“I—” I struggled to find the words. “That was amazing.”

  “Good.” Morrie broke out into one of his self-satisfied grins, and just like that, his mask slipped back on. He scooped me up and deposited me in the bed. “Quoth is going to cuddle with you for a bit.”

  “But you—”

  “I need to be elsewhere.” Morrie slunk away into the darkness. I reached out a hand to him, but the door slammed shut. He was gone.

  My lip trembled. What just happened? Morrie had just orchestrated the best sex of my life. He’d just somehow convinced me to have a threesome, and I had absolutely zero regrets. And then he takes one look at me with the blindfold off and runs away?

  My mind swam. There was something going on in Morrie’s head behind all that swagger and bravado. Had I just caught a glimpse of it? Was that why he ran, because he didn’t want to be vulnerable in front of me and Quoth?

  Speaking of vulnerable…

  Quoth lifted the edge of the sheet. I smiled, beckoning him in. He slid in beside me, wrapping his arms around my body and pulling me against him, tangling his legs in mine. I rested my head on his bicep and gazed into his eyes, watching the ring of orange flare around the outside of those deep brown orbs.

  “He should be here,” Quoth said, his fingers trailing over my face and across my shoulders, raising trails of goosepimples.

  “It’s okay. I have you.” I nestled my head into his shoulder, placing my hand on his chest, over his beating heart.

  He sighed. “Mina, how did this happen? How did I get so lucky?”

  “Thank Morrie later. I half wonder if he planned it to be this way. Did you know he told me I had to sleep with you and Heathcliff? He suspected you and I would dance around each other for months unless he thrust us together.”

  “If that’s the case, I take back every bad thing I’ve ever said about him.” Quoth’s eyes crinkled, and he smiled. Oh, Isis, that smile…

  “Don’t take back that time you called him the Neapolitan Ice Cream of Crime, because that was hilarious.”

  He laughed, hugging me tighter. “Never.”

  “Quoth,” I whispered into his chest. “I’m sorry if I tried to force you out of your shift at my mum’s house. I really thought you just needed a hard word, but I was wrong. You were so terrified.” My heart broke all over again remembered how his raven body had trembled in my arms.

  “It’s okay.”

  “I’m not sure it is. I thought I was helping, but I don’t understand what it is to be you, what goes on in your body, or in your mind.”

  “I’m a grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore,” Quoth said. “You know everything you need to know.”

  “You shouldn’t talk about yourself like that, even if Poe did. You are so much more to me. Please, don’t let me push you into going outside and doing things if you can’t—”

  “I want to be a human, Mina,” Quoth’s voice quivered with venom. “I want to be able to be in the world with you. I want to be able to help you when—” he stopped.

  “Finish the sentence. You want to help me when I go blind.” I didn’t trip over the word, the way I normally did. “I appreciate that, but I’m starting to realize that’s not your job. It’s mine.”

  “I swore that I’d protect you,” he insisted.

  “You did, and that’s very noble, if a little odd. But if I don’t at least do some of the protecting for myself, then I’ll never be able to look my poster of Sid Vicious in the eye again.” I laughed. “Actually, that might be a real problem soon.”

  “You saw the colored lights again?”

  “Yes.” I gave him a squeeze. “I’m still scared, but I feel like with you and Heathcliff and Morrie by my side, I can conquer the fear. And I want to be there for you while you conquer your fear. But I don’t want to force you, because that’s not how we roll, all right?”

  “You could never force me,” Quoth said, his voice fierce.

  “Good. And you’ll be so kind as to tell me if I’m being a right cow in the future.”

  He laughed again. “Be quiet and close your eyes, Mina Wilde. Or your words shall be our sign of parting.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Quoth and I lay together, fading in and out of consciousness, our lips and hands exploring each other’s bodies in a strange world between waking and sleep. Heavy boots clomped up the stairs, startling me out of my reverie. I sat up just as Heathcliff called my name.

  I slid from under Quoth’s arm and gathered Morrie’s quilt around me like a gown, then swept out into the hall.

  Heathcliff stood in front of the fireplace, his eyes blazing. Tension rose off his body in waves. I stood my ground, unsure if he was about to start yelling and throwing things, or if he was going to throw me against the wall and fuck me. I was hoping for the latter.

  “Morrie’s driving me crazy. I came up to…” Heathcliff’s words died on his lips as he stepped toward me, lowering his eyes to my shoulder. I followed his gaze and noticed a line of purple bruises across my skin. Bite marks.

  “Morrie’s handiwork,” he whispered, pressing his finger into my skin. The hickey turned white, then darkened to pink again.

  “And Quoth’s,” I said.

  Heathcliff raised an eyebrow. “So it’s going to be like that, is it?”

  “I don’t know. I have no idea what I’m doing. All I know is, it felt good. You all feel good.”

  “You feel amazing.” Heathcliff closed the gap between us, brushing his lips against mine, and then his hands tangled in my hair and I dropped the sheet and pressed my body against his.

  Tension rippled down his arms as his hands explored my body, lifting me and smashing me against him, as though we couldn’t get close enough until we had crawled into each other. My languid senses leapt to life, relishing the possessiveness of his touch.

  Heathcliff spun me around and slammed my back against the wall, devouring my mouth with his. I managed to squeeze my hand between his legs and unzip his fly. As I wrapped my hand around his cock, he moaned against my lips.

  He yanked a condom from his pocket, tearing the wrapper between his teeth. Heathcliff rolled it on and I wrapped my legs around him. Heathcliff held me easily, his huge hands cupping my arse, his cock entering me in one slick motion.

  My back slammed against the wall as he took me, pushing into me again and again, deeper and harder than he’d ever done before. His wild eyes bore into mine, and I drowned in their black depths.

  Heathcliff drove faster. I arched my back, digging my nails into his shoulders as the ache inside me bubbled over and an orgasm slammed into me.

  Wow. Wowowowowow.

  I’d never come just from penetrative sex before. But something about the angle and the way Heathcliff’s smoldering eyes burned into mine had sent me over the edge. Behind his head, two flame-ringed eyes glowed from the darkness. Quoth, sitting on his perch, watching us, always watching, always making sure no one was hurting me.

  Heathcliff cried out as he came, the sound like a release of something ancient and primal. Inside me, his cock twitched and released. He slumped against me, still holding me tight.

  My mind reeled with a million disjointed thoughts. I just had a threesome. I just slept with three guys on the same night.

  And they’re okay with it. And I… I might be okay with it, too.

  We could hash out the details later, when we weren’t trying to solve a murder. But right now, as Heathcliff slumped into his chair and pulled me onto his lap, wrapping his arms around me, and Quoth’s watchful eyes burned through the gloom, right now I wasn’t scared at all.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Wakey wakey, sleepyheads.”

  Heathcliff leapt to his feet, dropping me on the floor. “Get away from her, or I’ll gut you like a fish!” he yelled, brandishing a fire poker into the darkness.

  “Relax,” a voice I recognized as Morrie chuckled. “You’re not in any imminent danger.”

  “Shite.” I rubbed my eyes. “What time is it? Is it time for my watch?”

  “It’s seven a.m. I came up to see if you wanted me to cook breakfast. I was thinking a little boule de pain—”

  “You didn’t wake us?” Heathcliff growled. “What happened? Did Quoth even go out to follow the suspect?”

  “Relax, everything’s fine. I tried to wake you, but Mina looked too cute and you growled at me, and I didn’t want to risk my neck. I watched the biddies. Quoth spent the night watching Dorothy Ingram through her window. Apparently, she knitted a hideous scarf and cried her way through An Affair to Remember.”

  “I didn’t growl at you!” Heathcliff yelled.

  “I assure you that you did, kind of like you’re doing now.”

  “I couldn’t have. I was asleep.”

  “Then you growl in your sleep, like a giant cuddly teddy bear.” Morrie ducked out of the way as Heathcliff swung a fist at him.

  “Guys, can we focus, please? Mrs. Ellis, Miss Blume, are they okay?”

  “Yes, perfectly safe and in fine form. I’ve just delivered their tea. Miss Blume dumped hers out the window in order to ‘divine the leaves.’ On my way out, Mrs. Ellis pinched my bum.”

  I smiled. They were definitely fine. “What does it mean that Dorothy didn’t show up?”

  “Probably nothing,” Morrie said. “Maybe your killer didn’t get the message about the slumber party, or perhaps she suspected a trap, or your screams of ecstasy echoed across the village and gave the whole game away.”

  My cheeks burned. I scrambled to my feet. “I’ll go talk to them,” I mumbled as I headed for the stairs.

  Mrs. Ellis winked at me as I walked into the World History room. Great, so she’d heard me, too. This was going to be all over the village before sunset.

  And oh Hathor, Miss Blume works with Mum. This is very, very not good.

  “Did you guys sleep well?” I managed to choke out.

  “Oh, as well as could be expected,” Mrs. Ellis grinned. My whole face burned. “We were up all night, listening for the sound of our killer coming for us.”

  “We heard all sorts of creaks and moans,” Miss Blume added. “This old building certainly is lively.”

  Astarte, kill me now.

  “Right, well,” I cleared my throat. “Obviously you were perfectly safe. Will you be okay staying here in the shop today? Morrie and I are going to inspect Mrs. Winstone’s garden.”

  Mrs. Ellis folded up her duvet. “Oh, no, we can’t stay here. We need to visit Brenda at the hospital, and Sylvia has clients booked—”

  “Very well, Quoth— er, Allan will go with you to the hospital.”

  “Mina,” Quoth whispered from behind me. “Can I talk to you in private for a moment?”

  Mrs Ellis’ eyes bugged out of her head as she leaned forward to peer around the corner at a shirtless Quoth, who shrank back into the shadows.

  “Sure.” I followed him across the hallway and into the Children’s room. Quoth encircled my wrist in his long fingers.

  “Didn’t you just say you were going to stop pushing me?” Fire flared in his eyes.

  “Didn’t you say that you wanted to be pushed?” I shot back.

  “You sound far too much like Morrie. Watching an old lady through her window was one thing, but you saw what happened at your mum’s. If I mess this up, Mina… if I shift in front of someone in the village—”

  I squeezed his hand, losing myself in the deep brown of his eyes. “You’re just nervous, is all. The others have filled your head with all kinds of nonsense. You deserve a real life, Quoth. I want to walk hand-in-hand with you through the village and watch people’s heads turn. I want to take you to a punk concert so you can feel the way the music cuts you inside and forces all the bad stuff out. I want us to go to the National Gallery, and the Tate Modern, and maybe even one day we could take a trip to Paris and see the Louvre and all the amazing paintings that will fill you with joy. That could be your life, and I could share it with you, and it’ll be amazing. But if you want that life, you have to take Mrs. Ellis and Miss Blume to the hospital. Okay?”

  In response, Quoth raised my hand to his lips, pressing them against my skin. A jolt of electricity shot through my body. Too soon, he pulled away, turning to leave.

  “Where are you going?” I tried to tug him back, but he slipped from my grasp.

  Quoth’s brilliant smile lit up the room better than any junk store lamp. “If I’m to visit the hospital, I should put on a shirt.”

  I grinned as I collected Morrie and we went out to snoop. On the way, we stopped at the bakery for coffee. As we turned to leave, clutching our cups and cream doughnuts, Dorothy Ingram entered with two other ladies from the church. She gave me a dirty look as she hobbled past, her walking stick clutched tight in her hand. I shot her an evil glare back, resisting the urge to stick my foot out and trip her up.

  Morrie kept up a steady stream of chatter on the way. I tried to ask him about last night, about why he’d run away, but I couldn’t get the words out. I still couldn’t believe it had happened.

  The Winstones lived in a lovely cottage down a small lane on the opposite side of the town green, overlooking a picturesque meadow. Even though it was the middle of winter, the garden burst with color and texture. Morrie took out a pocket magnifying glass and went around the low stone wall, while I bent to examine the front stoop where she’d been attacked. A tall hedge of wisteria stood along one side. It would certainly give enough cover to an assailant lying in wait.

  I bent down to examine the hedge. There were a few broken twigs at the front, but not as many as I’d have expected from the kind of tussle Mrs. Winstone described. Either this would-be killer was careful, or she snuck up the path instead of hiding in the bushes. I pictured Dorothy Ingram with her stick and limp. She wouldn’t be sneaking up on anyone. I peered closer at the hedge. The ground didn’t appear to be trampled. Of course, Dorothy is a small woman so she wouldn’t need as much space as a big man.

  I shifted the dead leaves, hunting for more broken branches. Maybe I could find where she’d crouched down in wait. My hand brushed something hard and smooth. I wrapped my fingers around it, dragged it out of the bed, and held it up into the light.

  A wooden walking stick.

  The killer must have dropped it as they were making their getaway. I studied the shaft, noticing spots of dried blood around the ornately-carved handle.

  My mind reeled. Dorothy had her stick with her when we saw her at the bakery. Which means this can’t be hers.

  Unless she has a bunch of them. But that seems unlikely. It’s a very distinct stick, and it looks expensive.

  “Morrie!” I called out. “I found something.”

  He came running over and inspected the stick, trailing his fingers along its shaft and studying the dried blood near the handle. “This was definitely the weapon that attacked Mrs. Winstone.”

  “But Dorothy had her stick with her.” I pointed to the handle. “I think this one’s different. Dorothy’s has flowers carved around the handle. This one has these half-moon shapes.”

  “This is the phases of the moon, mixed with sacred geometric shapes. It’s an occult design.” Morrie made a face. “You’re right. Our religious fanatic wouldn’t use this.”

  I stared at the walking stick in my hands, hardly able to believe what I saw. This stick blew a huge hole in our theory. Dorothy Ingram had every motive and opportunity for killing off the members of the Banned Book Club. But if it wasn’t Dorothy’s stick, then whose was it?

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Morrie and I sat down on the curb and finished off our now-cold coffee. Morrie made me recount the evidence we’d collected so far, especially the conversation I overheard between Dorothy and Ginny Button.

  “Dorothy seemed afraid of Ginny,” I recalled, trying to remember the exact words I overheard. “She said, ‘I got her out of the way for you. She’s paid for her sins, and now you and I have no more business together.’ Only Ginny wanted her to do something else, so she said that God detests a blackmailer. Then Ginny said she hoped Dorothy wasn’t threatening her, because she’d hate for anyone to discover her secret.”

  “Her filthy secret,” Morrie corrected, with an undue amount of relish.

  “Yes, of course. Her filthy secret. And she called Dorothy a murderer. Then Dorothy got angry and stormed off. And the next thing, Ginny’s lying dead at the bottom of the stairs.”

  “And it was the night before when you saw Sylvia and Ginny?”

  “Yes. Ginny was saying something that scared Sylvia, and as Ginny stalked back to her car, Sylvia yelled, ‘You may think you’re untouchable, but I know what you did. You’re rotten and you won’t get away with it!’”

  “So Ginny could have killed Mrs. Scarlett,” Morrie mused. “Or she could have got Dorothy to do it. But what if Sylvia found out about it? She could have pushed Ginny. She was at the funeral. But then if Ginny’s dead, who attacked Mrs. Winstone?”

  “Why did you run away last night?” I blurted out.

  “Heathcliff needed me downstairs. We were waiting to trap a murderer, if you recall.”

  “That’s not the reason. You orchestrated that whole evening for me, including sending Heathcliff upstairs. So why didn’t you stay?”

  “It’s simple. You’d just had an intense sexual experience. You needed someone to take care of you, bring your emotions back to a normal, happy place. You needed cuddles and sweet kisses and poetry. That’s not what I do.” Morrie flashed me a grin that wavered at the edges. “Quoth yearns for cuddles, so you were in good hands. This is the beauty of our arrangement, gorgeous. You get all the benefits.”

  “And you don’t have to do any emotional work, right?” I demanded. “You get to remain aloof and in control and above it all?”

 

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