Welcome to Nevermore Bookshop

by Steffanie Holmes

My temples throbbed. Just another day in Nevermore Bookshop.

  The shop bell tinkled. Heathcliff frowned as the sound of clomping orthopedic shoes signaled the arrival of an elderly customer. These were his least favorite types of customers, after children and Millennials and everyone else.

  Heathcliff was the only shop owner I knew who wished customers would just leave him alone. We’d been getting a steady stream through the doors ever since I started working at Nevermore Bookshop, but I blame that on the recent murder in the Sociology section. Even though the police solved that crime over a month ago (with a little help from Heathcliff, Morrie, Quoth, and myself), the villagers still made a beeline for the upstairs room where it had taken place.

  Believe it or not, a murder during my first week on the job had so far been the least of my problems. It turns out the murder victim was my ex-best friend, Ashley, and since I’d been one of the people to find the body, the police were convinced I’d done it. Luckily we’d managed to clear my name and got a dangerous killer locked behind bars.

  It also turns out that my new boss and his two flatmates are actually the fictional characters Heathcliff, James Moriarty, and Poe’s raven, Quoth. And the bookshop I’d loved since I was a kid was no ordinary bookshop – it was plagued by some kind of curse, had a hidden occult book collection, and a room that moved forward and backward in time.

  And then, because my life wasn’t already crazy enough, I sort of… slept with Morrie. Well, there wasn’t much sleeping happening. He’d taken me hard against one of the hallway bookshelves. My cheeks reddened just thinking about it. Ever since then we’d been doing it everywhere we could – in the storage room, on his perfectly-made bed, on Heathcliff’s chair in the living room. My body tingled just thinking about Morrie’s hands sliding over my skin. My life may be insane, but it had never been more perfect… except for the tiny, unresolved issue of me not wanting to be with a master criminal, and of Heathcliff kissing me, and Quoth declaring he had feelings for me, and me not knowing which of them to choose…

  Oh yeah, and I was going blind. That was also a thing.

  Quoth fluttered away to greet our customer while Morrie scrambled to right the ladder. Heathcliff slouched back to his desk and slid his muscled frame into his chair, flipping open a book in front of him with a heavy thud.

  I guess I’ll help the customer, then. I turned to see who’d come through the door.

  “Oh, hi, Mrs. Ellis!” Mrs. Ellis was the hilariously horny old biddy who used to be my school teacher. She’d encouraged my love of reading, always giving me books far above my level, usually featuring muscled men and swooning women on the covers in various states of undress. She’d retired years ago and now lived in a small flat above the chippy across the road, which suited her perfectly as it gave her the ideal vantage point to eavesdrop on conversations in the street and gather all the village gossip.

  “Hello, Mina, dear.” Mrs. Ellis wrapped her arms around me in a motherly hug. I sucked in a mouthful of hyacinth perfume and tried not to gag. As I pulled away, a pair of beady grey eyes met mine from over Mrs. Ellis’ shoulder.

  The eyes belonged to a sour-looking woman in a fuchsia-pink suit, complete with matching handbag and hat. She leaned against a crutch and peered down at me through a pair of horn-rimmed glasses.

  “That’s a provocative outfit for working a retail job,” she frowned, sweeping her judgmental gaze over my body.

  I smoothed down the front of the t-shirt I’d screen printed the night before. It read, ‘I like big books and I cannot lie,’ with the OO’s in the word BOOKS strategically angled across my chest. Morrie and Quoth thought it was hilarious. Heathcliff didn’t seem to have noticed it yet. “What do you mean, ma’am?” I asked, all sunshine and innocence. “I’m declaring my love of the written word.”

  “It implies you’re sexually excited by books, like some kind of perverted lesbian,” she sniffed.

  “Oh no,” Morrie called from the top of the stairs. “I can assure you, she’s a big fan of the cock.”

  Mrs. Ellis snickered. She squeezed my hand. “I knew you’d land one of those handsome beaus, dearie. Tell me, is he long and lean in all the right places?”

  My face flared with heat. Could the floor just swallow me now?

  The woman’s face turned beet red. She called up the staircase. “Young man, that is inappropriate language in front of your elders, and you—”

  Sensing a lecture coming on and Heathcliff’s anger sizzling in the background, I jumped in. “Ma’am, I’m sorry about my friend, and my t-shirt. I’m happy to help two such lovely young ladies with their book-buying needs.”

  Mrs. Ellis tittered. Her companion didn’t look nearly so amused, although she did brush an invisible speck of lint from her shoulder.

  “Oh, dear me, where are my manners. Mina, this is my dear friend, Gladys Scarlett. We’re on the Argleton Community Fundraising Committee together.” Mrs. Ellis beamed, clutching Gladys’ hand. “Don’t mind her. She approves of provocative outfits and beautiful bookish men, don’t you, Gladys? She’s just a bit under-the-weather today.”

  “I chair the committee, thank you very much,” Gladys Scarlett corrected her.

  “Yes, of course. Gladys is very involved in the community. She’s on all sorts of committees; I forget which ones are which.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Gladys,” I held out my hand and the old woman shook. She had a firm grip. “I’m Wilhelmina Wilde. I used to be one of Mrs. Ellis’ students—”

  “Wilde?” Mrs. Scarlett’s eyes lit up. “Are you any relation to our Oscar?”

  “Um, I don’t think so.” My heart skipped a beat. My mum ran away from home when she was sixteen to be with my dad, who abandoned her shortly thereafter while she was pregnant with me. She still didn’t talk to anyone in her family, and I’d never met any relatives. “I don’t know anyone by that name—”

  “No, no, no, Oscar Wilde, the great Victorian writer and provocateur. We studied The Picture of Dorian Gray in the book club last month, didn’t we, Linda?”

  “We certainly did. Although I must admit, it wasn’t as vulgar as I expected.”

  “This month’s choice should be more to your taste,” Mrs. Scarlett declared. “It’s one of the most banned books in America since its release in 1962 because of its vulgarity and language. That’s what makes it so invigorating.”

  “You’re both in a book club?” I asked, interested.

  “But of course! I’m surprised Heathcliff hasn’t told you about it,” Mrs. Ellis was busy scanning the books on the fiction shelves, probably looking for more of her favorite bodice-rippers. “Gladys here has been running the Argleton Banned Book Club for the last year.”

  “Banned Book Club? So you read only banned books?” The idea intrigued me. Heathcliff stomped on my foot in an attempt to get me to hurry the conversation along, but I ignored him.

  “Yes. It was all my idea. We feel it’s important to ensure that censorship continues to be challenged,” said Mrs. Scarlett. “Each month, we choose a different book that has been banned in some way, and we read and discuss its merits and characters over high tea.”

  “We come in every month to collect the books for our members,” Mrs. Ellis waved at Heathcliff. “Mr. Heathcliff is so good to put our requests aside for us. That’s why we’re here, for our six copies of Of Mice and Men.”

  “Don’t talk about mice!” Morrie yelled from upstairs.

  “He’s a bit sensitive at the moment,” I stage-whispered, loud enough for Morrie to hear. “A tiny mouse ran up his trousers, and he hasn’t been the same since.”

  “It wasn’t a tiny mouse. It was enormous, like all things in my trousers!”

  “I can see why you feel at home in this shop, Mabel,” Mrs. Scarlett huffed, tapping her crutch against the floor. “Young lady, please tell me you’ve got all six copies. I can’t stand for something else to go wrong.”

  Heathcliff dumped a stack of books on the desk. “There. Six copies
in near perfect condition. If you find any mouse droppings, you can have the books half-off. Now, can we move this along? This is a bookshop, not a bloody social club—”

  “What else has gone wrong?” I asked as I elbowed Heathcliff out of the way to ring up the books.

  “We used to meet in the village hall, but some workmen on the King’s Copse development lost control of their earthmoving machine and drove it straight through the wall.” Mrs. Ellis’ face lit up with delight. “So of course the place is in a right state, and Health and Safety won’t allow us to meet there until it’s fixed.”

  “We asked about using the youth group room, but some members of the church committee objected,” Mrs. Scarlett declared. “Apparently, our book club has a corrupting influence on the community. Personally, I think it’s an attempt to oust me from my seat and replace me with that rotten Dorothy Ingram.”

  “Well, we are reading books the church considers objectionable,” Mrs. Ellis clucked. “Although how anyone can object to Harry Potter is beyond me. Young Harry never gets his end away—”

  “Yes, and how they can object to fine literature and yet support that hideous development is beyond me!”

  “Development?” I asked. I’d been out of the loop of Argleton news in New York City. I didn’t know anything about a development.

  “Grey Lachlan, a big city developer, purchased the old King’s Copse wood. They’re building a huge housing development behind Argleton.” Mrs. Ellis made a face. “Several houses are already going in on the clear strip between the wood and the village. That’s how the village hall got knocked through.”

  “I bet they did it on purpose. It’s a dreadful business, that development. They want to expand right through the old wood!” Mrs. Scarlett tsked. She leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially. I caught the faintest whiff of garlic on her breath. “But we’ll soon be putting a stop to it.”

  “How?” I tried to picture Mrs. Scarlett and a horde of formidable old biddies chaining themselves to trees.

  “Grey Lachlan may own the land, but if they want to put anything on it, they’ll have to go through the planning process just like everyone else,” Mrs. Scarlett declared, puffing out her chest. “As the head of the planning committee, I don’t intend to allow their modern monstrosities to sully our quaint local vernacular. Argleton is a popular destination for tourists and locals because of its old world charm, and this development threatens that. I’m surprised you’re not more concerned about it.” She glared at Heathcliff. “They’ll drive away your customers!”

  “Good,” Heathcliff muttered. “I hope they start building tomorrow.”

  “Gladys has collected a petition of supporters from the local community to block the plans until a design is submitted that’s more in keeping with our heritage. She’s really very clever,” Mrs. Ellis put in. “I’m looking forward to the meeting next week where she will present it. Grey Lachlan will be there. He’s rather handsome.”

  “He’s a scoundrel,” Mrs. Scarlett hissed. “If his wife wasn’t in our book club, I’d see him driven out of this village. But that doesn’t solve the issue of a meeting place for our book club. Do either of you happen to know of any spaces to rent in the village? If we don’t find anything, we shall have to meet at the Lachlan house, and I won’t be having with that.”

  “Why don’t you meet here?” I asked.

  Heathcliff’s boot slammed down on my foot. I masked the pain with a sweet smile.

  “Oh, that would be wonderful!” Mrs. Ellis clapped her hands together. “How appropriate to have our book club in an actual bookshop!”

  Mrs. Scarlett sniffed as she surveyed the rows of shelves stuffed with books, the torn leather armchair beside the window, and the stuffed armadillo in the center of the display table. “It’s rather dark in here. One needs to be able to read Of Mice And Men in order to discuss it.”

  I agreed. I’d been slowly adding lamps to the upstairs rooms to brighten the place up so I could actually see, but I hadn’t told Heathcliff that yet.

  Instead, I said, “How many are in your book club? You could all fit into the World History room.” Nevermore Bookshop was divided into several tiny rooms and pokey corridors. The World History room was the largest space on the ground floor, dominated by the bay window that formed part of a pentagonal turret on the western corner of the building. Floor-to-ceiling windows and pastel yellow wallpaper gave the room a cheery quality. “It’s lovely and light in there.”

  “Let’s see,” Mrs. Scarlett ticked off her fingers, “there’s the two of us, and Sylvia Blume – she’s the local medium, bit of a daft lady, but she brings the most delicious homemade tea selection. Mrs. Lachlan, of course, wife to the hated developer. They live in the big house on the hill, pretending they’re old money when really they’re just scrubbers from the East End. Then there’s young Ginny Button and my dear friend Brenda Winstone. She’s Mabel’s cousin, isn’t she?”

  “She is. A lovely lady, although she married a lug of a man – the famous historian, Harold Winstone. No doubt you’ll hear all about him. Poor Brenda is so smitten with Harold, but he’s an utter womanizer and a terrible writer to boot. I’m glad he’s not in our club.” Mrs. Ellis wrinkled her brow. “We’d love to host the Banned Book Club in the shop, and I hope you and the handsome Mr. Heathcliff will join us.”

  “Not happening,” Heathcliff growled, thumping a dusty stack of books on the counter.

  “I’d love to,” I beamed.

  “Oh, how wonderful.” Mrs. Ellis clapped her hands together. “We always get Greta at the bakery to cater our meetings. She makes the most amazing cream doughnuts. Gladys and I have one every morning after our walk, don’t we? We’re popping over after we’ve paid for our books and we’ll make sure she includes enough for everyone.”

  “You’ll need to read the book by Wednesday—eeeee!” Mrs. Scarlett clutched her chest. Her face puffed up, her already red cheeks darkening. “A mouse!”

  I whirled around just in time to see a white streak fly across the floor and disappear behind Heathcliff’s desk. He leapt to his feet, cursing. Quoth swooped down from the chandelier and dived after the rodent. The mouse disappeared into the stacks of books, but Quoth wasn’t small enough to fit into the gap and he couldn’t stop in time. He smashed into the shelf and tumbled across the floor in a flurry of feathers.

  “Quoth!” I picked him up and cradled him in my arms, feeling his body for broken bones.

  He blinked his eyes at me, preening as I stroked the top of his head.

  I meant to do that, his voice landed inside my skull. I was still getting used to Quoth’s occasional telepathic interjections when he was in his raven form.

  I smiled. “Well, you’re just fine.”

  “Help! Gladys!” Mrs. Ellis cried.

  I whirled around. Mrs. Scarlett had dropped her crutch and sunk to her knees, one hand gripping the edge of Heathcliff’s desk, the other clutching her stomach. She leaned her head against her shoulder and sucked in deep, garlicky breaths.

  “I’m fine,” she wheezed. “Give me a moment.”

  “Gladys isn’t well,” Mrs. Ellis cooed, rubbing her friend’s shoulder. “The doctors think it’s her heart. She gets these dizzy spells, and—”

  “Make way, doctor coming through.” Morrie clattered down the stairs. He dropped to his knees beside the old lady and peered into her eyes, sniffed her garlic breath, pinched her earlobes, and slapped her cheeks.

  “I’m fine, don’t fuss.” Mrs. Scarlett gripped Morrie’s shoulder and hauled herself to her feet. “I just had a fright.”

  “The bloody mouse,” Morrie swore. “You saw it, didn’t you? It wasn’t a mouse so much as a vicious dog—”

  “Yes, well.” Mrs. Scarlett leaned against her crutch and dabbed at her cheeks with her handkerchief. “I think we’ll be going now. Just be good and make sure that mouse is taken care of before our meeting.”

  “Did you hear that?” Heathcliff growled at Quoth, who’d per
ched on the top of the register.

  “Croak!”

  Chapter Two

  “You’re late home again tonight,” Mum complained as I walked through the door and dumped my bag on the sofa.

  “Sorry. Mr. Dennison’s widow brought in a huge box of railway books, and Heathcliff wanted them shelved as soon as possible.” We’d also drunk a bottle of wine and Morrie and I had a pretty heated make-out session, but I decided not to mention that. “Did you know that railway books basically pay for secondhand bookshops to remain open? Ishtar bless those anoraks—”

  “I don’t like you walking through the neighborhood at night.” Mum still lived in the same council flat I grew up in, on the far edge of the estate. Our next door neighbors were gang members, and a house down the road exploded last year when a meth-cooking operation went wrong. It was that kind of neighborhood. But since our car only worked on alternative Tuesdays, I’d been walking about at all hours for as long as I could remember and she never commented on it before.

  “I wasn’t alone.” I headed to the fridge and pulled out a block of cheese. “Quoth walked me home.”

  “One of your new friends?” Mum raced to the door and peered out into the darkness. “I can’t see him. Did he leave without coming in again?”

  He flew away. “Yeah, sorry, Mum. He’s really shy. You want a cheese toastie?”

  She followed me into the kitchen. “I don’t like this, Mina. You’re spending every spare moment with these men, and I’ve never met them.”

  “You know Heathcliff Earnshaw.”

  “Yes, and that worries me. He’s a gypsy. You know what they’re like.”

  “Mum, that’s racist, and I’m not talking about this now—” My knife hovered over the cheese as I spied a suspicious-looking set of boxes shoved up against the telly. “What are those boxes?”

  “Oh!” Mum bounded over and lifted the flaps, holding up a tiny book. “I’ve been waiting to tell you. They’re my new business.”

  “What happened to the wobblelators?” My mum was convinced that she was meant to be a millionaire, and that the way to make her dream a reality was to sell useless crap to unsuspecting people. Over the years she’d tried every get-rich-quick scheme out there, and her latest attempt was wobbling exercise power-plate machines.