“Get lost.” Heathcliff brandished the broom out the window, waving it in the horse’s face. “We don’t need your type here.”
The horse reared up as the rider yanked on the reins.
“Stop it.” I reached out and grabbed the broom. I wanted to laugh, but that would only encourage Heathcliff. “Youknowwe can’t have him running around the village.”
“Why not?”
“Because he doesn’t have a head.”
“Well, he can’t stay in the bloody shop. The rider might be a spectral ghoul, but the horse smell is tangible as fuck.” Heathcliff screwed up his face.
“Tell me about it.” I caught a whiff of myself on the breeze, and it was not pretty. “Where in this village can we hide a horse?”
“There’s that old stable block around the back of the pub,” Morrie suggested.
The village pub, the Rose & Wimple, was over five hundred years old. It was a rabbit warren of thick beams, low ceilings, and crooked floors, and included some of the original Tudor outbuildings. I knew the landlord Richard was using the old still to brew his craft cider, but as far as I knew the stables were empty…and far enough away from the pub building that they were unlikely to be visited. It was as good a place as any to keep our truncated terror and his steed.
Heathcliff glared at the rider. “I don’t care where he goes, just as long as it’s not in the shop.”
The rider slid off the saddle. His feet made no sound as they touched the cobbles. He picked up the reins and indicated with an incline of his neck that he’d follow me. The horse’s hooves made aclop-cloppingsound as he turned around, but the Headless Horseman seemed to float over the ground without touching it.
I was used to seeing odd things in my line of work, but a headless specter and his beast were another matter entirely. And they were an all-too present reminder of the supernatural evil we were fighting.
Oscar led the way, marching across the deserted village green, ducking and weaving between the half-built carnival stalls and the bonfire preparations. I tied the horse up in the stables. The Headless Horseman bent down and stroked his steed’s face. The horse whinnied. I thought the horseman would remain with his beast, but with a final nuzzle, the rider turned away and followed us back to the shop. Morrie held the door open and I trudged inside.
As soon as I passed along the narrow hallway crowded with books, my fear and stress slipped away. Nevermore Bookshop had that effect on me. I wasn’t sure if it was the shop’s magic or a reflection of how comfortable I felt here. Nevermore was my home in all the ways that mattered.
Heathcliff had turned on all the lamps for me, so the shop glowed with enough light to enable me to discern shelves, furniture, stairs, even individual books. Just when I thought I couldn’t take his distance and grumpiness any longer, he showed me how he still cared about me, how he thought of me always.
Oscar waited while I removed his harness. Inside the shop, I was able to let him off duty. He scampered ahead of us, heading straight for his food and water bowls. My stomach rumbled, but I had a vitally-important matter to attend to first – a shower.
Heathcliff appeared in the hallway, wearing a black shirt that set off his dark eyes and the scowl he usually reserved for customers. I threw my arms around him, burrowing my face into his neck and breathing in his earthy scent. There was something about Heathcliff that was so grounding, so steadying. After a moment of stiffness, he gave into the embrace, curling his body around me and squeezing so tight he could fuse our atoms together.
“You smell like horse piss,” he murmured, but he didn’t pull away.
“I sure do. I missed you tonight.”
“You’re home now.” Heathcliff’s voice rasped with emotion as he crushed my spine in his grip. He was closing himself off from me, not saying what he wanted to say, and I worried about him. I worried that he’d hold back so much that he’d burn up in the inferno of his repressed passions. But then he embraced me likethis, his whole body thrumming on the knife-edge of losing control, and I could read his mind and his heart as though they were my own.
“I’ll get our guest settled and I’ll be right upstairs.” I brushed my lips lightly on Heathcliff’s cheek. His eyes fluttered closed and his whole body stiffened. He jerked away from me as though I might burn him.I hate this. My touch moved him, but it was destroying him, too, and I didn’t understand why, and he wouldn’t tell me, and I wanted to throttle him and also hold him and never let him go.
Heathcliff turned to the stairs. “I’ll run you a bath and make ready the hot chocolate.” He didn’t look back at me as he disappeared into the gloom. He hadn’t acknowledged Morrie at all.
“I brought the wine.” Morrie held up the bottle he’d stolen from Grey’s showhome. “No need to thank me.”
No response from Heathcliff. Not even a grunt.
“I see Lord Peevish of Peevleton is in fine form tonight.” Morrie’s voice was bright, but I could tell by the way he studied the spine of a Dan Brown novel like it held the secrets to the universe (it didn’t) that Heathcliff hurt him deeply.
That makes two of us.
“I’m sure he’s just desperate to escape my delightful perfume,” I said with faux brightness.
The Headless Horseman floated up behind Morrie. He raised his hand. My chest tightened.What’s he going to—
The decapitated specter patted Morrie’s shoulder, inclining his stump.
“Great.” Morrie moaned. “Even the resident ghoul is feeling sorry for me.”
