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 gladhe’snot 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 viciousdog—”
“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 perched 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?”
