“And you’ve dissuaded him?”
“Not in the slightest.”
I explained to Heathcliff what just happened. “This feels important, like it means something. Doesn’t it seem odd that we learn books have been sold here ever since Herman Strepel’s day, and then the room offers us a glimpse into his office? I think Morrie’s right in that we should investigate—”
Wordlessly, Heathcliff shoved past Morrie. He drew a key from his pocket and shoved it into the lock. When he flung the door open, we all crowded around to see.
No candlelight shone to illuminate the gloom. From the square of light the hallway bulb and windows cast across the bare wood floor, I glimpsed a thick layer of dust, but nothing else.
“I can’t see,” I cried.
“Maybe you should move some ugly junk shop lamps up here too,” Heathcliff grumbled.
“You wanker, how long have you known?”
“Since that weird one with the fringe appeared beside the Crime Fiction shelf. Suddenly I can see how dirty the shop is. Now I have to clean up all the dust and grime,” he growled. “And it’s all your fault.”
“The room’s empty, Mina,” Quoth said, stretching his neck to peer inside. “There’s nothing here.”
Heathcliff slammed the door. “Are we all happy?”
“I’m happy that the Terror of Argleton has been blasted into the past,” Morrie said. “But I’m not happy we lost our chance to peruse that book. Do you think if we open the door again, Master Strepel’s office will return?”
“I think that standing around here isn’t getting the rent paid or the dinner cooked.” Heathcliff turned to me. “You’re not being paid to investigate magical occurrences. Go downstairs and mind the shop.”
“Why can’t you do it?”
He threw me a withering look. “Because I’ve got to get in the shower before Morrie uses all the hot water. I need to look presentable for a bloody date tonight.”
Chapter Fifteen
After closing the shop, I went over to Jo’s apartment to use her shower and collect the date supplies I left there. Back at Nevermore, I paced along the hallway, heart pattering like a teen girl waiting for the football player to pick her up for the school formal. Above my head, footsteps thumped across the flat, and the sounds of swearing filtered down the stairs.
Why am I so nervous? I see Heathcliff every day.
Because I don’t go on a date with my book crush and try to convince him to be part of a polyamorous relationship with his best friend every day, that’s why.
Footsteps thundered down the stairs. I spun around, and my breath caught in my throat.
Heathcliff moved under the string of fairy lights I’d hung over the staircase, and his body revealed itself to me in glittering shafts of light. He wore a black shirt shot with golden threads that pulled across his broad shoulders in a way that made my mouth water. He’d rolled up the sleeves, revealing his tattoo of a gnarled tree and cursive script I’d never got close enough to read along one muscular forearm. He’d combed his hair back from his face, collecting it in a tie at the nape of his neck. Several recalcitrant curls had already worked their way free to spill over his face. Under the glow of the fairy lights his dark features softened, and his eyes sparkled with something that might have been excitement, if Heathcliff was capable of such a thing.
“Right. Let’s get this over with,” he grumbled, although his voice had none of its usual edge.
I’m going on a date with Heathcliff.TheHeathcliff.
A big, stupid grin spread across my face. The corners of Heathcliff’s mouth tugged upward. It wasn’t quite a smile, but it was his and it was special.
“You look nice,” he said.
I’d better.I followed Morrie’s advice and worn my red jersey dress over a pair of black leggings. This dress hugged what little curves I possessed in all the right places. I teased out my hair with spiky fringe and applied a little smoky eyeliner. Combined with my wedge-heeled boots and a string of blood-red rosary beads I’d borrowed from Jo, I knew I lookedfierce.
We pulled on our coats and scarves to ward against the winter chill. I held out my hand, and Heathcliff looped his arm around mine. “Where are we going?” he asked. “I hope it’s not a movie. I hate all the people crunching popcorn and talking, and the music is always too loud—”
“Relax, Grandpa, it’s like you think I don’t know you.” I grinned, hefting my tote bag over my shoulder. The objects inside clanked and rustled. “Trust me. This date is Heathcliff-friendly.”
I led him across the green and down to the edge of the village, where the chocolate-box houses gave way to half-built new dwellings, and then rolling hills and a small, familiar wood. “This is King’s Copse. Of course, when the King actually used to hunt here, the wood covered all the surrounding hills. But most of it was cleared during the 19th and 20th centuries, and only this small section remains.”
“Doesn’t this belong to the gent whose wife you reckon killed the old bint?” Heathcliff held my hand as I stepped over the style. “We’re trespassing.”
