Chapter Text
The front doors to Anthony’s bookshop were wide open.
Warlock had only intended to glance up as he passed by to confirm the store was closed as it was well past the posted hours of operation. Instead, he was faced with the yawning entrance leaving him looking straight into the heart of the shop’s dim interior.
Someone jostled into him when he had stalled out on the sidewalk and they muttered a curse as they pushed past, inadvertently bumping him towards the threshold and the choice he wasn’t sure he was ready to make.
The thing was, Warlock knew that running away from home the way he had was ill-conceived. Nanny Ashtoreth wouldn’t have approved. She’d always reinforced that the key to getting away with things was to be smart above all else. But Nanny hadn’t been around for a very long time. All Warlock had now was Anthony Crowley, a man who bore a shocking resemblance to the woman who had raised him, right down to the same facial tattoo. Which only made it more painful that Anthony showed no sign of recognition when Warlock alluded to their shared history.
Every time he thought of the bookshop owner, Warlock had a mix of contradicting emotions. There was hope that Anthony really could help him break away from his family and find a way to become his own person, but more deeply, the longing to finally find out why he had been abandoned as a child.
With his feelings in turmoil, he climbed the single step and paused to listen. There was an empty quality to the store’s interior. The fact that the only light came from a lamp in the vicinity of Anthony’s desk only added to the unease the situation naturally fostered. The sun was setting and, though it was still light outside, the illumination was lost in the shadows of the surrounding buildings. Warlock took a cautious step inside, then several more before recalling his initial impression of the business. There were lots of rare and valuable books on the premises and a notable lack of any sign of a modern security system. There were good odds that he wasn’t the only person to notice the place looked like an easy target for thieves.
In an attempt to get a better angle on the rest of the shop, Warlock took a tentative step to one side and leaned in that direction. The shelves were high enough to block large portions of the main floor from view. Any number of intruders could have been hiding just out of his line of sight.
It occurred to Warlock that the smartest course of action would have been to call Anthony’s number and ask about the open doors. He turned to glance back at the street, wondering if it wasn’t too late to retreat and choose that option. A constant flow of foot traffic passed by outside, but none of them appeared to be bothered or even aware of the unusual state of things.
“Warlock!”
Muriel’s cheerful greeting clashed harshly with his current, hypervigilant state. Warlock’s heart kicked hard and then pounded painfully in his chest as he spun to face her. For some reason, his eyes snagged on the fact that she had on a bright yellow cardigan that was much brighter than the beige shades she usually chose. Between that and the thick red headband holding back her dark hair, it was the most color he’d ever seen her wear.
“I didn’t break in,” he blurted, desperate to assert his innocence in case there was something criminal in progress.
“Oh, well, I know that,” she assured him. She was smiling brightly up at him, clutching a book to her chest.
“The front doors are wide open,” he said, even though she clearly wasn’t concerned in the slightest to find him wandering around after hours. “That’s not very safe,” he added, because sometimes with Muriel, he felt the need to clarify things that seemed like they should be obvious. He turned back towards the entrance, to point at the issue, only to see both doors firmly closed.
“I expect it was just the shop welcoming you in.” She brushed past him, moving behind the checkout counter.
“Welcoming me… how exactly?” Warlock asked carefully. It wasn’t the most unusual thing Muriel had ever said to him.
“Old buildings.” She waved a hand in a broad sweeping gesture to their surroundings. “You know. Sometimes… have a mind of their own.”
The thing was, Warlock had been told a lot of very strange stories by two particular adults he trusted while he was growing up. It left him with a general willingness to go along when people offered him information that didn’t match with his personal understanding of how the world worked. “Do they?”
“Don’t they?” Muriel paused and considered before looking slightly chagrined. “I might have misunderstood. I’ll have to check into that later.”
Which didn’t help at all, so Warlock pivoted back to his most relevant concern. “Listen, I know the shop’s supposed to be closed right now, I can come back tomorrow.”
“That’s unnecessary. You’re here now,” she told him simply. “Already inside and everything.” Muriel looked at him expectantly as she placed her book down on the checkout counter. “What can we do for you?”
Warlock had thought just getting up the courage to leave his parent’s home and seek help had been the hardest part. He’d been wrong, but it was too late to turn back now. “Do you think… was…”–he struggled to say Anthony out loud because in his mind, he was so certain the man had been his nanny and he hated calling him by another name–”the owner serious when he said he’d be willing to help me out?”
“Oh!” She absolutely lit up, actually bouncing up onto the balls of her feet in a show of excitement. “Yes! Very much so. Come with me!” She hurried around to him and grabbed at his sleeve, tugging lightly before she started towards the spiral staircase that led to the second floor.
“He’s here now?” Somehow that was worse. Warlock had assumed he would have hours still to mentally prepare before he would be forced to face this particular interaction. “I thought he had his own place.”
“I suppose he does,” she confirmed, already well ahead of him on her ascent of the stairs. “But he stays here. On occasion.”
It wasn’t any of his business, but Warlock couldn’t help the worry that came with her admission. “Then where’s Crawley?” He already suspected there was something unnatural going on with the little snake that had put ideas into his head, but it wasn’t the sort of thing he could blurt out without sounding irrational.
Muriel waited until he’d reached the top of the stairs and joined her at the door marked ‘Private’ before she assured him, “Safe.”
“You know that for a fact?” he pressed. It mattered to him that the little snake was well cared for, no matter what else happened in the next few minutes.
“Yes,” she responded solemnly before she opened the door and pointed him toward the sofa. Conversations with Muriel were often frustrating in the way that she would answer questions without really giving the information being sought.
Warlock had come too far to turn back now, so he walked to the couch and dropped into it. The room was just as full of books as the shop below, all neatly organized, but it was very obviously designed to be a living space. There was a kitchen area, with appliances that all looked decades out of date though they lacked the usual signs of wear and tear that came with the passage of time.
Muriel moved to a closed door down a side hall and tapped lightly, then slipped inside without waiting for a response. “Anthony?” she called softly.
“What’s wrong?” His voice was sleep-roughed but held a distinct note of concern.
“Warlock Dowling has come for help,” she murmured but it was impossible to miss how pleased she sounded.
“Hmm.” It was hard to tell if Anthony’s grunt had a positive or negative inclination.
Instead of emerging in rumpled clothes with disheveled hair, Anthony stepped out dressed in a suit jacket, dark shirt, and jeans, with his hair perfectly styled and his sunglasses firmly in place. There was a sense of effortless style about him and not a wrinkle in sight in the exact same way that Nanny Ashtoreth wore her own austere demeanor like armor.
Anthony made a show of checking his phone as he leaned against the end of a convenient bookshelf. “Here for help after hours and not so much as a phone call?” His tone was curious rather than admonishing.
It was irritating how easily a few words got under Warlock’s skin. “I was in the area,” he muttered. “And apparently the shop was in a welcoming mood.”
Anthony tipped his head to one side and considered Warlock for a long moment from behind the dark lenses of his glasses. It was so similar the way Nanny Ashtoreth used to analyze him that it made Warlock’s chest ache.
Without intending to, he found himself giving further explanation. “I don’t take my phone when I sneak out to avoid being tracked,” he admitted.
Anthony tisked and shook his head. “If you’d have brought it, I could have had some fun leading anyone tracing it on a fool’s errand. Think it through next time.” With his point made, he shifted the conversation to more important matters. “On a scale from one to ten, one being you need a place to crash for a few nights and ten, you're being actively hunted to be kidnapped and disappeared until you agree to whatever your parents are demanding, how much help do you need?”
Warlock’s first instinct was to say eleven, but he knew that was only his own fears and desperation making him inclined to exaggerate. “Maybe a six or a seven.” It suddenly occurred to him that they could turn him away and he had no backup plan at all. “I know you don’t have any reason to get involved but–”
“And you don’t have any reason to trust me when I tell you I find navigating these sorts of situations diverting,” Anthony interjected with a distinctly sharp smile, “but here we are.”
The hardest part was that Warlock felt logically he should not trust this man, but the child inside of him wanted to run to him for comfort because he was so very much like the person who used to tuck him in, comfort him, and protect him all while leading him headlong into mischief. So, despite his better judgement, Warlock did trust Anthony. Probably too much. It was only the fact that Anthony hadn’t alluded to being his nanny in any way that kept Warlock on guard.
Unaware of the conflict playing out on the sofa, Anthony continued speaking. “First and foremost, this bookshop is a sort of safe haven. No one can take you unwillingly from this place. That’s a promise and a fact.”
It was the sort of promise an adult would make to a scared child. Except, Warlock believed him because… because Nanny had been capable of inexplicable things. That didn’t mean Warlock wasn’t going to be petulant about it, though. “You talk about it like it’s magic.”
The grin on Anthony’s face was just a little too big, like he knew exactly what Warlock was feeling. “Nah,” he elongated the word as he waved a hand dismissively. “Not like you mean anyway. Sometimes things are just true, even if you can’t derive the how of it.”
“Okay,” Warlock relented because at a certain point, continuing to argue with the person he was asking for help would turn counterproductive. He was still feeling irritable, but some of the deep overwhelming worry that he had been carrying for the past month was eased by the assurances of safety.
“Muriel is making up a bed for you.” Anthony pushed away from the bookshelf, crossed into the kitchen and opened a baking tin to pull something out. “Feel free to sleep whenever. Come and go as you please so long as you think it’s safe to do so.” He tossed the object in his hand in a slow, underhanded lob that Warlock was easily able to snatch out of the air.
He opened his hand to see a key. He blinked at it and up at Anthony, unsure of exactly what to say.
Muriel came out of the bedroom she had entered to wake Anthony with an arm full of sheets and blankets. The smile she flashed in their direction was proof enough that she was overjoyed at the turn of events.
“That’s your room,” Warlock said to Anthony, feeling uncertain and emotionally overstimulated as he closed his fist around the key that he had been so freely given.
“Nope. Spare room,” Anthony corrected. “I just happened to be sleeping in it when you arrived. That’s the bathroom,” he jerked his head towards another closed door. “Extra toiletries and towels in the cabinet, take what you need.”
“He could have my bed,” Muriel offered as she wandered back into the main room.
“No!” Anthony grumbled, sounding annoyed for the first time. “Be selfish. Stop trying to give your own stuff away.”
Despite his sharp tone, Muriel seemed to take the rebuke in stride, ducking her head briefly, but smiling up at him fondly as she straightened.
There was obviously something between them that Warlock didn’t quite have a handle on yet. During his past visits to the shop, he’d watched Muriel defer to Anthony and jump to do things for him without being asked, but she also hovered near him in a way that seemed to indicate she worried about him. “I could just sleep on the couch,” Warlock offered, feeling uncomfortable that they were both offering to displace themselves on his behalf.
“I have a place of my own in Mayfair,” Anthony said dismissively. He pushed away from the bookshelf and started towards the exit, but stopped suddenly and snapped his fingers as he remembered something. “There’s food in the fridge and cupboards if you're hungry. Let us know if there’s anything else you need.” Without waiting for a response, he turned and reached for the door to the shop.
Muriel’s smile dropped and she hurried after him. “Are you leaving?” She whispered but the space was far too small for Warlock not to overhear.
Anthony paused on the other side of the threshold and gave her a tight smile. “Not tonight. I have… business to attend to.”
“You’ll be alright?” she asked, her worry obvious as she twisted her fingers together, fidgeting.
Anthony gave her an easy smile. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve slept on the couch downstairs.” There was a pained sort of hiss at the end of the sentence and he swayed slightly on his feet.
Muriel was at his elbow instantly but she retreated as soon as Anthony shivered and straightened fully. He gave her an apologetic glance and nodded before turning and heading into the shop proper.