Yep, straight out of the nineteenth century. I grinned. “If you give me a fifty pence an hour pay raise, I’ll even throw in some Cornish pasties for breakfast.”
“You drive a hard bargain.” Heathcliff held out his hand, and I shook it.
Was it just my imagination, or did he grip my fingers for a second longer than was appropriate? Heathcliff’s dark eyes met mine, the edges stormy. He jerked his hand back, nearly breaking my fingers off.
Once I had all the books listed on the online catalogue, Heathcliff set me free to place my finds on the shelves, along with another box of books he’d already catalogued. The bird and the cat hopped after me as I moved through the rooms, hunting out the appropriate shelves, pulling books out at random and flicking through the pages, inhaling their comforting smell and recalling memories from my childhood.
I was adding some Folio Society books in their designated room on the first floor when the bell jingled downstairs. A few minutes later, a middle-aged woman in a ghastly cardigan ducked her head into the room, glancing up from her glowing phone screen to scan the bookshelves. She pulled a couple of books off at random and snapped pictures of them on her phone. As she wandered toward the next room, she spotted the raven sitting on top of the doorframe.
“Oh, what a majestic bird,” she said. “It’s a raven, isn’t it? Once upon a midnight dreary—”
“Croak!’ The raven flapped its wings, lifted its leg, and let another parcel fly. The woman yelped and ducked out of the way just in time to avoid being hit.
“Sorry!” I yelled. “He doesn’t seem to like that poem!”
She hurried off down the stairs. A moment later, I heard her shrieking at Heathcliff. Oh, this will go well. I moved to the top of the stairs to watch the show. Grimalkin weaved between my legs and the raven settled on the the balustrade. With a final shout, the woman scurried into the hall. “Get out, get out, get out!” Heathcliff yelled after her.
“I’ve never been so insulted!” she shrieked back, the veins in her forehead throbbing. “I won’t buy another book from this shop ever again!”
“You were never going to buy a book anyway. That’s the whole bloody point!” Heathcliff leaned out of the door, his eyebrows knitted together in an expression of utter disgust.
“What are you looking at?” he growled at me as he slammed the door.
“You know, if you’re nicer to customers, they might buy books.” I gestured into the gloomy hall. “Maybe then you could afford a few more light bulbs around the place.”
And I wouldn’t trip over stuff all the time.
“She was never going to buy a book,” Heathcliff glowered. “Didn’t you see her? She was going around snapping pictures on her phone so she could look them up on The-Store-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named later. You can tell a reader from a kilometer away.”
“Oh, can you?” Morrie appeared on the staircase behind me, emerging from the second story flat. He’d added an blue cashmere scarf to his ensemble that perfectly matched his eyes. “Enlighten us with your powers of deduction.”
“Mina is a reader.”
Morris snorted. “Well, duh. That’s obvious.”
“How can you tell?” I asked. “I told Heathcliff I used to practically live in this bookshop, but I never told you.”
“Easy,” Morrie said. “There’s a smudge of ink on your right index finger and—”
“It’s taken her forty-five minutes to shelve seven books,” Heathcliff said. “She’s either reading as she goes, or she’s simple.”
“Hey!”
“As charming as always, Heathcliff. If you’ll excuse me, Mina, one of us has to make the bones. I’m heading into the office.” As Morrie passed me on the landing, he took my hand, raised it to his face, and grazed my skin with his soft, warm lips. My whole body flushed with heat. “Don’t let Old Cantankerous scare you away. I look forward to when next we meet.”
“Yes… er… right. Bye.” I stared after him as he shuffled down the narrow stairs and out the front door. By Ishtar, I knew I’d be seeing that arse in my dreams.
For as long as I still have dreams I can see.
As Morrie stooped to fit his tall frame through the door, another figure pushed past him. A young woman about my age carrying what looked from here like a Birkin bag paused in the entrance hall, and turning to study Morrie’s departure.
“By Isis, I never thought I’d see an arse like that walking out of a dump like this,” purred a throaty voice.
My heart leapt into my throat. I ducked out of the staircase and flung myself against the wall, wishing the dark wood would swallow me up.
Ashley.
Chapter Five
I’d recognize that voice a mile away. And she swore by an ancient female goddess, which was something Ashley and I started doing in America when we noticed everyone talking about God all the time.
Panic swirled in my stomach. She’s here. Why is she here? Ashley doesn’t read. The only times she ever set foot in Nevermore Bookshop was when she was meeting me after school.
Logic told me I should flee deeper into the shop, because there was no telling what would go down if Ashley saw me. But I couldn’t bear it. I had to find out why she was in here, in my territory. I knelt on the carpet and crept back onto the landing, turning my body to stare through the balustrades. I could barely see her in the gloom, but I could make out her vague shape, and Heathcliff's, who appeared in the doorway.
“If there’s an ereader in that fancy purse of yours, you can turn around right now,” he growled. I stifled a laugh with the back of my hand. By Athena, I love you, Heathcliff.
“Relax, man. I’m just here to look at some books.” Ashley’s stiletto heels clacked over the wooden floor as she moved toward the staircase.
Fuck.
I scrambled across the rug, past the Sociology section and into the next room. Ashley’s heels creaked on the stairs. I scanned the room for a hiding place. A faded velvet chaise lounge faced a small coffee table in the center of the room. There was enough space between the couch and the bookshelf for me to squeeze in. I dropped to my knees again and crawled into the gloom, hoping my arse wasn’t hanging out the other end and giving me away.
Behind the couch, a blanket of dust and piles of black furballs congregated in an unholy meeting of the damned. I covered my mouth with my hand and tried to think about something other than the desperate tickle in the back of my throat. From here, I had a view of the top of the staircase, the landing, and the room beyond.
Ashley emerged on the landing, and wandered into the room I’d just vacated – the one that held the Folio Society books, as well as shelves of psychology and sociology books. Ashley stepped over the pile I’d left on the floor and stopped in front of the Sociology section.
Watching her from my hiding place, my mind swirled with emotions. She looked fierce. Of course she did – fierce was Ashley’s brand. She had thirty thousand online followers thanks to her daily ‘What I Wore’ snaps and her stories from the inside of the fashion world. She spent hours on her clothes and makeup every day to make sure she looked perfect. Today was no different – she’d dyed her short hair a Miami Beach blonde. Her pixie face leaned in close to the shelf as she studied the spines, her pouty lips framed in her signature red lipstick.
Ashley wore a pleated skirt and a black chiffon blouse with bell sleeves and huge cuffs, paired with black lace-up boots that looked straight out of a Victorian mourning portrait or a New York sex club. Her betrayal stung my heart, but my arms itched to propel myself from my hiding place and embrace her.
Ashley and I became friends at fifteen, during PE class. I was faking a ‘woman's curse’ to get out of cricket practice and she was benched for punching Sabrina Winter in the face. I stiffened when she sat down next to me. She’d been in my classes for years and I’d always avoided her because she was loud and terrifying. Ashley leaned over and tugged down the top of my book. “Nice shirt,” she smirked.
I stared down at my Putrides
sence t-shirt. “They’re a punk band,” I said, yanking my book from her grasp. Last period, Sabrina Winter and her friends sat behind me and stage-whispered awful things about me to each other. The last thing I wanted was a fashion rebuke from Ashley Greer.
“I know, you twat. I’m friends with the drummer. Want to see their show in London this weekend?”
“Um… yes. Yes, I do.”
That Saturday night, Ashley introduced me to a new facet of the punk music I loved so much – the live show, the mosh pit, the raw anger of shouted words and screaming guitars. She snogged the drummer backstage and the band fed us free drinks all night. We’d been inseparable ever since.
When I decided to apply for the New York Fashion School, Ashley created a portfolio in a single evening and sent it in, too. She never did know what she wanted to do, but she had a knack for fashion. I was stoked when they accepted both of us, and then again when we both ended up winning Marcus Ribald’s internship. When I got my worst-news-ever, she collected me from the doctor’s office with a bottle of bourbon and got me absolutely trashed, as only a true friend could.
At least, I thought she was my best friend. Now… she was the reason I was back in Argleton, choking on furballs in a deserted bookshop instead of working on Marcus Ribald’s latest line.
What is she doing here? It was weird for Ashley to come back to Argleton. She hated this village just as much as I did. And why was she back now? I knew things would be absolutely crazy in the office during the run-up to Paris Fashion Week. Her appearance here was a complete mystery.
She seemed to be studying the sociology titles, which was also odd, because I couldn’t imagine Ashley ever reading a book about sociology. She probably didn’t even know how to spell it—
The floor creaked, and my heart flew into my mouth. But it was only Grimalkin, leaping down from a shelf somewhere in the depths of the shop and padding up to Ashley. “Oh, what a cute kitty.” Ashley knelt down to stroke her. Grimalkin circled her legs, the tip of her tail curled over like a periscope.
Grimalkin’s eyes lit up as she spied me. She darted out from Ashley’s legs and bounded toward me.
I whipped my neck back into the shadows as Ashley turned around. Good kitty, just pretend I’m not here. Go back to smooching Ashley or cleaning your own arsehole. There’s a good girl—
Grimalkin bounced on top of my head. “Mew, mew, mew!” she chatted happily as she batted my bangs with her paw.
Thanks, cat. Thanks a lot.
“Omigod, Mina, honey! What are you doing behind that sofa?”
I froze at her voice. Don’t look at me. I’m not here. But it was too late. Ashley’s eyes bore into mine. Grimalkin, betrayer of friends, trotted up to me and thrust out her head, demanding to be patted.
“Um, hi, Ashley.” I scrambled to my feet, brushing dust off my outfit. I dared a peek down at my skirt, only to recoil in horror at the grimy streaks across my chest. “I was just… reshelving some books. I work here now.”
“In this fusty old place? But why?”
Why? After you blabbed my deepest, darkest secret so you could steal my dream job out from under me, I couldn’t get another job in the fashion industry, which means I couldn’t afford my shitty Manhattan apartment so I had to come back here with my tail between my legs and I’m now sleeping in my childhood bedroom surrounded by towers of wobbleators.
But I didn’t say any of that, because I was me and she was Ashley and I still remembered when we used to sleep over at each other’s houses as teenagers and stay up all night cutting out pictures from fashion magazines and practicing our runway walks. Instead I said, “I needed a job. I have a lot of spare time these days, so I thought I’d come visit my mum. You?”
“Marcus got a paper cut last week, so he’s convalescing in Martha’s Vineyard. He’s decided he hates the entire January collection or something, so the office is a dead zone while we wait on his designs, and New York is so expensive.” She rolled her eyes. “You know what he’s like. He’ll be gone for a week or more and then we’ll have to work twice as hard to catch up in time for Paris. I thought I’d take the opportunity to visit my family and sublet my apartment to save some money. That’s why I’m here, I wanted something to read because I forgot how dull it is in Argleton.”
Blood boiled in my veins. How dare she? That should have been my job she was complaining about, and Ashley knew it. Yet she had the nerve to come in here and talk to me as if nothing had changed. I wiped a smudge of dust from my elbow and glared at her. “Must be weird for you, having that apartment all to yourself.”
“Mina… can’t we talk about it? Oh, no. Bad kitty.” Ashley’s eyes shifted down to Grimalkin, who tugged on the side of her Birkin bag. She unhooked the cat’s claws and shoved her away, and something inside me broke.
“Sure, we can talk about it. I’m so glad you’re back to rub it in my face that you blabbed to Marcus and anyone who would listen about my eyes and cost me not just my dream job but any other job in fashion.”
“I was drunk. You know what I’m like. You can’t shut me up! I know you think I did it on purpose, but it’s really not true.” Ashley glanced at the stack of books on the ground, up to the dim pendant light that served as the room’s only illumination, then back to me. “Are you sure it’s a good idea, you working here?”
I stared down at her boots. They had tiny bat-shaped eyelets and were the coolest thing ever. I hate you so much. “It’s just temporary, until I can save enough funds to go after another internship down in London. Unless you plan to slander my name around there, too—”
“But, Mina,” Ashley leaned forward and stage whispered, her spicy perfume slamming me in the face. “Isn’t it too dark in here for you? And being surrounded by all these books, wouldn’t it just drive you mad?”
I locked my jaw. “I’m fine, actually.”
“I only ask because I care. I really do.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I only said what I did to Marcus because I was concerned—I said, get down, kitty!”
Ashley lashed out at Grimalkin, who’d catapulted off the back of the chaise and clung to the Birkin bag, her tiny claws digging into the leather. I grabbed the black cat around the belly and whisked her away before Ashley hurt her.
“Look what she’s done!” Ashley stared in horror at the puncture marks in her bag. “This was a gift from one of my sponsors and I haven’t even photographed it yet. They’re going to be so pissed.”
Grimalkin reached up and licked my nose, her whiskers twitching. I hugged her to my body. You’re a good girl. Can you scratch her eyes out next?
“I’ve got a lot of work to do here.” I shoved a book on the shelf at random. “I can recommend some picture books that are just your level.”
“Mina—”
Grimalkin climbed on top of my shoulder and hissed at her. I made a mental note to ensure she got a big saucer of cream. “Bye, Ashley.”
“You just ran off after the job announcement. We didn’t even get a chance to talk—”
“I have nothing to say to you.” I spied the raven perched on the curtain rail, watching the scene unfold with those beady brown eyes. I pointed at him. “If you need someone to talk to, try him. He loves it when you quote ‘The Raven.’”
“Oh, he’s cute. And if you mean that silly poem you used to recite all the time, I think it’s burned into my memory.” Ashley rolled her eyes and held up her hand, clicking her fingers as if that would get the raven to approach. “‘Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, over many—’”
The raven sprung into the air and let forth another lethal package, exactly on target.
SPLAT.
“Argggh!”
Ashley flung her hands up to shoo the raven away, and rushed for the stairs. The bird settled back onto the curtain rail, dark eyes peering back at me as if checking on a job well done. Probably it was just a shadow, but I swear, it winked at me.
Chapter Six
Ashley
seemed determined to torture me. She ran off after the raven left his present on her Birkin bag, but returned an hour later wearing a pink peasant dress covered in a print of black revolvers. She spent the next hour browsing in the Sociology section. Every five minutes she’d wander over to the window, then return to the shelves. She left without buying anything. I didn’t unclench my jaw until she was around the corner and out of sight.
“Your friends are weird,” Heathcliff said as I helped him answer the shop emails.
And by helped, I meant that he dictated vitriol to me and I translated his archaic insults into something akin to modern, civilized English. The only email I didn’t change was the one to the support team at The-Store-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named. “They won’t recognize me if I’m polite to them,” he huffed. I reluctantly agreed, mostly because I relished what might be my only chance in life to type the sentence, ‘Far rather would I be condemned to a perpetual dwelling in the infernal regions, than, even for one more moment, endure the puerile ramblings of such a gibface flapdoodle.’”
And Mum said this job would be boring.
“Ashley’s not my friend,” I said through clenched teeth. “Why is she weird?”
“She spent an hour here, notwithstanding her visit earlier, and she didn’t leave the Sociology section once.”
“That’s weird?” I mean, it was for Ashley, but Heathcliff didn’t know that.
“The Sociology section is the bookshop dead zone. It’s where we stash all the books we can’t put anywhere else. No one buys from the sociology section, not even sociology professors.”
I pretended to write on an imaginary notepad. “Note to self; No one buys from the sociology section, especially not my weird ex-friends. See, I’m learning so much about the book trade already. Now, what do we do for lunch? I’m starving. Do we go out or—”
“I don’t go out. There’s enough people mucking about in the shop as it is, without seeking out their ignorance in my free time.”
A Dead and Stormy Night Page 4
