known better. I was already different and could see things they couldn’t, so why I thought it would lead to anything good is beyond me.”