The Mystery of the Curiosities Read online

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I DIDN’T move.

  Didn’t speak.

  The only sound that seemed to penetrate the bubble around me was the quiet clatter of plates from Sally’s apartment and the clanking of the pipes as the building’s heat turned on for the evening.

  The body in the middle of my living room floor seemed quite undisturbed.

  I swallowed the lump lodged in my throat and took a hesitant step inside. I quietly shut the door behind me, as if the maybe-dead guy would give a shit whether I slammed it or not. My bag slid off my shoulder and hit the floor with a thud.

  No movement.

  Not even a twitch.

  But what if he were alive? Was this a trap? Who was it?

  I glanced to either side of me for a weapon. For nearly three weeks, I had had an antique fireplace kit beside the front door that I had neglected to drag to the Emporium because it was heavy. Now I really wished I hadn’t gotten Calvin to drive it in for me, because being able to whack this son of a bitch upside the skull with a poker seemed like the best idea at the moment. Instead, I grabbed a big dictionary that sat on the small table I usually tossed my keys on.

  So great. If this asshole tried anything funny, I could teach him the meaning of trespassing. Quite literally.

  “All right,” I said, finding my voice. “I’m coming over there, and don’t you dare move,” I ordered. “If you so much as twitch, I’ll smack you so hard, your unborn children will know the meaning of words like bardolatry.”

  I gripped the dictionary tight and slowly crept forward. The room was only illuminated by city lights that bled in through the windows by the table, and the dimness allowed me to make out peculiar clothing the—I think—man was wearing. What the hell?

  A petticoat?

  I stopped beside the body and reluctantly nudged the boot with my own foot.

  No response.

  I crouched down, setting the dictionary aside. The man lay on his stomach, face turned away from me. I should have gotten up, should have run out the door and called the police. But I’m the cat that curiosity keeps trying to kill. I pulled the sleeves of my coat over my hands and heaved the guy onto his back.

  There was a dark spot on my floor that matched his chest, and my stomach rolled. I didn’t need to get closer—I could smell the blood. The guy’s eyes were open, and he had a dead, vacant expression. His hair was oddly styled, and he had a weird little beard. For some reason that stuck with me. He looked like a man who reenacted the Civil War. That was the first thought I had, minus the fact that he was wearing old-style women’s clothing.

  As if this couldn’t get any fucking more bizarre, I noticed a slip of paper sticking up from his coat pocket. My hands shook as I leaned over and tugged it free by the corner. I unfolded the regular notebook paper with some blood on it.

  It began with a fire.

  I dropped the letter, my hands shaking too much by then. Nope, I was done with this. I stood, taking several steps back while fighting to free my cell from my pocket. I called Calvin.

  He answered, thank God.

  “Hey,” he said, sounding tired.

  “T-There’s a dead guy in my apartment!” I shouted into the phone.

  A beat. “What?”

  “Holy shit, Cal. What do I do?”

  “Get out,” Calvin said immediately. “Get out of the building, right now. Go somewhere safe. I’m on my way.”

  “Okay,” I said automatically, already moving to the door. “I’ll go across the street to the coffee shop.”

  “Wait there. Don’t move from that spot, understand? Ten minutes, I promise.”

  I hung up and slid my phone into my pocket again. Without a second thought, I grabbed my keys and ran out.

  I locked the door—I’m not sure why—and was halfway down the stairs when the building shook and burst into flames.

  MY HEAD hurt and it was hard to breathe. I was lying in the stairwell, drywall and broken banisters littering me and the floor. I could hear fire alarms going off above and below me. Blood was dripping down my neck.

  I couldn’t see.

  Where were my sunglasses?

  The building shook violently once more, and it protested and groaned loudly, more debris falling from above. I curled into a ball, covering my head as parts of the ceiling landed on me. I peeked up after a moment. Everything was extremely blurry—foggy even.

  Smoke.

  I smelled burning.

  Someone was screaming.

  I struggled to my feet, coughing and feeling lightheaded. Instinct told me to run. I was a flight and a half from the front door, and that’s where safety was. That’s where Calvin would be. But someone was still screaming and crying.

  Then I realized it was my neighbor.

  “S-Sally?” I called out, voice drowned by the creaking and splintering of wood. “Sally!” I tried again. I raced back up the stairs.

  Or what was left of them.

  I tripped and stumbled my way back to the third floor, but it wasn’t there anymore.

  I couldn’t reach the landing because it was full of debris. Through bits of it, I could feel wisps of cold air.

  My apartment was gone.

  “Help!” Sally screamed again, her calls briefly followed by terrified crying.

  “Sally, it’s Sebastian. Where are you?” I shouted over the noise of everything breaking and falling apart.

  I followed her pleas for help to a wedge of space where a support beam had fallen, which seemed to be all that was now keeping the wall from collapsing in on the stairwell. I crouched down and started shoving and pulling debris out of the way, tossing it aside before grabbing her outstretched hand.

  “I’ve got you,” I said firmly.

  I was shit scared.

  I’d never experienced a rush of adrenaline like this in my entire life.

  But I couldn’t just let her die there.

  “Sally, come on,” I called out to her. “You’ve got to help me get this crap out of the way!”

  And maybe it was because she knew someone was there to get her out, but Sally stopped crying. From what I could see of her arms, she was determinedly pushing wreckage my way to make a small opening.

  I leaned in close, making out what I could of her. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes! Please don’t leave me!”

  “I won’t, I promise. Give me your hands. I’ll pull.”

  She stuck her arms out of the space, and I grabbed and yanked for all it was worth.

  Thank God she was tiny.

  Sally slid free. She was bleeding and coughing up a lung, but her arms and legs were moving and she generally seemed to be in one piece. She immediately started crying again and grabbed me.

  Above us was another explosion, and the building shook. We both screamed, and I pulled her close, covering her with my body as shit fell on us.

  “Sally, hey, it’s going to be okay,” I insisted, because if I didn’t, who would? “But I lost my glasses and I can’t see, so I need your help.”

  That seemed to give her a strange source of courage. “O-Okay,” she said. Sally grabbed my hand tight.

  We both started down the stairs, and they were breaking behind us as we moved. The old building was going to fall in on itself any second. I grabbed at the hot wall to guide me, and Sally pushed me in the right direction as I led the way. We reached the first floor, and I could hear sirens over the splintering and roar of flames.

  I shoved her through what was left of the front door and climbed out behind her just as my home caved in.

  Someone grabbed me, then another person, and I was hoisted up and rushed away. The heat of the flames receded, and the cold night air filled my lungs. I started coughing violently, trying to get the smoke and soot out. I was led to an ambulance and sat in the back. They wanted to take me to the hospital.

  “No,” I said, waving a hand. “Where’s the woman I came out with?”

  “She’s safe, sir. Don’t worry,” the EMT to
ld me.

  I was dazed and in need of oxygen, but otherwise I was alive. I found a mask over my nose and mouth, and I was instructed to breathe. They put a blanket over my shoulders, and someone was cleaning a cut on my forehead that hurt more than any other part of me.

  The scene before me was a blurry disaster: lights flashing, people running, firefighters taking command of the scene. Even in the dark, it was too much for my eyes. I closed them and tilted my head down.

  I took a few deep breaths and tried to understand what the fuck had happened, but my mind was racing. I was still so high on adrenaline; I couldn’t think straight. All I remembered was calling Calvin.

  Calvin.

  I tugged the mask off, and the EMT ordered me to put it back on. “Where’s my boyfriend?” I demanded. It took a second for me to recall that Calvin hadn’t been here.

  But he was coming.

  Or—

  How long was I in the stairwell when everything first happened? Seconds? Or minutes? What if Calvin had gotten to the apartment when it exploded? I was having trouble remembering the chain of events properly.

  “Sir, put the mask back on and breathe,” the EMT said again.

  “Sebastian!”

  I looked up. I couldn’t really see him, but I knew. “Calvin!” I shoved the blanket off and climbed out of the ambulance.

  I didn’t have to run blind all that far. Calvin grabbed me and locked his arms around me tight. I couldn’t tell who was shaking. Maybe both of us.

  But I started crying.

  I gripped him so hard, it hurt. Chaos surrounded me, engulfed me, but my knight had come. He was there, and he held me, and I knew everything would be fine now.

  “Jesus fucking Christ.” Calvin pulled his head back and kissed me with such force and desperation that I was gasping for air.

  I felt his weight bear down on me, and I could feel his knees buckle. So I did what any prince was willing to do so that no one would see their knight’s weakness. I took the fall. I dropped first, pulling Calvin down with me.

  I could afford to look helpless. But no one could see that in him.

  He was crying now too.

  And we just held on to each other for a long time.

  I DON’T remember how I got to Pop’s that night, but considering my apartment no longer existed, his place was where I would have logically ended up. I was sitting on the couch, staring at the blurry entertainment system across the room. I remember it took me all damn day to install that furniture for my dad.

  I am not Bob Vila.

  Pop was sitting beside me on the couch, an arm wrapped around my shoulder. He dragged me down into a sideways hug, kissing the side of my head over and over.

  Calvin stood nearby, doing something. Then he turned and held something out in front of me. “Hey.”

  I blinked and shook my head, coming back to the moment. “What?”

  “Your regular glasses were still in your jacket,” Calvin said.

  I reached out blindly, taking what he was holding and sliding the frames on. That was one minor crisis dealt with. On to my belongings, my home—Christ, I didn’t even have a change of clothes.

  Calvin went to the door and answered it when there was a forceful knock. I craned my neck, watching as Quinn entered with a big plastic bag in one hand. “Did you get everything?” he asked her.

  “What I assumed was his. I stopped at the drugstore too. Toothbrush, razor, contact solution….”

  “Thank you, Quinn.”

  She walked across the kitchen to the couch where Pop and I sat. “Sebastian.”

  “Quinn.”

  She set the bag down on the coffee table. “I picked up a few things for you. Some clothes you had at Calvin’s, toiletries, you know.”

  “Oh.”

  She nodded and sat in the chair to the left of the couch.

  “That was very kind of you, Ms.—?” Pop started.

  “Quinn Lancaster. I’m Calvin’s partner.”

  “I see.”

  There was more commotion then, the sound of several pairs of feet coming up the stairs to Pop’s, but when I turned back to the door, Calvin opened it as if he were expecting visitors. Pop didn’t budge from my side even as his place was soon filled with our two friendly detectives, a few uniformed officers, and an inspector with the FDNY whose name I didn’t pay attention to. He looked kind of like Santa, though.

  “Mr. Snow,” Santa stated, looking directly at me.

  “Huh?”

  “Can I ask you a few questions?”

  I nodded. At least, I think I did. I was so out of it and so fucking tired.

  “Can you tell me where you were when the explosion went off?” Santa started.

  “In the stairwell, I think.”

  “And prior to that, did you smell smoke? Gas?”

  I don’t remember smelling anything.

  I realized I hadn’t said that out loud when Calvin was standing at my other side once more and lightly touching my shoulder. “Seb,” he prodded.

  “Oh. N-No. No, I don’t remember a smell.”

  “Did you see any suspicious individuals in the building?” one of the uniformed officers tried. “Or outside when you came home?”

  I shook my head. “No. The building just—” I shrugged and raised my hands, as if that motion would explain it for me.

  The interview was apparently over soon after that. I couldn’t think of anything to say. I had no answers, no insights to help them. I could barely recall the entire incident myself. Calvin must have sensed that and known I was entirely useless. He talked with the officers while ushering them to the door, and I noticed too late that Quinn had gone as well.

  Pop was standing then. “Is there anything else we can do tonight?”

  “No,” Calvin said.

  I turned to look at Calvin and got to my feet. He still had his coat on, standing near the door, and his posture made him look uncomfortable. “Don’t leave.”

  He hesitated.

  “Pop, he can stay, right?”

  “Of course he can.”

  Calvin’s rigid stance eased. “Thank you.” He slid his coat off. Always polite. Waiting for permission.

  Pop moved away from the couch and went toward his bedroom. “I’ll make my bed up.”

  “Dad, I’m not taking your bed. I can sleep on the couch,” I insisted, walking toward the kitchen and Calvin.

  “Are you sure, kiddo?”

  “Age before beauty.”

  Pop cracked a smile. “I’ll get some extra pillows and blankets, then.”

  When he had vanished into the dimly lit room, arms slid around me and Calvin pressed against my body. I turned in his embrace and pressed my forehead against his shoulder.

  He had pulled himself together pretty quick after the moment we’d both had. But that was Calvin. He always bounced back fast, especially since he had to be seen as a commanding officer when Santa and his helpers were here.

  Calvin let out a long breath and tugged his fingers lightly through my hair. “I promise you, I’m going to find who did this.”

  “I believe you.”

  “We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” he whispered, lips brushing the top of my head lightly.

  “You don’t have to be somewhere?”

  “There’s nothing I can do until the fire department finishes with the scene. Emergency response gets priority over your dead intruder.”

  “Dead intruder?” I echoed, before remembering.

  Civil War.

  Petticoat.

  The blood on the floor.

  I swore under my breath.

  Calvin tightened his arms around me. “Shh. Later. We’ll talk about it later.”

  And later it would be, because soon enough the apartment was dark and silent. Pop retired to bed, and Calvin and I squeezed onto the couch. Calvin was on his back and I was wedged on my side, half pressed against the back cushions and half laying on his chest.

  Go figure, I was wide-awake now.

/>   Wide-awake with such a level of exhaustion that it was prohibiting me from sleeping.

  I held my cell, propping it up on Calvin’s chest. I squinted and typed with one thumb—or rather, I tried, fumbling my way through the search phrase: Bufglo blooc brck.

  I pulled my phone closer to read, squinting even against its decreased brightness.

  Did you mean Bologna Block brick?

  I grumbled and tried again.

  Did you mean Buffalo Block brick?

  Yes. Yes, I did.

  I clicked the amended search and pulled up several websites about the history of bricks in America.

  Calvin reached down, grabbed my phone, and leaned over to set it on the coffee table.

  I tilted my head up to look at him. His eyes were closed. “Sorry.”

  He grunted.

  “I can’t sleep.”

  “I know. I can hear you thinking.”

  I put my head down on his chest and was lulled into a sort of peace by listening to Calvin’s heartbeat. I ran my hand up and down his bare chest, slowing to enjoy the feel of chest hair between my fingers. Just the right amount. I moved to rub one of Calvin’s nipples, and despite both of us being tired beyond belief, I was proud that his body reacted to such a small touch.

  “Hey,” he said, voice thick. “Not here.”

  I raised my head to look at his shadowed face. “Not into exhibitionism?”

  “What?”

  “Maggie.”

  Calvin turned his head, looking across the room at the dog bed, but Maggie was fast asleep, lying on her back with her paws lazily sticking up in the air. She snorted and snored peacefully. “I’m not fooling around on your father’s couch, with him one room away.”

  “Reminds me of Ethan Cohen,” I whispered.

  “Reminds you—what?”

  “My first hand job.”

  “On this couch?”

  “Yep.”

  “With Ethan Cohen,” Calvin stated.

  “He was in twelfth grade. I was in eleventh.”

  “Let’s not talk about someone else touching your dick.”

  “No reason to be jealous. He was terrible at it. Chafing.”

  Calvin snorted. He was trying not to laugh.

  I smiled and put my head back down against him, tracing his nipple with my fingertip. “First and last time I had Ethan on this couch.”