“We’re almost certain,” Morrie added.
“Meow,” Grimalkin confirmed, stretching out across Heathcliff’s lap.
I tipped my head back and skulled the wine, then held my glass out to Heathcliff. “You got more?”
“You planning to drink until this seems plausible?” Heathcliff asked.
“Damn right.”
“A woman after my own heart.” He returned to the fridge and pulled out another bottle of cheap cheap swill. He offered some to Morrie, who shook his head, instead pulling a gold flask from a strap around his ankle and taking a deep swig. Quoth too refused, but he didn’t seem to have a hidden stash of his own.
I accepted a full glass from Heathcliff and took another deep drink. Alcoholic warmth spread across my chest, but it did nothing to take the edge off what I’d seen and heard. “How did you all come to live here in Nevermore Bookshop together?”
“I arrived first,” Heathcliff said, his fingers tightening around the bottle. “Mr. ___ 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 shrugged. “He never told me, and I never saw him again to ask. He’d cleared out his flat, closed his account down at the ___field post office, left me with a right mess of the accounts, and all the riff raff that come from the stacks.”
“I was the first to land in Heathcliff’s lap,” Morrie grinned. “He does love the feel of my firm cheeks on his—”
Heathcliff growled.
“Anyway,” Morrie grinned. “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,andI 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 fromA Midsummer Night’s Dream?”
“The very same. She now manages a donkey rehabilitation center in Cornwall. And Quoth was the last. 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 said.
Morrie ticked off points on his long fingers. “He regurgitates food. He tears up the furniture. He creates incomprehensive paintings we’re supposed to stick on the fridge and admire. He shits on the customers.”
“Only when they quote that bloody poem,” Quoth growled, his brown eyes swiveling to Morrie. “How would you feel if you were constantly reminded of the source of all your grief?”
“I don’t have any grief,” Morrie shot back. “Unlike some people, I’ve adjusted to my new life.”
Although Morrie spoke with his usual easy confidence, something in the stiffening of his fingers suggested he was trying to convince himself.
“At least you’ve got a whole bloody house of chamber doors to loom over,” Heathcliff’s quiet words dripped 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 puckered out from his face. His eyes bugged out, the sockets contorting and shifting back toward his ears as his neck snapped forward and his arms bent back.
I screamed, shrinking back in the chair as black feathers exploded through Quoth’s skin, each one covered in a black film that drained away as the feathers unfurled and settled against each other. Quoth spread his arms and flapped, blowing papers and crumpling his clothes across the floor. His body hovered in the air for a moment as it shrunk down and folded in on itself, twisting and contorting until he’d become the raven. He circled the room three times, croaking with indignation, then settled onto the perch above the fireplace and glared down at Heathcliff.
“This is why you can’t tell the police about Quoth,” Morrie said. “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,” I gasped, my hand against my heart, trying to press air back into my lungs. Any doubt I’d had that their ridiculous story was another lie had been shocked right out of me. “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,” Morrie said. The raven flew down to perch on his shoulder, nodding its head sadly.
“So that’s Poe’s raven… and you’re really Heathcliff… and you’re James Moriarty…” The saliva dried in my throat. “You’re a criminal genius.”
“I’ve never been tested,” Morrie said, but he couldn’t keep the pride out of his voice. “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…” realization gripped my heart with icy fists. “All that money that disappeared from your company’s accounts… you wouldn’t happen to know where it is?”
“I might have an inkling,” Morrie took another swig from his 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 leftover with which to play. Do you want a pony? I’ve always thought what this shop needs is a pony.”
