Mrs. Ellis nodded, her face lighting up at the chance to impart some fine gossip. “Ginny’s a rotten piece of work, saying what she said. Poor Brenda lives for those children. She desperately wants one of her own, you know, but her husband Harold has given his final word on the matter. Ginny, of course, lets Brenda know every meeting how much of a mouse she is. Ah, I think I smell Sylvia now.”
I sniffed as a haze of musky perfume wafted into the room, followed shortly after by a middle-aged woman with a jangle of jewelry and flouncy black peasant skirts. An enormous tie-dyed tote bag slapped against her side. “Am I late?” she wheezed, tucking a strand of frizzy hair behind her ear. The gesture was of little use since the rest of her hair stuck out at all angles, as if she’d just inserted her finger into an electrical socket. Something about her wild eyes and the millions of beaded bracelets stacked up her arms seemed familiar to me, but I couldn’t place her.
“Calm down, Sylvia. You’re on time. Gladys isn’t even here yet.” Mrs. Ellis patted her arm. “Dear Sylvia is always running late.”
“I’m never running late!” the woman protested. “Modern society places too much importance in the arbitrary passing of time. Why, if we were to follow the rhythms and cycles of nature, then—”
“You’d think with your powers of divination, you’d be able to predict when you needed to leave your stinking little cottage,” Ginny simpered from the sofa.
The woman’s face reddened, but she didn’t say anything. Neither, I noticed, did any of the other ladies.Ginny Button must have a lot of power in the village.
“Mina, this is Sylvia Blume. Sylvia, this is Mina Wilde—”
“You’re Helen’s daughter,” Sylvia Blume beamed, throwing her arms around me like we were old friends. “I remember you when you were just a wee girl, reading books in the corner of my shop. Look at you now, all grown up!”
Now I remembered where I’d seen Sylvia before. She owned the shop where Mum did her tarot readings for suckers who liked being parted with their money. I used to spend time there after school before I discovered Nevermore Bookshop. I vaguely remembered the cloying smell of incense clinging to everything and a frizzy-haired woman who used to pinch my cheeks and feed me candies from under her fortune-telling table.
“Yes, er, hello again.”
“It’s a real shame about your eyesight. Helen told me all about you having to give up your fashion job.”
My cheeks flushed. “It’s not like that.”
Only it was. That was exactly what had happened. I mean, yes, I’d intended to just muddle through as well as I could until my eyesight got worse – which could’ve taken years or even decades – but Ashley went and blabbed it all over the fashion world. But when Sylvia Blume spoke of it, I felt embarrassed, and I didn’t like that.
“I know. I can do an aura healing for you!” Sylvia grabbed my shoulders, snapping my neck forward. “I’m an accomplished healer. I can perform a cleanse that will banish the evil energies that are at war within your body and restore your sight!”
No way.“I think if modern medicine can’t do anything for me, then you’re probably not going to have much luck.”
“Nonsense.” Sylvia dropped her tote bag on the floor with a bang, grabbed my wrists, and yanked them above my head. Her earrings clattered together as she shook her head from side-to-side and started to chant.
Quoth, if you can hear me, get me out of this.
I glanced around the room in a panic. Another woman walked in and bent her head to speak to Mrs. Winstone – I guessed it was Cynthia Lachlan, the wife of the developer, judging by her expensive clothes and affected posh accent. I jumped when I noticed Quoth was still hanging around in his human form. He’d been holed up in the corner by Mrs. Ellis, who was busy braiding his hair.
“Ooooooooohm,” Sylvia moaned, swinging my arms around. “Spirits, unleash the demons inside this girl…”
Outside the window, I spied a figure limping down Butcher Street. “Oh, here’s Gladys.” I managed to wrench my wrists from Sylvia’s grasp. “I’d better go see if she needs any help.”
I’d never been so grateful to see an old lady in my life. I bolted toward Mrs. Scarlett as she bustled into the room. She looked even worse than the other day, her cheeks flushed, her eyes unfocused, her hair hanging lank against her forehead. She gripped the edge of the doorframe and swung her crutch in front of her.
Mrs. Ellis rushed over. “Gladys, dear, you look poorly. Are you sure you’re up to the meeting?”
“I’ll be fine, Mabel. It’s just my stomach upsets as usual. Do stop fussing.” Mrs. Scarlett leaned over her crutch and heaved herself into the room. Mrs. Ellis bustled around to her other side and after a few faltering steps, Mrs. Scarlett took her arm. Quoth rushed over and guided her other arm. Finally, she sank into the wingback chair, leaned her walking stick up against the wall, and surveyed the room with pursed lips. She picked up a sandwich from her plate of special food and sniffed it suspiciously before taking a dainty nibble from the corner. “Why hasn’t the tea been poured yet?”
“Oh, I’ve brought some of my herbal blends.” Sylvia dug around in her bag and handed me two jars of dried tea.
“Coming right up.” I steeped the tea and arranged the cups and saucers. The ladies shuffled in their purses, pulling out their copies of the book. Mrs. Scarlett unfolded a pair of glasses from a leopard-print case. While I poured the tea, Quoth leaned against the chair arm to look over my shoulder. His arm brushed mine and his rich scent – of earth and chocolate and fresh-cut grass – invaded my nostrils, and my stomach did that flip-flop thing.
I’d set my date with Heathcliff, but I hadn’t yet figured out how to approach Quoth. I knew I had to pick my moment just right, or he’d spook. I glanced up at him, catching his kind brown eyes as they swooped over my body. Beneath him, my skin sizzled. Under his avian gaze, I was naked and exposed, even in the midst of the book club.
I dared a smile for him, my heart pounding. Quoth smiled back, and the corners of his eyes flared with fire. The fact that he’d stayed for the meeting, risking the chance that he’d shift, filled me with gratitude and hope… and desire.
Mrs. Scarlett’s sharp voice jolted me back to reality.
“Welcome, ladies, to the December meeting of the Argleton Banned Books Club. The good Lord has seen fit to provide us with a new venue. Although it may be a bit dusty…” she sniffed disapprovingly at the shelves Quoth and I had painstakingly cleaned. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “It has a certain charm. I’m hopeful it could continue to accommodate the book club while repairs are made to our beloved hall.”
“Are you sure this place is up to code, Gladys?” Mrs. Lachlan said, frowning at a crack above the window. Beside me, Mrs. Ellis tensed.
