“OK, you rest and I’ll go to the bookshop and bring Nick back here,” I said as I let go of Darcy’s arm. “Don’t worry. I’ll find a way to fix this, I promise.”
I’m not sure I’ve ever run as fast as I did to Kentish Town Tube station. There wasn’t a direct train to Leicester Square, but rather than wait for the right one, I decided to face the hell of changing branches at Camden Town station along with hundreds of lost tourists, which should give you some idea of how desperate I was. By the time I got to Baskerville Books, I was panting and sweaty from having run all the way there. I pushed the door open and charged into the shop.
“Nick, are you here?”
“Zoe?”
I turned to see him standing by the shelves to my left, holding a pile of books. Even in the midst of my blind panic, I couldn’t help noticing how good he looked: how his shirt hung perfectly from his broad shoulders, how his large hands cradled the books, and the dazzling blue of his eyes. And then I mentally slapped myself for ogling him while Mr. Darcy was literally disintegrating in my flat.
“Where’s Darcy?” Nick asked.
“Back at mine. He was too weak to come here.”
Nick didn’t say anything as he moved behind me to lock the front door, then crossed the shop floor toward the door behind the counter. Unsure what I was supposed to do, I followed him through into a small, windowless room, the walls lined with shelves full of old books. There was an antique wooden desk in the middle of the room, on which lay several large leather-bound volumes, an old-fashioned hourglass, and a picture frame. I just had time to register a photo of a pretty redheaded woman in the frame before Nick slammed it face down on the desk and turned to look at me.
“Tell me exactly what happened.”
“Darcy’s started to disappear.”
I’d wondered if he’d show surprise on hearing this sentence, but he didn’t so much as blink.
“When did it start?” he asked.
“He said his fingers started feeling a bit funny yesterday, and then two of them disappeared earlier today.”
“And it’s only his fingers so far?”
“What do you mean,so far? What the hell’s going on, Nick? People don’t just lose their fingers for no obvious reason.”
“But he’s not a person, is he?” Nick said matter-of-factly. “He’s a fictional character.”
“Whatever, I need you to tell me how I can stop it. Is it because he and I kissed?” I saw something flicker across Nick’s face as I said this, but he hid it quickly. “Or is it because he was too far away from the book he came out of? You have to tell me what’s going on so I can make sure it never happens again.”
“You need to bring him here.”
“I tried, but he was too tired. Can you come to my flat and mend him there? Do you have some kind of magic book medicine?”
Nick was watching me, his eyes intent on my face. “There’s no way of mending him, Zoe. Mr. Darcy is starting to fade, and unless you read him back intoPride and Prejudicesoon, he’ll disappear completely.”
I stared at him, open-mouthed. “What do you mean, he’ll disappear completely?”
“Exactly what I said. Fictional characters can’t survive in our world, and parts of him will continue disappearing until there’s nothing left. That’s why I was so freaked out last night, because Darcy has already been herewaylonger than he should have been. You’ve broken all the rules.”
“Hang on, I didn’t even know how this weird book magic worked until last night, let alone that there was a rule book about the stuff,” I said. “Who came up with them?”
“My great-grandmother, Ava. Back when she owned this shop, she made a strict set of rules. Readings had to take place within the walls of Baskerville Books, characters were only allowed to stay here for up to two hours at a time, and there was to be absolutely no physical contact between humans and fictional characters.”
I grimaced, seeing as I’d broken every one of Great-Granny Ava’s rules.
“The other rule was that my family had to keep what they did top secret. They weren’t allowed to advertise their skills, and they could only offer help to customers who they deemed to be in desperate need of their services: people who were in some kind of crisis and who my relatives knew could be helped by a particular fictional character.”
As Nick said this, I thought back to the romance book club Lily had mentioned and the Reddit post I’d seen with people asking how to join it. Was this what they’d been talking about: a secretive service offered by Nick’s female relatives to help readers meet their book heroes?
“Could I talk to one of your female relatives?” I asked him. “Maybe one of them will know how to stop Darcy fading.”
“I’m afraid there’s no one left to talk to,” Nick said. “I’m an only child, as was my mum, and my only living female relative is a great-aunt who’s ninety-eight and in a hospice, so she’s not in a position to help. I honestly thought the magic had disappeared when I lost Mum, but somehow you’ve not only managed to bring Darcy to life, but you’ve kept him here in London for ten days, which by all accounts should be impossible.”
“Except he’s fading now. How long will he…” I trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
