A/N: This was meant to be a crackfic to amuse myself and some friends but it's gotten such good response in other places that I thought I'd post it here. Enjoy!
Westfield was a quaint little town, near enough to New York to keep comfortably in touch with the collector's world through the many auction houses of renown and yet far enough to have a flattering air of small town charm. The Westfield Memorial Library kept Belle from purchasing every single book she wanted to read, and had a small section dedicated to rare books that she curated almost for free.
Her own shop, named on a whim Pandora's Box, had an old-time feel to it that helped display the merchandise, rows and rows of well-preserved old books, to its best advantage. From the antique register to the woods-inspired wallpaper and the old, solid bookcases, everything was geared towards creating an illusion of going back in time. The effect was whimsical and a bit dark, but Belle liked it that way. Rare Books shops were supposed to be places of wonder, of mystery, and she had strived hard to get her store to the way it was.
It didn't make much revenue, but it was a great place to conduct business. Her main income came from offering her services as a restorer of books and antiques, and she was quite sought-after, having quite a talent for the craft. It helped that she loved what she did, and that was passionate about it. She could loose herself in her work for hours, and talk about it for even longer.
Her friends indulged her a bit, but none were really interested in her… quirkier side. Mary Margaret was a dedicated school teacher that Belle was pretty sure got dressed with the help of woodland creatures. Ruby was only now getting serious about not just doing the bare minimum at her Granny's Diner, since she had discover her grandmother planned on leaving it to her and retiring in a couple of years. Abigail was a hard-ass lawyer who was brutally honest but surprisingly understanding and Emma, the Deputy Sheriff, was nice, but aloof. They all were nice, but sometimes she felt like they looked at her and only saw her oddities.
The shop Belle announced a customer, and so reluctantly Belle let go of the incunable she was painstakingly putting back together and walked out to the front. There she met someone she'd never seen before. She'd have remembered the glossy black hair or sinfully tight dress otherwise.
"Hello," she greeted, a genuine smile on her face. The customer certainly looked interesting "Can I help you?"
"I fervently hope so, dear."
Her lips were painted a vibrant red and though her smile was a bit on the sinister side there was also something very calm about her. Her voice was cultured and soft and she was surprisingly warm.
"You see, I'm afraid my well-worn Cologne edition of the Malleus Maleficarum had a rather unfortunate encounter with my children's newest pet, and was torn to pieces. I was looking to replace it as soon as possible but so far I've had little luck."
She seemed genuinely saddened by the loss of her beloved book, and Belle could certainly sympathize with that. She offered the woman a kind smile, fighting the urge to give her a small pat on the back. She didn't look much like a touchy-feely person and didn't want to make her uncomfortable.
"I'm so sorry to hear that," she offered the woman a seat "But I think you're just in luck, actually. Let me go check."
She ventured into the back to where she kept the rarest books, and carefully sorted through them till, sure enough, she found the 1520 copy of the Witches's Hammer. It was a lovely copy and Belle had purchased it more on a whim than anything else, at a relatively good price since it had been badly cared for. She'd managed to undo most of the damage.
She hurried back to the front, presenting the customer with the copy with a smile.
"It has some water damage to the leather cover it wasn't possible to repair, and some hand-written notations, since this was a copy used by Dominican monks in the Swiss cantons. Some pages on the third section sport a light splatter of what might be blood, probably from an interrogation session. Otherwise the book is in pristine conditions and, with the proper care, will last you and your family many years."
The woman seemed to like her description of the book, expertly flipping it open to the mentioned third section and lovingly tracing the dark red smudges that adorned the pages with her long, perfectly-manicured nails.
"Exquisite. And the leather binding is superb, dear, I can hardly see any damage. I'll take it."
Belle smiled even wider, taking the book carefully to wrap it up for the journey, caressing the spine with a sort of nostalgic affection.
"You look as if you will miss it." the customer observed, one fine eyebrow arched.
"Yes, well, sometimes I get too attached to the books, and this one in particular I spent countless hours restoring. But it's always nice to see them go to people who will actually read them and not just keep them in a shelf or a curio. I can tell you'll enjoy it very much."
The woman looked at her strangely, head tilted to a side and a speculative look in her eyes.
"I must say I rarely get such great service. Most people are inexplicably abrupt or nervous and they often stare in a very unbecoming way. And your shop is charming, dark and cold, a relief from the outside weather. Tell me, dear, do you happen to have any early editions of any book in the Index librorum prohibitorum et expurgatorum? I find myself with some time to do a bit of leisure reading and nothing to read."
It was quite a long list, and off the top of her head Belle could think of a number of books she either had or could get her hands on.
"Well, let's pull a copy of the list and then see what we can find in the inventory that matches and you haven't read. It might take a while, though, I hope you have the time."
"Darling, I rarely get to have a conversation involving heresy, debauchery and immorality with people outside of home, so it's a welcomed change."
Belle felt immediately relieved, not wanting her customer to go just yet. She offered her tea while they perused the list, and introduced herself by her full name, Isabelle French. The black-haired woman, surprisingly, extended a dainty, pale hand towards her, briefly pressing it against her own hand.
"Morticia Addams. And so call me by my first name, none of that 'Mrs Addams' nonsense. That just reminds me of the old hag that couldn't stop saying how unworthy I was of her son. Some people don't know when to let some things slide before it's too late."
"Then call me Belle, please."
She loved books and had a striking sense of humour. The brunette could already tell she was going to like Morticia a lot.