Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Well that's it, Mr Fitz, the place is all yours. No turning back now," the solicitor declared with a very nervous laugh as he dropped the keys into Fitz's hand. Fitz would have thought they were red hot the way the older man looked relieved to be rid of them.

"Thank you Mr. Poe. And thank you for taking care of all the paperwork so quickly."

"My pleasure. Really. Well, good evening then. And best of luck to you," the man replied. And without even waiting for Fitz to reply, he turned around and started walking away.

Frowning, Fitz looked down at the surprisingly heavy set of keys. Two had to be for the main door, one for the office inside, possibly one for some sort of safe but what were those three others for?

"Wait Mr. Poe, I don't even know what those keys are..." Fitz trailed off when he realized that the strange little man was already out of earshot, practically running away, his long overcoat flapping in the cold September wind.

Fitz would have been taken aback or even a little spooked but everything surrounding this store was a little strange anyway. He was well aware of all the stories people told about this place. He knew that none of the previous owners kept it for more than a year because it was supposed to be haunted and that, despite being in a prime location in a busy street in the heart of York, it had been on the market for almost a year before Fitz bought it for a lot less than it was worth. But Fitz didn't believe in ghosts or curses. He believed in faulty wiring, creaky hinges and an incredible opportunity when he saw one. It had been his dream to open an old, spooky bookstore full of old and strange books since he was a little boy but, as an adult, he never expected to be able to afford one before he was thirty.

There was a rumble and Fitz looked up at the darkened sky just in time for a fat droplet of rain to fall on his forehead. Having somehow forgotten to bring an umbrella, at the beginning of autumn, in York of all places, Fitz hurried to try a few keys before finally managing to unlock the door that creaked ominously as Fitz pushed it open and quickly walked in.

Looking around, he found a switch on the left side of the door and flicked it on, wincing as the fluorescent lights cast a sickly, almost aggressive light over the place. He took his phone out of his pocket and opened his note app.That was going on the list of things to change and renovate before the opening. Good thing he got such a good deal that he even had a comfortable budget for renovations. As he took the two steps down to enter the main area, he added "ramp?" on his note app then moved to the wooden shelves along the walls. The ugly beige wallpaper would also have to go, but overall, the place was better than anything he could have dreamed of. He loved the creaky wooden floor, the unusual shape of the room with its nooks and crannies where he could already imagine installing special little themed displays. Or maybe a little bench with cushions for people to sit and take the time to decide before buying their book. Or more likely, it would be Binx's spot since Fitz would be living in the apartment upstairs and he couldn't imagine the clingy little fur ball spending all his days alone. And what was a spooky old bookstore without a black cat anyway?

The previous owner had left a lot of his stock. Really it was almost like he'd left one day and never come back. Fitz almost expected to find a half eaten sandwich somewhere and money in the cash register. But there was apparently none of that so Fitz took a look around instead, picking out dusty books to get an idea of the kind of things he had to start with. Lots of classics apparently, which was always good. In one of the little hidden corners, he found what looked like a book of spells, which wouldn't have surprised him that much, he'd walked past a Harry Potter shop just a few minutes walk away from here that also had spell books. But this one looked actually old, its binding made of leather and the pages yellowed by time, not photoshop. Or at least that was what it looked like. He turned a few pages, appreciating the distinctive crinkly old book sound it made, and was marveling at the very delicate illustrations that accompanied the text when a strong gust of wind made the wood crack all around. Shaking his head at his own startled reaction, he wondered if this kind of thing had been enough to give the place the reputation that it was haunted.

Then the lights flickered, turned back on for a second and turned off entirely, leaving Fitz in a semi-darkness. "Well, that would do it," he said to himself, chuckling as he closed the book and put it back where he found it.

"Alright, time to get to work."

A month later

"Good night. Thank you for coming. Good night," Fitz said, standing by the door as the last group of people, mostly other shop owners from the neighborhood, left his store.

"Goodbye Mrs James, I'll have your books by Monday. You can pick them up whenever you want."

"Thank you dear," the sweet older lady said with a wide smile she seemed to always have on but Fitz was certain had gotten even wider with every glass of wine. "Good night."

With one last look around to check that everyone had left, Fitz closed the door and locked up before turning the open/closed sign with a happy sigh. He was exhausted and he still had a lot of cleaning up to do but it had been a good first day. A very good first day in fact.

In just a little over a month, Fitz had managed to do most of the renovations he'd wanted to do, from the wooden walls and floors he'd polished and waxed to the electrical system he'd fixed, without forgetting the new, dark green wallpaper which he was very proud of. He'd done most of it on his own since it was ridiculously hard to find anyone willing to work in this shop except a few of his friends. And even they had been a little bit ridiculous on a few occasions. But, thankfully, clients didn't mind the possibility of being in a haunted bookstore for a moment. In fact, since Halloween was only a few days away, Fitz had decided to lean into the haunted bookstore narrative and had decided to throw a themed opening party from closing time to midnight and it had been a success. Sure, some people had just been curious to see what he'd done with the place but lots of people had come in to actually buy books and quite a few of them had stayed until the end of the party.

Overall, this first day bode well for the future of the shop. And tonight had been worth it even though he'd be tired in the morning. Stifling a yawn, he went to get a big cardboard box behind the counter and started piling glasses, small plates and cutlery to bring them up to his apartment upstairs to wash. After that, he made quick work of putting away the leftover food and drinks and cleaning up everything else until all that was left to do was sweep the floor. Which he would do in the morning since it was quite dark in the shop and he didn't feel like turning on the harsh overhead lights at the moment.

A movement caught his eye on the other side of the shop and Fitz frowned. He thought Binx had gone up a while ago, most certainly annoyed with all the people and their refusal to share their food. And the little black cat was indeed nowhere to be found. Probably just a shadow or someone walking by the store, Fitz thought as he still bent over to check under the bookshelves. Binx wouldn't be happy if Fitz locked him in there all night.

"I like what you've done with the place."

Fitz startled, hitting his head against a shelf as he stood up. He started grumbling about it as he rubbed his forehead but the words died in his throat when he saw her. The woman he could only guess had just talked and prompted him to hit his head. She was standing right behind him, the amused smile on her lips contradicting her somehow shy posture, with her hands linked in front of her.

Fitz would have been annoyed, and in truth he was a little bit, but she was so pretty he was distracted for a moment. Her wide hazel eyes and full lips even made him forget for a moment that she wasn't supposed to be here.

"Uh...thank you? But I-I didn't do much really, just restored it to its initial state."

She took a few steps closer. "Oh I'm sure you did a little bit more than that, Mr. Fitz."

"I uh..." She was right, he was being modest. Why was he being modest? He lacked confidence in many domains but not when it came to what he was able to do when he put his brain and his hands together. He supposed she was just very distracting. And a little...strange. Shaking his head, he crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm sorry, were you here tonight? I don't think I saw you."

He would have noticed someone like her for sure but he wasn't going to say that. That would have sounded like a line when it was just fact.

"Oh you wouldn't have. I avoid big crowds. I don't want to scare people off."

Fitz frowned. "Why...why would you scare people off? You look perfectly lovely to me."

So much for not wanting his words to sound like a line. And really, there was definitely something a little strange about her but she was very pretty and, he thought, kind of flirty so, apparently, it wasn't his brain controlling his mouth at the moment.

She gave him a wide smile and took another step closer. His heart jumped in his chest. "How nice of you to say, Dr. Fitz."

It took him a moment to take his eyes away from her lips to realize what she'd just said. "How do you know I'm a doctor?"

"That man called you that the other day. I think it was last week when you were working on the wiring. I meant to ask a doctor of what, by the way?"

A shiver ran down his spine and he took a step back. She seemed to ignore his reaction and took another step closer. "I would say literature since you own a bookstore but you also seem rather inclined towards science so--"

"I'm sorry, what are you doing here? We're actually closed now."

She seemed surprised for just a second before an easy smile spread over her face and she said matter-of-factly: "Oh, I'm afraid I can't leave this place."

Fitz's eyes widened. His hand slowly slid to his back pocket but he remembered he'd left his phone on the counter. Was she some sort of stalker? She didn't look dangerous but that was what everyone usually said about serial killers. Nice, friendly people you'd never think could hide dead bodies in their basement. Or in someone else's bookstore basement.

"Oh I'm sorry, that sounded threatening!" she said, lifting her hands up as if to appease a scared animal. "Don't worry I'm not here to hurt you or anything. I physically can't. No it's just that I kind of live here. For lack of a better word," she added with a nervous little laugh.

So not a serial killer but possibly delusional. Which didn't bode much better for him if most horror movies were to be believed.

"What do you mean?" he asked as calmly as he could. "I've been here for over a month, I think I'd know if someone else lived here."

"Come on, I'll show you my book, it'll make things clearer."

"What? What do you--"

She started towards the back of the store where he'd stocked some of the old books left by the previous owner that he still didn't know what to do with.

"No please. I'd rather you left now," Fitz cried out but she ignored him and carried on faster instead.

His eyes widening in disbelief, Fitz just had the time to see her walk through a bookshelf before he hit his head against it full force then collapsed on his back and lost consciousness.

Chapter Text

"He looks really pale, we should call someone".

"And how do you suppose we do that? Use the phone?"

Fitz could hear the voices through a slight haze as he slowly regained consciousness and he was very confused. He must have fallen asleep in front of the TV, that's what those voices had to be, but he didn't even remember leaving the store or going home.

"He's not pale, he's just Scottish. He'll be fine,"

"I think he looks lovely, quite peaceful really."

Wait.

He knew that voice. And why did it sound like the TV was talking about him?

"Calm down girl. No use flirting with the living, remember."

The living? What was this? A Beetlejuice sequel.

"Well, it can't hurt."

The other voice, the one that sounded a little annoyed, let out a huff. "Can't hurt? Really? Look at that bump on his forehead!"

A bump on his forehead? Why did that sound familiar? Fitz frowned and winced immediately, the likely bump on his forehead making itself known. As he regained more consciousness, it also became evident that he wasn't on his couch but on something hard and cold.

"He's been here for over a month, Daisy. I just thought it was only proper to introduce ourselves."

"Sure. Proper."

It was all coming back to him now. The opening party. The beautiful woman in his shop. The weird one who...walked through the shelves before he hit his head. No, that wasn't right, he must have hit his head before he saw that in a dream or something. That didn't make any sense otherwise.

"Come on Daisy, can't you do something? We can't let him die."

"I told you a million times. I don't have any power anymore. On account of me being a ghost and all. And he's not gonna die. Look, I think he's waking up."

Fitz cracked an eye open and the voices died down. All he could see was the ceiling. Good.

He opened the other and as things slowly came into focus, he saw that there were definitely faces as well. Faces looking down at him. The pretty one from his dream but others as well. Strange ones.

Fitz groaned and tried to sit up. With his head pounding, he almost fell back but managed to catch himself by putting his hands behind him.

"Careful there, you hit your head pretty hard!" one of the voices said.

"You don't say," Fitz started as he took a careful look around. "...person I'm likely hallucinating."

"Oh, but you're not hallucinating, we're very real, Dr. Fitz."

That was the pretty woman from earlier, she'd taken a step forward while the other people had taken a step back.

"Then what the hell are you doing in my shop?"

"I told you, I live here, I cannot--"

"Is this a Halloween prank then? Trying to scare the new owner?" She was dressed rather normally but behind her the others were clearly wearing costumes. One woman wore an outfit from the 17th century or something, one looked like a World War II soldier and one was even dressed as a hobbit. What was even the theme of their creepy little party? Or did they just throw in whatever was left at the costume store?

Fitz tried to get fully up but everything started turning so he thought it safer to stay on the ground for now.

"This has nothing to do with Halloween, as I was trying to explain--"

"Then why is he dressed like a hobbit?"

"What should I be dressed as? An elf?" The man answered in an accent that was definitely not from York but Fitz couldn't quite recognize. Fitz supposed he had a point. The man had thick curly hair that didn't look like a wig and he was, in fact, surprisingly hobbit-sized.

"What the..." Fitz buried his head in his hands for a second. He must have hit his head even harder than he thought. When he looked back up, the pretty woman was crouching next to him.

"I'm sorry for giving you a fright and making you hit your head so hard. I'm not quite used to all of this myself, and sometimes I forget not everyone can walk through physical objects."

"Uh?"

"We're ghosts. I thought that much was clear."

"Not ghosts!" the hobbit cried out.

"Yes sorry, not ghosts. Well, most of us. We're spirits. Spirits from the books."

"Sure. So what? Is this how York people welcome newcomers? Is that some sort of tradition I've never heard about?" With careful, slow movements, Fitz managed to get on his knees and sit back on his heels.

"Could one of you give me a hand at least? Before you try to murder me or whatever you have planned?" Fitz grumbled as most of them looked at him with a mildly interested expression, as if they were watching some boring tv show but were too lazy to change the channel.

"We're not planning anything!' the pretty one said. He really ought to ask her name before she murdered him, it was kind of creepy to keep calling her the pretty one. "And like I said, we're not corporeal so we cannot help you!" She extended her hand towards his face and just as he expected to get slapped, her hand just went through him and back, giving him nothing but a slightly cold sensation.

"A very elaborate prank, then," he said with a shaky voice.

"Oh come on!" a few of them cried out in unison.

"And how do you suppose we could fake something like that, Dr. Fitz?" the one looking like she was from the 17th century said as she proceeded to walk through a shelf and back the other side.

"Ah uh... projectors, screens and hum... holograms maybe?" She frowned.

No, of course, she was right. It would require lots of technology he would have noticed around the store. And why would someone even do that? If someone didn't want him here, they would have had plenty of ways to try and stop him from buying the store in the first place. With one more effort, Fitz managed to get closer to the wall and finally get up.

"Alright, I'm obviously hallucinating." Or he was dreaming. Or unconscious and dreaming. In which case, it didn't matter what he did in his dream anyway. "I'm going to A&E."

Ignoring the protestations of his hallucinations, he walked to the counter, grabbed his coat as well as his car keys and started walking out the store.

"Wait!" the pretty-although-there-was-surely-more-to-her-than-that one cried out. "You cannot drive in such a state!"

"Ah!" Fitz cried out, turning to her quickly and immediately regretting it. "So you admit there's something wrong with my head."

"Of course there is. You've hit it pretty hard and you might have a concussion. Would a hallucination say that?"

Fitz frowned. "Actually, yes. If you're a hallucination, you're just a part of my brain and, usually being a very reasonable person, I would advise against driving right now." Fitz sighed. "Then I suppose I'll take a cab."

"Good. That's good. Then they can tell you your head's fine and you're not hallucinating."

"Sure."

Fitz quickly put on his coat, keys and phone and walked out the door.

"See you tomorrow, Dr. Fitz!"

"I certainly hope not!"

Several hours later, Fitz was in a taxi back home with a prescription of paracetamol, magnesium and vitamin D supplement but an otherwise clean bill of health. There was apparently nothing wrong with his head, not even a small concussion. According to the A&E doctor, he only passed out because of the sharp pain and state of exhaustion. And despite Fitz's insistence, the likely hallucinations didn't seem to worry him at all. It was probably just a dream, a Halloween prank or "given where Fitz lived" maybe it was a ghost.

A GHOST! This from a scientist, a supposedly qualified medical professional. Unbelievable.

Anyway, it was late night bordering on early morning. He was supposed to open the shop at 9 so Fitz decided to just go to bed, get as much rest as possible and deal with whatever happened the previous day when the sun was up. The doctor wasn't wrong saying he was in a state of exhaustion. With everything he had to do in a month mostly on his own because no one wanted to work in the haunted bookstore, maybe his mind was just playing tricks on him and it had all been a dream.

Yeah. That had to be it.

The taxi dropped him off in front of the bookstore just before 4 am. Not wanting to deal with any more weirdness before the sun was up, he went directly up to his flat without going through the store and grabbed a pen and paper from one of the many boxes still packed in what would someday be his guest room.

"The store will exceptionally open at 11 today. Sorry for the inconvenience." he wrote before going back down to put it on the bookstore's door. A good six hour sleep, six and a half if he didn't have breakfast, should be enough to last him through the day. After that, he barely had the energy to take his coat and shoes off before collapsing on the bed and falling asleep almost instantly.

The start of the day was a little rough. Between the curious, the very early Christmas-shoppers, the tourists and the people who genuinely just wanted to buy a book, the place was surprisingly packed for a weekday morning. It was almost 3 pm when he finally had time to take a short break for lunch. The only salad left at the café across the street was a little sad but the complimentary pastry to welcome him in the neighborhood made up for it. More importantly, there was no trace of any ghost or spirit or whatever they called themselves in his bookstore. The most supernatural creature here was the ball of black fur who'd somehow managed to find a corner of the store that had been bathed in sunlight since 11am.

Things were back to normal. He just needed to take his vitamins, make it to Sunday when he could spend the day sleeping and doing absolutely nothing and everything would be alright.

The rest of the afternoon went by quickly, and by the time he was closing the door behind his last customer, Fitz's enthusiasm and excitement over finally living his dream was back in full force despite his desperate need to sleep. He was even smiling as he cleaned up and put the book that had been misplaced back in their proper spot. And he was positively grinning when he closed the cash register and brought the money back to his office to count it and put it in the safe. There was quite a lot of it. Especially for a shorter day in the middle of a week that wasn't supposed to be very busy.

He unlocked the door, felt blindly for the switch on the side of the door and made a beeline for his desk to put the cash drawer on it. He needed a cup of tea first if he was going to stay awake a little longer and not make any mistakes. The furniture and decoration in his office was still rudimentary and the old 80's brownish wallpaper he didn't have time to remove was creeping him out a bit, but the electrical and plumbing worked fine and that was all he needed at the moment.

As he waited for the water to boil, Fitz pondered his options for the evening. Mainly dinner really it wasn't like he had any plans besides eating and sleeping. He could just go straight home and eat leftovers from the party before going to bed insanely early. Or he could go grocery shopping like he should have done a week ago. But that meant taking his car and possibly cooking. Oh! Or he could go to that Indian place someone recommended yesterday. It had been a while since--

"So how's your head?"

Fitz shrieked and let his thankfully still empty mug fall on the ugly faded orange carpet. Turning around, he found her leaning against the doorway.

"Nope! Not talking to you, you're a hallucination."

The doctors might have said there was no physical reason for him to hallucinate but maybe there were other reasons. Some mental illnesses could cause hallucinations for sure. Or maybe he was just a bad doctor and he needed to go back to the hospital.

"Come on, you and I both know hallucinations are never this clear and coherent. Plus the fact that you're questioning it--"

"I must be dreaming then. I didn't sleep a lot last night and fell asleep on the counter or on my desk."

"You dream of making yourself tea?" She said with raised eyebrows. "That's incredibly boring."

Fitz rolled his eyes. Great. Teasing and mockery. It definitely sounded like someone he created with his own brain.

Refusing to have a conversation with her no matter how lovely and admittedly supernatural she looked with the streetlights coming from behind and creating a halo around her, he pinched himself and, expecting to feel nothing, he shrieked again.

She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head impatiently. As if he was being the unreasonable one!

"See? You're not dreaming, Dr. Fitz. And I bet the doctors told you your head is perfectly fine, didn’t they? Or they wouldn't have sent you back home so--"

"There's no such thing as ghosts! or spirits or whatever you're supposed to be!" Fitz cried out.

"I know!" she cried out even louder, her eyes widening before she looked down and took a deep breath, which technically she couldn't really do if she was a ghost.

She took a few steps into the room and Fitz stepped back instinctively until his butt hit the small kitchen counter. She rolled her eyes.

"Listen. I don't believe in ghosts or anything supernatural myself. Which is why it was very disconcerting to wake up like--" She walked through the desk. "--that".

"No, just because you sound reasonable doesn't mean it's true. In fact, it just makes it sound even more like I made you up in my mind."

"Fitz! Can I call you Fitz?" Fitz nodded. Why not? She lived in his brain after all, there was no need for formalities. "When the proof is right in front of you, even if it sounds unbelievable, the unreasonable thing is to not believe it."

"I don't have any proof! How do I know my eyes can be trusted?"

"What about the doctor you saw?"

"He was just a neurologist. Maybe it's a psychiatrist I need to see."

She rolled her eyes again. It wasn't unlike him to be annoyed with himself but still, she was doing that a lot.

"Fine, you want proof, I'll give you proof."

"What do you--"

"This afternoon, a mom came in with his teenage son, maybe thirteen or fourteen, with red hair. You were busy with another customer. She told him to stop chewing with his mouth open so he stuck his chewing-gum between two shelves. I can show you exactly where."

"What? That's disgusting!" That little shit read an entire comic book and didn't even buy it. "Anyway, that doesn't--"

"Also, there's a book hidden behind the safe in this office. It's probably still there since you haven't touched that place much. It's a book about kama-sutra. The previous owner was trying to spice up his marriage. I actually haven't seen it. I haven't been there long myself but Daisy told me about it. I think it's rather sweet." Fitz felt his cheeks blush despite himself and her lips pulled up slightly. "Maybe you should give it a look if you only dream about making tea."

"I'm not dreaming about tea, I'm dreaming about you!"

"Are you?" She raised her eyebrows as her lips pulled up into a full-on Cheshire cat grin. "Now that's more interesting."

"I mean." He sighed as he put his hands on his hips, feeling the beginning of a headache pounding behind his eyes. "Whether I'm hallucinating or dreaming or whatever, the important part isn't me making tea but the pretty girl trying to convince me she's a ghost or a spirit or whatever!"

"You think I'm pretty?" She took another step closer. "Because I've been watching you and--"

"Alright, that's ridiculous. I obviously still need more sleep. I'll deal with all of that in the morning."

Opening the safe, he put all the content of the cash register in it and closed it again before starting out the room.

"Fitz, this is ridiculous! You cannot keep pushing things till the next day, hoping we'll eventually disappear."

"I can and I will!"

He turned off the light and took the keys out of his jeans pocket.

"Wait!" she said, sounding almost resigned. "At least unplug the kettle, it's one of the main reasons for house fires in the UK and you're in a place full of--"

"I know!" Fitz grumbled and despite not wanting to acknowledge her any longer, he went back into the room and unplugged the kettle before leaving the room.

"See you later, Fitz!" she called out to him cheerfully as he was climbing up the stairs to his flat.

"No you won't!"

Three hours and a disappointing dinner of leftovers later, Fitz wasn't so sure anymore. The woman, whose name Fitz realized he still didn't know, had said something that kept turning around in his head. When the proof is right in front of you, even if it sounds unbelievable, the unreasonable thing is to not believe it.

He didn't really think there was something physically wrong with his head. Five doctors couldn't all miss it if there was. And there had never been any sign of a mental illness serious enough to explain such vivid hallucinations. And, of course the exhaustion of the past weeks and the lack of sleep could mess with his head but he was 99 percent sure that he'd started seeing and speaking to the woman before he hit his head.

And if she, and the others, were hallucinations, why would he only see them in the bookstore? He knew there were lots of ghost stories associated with the place but, apart from being a book lover, he was also a scientist and he didn't believe in ghosts or anything supernatural. So why would his brain conjure up hallucinations he knew he would never accept as real?

Could it be real?

He'd read articles theorizing that ghosts could be people living somewhere that was slightly out of phase with our reality, in a parallel universe close enough to ours that we could see or hear them but as if they were far away. His ghost, or book spirit, didn't feel like that though. She looked and sounded very real until she started walking through furniture.

Plus she seemed smart and reasonable and logical and witty, not to mention pretty, which made him want to believe her but also made her even more likely to be a figment of his imagination.

"Aaaaaaah!" Fitz cried out into the silence of his flat.

The whole thing was maddening.

Despite being physically exhausted and dreaming of the moment he'd finally be able to sleep all day, his mind was way too active to let him sleep. Groaning, he pressed pause on the show he'd barely been watching as he ate anyway and opened a new browser window.

An hour later, he was considering going to bed after all, his research about ghosts and book spirits not giving any interesting result, when he stumbled upon an article from a York's local blog. It was about the bookstore closing again after being open for only five months and dated from five years ago. Fitz hadn't bothered reading anything about the place being haunted before he bought it. He was too busy securing the loan with his bank before someone else realized what an incredible opportunity it was. And he didn't believe in ghosts anyway, so why look it up?

But now?

Fitz opened the article and quickly went through the part that explained how many owners the place had had in the past 100 years, how it formed a pentagram along with four other supposedly haunted places in the UK or how it was responsible for the weather being so bad in York. Fitz was pretty sure Yorkshire was responsible for the weather being so bad in York. The article got interesting when the author quoted the most recent owner though. Despite the nonsense about the weather and the pentagram, it was that part that the author seemed to take lightly: "One of them looked like a hobbit, with short trousers and a yellow waistcoat and curly hair and everything. At first I thought it was a dress-up thing but he was small like a hobbit and he could walk through walls like a ghost."

Fitz had an excellent memory. Not quite photographic but really, really good, and he was certain the hobbit he saw wore a yellow waistcoat as well. It couldn't be a coincidence. Two people couldn't have come up with the exact same hallucination, could they? Not to mention that with all the talk of the place being haunted and so scary no one could keep it for more than a year, the ghosts Fitz had pictured were a lot scarier than hobbits.

Well.

That was the proof he'd been looking for. And if his persistent ghost was to be believed, two others were waiting for him in the bookstore. So, he supposed he could wait until morning. See if it still all made sense in the light of day, after a good night's sleep.

But if his mind had been too active earlier to sleep, now it was even more out of the question.

"Hello?" Fitz let out tentatively as the light flickers before turning on completely inside the store. "Are you still there?"

No answer and nothing to see besides shelves filled with books.

"It's me, Fitz." Of course it was him. Who else could it be?

"I'm sorry I don't know your name. Any of your names really. It was a little bit rude of me not to ask but, to be fair, I thought you were figments of my imagination so why bother asking--"

"And what about now?"

Fitz jumped and turned around to find her, shoulder resting against a bookshelf and not even trying to hide her smirk.

"And now?"

"And now, what do you think we are?"

"I'm considering the possibility of you being real."

"Took you long enough."

"You said yourself that it was hard to believe!" Fitz cried out and her smile softened somehow.

"You're right. I did." She took a few steps closer. "I'm Jemma by the way," she said, holding out her hand to him and, without thinking, Fitz tried to take it and went right through it. A strange sort of shiver went up his arm and down his spine, making his eyes widen.

"Right, sorry," she said, looking a little sheepish. "Force of habit."

"That's alright. Nice to meet you. I think."

She frowned.

"Not that it's not nice to meet you," he explained. "Just that I'm still not quite sure I'm meeting you at all."

"Of course. So what can I do to convince you?"

"Show me what you were talking about earlier?"

She tilted her head to the side, seeming to consider him for a moment, before her lips pulled up into a tentative but no less lovely smile. "Alright, I can do that."

"Alright children, gather up for ghost story time!"

Daisy, the other woman Fitz remembered well from the previous night, sat on the bench by the window next to Jemma as he sat on the floor, his back against a bookshelf. Fitz had questions about why she could sit on the bench when she also walked through walls and any other physical object --and apparently Jemma had theories about it-- but right now was not the time for technicalities. Now was the time to get back to the origins of this peculiar place.

The chewing-gum and the book Jemma had mentioned were exactly where she said they would be, and after being shown a few more of these proofs, Fitz had decided that for now, he would believe it all.

And that was when the more important question came up.

Why?

Daisy being the oldest here, although she didn't look more than 25, it fell upon her to tell him the story of this place.

"It all started on the day I died in 1689. More importantly when I was burned at the stake for being a witch. Funnily enough --not that I found it funny at all at the time-- I was one of the only real witches condemned for sorcery back in the days."

"What do you mean a real witch?"

Daisy shook her head impatiently. "You're currently speaking with ghosts and spirits, you're not going to take another day to also accept the existence of witches, are you?"

He supposed she wasn't wrong. If he was going to have to reevaluate all of his beliefs on life after death, why not do it with magic as well?

"I'm sorry. Please continue."

"By real witch I don't mean cohorting with the devil, eating babies and turning unfaithful husbands into toads like I'd been accused of. I mean adding a little extra something to the medicine I sold to make them more efficient, helping mothers deliver their baby and yeah, once in a while, casting the occasional spell to help women get rid of unwanted attention from terrible men. But I never cast a spell as powerful as the one I did on the day I died. And I didn't even do it consciously. I wish I remembered the exact phrasing as it must have been especially good for it to produce such a powerful spell. I just know I was angry and desperate and terrified. I wanted them to see reason and I wanted a chance to see my mother and my sisters again, and I wanted them to know they couldn't make us all disappear like that. I think it went something like that but it's honestly all a blur. You can burn us but you can never really kill us as long as we are remembered. People will write our story and we will live on in them. And one day, you'll be the monsters. And then, as my soul was finally leaving my tortured body, instead of going wherever it's supposed to go, I willed it into my grimoire, the place where I had gathered all my spells and potions and medicine since I was only twelve. The grimoire was here in what used to be my house and my little shop."

A heavy silence had fallen in the room. Some of the other spirits Fitz remembered from the previous night had gathered around them, all of them wearing matching grim faces. It was one thing to know of one of the darkest periods of your country's history, it was another to meet someone who'd lived it in the worst possible way.

"Daisy, I'm sorry. I..."

"It's alright," she cut him off with a smile that still held a lot of sadness despite her best efforts. "It was a long time ago and it gets better after a while." She took a deep breath, seeming to get courage from Jemma's encouraging smile, before she started talking again.

"It was lonely for a long time. It didn't take long for me to understand that I was limited by the walls of the place my book was in. And since my book was hidden under the floorboard and this place was abandoned, I had no one to talk to for centuries. No one wanted to live where the witch lived. And it didn't help that the few people who ventured in there came running out, terrified by the rather desperately bored ghost of a witch trying to strike a conversation with them. But finally, at the beginning of the last century, as the city was expanding, someone finally bought the house and decided to make it a bookstore of all things. She was a lovely young woman who'd heard about my story and happened to be a young witch herself. I hadn't felt so good in a long time. I finally had someone to talk to and I learned a lot thanks to her. I learned that I wasn't only confined by where the book was. The book only retained its magic as long as it was here. She once tried to take it away and I don't remember a thing until she came back inside the store. Like I said, I didn't cast spells very often and this one just really did its own thing. It seemed to have liked my words about being alive as long as one was remembered because as my lovely Raina started filling the shelves with books, some of them, the oldest ones or the more popular ones, started to come alive. And for the first time in centuries, I was not alone and I was even surrounded by more people that I could count. Some of them were rather boring, others completely dreadful but some became really good friends and after years of solitude, it was wonderful. Raina kept the store open for over forty years. But if Raina was always delighted to spend time with her beloved ghosts and book spirits, I can't say the same about all the ones that came after her. Thankfully, one of the last things she did before she died was to cast another spell on the place so that it would always remain a bookstore, as a kindness to me and all the other spirits. The place went to some of Raina's relatives at first but it was quickly sold out of the family when it turned out not even the descendants of a witch like spirits and ghosts very much. Some tried to exorcize us, some, like you, refused to believe in ghosts...until they had no choice but to believe. We tried to welcome them as nicely as we could but most didn't even last a year. And then, it went to you, Dr. Fitz."

"That it did," was all Fitz could say for long minutes. As he listened to Daisy's tragic tale, more of the spirits had gathered. It would make for a rather amusing image, all of them looking like they were attending a strangely themed Halloween party, if it wasn't for the fact that he'd seen all of them walk through furniture as they came to gather around Daisy.

Now that she was done telling her terrible story, they'd all turned to him with expressions that ranged from polite interest to amusement to curiosity. But there was hope, he thought, on Jemma's face. As well as an encouraging smile. Daisy's expression wasn't quite as open but it seemed friendly at least. Which was good, he supposed. If he was going to accept the existence of ghosts and possibly live with them, they might as well be nice, interesting ones.

"So. You're all book spirits. Except for Daisy who's the actual ghost of a witch?"

"Yes!" several of them said in unison.

"Well," Jemma started, making Daisy roll her eyes. "Technically, I am a book spirit, but--"

She paused, turning to Fitz with a smile. "I come from an autobiography of sorts so--"

"--you're more of an astral twin than a book spirit."

Jemma's smile widened in obvious delight.

"Oh my god, there's two of them," Daisy muttered under her breath. (or she would if she could breathe)

"That's a lovely way to say it, Dr. Fitz."

Fitz beamed back at her. She truly had the loveliest, most contagious smile.

"So does that mean you believe us now? Or well, in us?" Daisy asked.

Fitz took a deep breath. "I think so, yes."

"But are you going to leave like all the others?"

Fitz looked around before looking back where Jemma and Daisy were still sitting next to each other on the bench, and smiled even wider. "During my last two years in university, I lived right under a bloke who used his flat as a rehearsing space for his punk band." He paused, amused for once to see them all confused by him and not the other way around. "The walls were paper thin in that building and they weren't very good. I didn't bother him about that. I even fixed his car once just as he was leaving to go on tour with the band. After that, they made me manager of the band so that I could get free beer whenever they played at a local club. We're still friends."

Daisy frowned. "What does that mean?"

Jemma turned to him and reciprocated his grin.

"It means he's staying," she said at the same time he said: "It means I'm staying."