“What’s this?” Mum plucked the small black box from my purse and forced open the latch.
“Oh, it’s a…” I scrambled for an answer but came up completely blank. “Well, it’s a vampire-hunting kit.”
Mum looked at me like I’d gone insane.
“It’s just a bunch of garlic, holy water, and communion wafers. Morrie made it for me. It’s kind of a joke. I mean…it’s not a very funny joke, but it’s nice he wants to protect me. You know all those murders in the village, where the victim is drained of blood with the puncture marks in their neck?”
“Of course I know. I’ve been on the front lines, trying to get the police to take this vampire threat seriously.” Mum folded her arms. “Can you believe Inspector Hayes had the gall to say that vampires don’t exist? When the evidence is right in front of his eyes. If they don’t start taking this threat seriously, then the Spirit Seekers Society will have to take matters into our own hands.”
Panic seized me. The last thing we needed was my mother swanning around town slaying anyone with a lisp or taste for rare steak. “Vampire or not, Mum, this is a dangerous serial killer. You need to let the professionals do their jobs.”
Like me and Heathcliff and Morrie and Quoth.
“Pffft, fat lot of good they’ve done so far, with a third girl dead and our beloved historical cemetery looking like a slice of Swiss cheese. Although I must say, I’m grateful that you’re taking this supernatural threat so seriously…” Mum fingered the box, and I could see the wheels turning in her head. She wore the look she got when she sensed a get-rich-quick opportunity. But what in my vampire kit could possibly be giving her an idea? I didn’t want to guess. She set down the box very deliberately and clapped her hands.
“Well, love, I have to go. I have things to do.”
“But don’t you want to convince me of the merits of bibliomancy—”
“Oh, what’s the point? I’d better go, I’ve got a Spirit Seekers meeting…” Mum gave me a dismissive wave as she barreled out of the room.
“But you left your bibliomancy book behind!”
“I don’t need it,” she called back. “Heathcliff’s right. It’s a bunch of nonsense.”
The door slammed behind her.
“Did you hear that?” Heathcliff leaned back in his chair. “She says I’m right.”
I nodded. “Of all the bad omens we’ve received this morning, the fact my mother agrees with you has me the most concerned.”
Chapter Five
“Ithink you’ll enjoy this book.” I smiled at my bespeckled customer as I rang up his purchase. It was the day before the Halloween festival opening, and he was one of a busload of American tourists who’d stopped in the village for the occasion. He looked thoroughly miserable in his sodden clothing. The skies had opened up – not the best day to capture idyllic village life, but definitely a taste of authentic Britain.
“Thank you, young lady.” He wrung out his cap, squeezing a puddle of water onto our already squelchy rug. “I must say, you’re more pleasant to deal with than your other salesperson. He’s a bit…odd. He asked me all these deep, personal questions, and then gave me a huge lecture about not believing in the gods.”
Not again.“Yes, thank you. I’ll talk to him.”
The tourists filed out, exclaiming in huge voices over every little detail of ‘Jolly Old England’ and talking excitedly about their pub lunch. I flipped the ‘out to lunch’ sign on the door, even though it was only 10AM, and went to find my ‘salesperson.’
He was in the Philosophy section, of course, his nose buried in Nietzsche. He wrinkled his nose and tossed the volume over his shoulder, where it joined a pile of crumpled books on the floor. “What poppycock.”
“Listen, Socrates.” I grabbed a volume of Kant’sCritique of Pure Reasonfrom his fingers before it joined Nietzsche in the crumpled heap of torn pages on the floor. “I know you’re trying to help, but you’ve got to stop this.”
“Eh?” Socrates cupped a wizened hand over his ear.
“You can’t rip up the books you disagree with, or we’ll have nothing to sell. And no talking to the customers.”
“Yes, thank you. I do like cucumbers.” Socrates turned back to the book.
“YOU CAN’T TALK TO THE CUSTOMERS.”
“But how else am I supposed to re-establish my School of Thinking? From these turbid bird-brains I must extract those students who will most benefit from my tutelage.” Socrates tossed Kant’s book over his shoulder in disgust and picked up another. “I mean, look at these ridiculous notions. What is this nihilism? It means nothing to me.”
I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. “Nihilists reject religion and morals because they believe life is meaningless. I think you’d find it interesting, actually—”
“But not one of these so-called thinkers ever acknowledges that the only true wisdom is knowing that you know nothing. Why, just this morning I was taught an important philosophical lesson by your bird.”
