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When Edwin entered the bookshop, he found it to be quite…quaint. The shop itself was somewhat off-putting but in a way that Edwin could not quite place his finger on. It may have had something to do with the droves of dust hanging in the air, making the place seem unkempt and uncared for, or maybe it was the extremely bad lighting that must have made reading anything, let alone the faded pages of the antique books, quite difficult, or maybe it was simply some bad feeling seeped into the very walls of the establishment. It had been known to happen on occasion.
Despite the unpleasant aura of the place, Edwin could not help but feel slightly comforted by the familiarity of it. Unlike most modern places Edwin has visited—which seem to favor obscenely bright colors, artificial materials, and blaringly loud music—A. Z. Fell and Co. seemed like a time capsule, stuck in a past that seemed quite distant to the living but looked just like home for Edwin. The dark wood tones paired with the muted reds and creams of the furnishings, illuminated by the yellow-toned incandescent bulbs that were just becoming standard in all buildings during Edwin’s time, reminded Edwin so strongly of his life before that he almost expected his mother to walk in right behind him, telling him he could only choose one item to bring home.
Edwin adjusted his overcoat, forcibly reorienting himself in the present despite the stark reminders of the past, and started to browse the shelves.
He had heard about the rare books dealership from a client, who had mentioned off-hand that the small book collection Edwin displayed in the office reminded her of the shop in Soho. Edwin, interested in expanding his collection, had asked for the address.
Once the simple case of returning a lost object was solved, Charles had clapped his hands together, given Edwin an indulgent smile, and said, “Right, to the bookshop then?”
Edwin and Charles mirror hopped to a hotel in the area they had been to before and walked the rest of the way. Edwin was still practicing mirror hopping and it was much easier to do if he had already visited a location beforehand and he was not looking forward to appearing in a random man’s bathroom again, while occupied, he should add.
As they drew nearer the bookshop, Edwin noticed Charles’s gaze lingering on a record shop across the street. Edwin placed a tentative hand on Charles’s arm, drawing Charles’s attention back with a questioning hum.
“Whoever should finish first will find the other, agreed?”
Charles looked back at the record shop, back to Edwin, shop, Edwin, then asked, “You sure?”
Edwin simply raised an unimpressed eyebrow.
“Yeah, alright then,” Charles laughed, “Don’t get into any trouble,”
“Same to you,” Edwin called as Charles jogged across the street and disappeared into his chosen shop and Edwin promptly did the same.
As Edwin browsed, he noticed that despite the dust in the air, there was no dust on the shelves or books, indicating that despite the shop’s appearance, the books, at least, were well cared for, all of which were either first editions or limited edition prints. There were even a few signed manuscripts behind glass cases. Similar to the furnishings, none of the books appeared to be from before 1940, though there were too far too many for Edwin to be sure.
It seemed that there was no genre the shop was limited to; Edwin saw famous plays, romances, mysteries, memoirs, and encyclopedias all occupying the same shelf. There did not seem to be an organizing system that Edwin could determine, neither by genre, author, publication date, or even by rarity. There were also no prices listed anywhere in the shop.
And, despite the small size of the shop, Edwin had yet to see the owner or any other person, for that matter. While it was not uncommon for shop runners to hide away in back rooms during slow business, it was unusual that Edwin had not seen anyone in the almost two hours he had been here.
What was also unusual were the shelves that held a number of books about the arcane and mystical that Edwin recognized as genuine sources. This surprised Edwin greatly, as the magical community was fairly strict about keeping real sources of information away from the public eye. That a public shop in Soho acquired so many means the proprietor is either an extremely lucky and foolish mortal playing with things they don’t understand or an extremely arrogant and foolish magic user playing with a world that won’t understand.
This is how ordinary sixteen-year-olds get their hands on real satanic rituals, after all.
Edwin eyes the magical volumes and pulls one such off the shelf, attempting to see if there is a price written somewhere inside the book, before he can even open the book a curt voice sounds from behind him.
“Can I help you?”
Edwin startles, fumbling the book but managing to keep a delicate hold on it as he attempts to cover it with his coat, hoping that no living people saw the floating object and got frightened.
Edwin hadn’t heard anyone enter the shop nor had he seen anyone in the whole time he was browsing, so he can’t imagine where the speaker came from or who they are talking to.
When he turns around an older man stands just to the side of him, closer than Edwin thought someone could get to him without hearing their footsteps. The man in question could also be a gentleman right out of Edwin’s home period, wearing clothing that would have been fashionable for his grandfather’s generation, though a little more worn in and rumpled than anything Edwin’s grandfather would have been caught in public in. His mannerisms were also similar to how a man in the early 1900s would have acted, standing perfectly straight with squared shoulders and clasped hands. Edwin could not quite place how old the man was, he had an ageless sort of quality about him, with white-blonde hair and smile lines around his eyes and eyes so bright it sort of hurt to look directly into them.
When Edwin turned again to see who the man was speaking to he saw no one. With the lack of another soul around, the direction the man was facing, and the way the man’s almost eclectic blue eyes bored into Edwin’s, he could only conclude that the man was speaking to him.
“Pardon me,” Edwin says, taking another look around to ensure that he did not miss someone else. It is always rather embarrassing to respond to a person who was not speaking with you and that feeling does not go away after one is dead, even if there was no one else to witness it, “You can see me, correct?”
“Of course I can, young man. I can see you clear as day, just as I can clearly see you attempting to steal that book.”
“What?” Edwin says, shock of being seen morphing into shock at the accusation before remembering the book he had hidden in his coat and quickly removing it, “No! I was not trying to steal it. I was simply…hiding it.”
“Oh, yes. Hiding it,” The man nodded his head dramatically in feigned agreement before accusing, “To steal it!”
“No! I swear, I simply did not wish to startle you.”
“And why should you startle me?”
“Well…floating objects,” Edwin says in a tone that suggests this should be obvious.
“Hm,” the man thinks with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, looking like he does not quite understand what Edwin means, “I don’t see how tucking the book in your coat should avoid that. ”
Instead of explaining, Edwin holds the book out like a peace offering. “Here,” Edwin says, “I truly meant no harm.”
The older man’s cold and suspicious demeanor stays until the book passes hand, after which it immediately melts away to be replaced by a kinder and friendlier front.
“Oh, thank you, my dear boy. I do apologize for startling you earlier.”
“No worries at all, I was only surprised. I apologize for the misunderstanding.”
“Water under the bridge, as it were. Now that that’s all cleared up, is there something I could help you with? Are you lost, perhaps?”
“Oh, no. Not lost. I was only browsing. I have a fondness for books, and I have to say, it is quite an impressive collection you have.”
“Oh, thank you. I have spent quite some time on it. I did get many of them from the authors themselves. Close friends, you see.”
“Oh,” Edwin says, interested in which authors he could have possibly known, “Like who?”
“Well, let me see. Oh! Dear Oscar for one. He wrote me such a heartwarming note when he gifted me a copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray. Such a way with words that one.”
“Interesting,” Edwin says, mind already running through the implication of a man, who appears to be at most 70 years of age, knowing and befriending a man who died more than 90 years ago. Thinking more on his encounter with the man, the soundless appearance, old-fashioned attire and mannerisms, and the ability to see Edwin all suggest that Edwin and the man have more in common than a fondness for books. It is usually easier for Edwin to identify a fellow ghost immediately, but then again Edwin usually only cares to when it relates to a case.
“Forgive my manners, I don’t believe I caught your name,” Edwin says, wondering if the ghost even knows he is dead.
“Oh, how rude of me. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Mr. Fell. And you are?”
“Edwin Payne,” Edwin introduces quickly before asking more leading questions, “Fell? That is the name of the shop, correct?”
“Oh, yes! A. Z. Fell, that’s me!”
“ You are A. Z. Fell then? How long have you owned the shop?”
“Oh, for quite a while,” Mr. Fell says vaguely.
Edwin mentally notes the lack of specificity, memory loss is a symptom of unaware ghosts, afterall, “I heard this shop has been here since the early 1800s,” Edwin says, trying to narrow down the time period in which the man lived.
“Yes, it was opened in 1800 exactly.”
Specific, that’s good. “It has been around a long time, then. Have you owned it since then?”
“Why yes I have!” Mr. Fell says proudly.
“That is very impressive,” Edwin says kindly, wishing Charles were here. Edwin has not quite figured out how to navigate delicate conversations, though Charles says that Edwin is more comforting than he thinks he is. Even that is true, at least if Charles was here, Edwin would not have to face the man’s grief over his own life on his own, “You’ve run the shop for nearly 200 years, Mr. Fell.”
“I-uh-Pardon me?” Mr. Fell stammers.
“The year is 1992,” Edwin explains, sometimes, all it takes is reminding the spirit that time has passed since they did.
Mr. Fell pauses, but rather than the shock, confusion, questions, and denial that Edwin would expect from a ghost just learning they were dead, Mr. Fell looks…caught.
“I-uh-I-I only meant that my family owned the shop. Not me, personally. How silly,” Mr. Fell gives a weak laugh as he waffles, “The shop has been in my family. I inherited it. From my family. It is a family shop.”
Edwin is slightly taken aback by the stark divergence of his expectations, as well as from Mr. Fell’s pitiful attempt at backtracking, and can only repeat, “Your…family shop?” as he organizes all of the information he has.
Mr. A.Z. Fell: the owner of an almost 200 year old book shop by the name of A.Z Fell & Co. Wears the clothing and has the demeanor of a man 100 years past. Owns books personally addressed books from authors more than 90 years passed. Ability to sneak up on a ghost. Owns authentic magic books.
“Haha, yes. My family shop.”
“Your 200 year old family shop that you share a name with?”
“It is a family name.”
“Right,” Edwin says dubiously, “Is it a family wardrobe too?”
“I beg your pardon?”
Edwin will admit, he is a little lost now. He was very sure that Mr. Fell was an unaware spirit but now he has to rethink. If Mr. Fell is dead, he is clearly aware of the passage of time, but why try to cover up how long he had been dead or lie about still owning the shop, unless he is delusional, but delusional ghosts are quite as…coherent as Mr. Fell is.
Which begs the question, is Mr. Fell even dead? Edwin did not initially think he was a spirit and only came to that conclusion because of Mr. Fell’s out-of-time demeanor and the fact that he made no sound when he approached. But, it is possible that Mr. Fell just has quiet footsteps or that Edwin was too distracted to be aware of his surroundings.
If Mr. Fell is alive, with the time misstep, Edwin is certain that Mr. Fell is not an ordinary human. That could also explain why he came by the books about the arcane.
This is not the first time Edwin has come across a magic human or even a magical creature living amongst humans, but they do not usually attempt to hide from ghosts as ghosts are usually regarded as occult-types and a part of the magical community.
Unless Mr. Fell does not know Edwin is a spirit. Edwin thought that was fairly clear but Charles does keep reminding him that the things that are clear to Edwin are not always clear to everyone else. Perhaps Edwin can just ask? If he is not dead, then this is not a case, and at this point Edwin would just like to get his answer and go home.
“If you don’t mind my asking, sir,” Edwin begins, moving past his previous, unintentional snipe, “How exactly is it that you can see me? And hear me?”
“Well, I do have eyes and ears.” Mr. Fell says, all too eager to also move past his blunder.
“Yes, but most living people can’t.” Edwin stresses, hoping the man gets the hint.
He does not.
“Pity for most living people then,” Mr. Fell says jovially, “You are simply a delightful young man!”
“I-Thank you, I suppose-but I meant that I am dead.” Edwin says bluntly, “You are aware of that, aren’t you?”
“Of course, my boy. I am not daft.”
“No, I did not think you were,” Edwin lies. The man is either being purposefully obtuse or he really is just incredibly daft, “I just-I-are you ?”
“Am I..?”
“Dead?”
“Well I should think not,” Mr. Fell says then refuses to elaborate.
“So you are not a ghost?”
“What kind of ghost do you mean?”
“...Any kind?”
“Oh, then no.”
Edwin furrows his brow, “Why did you ask what kind then?”
“Curiosity.”
Edwin takes a deep breath that he does not need. “So you are living?”
“In what manner of speaking?”
“In the heart-beating, breath-taking, blood-flowing way?”
“Well, I do suppose most people would define that as living.”
“And you don’t?”
“There are many definitions of many words, my boy.”
“Then how would you define it?”
“I suppose I would define living as existing.”
“I exist but I do not live.”
“And that is where our definitions differ.”
“How would you define yourself then?”
“Oh, philosophy! How fun! I believe it was Thales of Miletus that said, the most difficult thing in life to know is yourself. ”
“Perhaps,” Edwin says, not knowing whether to enjoy the back and forth or be annoyed by it, “but it was Aristotle that said, knowing yourself is the beginning of all wisdom. And you seem like an intelligent man, Mr. Fell.”
“Ah, but by Socrates, the only true wisdom is knowing you know nothing .”
“Everyone knows something. Indulge me, one word to describe yourself?”
“Very well, hmm, oh I would like to think I am honest.”
“Would you?” Edwin asks, leaning toward annoyed.
“Oh, yes.”
“There are many definitions of honest. It could mean truthful, moral, fair, or plenty of other things depending on the context.”
“So you see my point!” Mr. Fell sounds delighted, which is perhaps the exact opposite of what Edwin feels.
“Then as an honest man, Mr. Fell, would you answer my next question?”
“I suppose it depends on the question.”
“What are you?”
“Hm, rather an odd question. What are any of us really?”
Edwin inhales slowly through his nose, “If you are not a ghost and you are obviously not an ordinary human, then what are you?”
“You know,” Mr. Fell says, losing a small amount of his breezy attitude, “that is quite a rude thing to ask. Are you quite sure I am not ordinary?”
“I am not trying to be rude. And I am quite sure. I am a detective, it is my job to uncover mysteries, especially supernatural ones.” Edwin says, then adds in a show of honesty, “And, I simply wish to know.”
“And once you know?”
“Then I will be on my way,” Edwin says, then looks around the shop again at all the beautiful books, “Perhaps I will even purchase a book on my way out. Perhaps the one I was looking at earlier.”
At this, Mr. Fell scrutinizes Edwin, intelligent blue eyes surveying for something that Edwin is unsure of before turning to the book still cradled in Mr. Fell’s arms.
After a moment, Mr. Fell turns his gaze back on Edwin and says, “No, thank you.”
“Excuse me?” Edwin says, shocked.
“This has been quite delightful, my boy. But I am afraid it is time to close the shop and you must be on your way.”
“I-well-I-what?”
Before Edwin can get his thoughts in order, Mr. Fell does something unexpected.
He touches Edwin.
To Edwin’s knowledge, it should not be possible for any living person to make contact with Edwin unless he is making the effort to be corporeal or he was affected by iron or cats claws—and he would know if it was the latter two. He has only heard rumors that impossibly powerful magic users or natural mediums can reach through the planes of existence and make contact with a ghost.
So, the slightest pressure of a hand on his shoulder as Mr. Fell escorts Edwin out of the shop is shocking enough that he does not even struggle as he is gently pushed through the open shop door.
Mr. Fell swiftly releases his shoulder once they are both on the pavement then walks back to his shop while saying, “It was truly a pleasure to meet you, my boy. Please, come back again soon,” as the man starts to close the door he pauses, “And, Edwin,” he smiles kindly but knowingly at the ghost boy, “I wish you the best of luck with your mysteries,” then swings the door shut and locks it.
Edwin stands frozen on the pavement for a few seconds, then, recognizing the implicit permission to investigate, Edwin rights himself and adjusts the collar of his coat confidently.
“I won’t need his luck,” he says to himself, and crosses the street to the record shop to find Charles.
~~~
“Hello, Edwin,” Charles greets with a smile, rifling through a plastic bin of records, “I thought for sure I would be finished before you.”
“Yes, I thought so too.”
“Not as interesting as you thought it’d be?”
“On the contrary, I met the owner.”
Charles looked up from the music, “They could see you? That’s brills. Did you get on?”
“I suppose that depends on your definition of ‘get on’,” Edwin says as if he is referencing something.
Charles shrugs and goes along with whatever game Edwin is playing, “Get along. Make friends,” he suggests.
“Well, he did kick me out.”
“Oh,” Charles laughs, “And what have you done this time?”
Edwin gasps, solely for the drama, “I’ve done absolutely nothing!”
“I’m sure, mate,” Charles says disbelievingly, “And, for the record, getting kicked out is not my definition of getting on.”
“Well, he also invited me back.”
“Alright, mixed signals. Sounds like a strange man.”
“Yes, he is.”
“Well, did you at least find anything interesting? Before you got kicked out, that is.”
“Yes, I believe I did,” Edwin says cryptically then refuses to elaborate.
“...And, what was it?” Charles concedes to his friend's drama.
Edwin smiles widely at his partner and best friend, “A mystery, Charles.”