Chapter 15 #2
Mina accepts a full glass from Heathcliff and takes another deep drink.
The alcohol makes her cheeks flush red, and if possible, she looks even more adorable.
And she’s asking questions instead of running away or trying to burn us all as demons.
These are all good things. “How did you all come to live here in Nevermore Bookshop together?”
“I arrived first.” Heathcliff’s fingers tighten around the bottle.
“Mr Simson had some contacts in London who secured me a birth certificate and passport. He said that he’d found me the perfect job, one that suited my unique skills.
I thought he’d be sending me up North to be a shepherd or take tourists on hikes around the moors, but instead he handed me the keys to the shop. ”
“Why?”
Heathcliff shrugs. “He never told me, and I never saw him again to ask. He’d cleared out his flat, closed his account at the Argleton post office, left me with a right mess of the accounts, and all the riff raff who come from the stacks.”
“I was the first to land in Heathcliff’s lap,” I grin. “He does love the feel of my firm cheeks on his—”
Heathcliff makes a low growl in his throat that has my cock positively throbbing.
“Anyway,” I continue. “We bonded over our joint exile from the fictional world. Plus, I’m able to hack into the government records and forge birth certificates and other useful documents, so if I stuck around, he didn’t have to keep going down to London.
Heathcliff likes that. It means he doesn’t have to leave the shop, and I can cook.
It was six months before we had our first fictional guest – Hester Primm.
We tried to live with her for a while, but she was always bringing strangers home.
Heathcliff found her a nice job pulling pints at a sports bar in London. Then it was Titania—”
“You mean, the fairy queen from A Midsummer Night’s Dream?”
“The very same. She now manages a donkey rehabilitation centre in Cornwall. And Quoth was the last.” A lie, but I don’t want to mention Lancelot to Mina or she’ll want to meet him.
“He came six months ago, and we haven’t had anyone since, which is a blessing, because living with Quoth is like having an annoying bloody baby. ”
“It is not,” Quoth huffs.
You’re not winning this one, birdie. I tick off points on my fingers. “He regurgitates food. He tears up the furniture. He creates incomprehensible paintings we’re supposed to stick on the fridge and admire. He shits on the customers.”
“Only when they quote that bloody poem,” growls Quoth, his brown eyes swivelling to me. “How would you feel if you were constantly reminded of the source of all your grief?”
“I don’t have any grief,” I shoot back. “Unlike some people, I’ve adjusted to my new life.”
Mostly.
“At least you’ve got a whole bloody house of chamber doors to loom over.” Heathcliff’s quiet words drip with menace. “I lost a part of myself, like leaving a rib in the pub bathroom—”
“Don’t tell me what I—” Quoth’s words cut off as his lips pucker out from his face. His eyes bug out, the sockets contorting and shifting back toward his ears as his neck snaps forward and his arms bend back.
Mina screams again, shrinking back in the chair as black feathers explode through Quoth’s skin, each one covered in a black film that drains away as the feathers unfurl and settle against each other.
Quoth spreads his arms and flaps, blowing papers and crumpling his clothes across the floor.
His body hovers in the air for a moment as it shrinks down and folds in on itself, twisting and contorting until he’s the raven once more.
No matter how many times I see that, it’s still… interesting.
Quoth circles the room three times, croaking with indignation, then settles onto the perch above the fireplace and glares down at Heathcliff.
Mina’s chest heaves. Her fingernails have torn fresh holes in the chair arms.
“This is why you can’t tell the police about Quoth,” I say. “He can’t control his shifting, especially if he’s nervous or stressed or angry. If they take him down to the station and he turns into a bird, then—”
“I get it,” she gasps, pressing her hand against her. “Is that also why he doesn’t have a birth certificate or a job?”
“We decided it would be easier for Quoth to hide if he never existed in the first place,” I explain.
The raven flies down to perch on my shoulder and nods its head sadly at Mina.
“So that’s Poe’s raven… and you’re really Heathcliff… and you’re James Moriarty…” she croaks out. “You’re a criminal genius.”
“I’ve never been tested,” I say proudly. “But yes, it’s probable I’m a genius.”
“You hacked into Jo’s phone, and you got me to lie to the police, and…” Mina’s face collapses as she puts everything together. “All that money that disappeared from your company’s accounts… you wouldn’t happen to know where it is?”
“I might have an inkling.” I take another swig from my flask.
“But I lost my job before I could provide the company with my valuable insights. Luckily, I’m well-equipped to weather such financial setbacks.
It’s just as well, because Heathcliff rarely makes enough to cover the mortgage, so I must supply the shortfall.
I do, however, have plenty left over with which to play.
Do you want a pony? I’ve always thought what this shop needs is a pony. ”
“Jesus bloody Christ.” Heathcliff skulls the rest of the wine bottle. “This place is already a bloody menagerie.”
Mina sighs. “It’s cool. It’s all bloody fine.
I’m working for history’s greatest antihero and hanging out with the Napoleon of Crime and a bloody rhyming bird.
And yet this still isn’t the worst thing that’s happened to me this week.
I just stood over my best friend’s body.
Is there any chance Ashley’s death is related to this whole cursed bookshop thing? ”
Heathcliff and I exchange a glance. “It’s crossed our minds, but we can’t figure how. Is your friend Ashley some kind of vindictive warlock hellbent on yanking fictional characters from their narratives in medias res?”
“Not that I know of.” Mina’s features flicker with horror. “You don’t think some evil character appeared in the shop right as she walked in, stabbed her, and ran away, did you? It could have been Jack the Ripper or Hannibal Lecter or—”
Heathcliff shakes his head. “No. We’d know.”
“We get a strange feeling when it happens,” I say.
That’s how we know that right now, there is a knight of the Round Table causing all manner of chaos and mayhem.
At least he’s France’s problem now. “Some invisible force rudely thrusts a hand inside your chest cavity and jiggles your organs around. Not one of us had that feeling last night—”
“Hey, is anyone in there?”
I freeze, listening. Someone’s downstairs in the shop. “I told you to leave that bookshelf in place,” Heathcliff hisses to me.
“I did. The bastards must have moved it or come in the back way. Either way, they’re breaking in.”
Heathcliff leaps to his feet. Grimalkin howls as she’s tipped rudely to the floor. “I’ll clap them around the ears!”
“No. I’ll deal with them.” Mina stands up. “They’re here to see The Argleton Ripper, anyway. I might as well give them a show.”
She heads for the stairs. Heathcliff shoots me a look that promises he’ll turn my elbows into mustard and spread them on a nice slice of roast beef if I don’t fix this.
“No, Mina, don’t—” but she was already halfway down the stairs.
“Hi, my name is Mina, and I’d be happy to help—” She stops in her tracks as she peers over the balustrade into the entrance hall below and sees who our customer was.
Or rather, not a customer at all.
Jo.