Page 23 of The Little Shop of Curiosities Cursed Object 1, The Music Box

“Oh, hush,” Constance huffs. “You were just as instrumental in getting Cordelia home as Cornelius. It is a debt I do not even know how to pay.”

“I assure you there is no debt,” he says softly. “But thank you.”

There’s a quiet click as the door opens and then closes. Nell takes the cup and bustles across the room, picking up the rag I had worn that my sister bid her burn. With a quick curtsy to Constance, she too leaves the room, leaving us alone.

I sink into the pillows as Connie approaches the bed and then strokes my forehead the way our Ayah did when we were children.

“Who is Ichabod?” I croak.

Constance sighs. “It’s complicated. To the outside world, he is Cornelius’ manservant.”

“And to you and Cornelius?”

“He is a true and loyal friend to this family, one we trust with our deepest secrets.” She strokes my forehead again, and I want to pull away from that touch. “You’re safe here. I promise.”

I can see the sincerity in her eyes, but I don’t trust anyone. Not after being betrayed by my own father.

“Get some rest,” she whispers, and this time I don’t try to fight it.

I circle down into darkness.

6

My head is pounding.

I sit up in bed and rub my temples firmly. It feels like I haven’t slept at all. Strangely enough, this time some of the dream lingers—fleeting glimpses of a beautiful man with hair as red as mine and the sense of a tall, dark building, but nothing that sticks.

Scrubbing my hands over my face, I sigh and push myself up from the bed. I slip into the bathroom first to relieve myself, then splash my face with water before I head into the small kitchenette to put the kettle on.

As I’ve always done, I push the dream to the back of my mind. Reaching up into the cupboard for a mug, I glance out of the window. It’s so overcast outside, even though we’re heading towards June. The sky roils a turbulent swirl of grey and black, yet no storm has materialised. Just days of a strange charge in the air and a feeling of anticipation. Something is coming, but I’m not convinced it’s just an inclement weather spree.

It feels like I’m waiting, like something important is about to happen, but whether to me or in general is yet to be seen.

The kettle starts to boil noisily behind me, and I tear my gaze away from the rapidly darkening sky. I reach for the box of green tea and make myself a cup, then wander towards the sofa. The flat is tiny; I half expected it to feel a bit claustrophobic after living at the farmhouse, but I find it cosy.

The thought brings to mind my family, and I reach for my phone before I can second-guess myself. Leaning back against the counter, I listen to it ring a couple of times, taking a sip of my tea as a familiar face appears on the screen.

“Is everything okay?”

“Dad, you do know you don’t have to start every conversation with is everything okay in that panicked tone.”

“But are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I reply. “I was calling to say hi.”

“Oh.” He pauses, then his expression softens. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Dad, you’ve got to stop assuming the worst.” I sigh. “I know you’re worried, but–”

“But?”

“But I want to be able to talk to you about everything that’s going on down here, and I can’t do that if I think it’s just going to freak you out.”

“He’s right, babe.” I hear Pop in the background, then his face appears alongside Dad’s, and I swallow the lump in my throat at the sight of my two favourite people in the world. “You’ve been spiralling a bit ever since Harry moved to London.”

“I know, I know,” he huffs. “I’m a basket case.”

“You’re not,” I reply. “I know how much you love me and how much you worry, but I need you to trust me, because I get the feeling that whatever it is my biological family is tied up in is complicated, and I need to know I’ve got you in my corner to help me figure it out.”