Page 38 of The Little Shop of Curiosities Cursed Object 1, The Music Box

I can’t afford for Whyte to come for me while I’m still in this weakened state. I need my magic; it’s the only thing that can save me now.

Placing my hand against the solid wall, I reach down inside myself. My mind may be clearer, but I’m still dreadfully weak. A panicky feeling begins to flutter in my chest.

Where’s my magic?

Trying to force back my anxiety, I search for it again.

It can’t be gone.

It can’t.

Closing my eyes, I try once more, and this time I catch a little wisp of it. No more than a flicker deep inside me, but it’s enough. I grab onto it and feel it flare briefly. I feel the wall ripple beneath my palm as if it’s made of water, and I open my eyes. Then, bracing myself, I step through.

An unpleasant, cold trickling sensation engulfs me, but only for a moment. Then it’s gone and I’m standing in complete darkness. It feels vast, the kind of darkness that would fill a huge cavern. If I were to speak, even the smallest whisper, surely my voice would echo.

This was our place. It had always belonged to me, Cornelius, and Constance. I don’t know if they remember or if they’ve closed it from their minds. They were, after all, very young. They’d thought it was a game, but I’d sensed the magic in them even then—raw, undisciplined, and certainly not as powerful as mine, but it had been there.

I’d wanted to go home, and together we’d torn a hole in the fabric of our world, a rift to another place entirely. But I’d erred. I hadn’t expected creatures from that other place to use it as a conduit. I’d only thought to transport myself to the one place I wanted to be more than anything. Away from this city, away from this house…away from him. My father.

It hadn’t worked. Instead, we’d been forced to close the portal to stop any other creatures from escaping, but it had never fully sealed. This cavernous place between worlds not only remained but–

I lift my candle and see a jagged slash of light hovering in the air. It’s an echo of the rift. A small wound in the fabric of existence that had never fully healed, like a pocket in time that only I know of.

Approaching slowly, I set my candle down on the ground, the ripple of light winking at me. X marks the spot, as Cornelius always said when he wanted to play pirates. Only this treasure is not jewels or coin but beyond anything imagined.

I reach out, pushing my hand into the strange little prism of light. But instead of encountering thin air, my fingers curl around the spine of an old, heavy book. The rift sparks and spits at me, almost as if it doesn’t want to let go, but I shove my other hand into the breach and grasp the book, giving it another hard tug. The rift pulses, expelling it almost angrily.

I stumble back a pace, my arms trembling from the effort, and glance down at the book.

The Book of Lala Khal.

“Hello, old friend,” I whisper, my first real smile in decades curving my lips.

The book is wreathed in roiling black shadows which dance and swirl, almost completely concealing its cover. Opening it up, I hold the tome in both of my hands and stare down into the pages. Even in the dim light, I can see the looping archaic letters. They don’t sit on the page like any other ordinary book. No, these letters spiral and scroll across the parchment, forming and reforming words at random. But I don’t need to read the book to use its power.

Because the book has its own consciousness.

“Heal me,” I command.

The pages fan rapidly, as if an unseen hand is flicking through them. Then it falls open almost belligerently and a burst of light so bright it almost blinds me erupts from the pages. Something punches through my chest with such force that it takes my feet out from under me, throwing me to the ground so hard that the air is knocked from my lungs.

My body feels like it’s on fire, and white-hot power sears through my veins, burning through me with excruciating agony. I open my mouth and scream, but in this place between words, there’s no one to hear me.

It feels like I’m being incinerated from the inside. So much pain. My head feels like it’s going to explode and then there’s nothing but darkness.

I don’t know how long I’ve been lying on the ground, but when I begin to come to, I notice one thing immediately.

My body no longer hurts. The aches and exhaustion that have been my constant are gone. I sit up easily and look around. It’s still dark in the cavern, the light from the paltry candle I’d brought with me long since extinguished.

But another realisation comes to me. I can feel my magic pulsing through my veins. Sucking in a sharp breath of delight, I lift my hand and snap my fingers. Regular light floods the space around me, and I see my body is no longer rail thin and emaciated. My curves and softness are back, filling out my nightdress and dressing gown. A silky weight is settled against my back, and when I lift my hand to my head, it’s to find my long, thick hair falling in soft waves. My gaze falls on the book, which now lays closed on the ground next to me.

“Thank you.” I stroke its old leather-bound cover, and for a moment, I could swear I sense a hint of annoyance coming from it.

Picking up the book, I cradle it to my chest with one arm and push myself up off the floor. I roll my shoulders, cracking my neck, and revel in the strength and magic coursing through my healed body. I clutch the book tighter.

Dr Whyte and the members of his Demon Club have been living on borrowed time for far too long.

Now, their bill has come due.