Chapter 13
Well, I’ll be damned.
Sam was right. There is a connection between the ghost Tristan is trying to help and the bookshop. He’s not just randomly haunting it.
I trace my fingers down the family tree I’ve been compiling and there it is.
Bruce Hernando Reyes, son of Hazel Parker, who is a direct descendant of Cordelia Crawshanks through an illegitimate son.
Which would technically make this Bruce person a distant cousin of mine. Fifth cousin once removed to be exact.
I’d started trying to figure out my family tree way before I got to London. I know that through my mother I’m descended from the Crawshanks family. If I go back far enough, there were three siblings, two sisters and a brother, and I’m descended from the middle sister, Constance.
Why do those names sound so familiar?
I glance at the name Constance and see she had a daughter named Evangeline. It’s giving me the strongest sense of déjà vu. Skimming across, I see their brother Cornelius’s name and again am met with the feeling I should know who these people are.
I’m beginning to think that none of what has happened recently is random. Running into Tristan, meeting Sam, and now…Death.
I swallow hard and shake my head.
That whole experience was just so surreal.
I met the actual Grim Reaper and let me tell you, there was nothing grim about him.
Something Chan definitely noticed. The man…
entity…whatever he is…is gorgeous. I mean, I’m sure he can appear however he wants, he’s eons old and powerful on a level I can’t even comprehend. But he definitely picked a good look.
Everything seems so overwhelming right now. I really thought I’d come to London meet my mother, find out if there were other witches in our family who can do the things I do, but now all I keep finding is more secrets, more mysteries, and I’ve never felt more alone.
As if they can sense it, my phone rings, and when I pick it up to glance at the screen, I see Pop’s face. A wave of homesickness washes over me, and I almost decline the call. But the need to hear his voice wins out and I connect it instead.
“Hey, Pop.” I try to smile.
“Hey.” His smile dims a bit. “Wanna talk about it?”
“What?”
“Whatever put that look on your face,” he replies.
“Is Dad around?”
“I’m here, honey.” His face appears next to Pop. “Is everything okay?”
I exhale heavily. “I don’t want you to panic.”
“Words that never precluded anything good.” Dad frowns. “What’s going on?”
“I, uh…so, funny story. I was in Tristan’s kitchen in the middle of a supernaturally charged storm with two drag queens, one dead and one very much alive, a psychic private investigator, and a Scotland Yard detective with a broken leg, and…um, Death shows up.”
Two faces stare back at me silently.
“Hello.” I check my phone settings to see if the screen has frozen. “Er, Dad? Pop? Have I broken you?”
“Um, sweetheart.” Pop frowns. “When you say Death…”
“I mean the supernatural entity who escorts souls into the afterlife,” I clarify. “Dad? Dad, are you okay? You look awfully”—he disappears from view and I hear a loud thump—“pale,” I finish lamely. I turn my attention to Pop, who’s looking down to the floor beside him.
“Hold on a minute, Harry.” The screen flits all over the place, and I end up staring at the top corner of the living room wall and part of the ceiling.
In the corner of the screen there’s a small movement, and I can kind of see Pop hauling Dad to where the sofa is, then they both disappear again.
“You okay, baby?” Pop says softly, and I hear a groan, then Dad mutters something.
Pop chuckles, the screen moves around again with a blurb of movement, and I’m staring at them both sat on the sofa.
“He’s fine,” Pop says to me. “Honestly, you’d never believe he was a doctor, cool as a cucumber at work.”
“Dealing with goitres and ingrown toenails is slightly different from our son telling us he was in the same room as a reaper. Not just any reaper. The reaper. Oh my goddess.” Dad’s eyes are a bit wild.
“Here, honey, breathe into this.” Pop hands him a paper bag, which he puts to his mouth and starts breathing in and out of rapidly. “There you go.” Pop taps Dad’s knee and suddenly I see a sweet face appear and sniff the screen. Her fur is white around her muzzle now, but her eyes are bright.
“Hey, Circe, my beautiful girl,” I coo, and I can hear her tail thumping against the sofa cushion.
Meanwhile, the bag in front of Dad’s face crinkles as it expands and contracts. His breathing slows as Circe settles into his lap and leans against him.
“Anyway,” Pop says. “Go back to the part where you met Death.” His voice sounds slightly awed. “What was he like? Was he all, like, big cloak, scythe, trailing screaming souls?”
“Actually, he had a sexy CEO vibe going on,” I mutter.
Dad pulls the bag away sharply, his brows raised. “Really?”
I nod. “I’m sure he can appear however he likes, but he clearly picked a good template. He was tall, dark hair, blue eyes, immaculately tailored suit.”
“What was he like?” Pop asks, leaning closer to the screen in interest.
“Cool, calm, quite urbane really,” I muse. “He seemed very interested in Chan.”
“Who’s Chan?” both Dad and Pop chorus.
“A friend of Tristan’s, a drag queen. She’s stunning, looks like a Las Vegas showgirl. Lots of skimpy, bedazzled outfits with feathers. Oh my gosh, so many feathers.”
“Sounds like it’s never dull where you are.” Pop grins. “Are you sure you don’t want us to drop by for a visit?”
“No,” I chuckle. “Not right now.”
“So, when you say Death was looking at Chan with interest was it an I’m going to steal your soul kinda thing or–”
“No.” I laugh a bit louder. “He doesn’t steal souls, he reaps them, and no. He was looking at her in—well, if I didn’t know better, I’d say it was attraction. Which is insane, I know, the Grim Reaper having a crush on a drag queen, I–”
I pause when I hear a loud crunch and look across to see Dad holding a bowl of popcorn in one hand and heaving a handful into his mouth with the other.
“Whaaa?” he says with his mouth full.
Pop shakes his head and smiles.
“Where did you get the popcorn from?” I ask.
“We were watching a movie earlier,” Pop replies.
“At eleven in the morning?”
Dad swallows his mouthful. “It’s never too early for popcorn.”
“Anyway, carry on,” Pop urges, his eyes alight with fascination.
“So, Death shows up in Tristan’s kitchen, and it turns out Tristan knows my birth mother. Not only that, he’s sort of friends with her, and he’s been to the bookshop she runs several times. But get this, there’s a portal inside the bookshop.”
“A portal?” Pop frowns.
“Tristan calls it a magic door, which Death seems to find very upsetting. Anyway, it apparently leads to the spirit world. There’s a ghost inside the shop called Bruce, and he’s tied to this portal.
That’s why Death showed up to see Tristan—who is a medium, by the way.
I think I mentioned that before. He told Tristan that Bruce’s bones are about to be uncovered, and Sam says–”
The bowl of popcorn goes flying, spraying Pop and Circe with kernels as Dad grabs the phone and pulls it closer.
“Who’s Sam?”
I sigh. “He’s a private investigator, and a friend of Danny’s. Danny is Tristan’s boyfriend.”
“Honey,” I hear Pop say from somewhere behind Dad’s head, which is now taking up the entire screen, “I’m so happy you’re making friends. Awww, our baby’s growing up.”
I roll my eyes. “Have, I have grown up. I’m thirty years old, for goodness’ sake.”
“Yes, yes.” Dad shakes his head. “Now tell us about this Sam. Is he the psychic private investigator that you mentioned? Is he good-looking? Single? How old is he?”
“Yes, he is, I don’t know, and I guess about the same age as me.”
“Was that yes, he’s the psychic, or yes, he’s good-looking?”
I hear the door in the shop open and the little ting of the bell on the counter. “Sorry, Dad, I have to go. I have a customer.”
“But just tell me–”
“Bye, love you both. I’ll call soon.” I blow them a kiss and end the call before either of them can say anything else.
Slipping my phone into my pocket, I rise from the stool I was sat at in front of my workbench and pick up the parcel of herbs I had just finished putting together.
Smoothing down my sweater, I head out into the shop and smile at my customer. “Good morning, Mrs Clement. I have your order right here.”
I set the wrapped parcel on the desk and greet the middle-aged woman who has arrived.
Her hair is styled in a no-nonsense bob, wearing a neatly belted raincoat, and sensible shoes.
She looks more like she should be chairing the PTA than simmering herbs over a two-hundred-year-old cauldron, which I know for a fact she has because I sourced it for her.
“Good morning, Harrison dear. Did you manage to get everything? Are they stronger than the last batch? For some reason, the tea didn’t work as well as it has previously.”
“It’s a good batch, I promise, but you might want to let it steep for longer. Overnight would be best.”
“Hmm, perhaps you’re right.” She hums. “I was rather short on time with the last one. Put it on my account, will you, dear?”
“Of course.” I make a note in my ledger. “Payment will be due at the end of the month.”
“Excellent.” She nods. “I may have a couple more requests. I’ll give you a call later once I’ve made a list.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
She smiles. “It’s so nice to have a good supplier. I’m very glad you moved to London.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind.”
“Well, I must be off.” She scoops up the package. “You have a good day, Harrison.”
“You, too.” I offer a polite smile as she heads for the door. Once she opens it, she steps back, allowing another person to enter.
“Oh, thank you.” He peers over his misted-up glasses and tries to wipe away the raindrops rolling down his nose.