Welcome to Nevermore Bookshop

by Steffanie Holmes

  Jo’s right. This is completely different from before. It’s not a murder. This is just a horrible accident. It’s what happens when you host book club meetings for octogenarians.

  But no matter what I told myself, my legs kept shaking and my heart pattered against my chest. I knew something wasn’t right here.

  Of course not. Something isn’t right with Nevermore Bookshop. It brings fictional characters to life. I’ve been so distracted by Ashley’s murder and Morrie’s cock that I haven’t been focused on the biggest mystery of all. And now the shop has claimed another victim. Maybe it’s too dangerous to be open to the public. Maybe its magic is out of control. Maybe—

  A thick hand clamped down on my shoulder. “Mina,” Heathcliff’s voice boomed in my ear.

  “I’m fine,” I whispered. “It was just a shock.”

  “You’re a shite liar. Quoth’s bringing down some tea.” Heathcliff swung around in front of me, his dark eyes boring into mine. For a moment, his expression distracted me from my thoughts. Heathcliff only had two emotional states – grumpy and grumpier. Right now, he wore neither. The edges of his hard mouth wavered, his eyes widened, his swarthy skin hung pale and limp. I studied his stricken features, trying to discern what had caused this shift. He almost looked… concerned. I knew it couldn’t be for Mrs. Scarlett – was it for me?

  The thought that I might be the object of Heathcliff’s empathy, that I’d brought forward some deep-rooted, long-buried tender emotion, made my heart beat faster. My gaze flew to his lips – the lips that had one month ago met mine in a fierce kiss and had barely spoken to me since. A shiver ran through my body that had nothing to do with the chill in the shop.

  “You are okay,” he murmured, his rough fingers stroking my cheek. “You are not in danger.”

  I shook my head, unable to speak, unable to say to him that right now I was in danger of losing myself to him.

  “Mina.”

  I jumped. My heart leapt into my throat. My eyes flicked to the place where the voice had come from. It took a moment in the darkness to resolve the shape of Quoth, returned to his human form, standing in the doorway with a tea tray in his hands.

  The spell broke. Heathcliff’s face boiled over into his usual scowl. Quoth stared at the floor. “I brought tea,” he mumbled.

  “Excellent!” declared Mrs. Ellis from her spot under the window. “We could all use a nice cuppa. Be a good lad and serve us old ladies. Isn’t his hair beautiful, Sylvia?”

  Quoth handed me a cup. His hand shook as I took it from his fingers. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  “You have nothing to be sorry about,” I whispered back. Heathcliff grunted, slipping off into the shadows.

  Quoth’s eyes followed his friend’s back, a million unsaid emotions passing across his face. He swiveled away. This time, his eyes darted toward the opposite corner, where the members of the Banned Book Club clung to each other, weeping and whispering. “If I hadn’t shifted, perhaps the mouse would’ve—”

  “It’s not your fault. She was an old woman with a bad heart. I don’t blame you.” I sipped the tea, noticing my own hand trembled a little. “I just wish I could stop feeling like this was a sign, that bad things are destined to happen to me, or around me.”

  “Nothing is bad when you’re around,” Quoth whispered, backing away. “And you never have to be afraid. I’m always watching out for you.”

  Quoth scurried over to serve tea to the old biddies. As I sipped my drink, the EMTs removed the body in a white bag. Jo followed, peeling off her gloves and slumping down in the leather chair on the other side of the desk. I cast a look over my shoulder. Heathcliff was nowhere to be seen. I slid into his chair, grateful for the way his peat-and-cigarette scent rose from the worn leather. It steadied me.

  “I was right. It looks like natural causes.” Jo accepted a cup from Quoth’s tray, folding her long fingers around the mug. “Probably a heart attack, but I’ll know more after the autopsy. Did anything shock her before she died?”

  “She saw a mouse,” I shuddered at the memory. “She shrieked, then she started choking, and her face went all red and she fell over.”

  “That might do it.” Jo picked up my copy of Of Mice and Men and flicked through it. “Say, this isn’t the famous mouse, was it?”

  “Famous mouse?”

  “Don’t you read the paper?” Jo set down the book and her bag and pulled out a copy of the morning’s paper. Splashed across the page was the headline, £250 REWARD FOR THE HEAD OF THE TERROR OF ARGLETON, with an artist’s rendering of a tiny white mouse with a brown patch.

  “Apparently, the little bugger’s been popping up in all the shops along the high street and Butcher Street. Greta from the bakery said it chewed through a bag of flour. Charles over at the newsstand said it nibbled the corners off a box of postcards. It even popped up beneath a chafing dish at the Indian buffet.”

  I squinted at the picture – it was an artist’s reconstruction of a tiny white mouse with a pink nose and brown patch on its hind leg. “Yup. That’s our little friend.”

  “Apparently, Mrs. Scarlett is only the latest in a long list of his victims,” Jo grinned. “You’ve got a bird and a cat in here – you should have no trouble claiming that reward.”

  “I’ll put it on a tab at the pub.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Hey, you want to grab a drink tonight?”

  “Hell yes.” If I couldn’t get my fear under control, I was going to need it. Besides, maybe if I had a few drinks, I’d be brave enough to ask Jo what I should do about Morrie’s challenge and my date with Heathcliff.

  “Excellent. Meet you at the pub for happy hour.” Jo drained her tea and left for the mortuary. The other ladies in the book club hovered, looking pale and lost. Quoth refilled cups of tea, his eyes focused intently on the teapot as though it would grant him the answers to the universe. I admired how hard he was trying to come downstairs and act like a normal human. I just hoped it wouldn’t bite him on the arse.

  “I just can’t believe it,” Mrs. Winstone sobbed. “One minute we were discussing our book, and the next minute, she’s dead.”

  “Good riddance, I say,” Mrs. Lachlan piped up. My ears perked up.

  “Cynthia, how could you say that?” Mrs. Ellis admonished. “Gladys was our dear friend.”

  “She was a spiteful old hag who had to have her way with everything,” Mrs. Lachlan spat. “Look at the farce she’s made of the planning committee. Nature silenced her wicked tongue before someone thought to take matters into their own hands.”

  I shuddered at Mrs. Lachlan’s cruel words. Mrs. Ellis stiffened. “Well, I shan't expect you to assist with the funeral preparations.”

  “Likely not,” Mrs. Lachlan set down her teacup and stood up. “I think I’m quite finished here. Ladies, if you’ll excuse me, my husband will need me.”

  “He’ll need you to plan the celebratory party,” Mrs. Ellis muttered as Mrs. Lachlan hurried off.

  The other ladies finished their tea and headed off. Mrs. Ellis was the last to leave. She leaned over the desk and clasped my hands in hers. “I’m terribly sorry you had to see that today, Mina. It’s the price you pay for making friends with old biddies like Gladys and myself. I want you to know that you had nothing to do with her death – it was just a horrible accident. Just yesterday Gladys told me how much she enjoyed meeting you and how she was looking forward to having young blood in the book club.”

  “Mrs. Lachlan sure seems to hate her.”

  “Oh, yes,” Mrs. Ellis tsked. “It’s such a shame. They used to be very good friends before that business with the King’s Copse development.”

  “What was it that Mrs. Scarlett opposed, exactly?” King’s Copse was part of the ancient wood just outside Argleton. Much of the original wood was cleared for forestry thirty years ago. Only a few acres of the original wood remained. It was a popular place for Argleton’s youth to congregate to smoke weed and get up to shenanigans. If I didn’t feel like readi
ng or Mr. Simson closed the shop early, I often used to go to the wood and sit by the stream.

  “A few years back, Cynthia’s husband Grey purchased King’s Copse with the idea of turning the cleared areas into a housing development. Well, as you know, Gladys heads up the town planning committee. She’s an amazing civil servant. She sits on the hall repair fundraising committee, the town beautification league, the garden society, and our very own book club. She makes it her business to know everything about everyone in the village. Anyway, Grey applied for planning consent to build four hundred houses on the site. All modern homes, not at all in the traditional vernacular of the village. The committee isn’t happy, of course. They’ve made so many complaints about the design. Grey had to redesign the site three times, but he won’t let go of his ugly modern design,” she wrinkled her nose. “Mrs. Lachlan isn’t pleased the application keeps being kicked back, but it’s not Gladys’ fault. Gladys felt it was her duty to inform the committee about Grey’s outstanding debts from a failed project in London. Now the committee wants to deny him outright. Of course, Cynthia told us about the debts in confidence at a book club meeting. There might have been some Champagne involved.” Mrs. Ellis smiled sweetly. “She was ever so upset when she discovered Gladys told the committee. There’s been a terrible tension between them ever since.”

  “Oh, that’s a shame.” In my head, I wondered if perhaps this planning committee was the reason Argleton seemed so frozen in time. The village, with its wattle-and-daub cottages and Tudor pub, was gorgeous, but that didn't mean modern design couldn’t also look nice or be nice to live in. You couldn’t spend your entire life looking backward at the past.

  You’re one to talk, I reminded myself, thinking about how much I still wished I could go back to the past, to before my diagnosis, when I was going to be a New York fashion designer.

  “Don’t take what Cynthia says to heart. I’m sure she’s just in shock, like the rest of us. She’ll come around. After all, the Lachlans live in a gorgeous Georgian manor on the top of the hill. They can’t say they don’t love traditional design.” Mrs. Ellis winked at me as she looped her carpet bag over her shoulder. “I hope you’ll continue to be part of our book club, Mina. Perhaps you can help us choose more racy reading material. Honestly, I don’t know why anyone bothers banning half these books!”

  Mrs. Ellis winked at me again as she left. As soon as the door swung shut, Quoth popped his head up from behind the desk. He must’ve just transformed from his raven form, because he was naked. My cheeks flared with heat as I tried not to look.

  “So that’s your old schoolteacher?” His eyes widened.

  “She’s something else. Apparently, she still volunteered to teach sex education classes right up until her retirement.” I slid open Heathcliff’s snack drawer and rummaged around, withdrawing a Wagon Wheel that was only slightly smushed. I unwrapped the chocolate and offered half to Quoth. He shook his head. “Not fruity enough for you?”

  “I don’t want to spoil my dinner. Morrie’s cooking tonight.”

  “He can cook in that bomb site you call a kitchen?”

  Morrie leaned his head around the door. “I heard my name.”

  “Hey!” I rushed over and embraced him, his steadiness drawing the last of the fear and anxiety from my body. “What did you get up to today?”

  “A little consulting work for a private client.” Morrie slid his tailored jacket off his shoulders, revealing a crisp white shirt that accentuated his height and slim muscles. With his pretty-boy good looks and love of fine fashion, Morrie would be right at home on a Paris runway.

  “Counterfeiter or money-launderer?”

  Morrie raised an eyebrow. “Do you really want to know?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then don’t ask. How was the book club?”

  Quoth winced, but with Morrie’s arm sliding around my waist, I managed to get the words out. “It started off well enough, but then the Terror of Argleton showed up and scared everyone, which gave Mrs. Scarlett a heart attack and she died.”

  Morrie shuddered. “That mouse was back? We need to call an exterminator. Or the SAS. This is not acceptable.”

  “Didn’t you hear what I said? Mrs. Scarlett died with her face in a Victoria sponge cake. It was horrible.”

  “That is horrible.” Morrie kissed my forehead. “I was looking forward to a slice of that.”

  I punched his arm. “Get upstairs and start dinner. What are you cooking, anyway?”

  “It’s something French and delicious. Do you want to stay? We could open a bottle of wine, and I can lick your whole body while you tell me grisly stories about old biddies keeling over into cakes.”

  “Not tonight. I’m going for a drink with Jo.”

  “Too bad.” Morrie led me by the hand through the corridor behind the main room, into the Children’s room, where he wrapped his body against mine and met my lips in a furious kiss.

  “We can’t do this in the Children’s room,” I panted, breathless, trying to shove him away. “We’ll corrupt the books.”

  “Good.” Morrie pressed his lips to mine, and I gave up fighting. James Moriarty was relentless when he wanted something, and right now, he wanted me. His hard cock pressed against my thigh, and my fingers itched to touch it, stroke it, and make him lose control again.

  But there was something I had to do first. I whispered. “I’m going on a date with Heathcliff on Friday night.”

  “You work fast. Does Heathcliff know it’s a date?”

  “Unsure.”

  “Then wear that sexy jersey dress of yours. That way he won’t be left with any doubt.”

  “Are you sure this is a good idea? You’re not weirded out by me going on a date with Heathcliff?”

  “I’d be more weirded out if you didn’t want to date him.” Morrie’s hand drifted under my blouse, rolling my nipple between his fingers as I gasped. “I’ve read enough online fanfiction to know that he’s the original brooding bad boy. I keep telling him he needs a motorcycle.”

  “Don’t do that. If he has a motorcycle, he’ll be impossible to resist.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” Morrie growled, a wildness in his eyes I’d never seen before – the beast within threatening to take over.

  “Tempting.” My body shivered as his teeth scraped along my collarbone. “But I want to hear about Mrs. Scarlett’s autopsy.”

  “You’re choosing riveting conversation about a dead old biddy’s liver over a home-cooked meal and a night of unbridled passion with yours truly?” Morrie kissed my cheek and stepped back, though he looked as though it took all his self-control. “Well played, gorgeous. You really are my girl.”

  “Maybe not after Friday, if Heathcliff sweeps me off my feet.”

  “I’m not worried.” Morrie darted from the room, taking the stairs two at a time. I wondered if he’d done it on purpose, just to leave me breathless and needy in his wake. I sucked in a breath and straightened my skirt, trying to get my heart rate under control.

  “Mina.”

  I whirled around. Quoth stood under the arch that led into the main room. He was still completely naked. I opened my mouth to tell him to put on some clothes, that a customer could come through the door at any moment, but his beauty closed my throat. His pale skin contrasted against the gloom of the bookshop, making him appear to glow with a faint aura. Black hair hung in silken strands over his chest, reaching down to touch the edge of his pelvis and oh…

  He was half hard. For me. Brown eyes ringed with fire regarded me with predator-like intensity. I gulped.

  “Mina, you should stay for dinner,” he whispered, his velvet voice caressing my skin.

  I opened my mouth, closed it, and opened it again, trying to find the words to say what I felt, what wicked thoughts went through my head as my eyes trailed over his perfect body. But all that came out was a strangled cry.

  Quoth unnerved me, not because I was afraid of him, but because my own pain reflected bac
k at me in his eyes. I had to be careful around him, so careful, because I could fall completely for him – my sweet, broken boy – and I could break him, and he could break me.

  So instead I stepped back and said the only thing I could think to say that would push him away. “I wanted you to hear this from me. I’m going on a date with Heathcliff on Friday night.”

  “Oh.” His features didn’t move. His half-hard cock bobbed between us. My fingers itched to touch it, to feel that perfect body against mine.

  “Quoth, I want you to know that I’m not choosing—”

  He shook his head. “I understand, Mina. I accept it. Heathcliff and Morrie can take you on dates. I cannot.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I—”

  Quoth’s body exploded in feathers. His lips puckered out, forming a hard, curved beak. The last thing I saw was his face contorting in pain as his limbs snapped into place. My chest clenched. Was that pain caused by his shift, or by me? I didn’t want to cause him pain.

  He unfurled his wings and soared over my head and up the stairs, disappearing into the shadows.

  “Croak,” he called down, his voice tinged with sadness.

  “That wasn’t what I meant.” Tears pricked my eyes. I turned away and gathered my things, my heart racing. As I flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED and shut the bookshop door behind me, my stomach squirmed. Morrie’s challenge might entertain him; it might be exactly what the guys wanted, but I wasn’t sure I had the emotional fortitude to deal with all three of them and their issues.

  Chapter Seven

  “I’m surprised you’ve even out with me now that Morrie’s at the flat all the time,” Jo mused.

  I sipped my drink. A week ago, I’d broken down and told Jo about Morrie and I sleeping together. I had no choice – Morrie and Jo were friends and he’d already spilled the beans, so she’d been making low-level suggestive comments about it for weeks.