Well, at least we’re not talking about bedtime stories now.
“Riiiight,” he drags out the word, then laughs again.“Well, I meant if something happens to your power and your phone dies mid-bedtime story app, or, uh, you know if something goes bump in the night.Normally I wouldn’t turn down a good nipple dusting session, but I wouldn’t want to impose on your fun.”
A shiver goes through me—not because of his bump in the night comment, but because it feels like the air conditioning is going into overdrive again.
Frankly, best-case scenario.Gimme all the AC.
I’m going to sleep like a baby.
“This is probably a weird note to leave on, huh?”he says conversationally, and I laugh.
“It’s not your fault.I’m weird.That’s my default state.Alas, it’s probably contagious.”I do a little mock bow, affecting a British accent, topping it off by twirling my hand and clicking my heels together.“Forgive me sir, but you’ve caught the weirds.”
“I knew I felt it coming on,” he says, pressing the back of his hand against his forehead and giving the tiniest cough.“It comes in with the fall, I fear.”
We both laugh, and he waves me off when I try to follow him downstairs.“Don’t let me interrupt you.No need to stand on ceremony and walk me out.Just throw the lock before you go to sleep.”
I’m slightly relieved at that because damn, I was mentally itching to put a few more things away in the bathroom before having to climb two flights of stairs.
“Thanks,” I tell him, and my voice cracks slightly with emotion.
So, obviously, I have no choice but to do that terrible British impersonation again.“Thank you kindly, sir.I do recommend a strong syrup for what ails you.”
His laughter follows him down the stairs, and I’m smiling to myself as I scurry back to the warm light of the bathroom.
I think I might get lucky and settle in just fine here.
11
Sylvie
My eyes fly open, the groggy feeling of being awoken in the middle of a much-needed sleep fleeing as a sense of wrongness settles over me.
Where am I?
I inhale deeply, trying to calm my stampeding heart, and think.I’m in my new apartment, third floor, over the mysterious bookshop I’ve inherited.
What woke me up?
A floorboard creaks and my stomach drops, the iron taste of fear on my tongue.
Did I remember to lock the front door?
“Shit,” I mutter, sweat beading on my palms.
I can’t just lie here and throw the sheets over my head and squeeze my eyes shut.I mean, I could, technically, but that’s probably the worst possible choice.
Is there someone in the house?In the bookstore?
I can’t remember if I locked the door to the alley, either.
A black shape bounds onto my mattress and I nearly scream, but the sound won’t come.Then I hear it—the soft, motoring purr of the little black cat that was here when I moved in.
“It’s just you,” I say, a too-loud laugh causing the green-eyed cat to startle slightly.“Nameless cat, giving me a heart attack.”
Thunder cracks outside, so loud that the whole floor shakes, and the cat and I stare at each other.
A second later, lightning flashes, illuminating the dark room through the slats of the white shutters.
