“So I’m gonna wash my hands real good, then I’m gonna bring you what you seek.” Perks put his palms together, bowed to us, and exited the room.
“Do you think he really got it this morning?” I asked Finch, low.
He shrugged. “Stranger things have happened. Like, recently.”
Perks zoomed back in before I could reply. I had the idea he was as eager to sell as we were to buy.
I was right, but not for the reason I thought.
“Here she is,” he said softly, slipping the book from a paper sleeve.
The sight of its embossed leather cover, dull gold on green, made my breath catch. It was the book at last, soft and inviting and perfectly sized for holding.
Perks saw my expression and laughed. “I thought you were just along for the ride. But it looks like you’re the one who’s buying.”
“Are there any missing pages?”
The bookseller made a show of looking horrified. “Not on your life.”
I relaxed, a little. “Did you really get it today?”
“I did indeed, and within the hour you all called me looking for it. You might think it’s strange, but you get used to those karmic moments in the book business. Books want to be read, and by the right people. There’s nothing surprising in it, not to me.”
“Who sold it to you?”
“Someone who said he bought it at an estate sale. But I can’t double-check everyone’s story.”
“What did he look like?” Ellery asked.
Say he had red hair.
Perks mulled it over. “He was young, almost as young as you. White kid, dark hair, mug on him like he’d sell you your own mother. And he was…” He hesitated, his eyes flicking between us.
“He was what?”
“An odd bird. A little shifty. He had that air to him, like a man out of time.”
“What do you mean?”
My voice must’ve had a warning note in it, because Perks threw up his hands and smiled disarmingly. “It’s the look these days—the train jumper look. That Brooklyn thing, girls your age must like it.” He beckoned our attention back to the book. “Want to take a look?”
What I wanted was to know for sure if the boy who’d sold him the book was the same one I’d seen outside of Whitechapel, and again in the diner. And whether it was a different copy from the one I’d seen at my café, in the hands of the red-haired man.
Perks slipped on white gloves that made him look like an off-brand Mickey Mouse. “The binding is in near mint condition.” He deftly flipped the book over and back again. “No foxing on the pages. Some discoloration, of course, but that’s to be expected.”
As he opened the book, a scent rose from its pages, the homey must of old print and something else—something sweet. It was there and gone in an instant. Some yearning part of me wanted to believe it was Althea’s perfume.
“This title’s first print run was quite small, as you probably know—” Perks began. He stopped talking as the book fell open to a Polaroid photo stuck between its pages. It was flipped so we could only see the white of its backing.
He grinned. “Didn’t see that before. You wouldn’t believe the things you find in old books. When it’s a photo, odds are ten to one it’s an arty one, if you know what I mean. The young lady had better avert her eyes.”
He flipped the photo in his Mickey hands and examined its front. Then frowned. His eyes flicked up to us, and back down to the photo. He shoved it over the counter. “What the hell is this?”
It took a moment to understand what I was seeing. The photo was of us.
Me and Finch, lying side by side in Courtney’s room—me on the bed, him on the floor. Judging by the angle and the thin, spangled light, it had been taken early that morning by someone standing at our feet. We were both asleep, Ellery’s arms thrown loosely over his head and mine pillowed beneath my cheek.
My blood turned to ice water. Someone had been in that room with us, watching while we slept.
Finch got his voice back first. “Sir, we have no idea how that…”
“I don’t think so. What is this shit? You have your friend sell me this book, then you come back to buy it? Smells like day-old fish to me.” Perks picked it up roughly. “Is this even a real Proserpine?”
“Please,” I said, my voice unnatural in my ears. “I’ve never seen that photo in my life, I swear, but please just sell us the book.”
Perks shook his head, spastically. “This is too fuckin’ weird. Either you and the seller are in cahoots, or something else is going on, but either way you can march yourselves right outta my place.”
“Look, we want to give you money.” Finch pulled out his wallet, opened it. “What you told me on the phone, plus an extra grand on top. I’ve got a blank check, we’ll wait while you cash it.”
The old bookseller’s face flushed a dangerous red. “I never should’ve bought that book in the first place, not from that shady kid. I was glad to be getting rid of it so quick, but now I don’t care. You know the copy I saw, that first time?” He thrust a finger in my face. “Torched. And my buddy’s car along with it. Maybe by people like you.”
“But sir,” Finch said. “We’re trying to buy it.”
“I’d rather take it as a loss.” Perks shoved the Polaroid at Finch and jammed the book into its bag. “Get out, and don’t even think about trying to come back to steal this. It’ll be out of my shop in an hour. Someone else can deal with the cursed thing.”
“You think it’s cursed?” I said, and Perks looked at me with something close to pity.
“You seem like a nice girl,” he said, shaking his head. “Why do nice girls hang around with scummy boys like this? I’ll never understand it.”
He wasn’t that tall, and for one mad moment I thought of pushing him aside and taking the book by force. But he ushered us out onto his stoop before I got up the nerve.
“Dammit,” Finch said when the door had slammed behind us. “Why didn’t I grab it?”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking.” Someone was in the room with us last night.
“Who the hell took this photo?” Finch stared at the crumpled Polaroid in his hand.
“No chance it was David, right?” Someone stood over us while we slept.
“Guy can barely put on pants. He’s not up to planning this level of mindfuckery.”
We were walking fast down the street, both of us looking every which way and not trying to hide it.
“They broke in, took our photo, put it into the book, then sold it to this guy … so he could sell it to us. Why? Why not just…”
“Just face you?” Finch’s hair seemed to have gained another inch in the last few minutes. Clearly it expanded with stress.
“Take me. Like they did my mom. Why not just take me?”
“Maybe…” He put his palms together like Sherlock, breathed out loudly. “Maybe it’s a fairy-tale thing.”
“How so?”
“Maybe they can’t touch you. Because you’re Althea’s granddaughter!” He was getting excited. “Maybe, like, since her blood runs in your veins…”