Welcome to Nevermore Bookshop

by Steffanie Holmes

  When I turned from the light of the window, my vision blackened. It was as though someone had thrown a blindfold over my eyes. Curiosity gnawed at my stomach. I wanted to search every corner of the room and figure out this mystery. But I could barely see my own fingers wiggling in front of me. I could hear the boys shuffling around, but I couldn’t see any of them.

  I hate this. I hate being so useless.

  From my pocket, I drew a lighter. I lit one of the candles I’d brought with me. I fumbled along the wall to locate the sconce I remembered from last time. The candle slotted in easily, but beyond the faint circle of its light I could barely make out the shapes in the room. I lit another candle and shoved it into a silver holder. I held it up near my face and navigated my way to the bed, listening to the boys as they explored the room from top-to-bottom, searching for clues. If we’d come in the daytime, I could have searched, too. But we’d thought it less likely someone from the past would catch us if we stayed the night.

  “I found some more candles,” Quoth announced from somewhere in the shadows. He came over and lit the candles from my flame, then placed them in sconces about the room. It still wasn’t light enough for me to search, but at least now I could make out the figures of my boys and some of the basic furniture shapes. At the small desk, Heathcliff held up a letter to a nearby candle. “You guessed correctly about the period,” he told Morrie. “This letter is dated 1896. Do you have another candle, Mina? I’ll read through this correspondence. Perhaps it might offer an identity to our room’s current occupant.”

  I fumbled through my bag and found a second candle, which Heathcliff set on the desk beside him. I lit it from my flame, leaning against the edge of the desk to observe him at work. The light illuminated the edges of Heathcliff’s face, flickering over his wild beard and dancing eyes. My heart skipped as he bent his head to read, arrested for a moment by his feral beauty.

  What answers might we find in this room? All of my boys had been plucked from their novels and thrust into the world, and we still had no idea why. If this room could tell us that, if it could give them answers, then maybe Heathcliff would be able to forgive himself for who he was in his book, Morrie would be able to let go of his need to control everything, and Quoth… maybe Quoth would find the freedom he truly craved.

  As I watched my boys, a base hunger rising inside me, another question crowded out the last. What might happen while the four of us are together and there was only the one bed?

  I know what I wanted to have happen, and also what I was terrified of happening. If we cross that line together, we can’t go back. And as much as I told myself it was just sex, and it was perfectly fine for me to sleep with whoever I wanted while I mourned the loss of my eyesight, a niggling sensation at the back of my neck and an ache in my chest when I wasn’t near the guys suggested my feelings for them were deeper than that. If I had to make deductions, I’d conclude that maybe, possibly…

  … maybe I was falling hard. For all three of them.

  A grunt from the bathroom distracted me from my thoughts. I stood and thrust my candle into the room. Morrie’s shoulders strained as he held up the bath while Quoth fiddled around with the primitive Victorian plumbing. “I’m curious as to where the ancient stops and the modern begins,” Morrie explained when he saw me watching.

  “I can’t see a thing.” Quoth set aside the mobile phone flashlight app he’d been using, transformed into his raven, and poked his head down the pipe. “Croooooak!” he called into the darkness below.

  “Hurry up, bird, this bath ain’t light,” Morrie complained.

  Quoth hopped away. He transformed back into a human, clamping his hands over his nose. “It reeks down there.”

  “What did you see?”

  “Not much. It all looks pretty ancient. And disgusting. Whoever owns these rooms has never cleaned out the drain.” Quoth went to the jug of water at the wash basin to splash his face.

  Leaving them to investigate the rest of the bathroom, I wandered into the closet, running my hands through the racks. Luxurious silk, chiffon, velvet, and linen slid through my fingers. Fine lace and sumptuous trims adorned collars, sleeves, and hems. Bustle pads and fashionable hats adorned with lace, mesh veils, silk flowers and strings of pearls hung from a rack by the window. Victorian fashion was so sensual, so extra. I could enjoy the tactile impact of the clothes, even though I couldn’t see the colors or shapes.

  I pulled a particularly fine silk and damask dress from the racks and held it up against my body. Corset ribs rubbed against my skin. Morrie watched me from the doorway with an evil grin on his face as I twirled around, admiring the way the heavy skirts fanned around my legs. “Isn’t it odd that the desk is full of letters and this closet bursting with clothes, yet the chairs by the window are covered up, as though they’re not to be used?” I asked.

  “Not necessarily,” Morrie replied. “This might be a room reserved for guests. Covering the furniture would help to keep it free of dust.”

  “That’s not it,” Heathcliff called from the office.

  I dropped the dress back into the rack. Morrie offered me his arm. I hesitated. I can make out the door on my own. But it was dark and a headache flickered across my temples, the start of one of the migraines that plagued me more and more these days. Biting my lip in frustration, I looped my arm in his, and he led me back into the main room. We passed Quoth at the window, splashing water from my drink bottle over his hands, in a further attempt to wash away lingering drain gunk. I sat down on the bed while Heathcliff read passages from the letters aloud.

  “‘Dear Madam’,” he intoned, his deep voice reverberating through my body, right down to my toes. “‘I hope this letter finds you well. I have enclosed the Works of Francis Bacon, ten volumes in large octavo, bound by J. Johnson of London in calf, gilt titles, and tooling, as you requested. The second has a slight imperfection on the cover, and I have adjusted my price accordingly. If you are compiling a collection of occult materials, I have enclosed a list of additional titles I hold in my possession. I draw your attention in particular to the Sphere Cabalistice Fatidicis numeris contexte I have recently acquired – this attractive Cabalist manuscript contains twenty-six leaves of divination tables and lists of animals and birds for augury. If you wish to possess this, please return my letter with haste, for I have two other interested buyers…’” Heathcliff set down the letter. “Most of the letters are of a similar vein, relating to the buying and selling of occult books. This particular missive was addressed to the infamous French clairvoyant, Madame de Thèbes. There are similar such missives between other noted occultists of the era. The woman who lived in this house – one Victoria Bainbridge – was a book dealer. She specialized in buying and selling rare antiquarian occult volumes.”

  “A basic assessment judged solely through surface details, as to be expected from your savage, lazy mind,” Morrie sulked. “Give me the letter. I’ll be able to tell you her hair color, sister’s middle name, and views on colonialism.”

  Heathcliff bristled at the word savage but didn’t rise to Morrie’s jab. Instead, he slotted the letter back into the desk. “The Victorian book trade was dominated by men, but Ms. Bainbridge made a name for herself by courting her clientele at the spiritualist gatherings in fine houses and amongst the intellectually curious of the upper classes. It seemed she had to keep a certain standard of living, as she frequently entertained clients at her home. However, from the looks of the ledger here, as she fell on hard times she had to dismiss staff. Likely, she also closed off rooms to lower heating and cleaning costs.”

  I loved the idea that an enterprising woman lived here in Nevermore Bookshop, making a life for herself using her wit and intelligence.

  “According to her latest letter, she’s visiting the continent for the winter to peruse the latest volumes of the French spiritualists and escape the inclement weather.” Heathcliff set the paper down. “Clever woman. She won’t be returning until after Christmas. Hence, I believe
, the drop cloths over the furniture, to avoid an excess of dust when she returns.”

  “Another bookseller,” Morrie noted. He shifted beside me, his body twitching with excitement. “This can’t be a coincidence.”

  Heathcliff rubbed his eyes. “Likely not, but I’m too tired to consider it now.”

  Tired? I was anything but tired. I wanted to know more about this woman. I wanted to pull out every drawer in that desk and try on every fine outfit in her closet. My skin tingled with anticipation. We’re on the cusp of figuring out Nevermore’s secrets, I can feel it.

  A hand brushed my leg, and I realized that Heathcliff might have been thinking about bed, but not sleep.

  “Yes,” I said, my voice catching as my heart pounded in my chest. “We’ve conducted our search, and it’s getting late. I think we should all go to bed.”

  I pulled back the covers. Heathcliff held up the candle and inspected the bed to make sure it was clean. We had no idea what kind of woman Victoria Bainbridge was and what she did between these sheets. Heathcliff declared the bed safe and I slid in between the covers. Grimalkin bounded across the duvet and nuzzled into my hair.

  “Not right now, kitty,” I whispered as I untangled her and dumped her on the floor. She meowed in complaint before scurrying off into the gloom.

  “Wise move, gorgeous.” Morrie slid in beside me, slipping his arm beneath my head. “We wouldn’t want Grimalkin to see what was about to happen.”

  “What’s about to happen?” I demanded, still not sure I wanted him right now, after the rude things he’d said. “You going to insult your friends some more?”

  “Only if they get in the way.”

  Morrie’s lips met mine. The kiss seared me inside and out, packed with all the promises he’d been teasing me with all day. I sank into the soft linens as Morrie’s hands explored my body, and all his niggling insults and barbed comments faded from memory as his touch lit me up.

  I should be stronger… I should make him open up to me… but maybe later…

  The bed creaked as Heathcliff climbed in behind Morrie. He’d snuffed all the candles bar one beside the bed, so all I could see was the corner of his head, the flickering light dancing against his wild hair. “Get your feet off my side,” he complained to Morrie.

  “Sleep on the couch if you’re worried about our feet touching,” Morrie warned. “Mina and I have plans.”

  “Don’t listen to Morrie. He’s being a wanker.” I reached behind Morrie and grabbed Heathcliff’s wrist, holding him in place. Morrie didn’t get to be in charge tonight. I did. And I wanted all of them in the bed with me, even if that meant…

  Stop. Don’t think about it, or you’ll talk yourself out of it.

  Quoth’s wings fluttered as he flew up to find a perch. His talons scraped about the chamber door. With my free hand, I patted the bed behind me. “Quoth, why don’t you come here?”

  “Croak!”

  “Yes, I’m sure.” I flashed him my brightest smile. “I’m sure.”

  Heathcliff tugged at his arm, trying to free himself, but I held fast.

  “Turn the light out, will you?” Morrie muttered, his lips trailing along my collarbone.

  After checking his sword was within arms’ reach should any marauding dinosaur surprise us, Heathcliff blew out the nearest candle, plunging the room into darkness. Quoth fluttered down and landed on the pillow behind me. The bed creaked again as he forced his change, sliding his warm, naked body between the sheets. Between him and Morrie, my skin hummed with heat. I listened hard as Morrie laid trails of kisses along my neck, searching the silence for some sign from the other guys, some clue as to what they were thinking.

  Morrie didn’t waste time. He clamped his lips over mine, and his hand reached under the waistband of my pajama bottoms, seeking the warmth between my legs. “What are you doing?” I whispered. “Take it slow. Quoth and Heathcliff are right here.”

  “I know.” His voice rumbled in my chest. “Isn’t it delicious?”

  A hand slid around my torso, pushing up my shirt. Lips pressed into my collarbone. Quoth. “Mina,” he murmured against my skin.

  I still hadn’t released Heathcliff’s arm. He leaned his elbow into the pillow to bring his face closer to mine. “If this is how it’s going to be, Morrie better shuffle his fat arse over.”

  Morrie swept me beneath him, pinning me to the bed with his body. “Better?”

  “Much.” Heathcliff tipped my head toward his and claimed my mouth in his. His savage kiss threw me into the tumult of his mind. When Heathcliff kissed, there was no forgetting who he was or the ferocity with which he felt and acted.

  My chest constricted. The intensity of the three of them with me, the heat rising from their bodies as they touched me and kissed me and claimed my body, pulled me deeper into their hearts. The room, the bookshop, the unanswered questions, my frustration with my broken eyes and with Morrie’s behavior… it all disappeared as they teased and stroked my body.

  Heathcliff kicked back the sheets as Quoth gently lifted off my pajama top. Morrie, in a rare display of uncontrolled haste, tore my pants from my legs with such force I heard a seam tear. The air crackled against my bare skin, as though a magic spell weaved us four together.

  How is any of this real? I gripped Heathcliff’s bicep, certain that at any moment I’d fall through the floor and wake up in my bed back at my mum’s flat, and they would no longer be living, breathing men but characters from books, and I never would have been kissed by three beautiful souls who lit my heart on fire.

  Heathcliff's kisses drew me back to the present. Of course they were real. Only something real could feel this good. Quoth’s fingers danced over my chest – his featherlight touch shooting sparks through my body. His lips pressed against the small of my neck, and his hardness slid between the cheeks of my ass.

  Morrie moved down my body, parting my legs. He pressed his lips between my thighs, right on the spot that buzzed with urgent desire. I moaned between Heathcliff’s lips as Morrie licked slowly along my slit. He paused over my clit, making me wait, waiting for me to beg. Quoth moved his mouth to my chest, tightening around my nipple.

  Three sets of lips on me, kissing, pleasuring, pleading for more. Three sets of lips to drive out my fears.

  I tightened my hips around Morrie’s head. He took the hint, his tongue lapping at my clit in his slow, gentle strokes, drawing out the ache inside me until it became a fire. Heathcliff deepened the kiss, pouring fire and brimstone straight down my throat and into my chest. My fingers reached down to curl in Quoth’s hair. He moaned and scraped his teeth against my nipple.

  I came with a shudder that became a wave rippling through my body, pulling me under before dashing my body against the shore of their bodies. Heathcliff’s lips slipped from mine as I sank back into the cushions, riding that wave until it crashed over me and ebbed away into a steady, warm hum.

  “What do you say, boys?” Morrie asked. “Should we try for one more?”

  “I say it’s my turn down there,” Heathcliff shot back. A wild grin spread across my face. How is this my life?

  Heathcliff and Morrie swapped places. Morrie pushed my face toward Quoth. “Give the little birdie some love,” he whispered, his fingers trailing down my back.

  Eagerly, I took Quoth’s face in my hands, seeking the solace of his mouth. Quoth’s lips on mine were soft, tender, promising that he’d always look out for me. But then Heathcliff’s mouth met my clit, his tongue attacking me with all his pent-up aggression, and my back arched and I held Quoth to me, tightening my body against his and mirroring Heathcliff’s relentless onslaught.

  Behind me, Morrie kissed and stroked my back. Under his fingers, the hairs on my skin stood upright, and warm shivers trickled through my skin. He angled me on my side, and his hands kneaded my thighs and ass. His hardness pressed between my ass cheeks, and his muscles tightened against me, as though he were very close to losing that tight grip on control.

  What is M
orrie up to?

  I didn’t have time to ponder, because Heathcliff’s nails dug into my thighs and his tongue did this thing and Quoth’s lips opened and Morrie’s grapefruit-and-vanilla scent filled my nostrils and my body exploded. I floated in the dark space between waking and sleep, living in the pleasure until it released my body and I could sink back to earth.

  “That’s two,” I could hear the satisfied smirk in Morrie’s voice. “Do you think she’ll come again if two of us are inside her at once?”

  Excuse me, what?

  “I think you’d better discuss that with Mina first,” Heathcliff said, a hint of warning in his voice.

  “Obviously she’s down for it, or she wouldn’t have begged all three of us to be in bed with her.” Morrie’s fingers stroked my ass cheek. “I’ve been dying to be inside her arse ever since she sashayed that pretty thing into the shop.”

  Oh no, he didn’t.

  Quoth’s arms tightened around me. “Don’t let Morrie push you,” he whispered.

  “Don’t worry. Morrie won’t be not pushing me into anything, or putting anything inside me, the way he’s acting right now.” I scrambled up in the bed to face Morrie. Quoth’s arms still held me tight. “As the owner of said arse, I’m weighing in. You don’t get to—”

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  A sharp voice broke through the darkness. Heathcliff sprung off me. Quoth’s arms tightened around me, pressing me into himself as though his body would shield me. Morrie, of course, rolled over as though he had all the time in the world.

  “I sleep in that bed,” the voice snapped. A match flickered in the gloom. A moment later, a candle revealed a stern woman with a face like boiled cabbage. Behind her, Heathcliff lunged for his sword.

  “Heathcliff, don’t!” I cried, just as his hand slid around the hilt and he swung the weapon at her head. The woman ducked under the blow, grabbed Heathcliff’s arm and twisted it around herself, applying pressure to his elbow until his fingers unlocked and he dropped the sword. Quoth yelped in fright. Feathers exploded across the bed as he shifted, swooping up to perch above the door.