Chapter 7 #3
“Sorry, Chan,” Sam replies in amusement. The three of them disappear into the back of the shop where, despite never having been here physically, I know the old servants’ staircase is located.
Their absence leaves me and Tristan alone on the shop floor. It doesn’t take me long to figure out why the spirits have all been giving this place a wide berth.
Hex bags. Six of them to be exact, hidden throughout the room.
It takes even less time for me to deal with them, burning them to a crisp inside a metal wastepaper bin and leaving the atmosphere inside the shop…not normal exactly, but certainly better than it was.
After a few moments, random spirits once again begin drifting through the walls and ambling about. Some watch what we’re doing, others are seemingly happy to ignore us.
“Try not to inhale the fumes,” I warn Tristan as he leans over the smouldering bin.
“Are you two toasting marshmallows down here and forgot to invite me?” Sam’s amused voice intrudes, and I roll my eyes.
“Finished playing hide-and-seek upstairs?” I ask dryly. “Don’t touch those, they’ll need to be buried properly,” I tell Tristan and nod towards the ashes.
“Okay.” He shrugs and turns to Sam. “Did you want something, Sam, or did you just come to pull Harrison’s pigtails?”
“Maybe later.” He grins and winks at me.
“We’ve found a cupboard and Danny says you have the key Viv left you?
” Tristan nods. “Come on, then, if you two have finished with your little mini bonfire. I mean, if you need more time, I could always break out my guitar and we could sing a couple of rounds of Kumbaya.”
“Sorry, not my religion,” I say primly, and cross the room.
“I didn’t know you could play the guitar,” Tristan says to Sam behind me.
“What can I say?” Sam replies. “I’m a man of hidden talents.”
“And don’t think I didn’t notice you checking out Harrison’s arse as he walked past.”
“Of course I did,” Sam says unapologetically. “Have you seen his arse? It’s like the juiciest peach wrapped in a silk handkerchief.”
“I heard that,” I reply as I head up the narrow stairs, grateful they can’t see my face flush with pleasure at Sam’s words.
I hear them chatting as they follow along behind me. It doesn’t take long to find the room Danny and Chan are located in; Chan’s shriek is so loud I’m surprised the windows don’t rattle.
When we enter the room it’s to see Chan dancing on the spot clutching what appear to be several pieces of brightly coloured clothing. “Biba, Dusty! Originals!”
“Um, is he alright?” I frown, staring at Chan in confusion. “He seems to be having trouble forming a full sentence."
“What’s a Biba?” Tristan asks in confusion.
“It was an iconic clothing store in Kensington during the sixties and seventies,” Sam says, then shrugs when everyone stares at him. “What? We may have been from up north, but my mam spent some time in London during the seventies and loved Biba.”
“Oh, look at these!” Clothes continue to be pulled at random from boxes. “These are true vintage! I call first dibs on any clothes you find,” Chan declares to Tristan, then squeaks and pulls a patent yellow handbag from the box and cradles it lovingly in his arms.
“Uh, Chan, I didn’t actually inherit the bookshop and its contents. I’m only babysitting it for a while,” Tristan reminds him.
“Oh.” He pouts, his dark eyes wide. “But…”
“Sorry. All this belongs to Viv’s son if they find him,” Tristan says apologetically, and honestly, I wish I could just tell Chan he can have it all if it makes him happy, but I can’t. Not yet.
Tristan steps forward to the cupboard Danny has found, producing the key he’d been left by my mother, but once again I find myself tuning out. There’s something about this place I can’t quite put my finger on.
It feels like it’s calling to me somehow.
I’m vaguely aware of Tristan retrieving a parcel with his name on it from the cupboard, which he sets on the nearest stack of boxes as the others gather around him. I know I should be paying attention, but I’m finding it hard to focus.
A strange shadow flickers at the periphery of my vision, and there’s a low whispering in my ear. I’m vaguely aware of Tristan lifting out some sort of book.
“Is that what I think it is?” Danny says.
“Yes,” Tristan whispers. “It’s the master copy of Cornelius Crawshanks Guide to the Recently Departed.”
The others begin speaking again, but I’m really not listening to them at all. The whispering in my ears is getting louder and more insistent. I can’t make out the words, but they’re somehow familiar.
The others don’t even notice when I turn and slip out of the room.
As I reach the darkened corridor and glance down to the other end, I see a shadow detach from the wall and hover midair.
I can’t say how I know that it wants me to follow it, but the knowledge is there deep inside me, like it’s only been waiting for the right moment.
The whispering in my ear is now almost a roaring crescendo, but curiously, I don’t feel any fear, just a sense of urgency.
Without any thought to the danger, I turn and follow the shadow into the darkness at the other end of the corridor.