Page 31 of The Little Shop of Curiosities Cursed Object 1, The Music Box

“Good evening.” Our server appears with a smile and hands us each a menu before reaching into the pocket of her apron and retrieving a notepad. “Can I get you any drinks?”

“Scotch, please,” I reply when she looks to me.

“Same,” Sam says.

She turns to Tristan and Danny, but I don’t pay any attention. The air in here seems to be getting heavier. I can feel it pressing down on me.

“Whoa.” Tristan blinks. “That’s weird.”

“What is?” Danny asks.

“The air in here.” Tristan frowns. “It feels weird, heavy and crackly. I know some people say they can feel storms, but I’ve never experienced it before. I always thought it would be kinda cool, but it actually feels–”

“Ominous,” Sam finishes for him, and I look at him in surprise.

“You can feel it?” I whisper to Sam as his dark gaze holds mine. I’m not surprised Tristan can feel it, the air is saturated with psychic energy. He’s as attuned to it as I am, even if he doesn’t realise it, but the fact that Sam can feel it too only raises more questions.

“Here you go.” The server returns and sets our drinks on the table. “Are you ready to order yet?”

“Could you give us a few more minutes?” Danny smiles at her.

“Sure.” She nods and disappears back through the winding maze of tables, her ponytail swinging.

I lift my glass with shaky hands and take a deep gulp.

“Are you okay?” Tristan asks worriedly. “Harrison, you’ve gone very pale.”

“I’m fine,” I croak as I set the glass down on the table, bracing my palms against the pristine white tablecloth.

I’m not okay. The air’s getting heavier by the second. A high-pitched buzzing begins in my ears, drowning out all other sounds, and the pressure at the back of my skull doubles. I hear Sam draw in a sharp breath, and as I glance at him, I find his wide gaze locked on my hands.

I look down at my hands resting on the table to find tiny microbursts of electricity sparking and rippling across my fingers. Balling my hands, I shove them under the table, but it’s too late. I know they’ve seen.

I’d open my mouth to say something, but I can’t. My jaw is locked, my teeth clenched tightly as the pressure in my head keeps building and the atmosphere suffocates me.

Suddenly, a loud boom shakes the restaurant, far louder than any thunder I’ve ever heard. The ground trembles violently beneath our feet.

“Jesus Christ, is that an earthquake?” Danny gasps.

“An earthquake in London?” Tristan replies in confusion.

The lights cut out, plunging us into complete darkness. The air fills with the sound of several screams as servers crash into tables of customers and trays topple to the ground, but I’m not paying them any attention. The high pitch in my ears is so painful it feels like my eardrums are going to burst. I clap my hands over my ears and let out a panicked, pain-filled cry. I can’t breathe, the air is too heavy. I’m being crushed and I only know one thing.

I need to get out of here.

I stumble to my feet, vaguely aware of someone calling my name. I fumble my way toward the exit, the lightning sporadically illuminating my way. I crash against chairs and furniture but don’t stop until I can wrench open the door.

I stumble out into the street, rain lashing at me like vicious shards of ice, drenching my hair and clothes instantly. God, the air out here is even worse. The scent of ozone is everywhere. I stagger forward as if I’m wading through molasses.

The vision hits me like a freight train, and I double over, white-hot agony searing through my head. I grip it tightly and cry out, my voice lost in the sound of the storm.

The images slam into my mind, a confusing kaleidoscope of fragments.

A jagged slash of lightning striking a wide, grassy expanse. The earth splitting open like a membrane revealing human bones.

A tree crashing into a road and a car swerving with a loud squeal of tyres, followed by the sound of crunching metal.

A clock ticking and Tristan standing in front of a strange-looking door.