Welcome to Nevermore Bookshop

by Steffanie Holmes

  I sucked in a breath, and began to read:

  My dear Wilhelmina,

  I have left this message with Victoria for you to uncover on your visit. I have placed copies with Mary (in 1741) and Henrietta (in 1220), in case I was mistaken about the date you stepped through the bedroom door. When one is talking about time travel, it pays to be thorough.

  This done, I will be leaving you.

  It is not my wish to abandon you, but it is a father’s duty to keep his daughter safe. My enemy has made his move, and in the great game of chess we two play, it is now my turn. As long as he knows nothing of your existence, you remain safe.

  Know that I will always love you, and you and your mother are forever in my heart. For as long as you remain in the protection of Nevermore Bookshop, he cannot harm you. But you must be careful. You are, after all, my daughter.

  All my love,

  H

  I stared at the words until they lost all meaning, until they were just scratches of ink on the page. Even then, scratches made more sense. Quoth nuzzled my hand. I stroked the frill of feathers around his neck with trembling fingers.

  My father was somehow connected to Nevermore Bookshop. Before he left my mother, he’d gone into the room upstairs and left a note for me in three different time periods.

  But why?

  A million questions danced around in my head. Who is this enemy? What does he want with my father, and why would he go after me?

  Is he somehow connected to what Victoria said, about me being covered in blood the next time she sees me?

  Why did this letter read like an intelligent, articulate man on the run from some kind of trouble? That didn’t at all match the image of my father as a drug-addled small-time criminal who ran out on his family because he didn’t want the responsibility.

  What do you need? Quoth asked me.

  I folded the letter and shoved it in my pocket. My head spun and pain throbbed across my temples. A lime-green neon light flicked across my vision. Please, no fireworks right now.

  I didn’t know what I needed. Right now, Lydia Bennet was downstairs, Morrie was being a wanker, my eyes were getting worse, I hadn’t figured out how I felt about the guys and what almost happened last night, and the village was overrun with Jane Austen fans. I needed to not think about this.

  I rose from the chair, steadying myself with the arm of the lamp and holding out my elbow so Quoth could hop on. I picked up the newspaper, showing him the headline about the jewel thief. I skimmed the text. According to the article, five stately homes in the area had been burgled in the last month. In each burglary, the only thing taken was jewelry. There were no signs of forced entry, and many believed the jewelry may have been missing for weeks or months before the thefts were noticed. Imagine being so rich you didn’t know when some of your priceless gems went missing.

  The police asked anyone with information to come forward and warned residents to report any jewelry theft. Interesting. Immediately, my mind whirred through possibilities. It has to be someone who had access to the houses, like cleaning staff or a corgi groomer…

  Mina, if we could return to the letter of the moment… Quoth hopped along my arm. What do you need?

  I grinned. “I need to solve a mystery, one that doesn’t involve my life. What do you say, Quoth? It’s no murder, but catching a jewel thief might be just what I need.”

  Inside my head, a raven sighed.

  Chapter Five

  “Oh dear. It’s all very strange.” Lydia sat in the window seat opposite the Classics shelves where she had first appeared. She waved a fan in her face. It was difficult to tell under her makeup, but she looked pale and frightened, although she hid it well with her pouting expression. “I don’t much enjoy books, and to discover I am a character in one is a horrible tragedy!”

  “You’ll get used to it,” Morrie cooed. “You’ll also find many things about this world to be an improvement over Longbourn. For one thing, the takeout food is infinitely better. Have you ever had a rogan josh? It’s divine – the food of the gods.”

  “You mean to tell me I won’t see my Wickham again? Or my parents or sisters? I admit that Mary’s a frightful bore, but I will probably miss Kitty. And how am I to keep myself? I have no money with me, no fortune of my own.” She cast a critical eye between Morrie and Heathcliff. “I see no wedding bands. You are both bachelors, and handsome enough. One of you must do the honorable thing and marry me. I demand it!”

  Yup, Lydia’s really cut up about losing her beloved paramour.

  “You don’t need a husband in this world,” I said. “This thing called feminism happened, and now women are able to make their own living and choose their own future. We can have a career and make our own money, so we don’t need husbands—”

  “Women have no husbands? They have jobs? What nonsense is this?” Lydia’s shriek shook the window panes. She waved her gloved hands in front of my face. “These fingers are not made for labor! They are for sensuous caresses of my husband’s shoulders and slapping the cheeks of impertinent servants!”

  “We also don’t have servants anymore—”

  “No servants? You cook your own meals and turn down your own beds?” Lydia fanned her face, her expression what could only be described as ‘aghast’. “I’ve been in this world but two hours and already I long to return to the mediocrity of Longbourn!”

  “That’s not possible, so get used to it.” Heathcliff’s patience had already worn thin.

  “You can have a husband if you want one,” I said, trying not to give her the wrong idea. “It’s just that you don’t have to think about it now. Most people wait until they’re older. You’re only sixteen, right? You could go to school and—”

  “Who wants to go to school? I’ve had quite enough of books from my sister Lizzie. I shall have a husband. If Wickham is lost forever, then one of you shall have to step up. But which will it be? I shan't like to live in this dingy house, and a shopkeeper’s living will not keep me in the manner in which I intend to become accustomed. So Mr. Heathcliff is out of the question.” With a wave of her hand, Lydia disregarded literature’s greatest romantic hero and turned her gaze to the criminal mastermind. “You, then, Mr. Moriarty. What sort of fortune do you command?”

  Morrie laughed. “Darling, I think you’re a little young for me.”

  “I’m not too young, and I am already out.”

  “Out? Out where?”

  “Out in society, you fool. You may be handsome, but you’re terribly simple.” Lydia smirked at me. “No wonder Mina here has no clue how to dress like a lady.”

  I stared down at the Misfits hoodie I’d hastily pulled over my pajama bottoms. “What’s wrong with this outfit?”

  The shop bell tinkled. “Bloody hell,” Heathcliff yelled at Morrie. “I told you to flip the sign while we dealt with this!”

  “But where’s the fun in that?”

  “Don’t worry.” I held up my hands. “I’ll deal with it.”

  “Please,” Morrie clasped his hands to his chest. “Don’t leave me alone with her.”

  “Sorry. She’s your future wife and your responsibility. Me and my unladylike attire have to go and do our job.” I shut the door to the Classics room in Morrie’s face and strolled into the hallway to meet our customer.

  “Cynthia, hello.” I plastered on the biggest smile as I recognized Cynthia Lachlan, member of the infamous Banned Book Club and wife of big shot developer Grey Lachlan. I hadn’t seen Cynthia since the unfortunate day her friend Gladys Scarlett died of arsenic poisoning right here in the shop. “Welcome back to Nevermore Bookshop. What can I do for you today?”

  “Mina, you’re exactly the woman I wanted to see,” Cynthia gushed, grabbing my hands in hers and squeezing my fingers. Her wrists jangled with gold bracelets. “I came by to thank you again for cracking poor Gladys’ murder. Grey and I would still be locked up in that rotten police cell if it weren’t for you.”

  Because Cynthia and her husband (
who I’d never managed to meet) stood to gain by Gladys’ death, and Grey had access to arsenic through his construction contacts, the police had them in custody under suspicion of Mrs. Scarlett’s murder until I solved the case for them. “Please, there’s no reason to thank me. I wanted to find out the truth and—”

  “Nonsense. You’ve done me a good turn, and I want to make sure you have compensation.” Cynthia fished around in her purse and pulled out an envelope. “I know how much you love books and reading. We’re hosting the first Argleton Jane Austen Experience at Baddesley Hall. You might’ve heard about it?”

  “A little bit, yes.” I choked back a laugh. Mrs. Ellis had been talking about nothing else for the last week. According to her, the Lachlans spared no expense for their extravagant event. The VIP tickets cost thousands of pounds each and included accommodation at the house and cuisine from a Michelin-star chef they flew in from Paris.

  “Tickets sold out months ago, of course. But there are certain privileges to running the event.” Cynthia pressed the envelope into my hand. “Grey and I would be honored if you and your three lovely friends would attend the Jane Austen Experience as our VIPs. These tickets will get you an all-access pass to all the events, a beautiful suite with two double rooms at Baddesley Hall for the weekend, meals, and a seat at our table for the ball on Saturday night.”

  “Oh, um…”

  “A ball?” A voice called from the end of the hall. Lydia stood in the doorway to the main room, her empire-waist dress sweeping the floor as she jumped up and down with glee. “It’s not yet the season of course, but I will acquiesce to attend.”

  Mrs. Lachlan’s eyes widened. “You look as though you’re dressed for the ball already, ma’am. Do you not already have a ticket?”

  “Who needs a ticket to a private ball? One is either invited or they aren’t,” Lydia glared at me. “Considering you’ve cruelly pulled me into your world from one where I would marry the delectable Wickham, this is my best opportunity to secure a husband—”

  “This is Lydia, ah… Wilde,” I said, thinking fast, as Cynthia peered at Lydia with curiosity. “She’s my second cousin. Her parents sent her over for the Christmas holidays to enjoy the festival. She’s French, you know, so she’s a little…” I made a motion that Cynthia might interpret in a myriad of ways.

  “I’m not French.” Lydia stamped her foot. “How dare you say such a thing!”

  “I told you,” I winked. Cynthia nodded and stepped away. She pointed at the envelope in my hand. “I didn’t know you had family visiting. I’m afraid I have only four tickets available…”

  Lydia scurried forward and grabbed the envelope. She pulled out one of the tickets. “This one’s mine. What you do with the rest is your business.”

  I peered in the envelope at the three remaining tickets. My hand thrust into my pocket, touching the edge of my father’s letter. We just got this big potential clue about the mystery of Nevermore Bookshop, and that something in the future is going to be bloody, and my father is somehow mixed up in it. Is it really the time to spend a weekend away?

  But then I thought about how weird Morrie was being lately, and how maybe it was to do with being shut up in the shop, and how the tension that held Heathcliff together relaxed when he was outside, in the fresh air, and how Quoth hid away in the attic with his paintings and his beautiful sad eyes.

  And I couldn’t escape the idea of all those rich people with their fancy jewels, all the extra staff, all the people coming and going… the perfect hunting ground for the Argleton Jewel Thief. No way was the burglar going to pass up this opportunity.

  As much as I wanted to sit in the bookshop and figure out why my father was sending me notes from the past, and why Victoria had seen me covered in blood, I also wanted to… not think about it. Because my head was already a mess. I still hadn’t told Heathcliff or Morrie about seeing the neon lights. And when I did… Nevermore would no longer be an escape from my problems. I wasn’t sure I was ready to face any of it – my dad, my eyes, my feelings for the guys – yet.

  Maybe getting out of Nevermore for a few days would help me prepare, and it might sort out Morrie’s bad attitude. That is, if Lydia didn’t force him to marry her.

  Cynthia glanced from Lydia back to me. “So you’ll come?”

  Behind her, Heathcliff poked his head through the door and made a throat-slitting motion with his hand. I beamed at him and swiped the three tickets. “Thank you, Cynthia. We wouldn’t miss the Jane Austen Experience for the world.”

  Chapter Six

  “What are we going to do about her?” Morrie hissed. The four of us huddled around the flat’s blazing fire. Outside the window, light snow fluttered past the window on its way to blanketing Argleton in fluffy holiday ambiance. Empty takeaway containers from the Curry House littered the table, and the air was thick with the scent of rogan josh and Irish coffee.

  In case we hadn’t figured out to whom he referred, Morrie jabbed his finger at his desk chair, where Lydia slouched, squealing with glee as she punched the keys with a single finger.

  “I did it!” she cried. “Lord Moriarty, I have created my first social media profile. Look at all the men who’ve inquired about my friendship already! This is infinitely easier than waiting for Daddy to introduce himself to the eligible men in the neighborhood. I wonder if I can talk to some soldiers…”

  The floor at Lydia’s feet was littered with empty soft drink cans and chocolate bar wrappers. She’d spent the whole day demanding Morrie (or Lord Moriarty, as she now called him) acquaint her with the pleasures of modern living. After an exhaustive lesson in electricity and microwave popcorn, she dragged Morrie outside and demanded he order her a rideshare ‘carriage’ so she could experience the wonders of the automobile. They drove off into the countryside and returned with five bags of junk food and a very subdued master criminal. Now Lydia swiveled around in the chair, her eyes sparkling. “Lord Mooooorrrriarty, this man named Ahmed has sent me a letter. Oh, it appears to be some sort of portrait. I wonder if he’s handsome…”

  “Click the envelope icon and find out,” Morrie said with a sigh. “None of our other fictional visitors have been this exhausting.”

  “Your charge has settled in nicely,” Heathcliff said.

  “She’s not mine,” Morrie shot back.

  “You might want to tell her that, Lord Moriarty,” Heathcliff sneered.

  “She insisted that if my bank account was as bloated as I claimed, I must have a title!”

  Lydia frowned at the screen. “That’s not a portrait! It appears to be some kind of wrinkled sausage. But why would this man feel the need to share a likeness of his meat with me?”

  I snorted. Lydia had just become the first Bennet sister to receive a dick pic. She had much to learn.

  “Apparently, I’m to be her escort for this ridiculous weekend,” Morrie declared, pinching his temples as if he fought off a headache. “Perhaps I can arrange a convenient suicide.”

  “Come on, Lord Moriarty. it’ll be fun,” I beamed, even as my own headache flared at the edges of my skull. In the corner of the room, a neon-green light wiggled across the darkened edges of my vision.

  “Fun?” Morrie picked up the brochure and read from the list of activities. “What’s fun about a costume promenade, or a hat-making workshop, or a lecture on sex and sensuality… no, actually, that one does sound intriguing.”

  “That’s the keynote given by Professor Julius Hathaway.” I pointed to the man’s picture over Morrie’s shoulder. “He’s the historian who first discovered Jane’s connection to Argleton. Apparently, he’s a bit of a celebrity to the Janeites.”

  “Janeites?” Morrie’s lips curled back in a sneer.

  “It’s the affectionate term for Jane Austen fans.” I directed his attention to a glossary on the back page of the brochure. “Apparently, Janeites walk, talk, dress, and live Austen. The only thing they hate more than movie adaptations with inaccurate costuming are Brontians – those are fa
ns of the Brontë sisters—”

  “I deduced that,” Morrie said snippily. “I don’t need you to explain every little thing. Sex lecture aside, you still haven’t convinced me why I should deign to attend.”

  “Because I want you to. That used to be enough.”

  “I’m not so blinded to your charms that I follow you like a puppy,” Morrie declared. “Or like a raven.”

  Quoth, who sat cross-legged on the floor beside my chair, his head resting against my leg and a sketchbook open in his lap, stiffened at Morrie’s words. I resisted the urge to call him out. Morrie wouldn’t give ground and speak of his feelings in front of the other guys, and especially not in front of Lydia. If I wanted the truth from him about his recent rudeness, I’d need to get him alone. And resist his kisses for long enough to draw an answer from him. Neither of those things was going to be easy.

  I tossed the newspaper in Morrie’s direction. “Fine. How about an appearance by the Argleton Jewel Thief? With all the rich guests, I bet he’ll be tempted to show up. If you want something to engage your intellect, we might try to smoke him out, provided your ego hasn’t swelled so big you can no longer fit through the doors.”

  From the desk, Lydia snorted. “That was a truly impressive slander, Mina. I shall have to remember it for future interactions.”

  Morrie’s eyes scanned the article. “Intriguing.”

  “So not your work, then?” Heathcliff’s eyes sparkled. “I was certain these jewels might soon adorn Lydia’s thin neck.”

  “Not me.” Morrie tossed the paper on top of the empty cartons. “Okay, I’ll go. But I’m not dancing with Lydia.”

  “Yes, you are!” Lydia shrieked. “I must show you off at the ball, or I won’t be able to make any of the other men jealous. You are integral to my plans.”

  “Let Lydia show you off on the dance floor,” I grinned. “I can’t very well show up with more than one date, and I’m already taking Heathcliff.”