Page 49 of The Little Shop of Curiosities Cursed Object 1, The Music Box

“Fight, flight, or fuck.” Chan shrugs. “Right now, you don’t exactly look threatening. If you show up looking the way you do, the last thing on anyone’s mind will probably be to run away from you. They’re far more likely to want to hump you. For future reference, you might want to try the whole death shroud and scythe thing. Maybe a skull face, skeleton hands.” She wiggles her fingers.

“Jesus, Chan,” Tristan mutters, dragging his hand over his face.

“What? It’s a valid point.” She holds up her hands innocently. “If you’re gonna pitch up rocking the sexy CEO look, you can’t expect the poor humans to not want to bang you.”

Death suddenly disappears from his chair in a swirl of black smoke and reappears in front of Chan, crowding her against the counter. Although she has those ridiculously tall heels on, he towers over her. Honestly, at this point, I’m not sure whether to worry or grab a bucket of popcorn and settle in to watch the most bizarre situation I’ve ever been privy to.

“You interest me,” he states, his voice a deep rumble as he stares down at her.

“Whoa, back up there, big fella.” Chan pats his chest and shifts, forcing him to step back a pace. “I’ve been cornered by a six-foot bear wearing only a harness and leather mask at a sex convention in Brighton. You don’t scare me.”

“What were you doing at a sex convention in Brighton?” Tristan asks curiously.

“We lost a bet,” Chan replies, and Dusty sniggers.

“That was an eye-watering experience,” Dusty says.

“I think we’re getting slightly offtrack,” Danny interjects. “Death, why are you here?”

Death ignores Danny and continues to stare at Chan for several long seconds before dissipating into smoke again and reappearing in his chair.

“You’ve got to admit the smoke thing is cool,” Sam mutters to me.

Instead of answering Danny, Death fixes his pale blue eyes on Tristan. “You’ve run out of time, Tristan,” he says.

“What?”

“The bones have been uncovered, and the clock is now ticking.”

“Bones!” Danny exclaims, startling Tristan so much he jolts in his seat. Danny rushes to explain. “Right before the accident, Maddie and I were called to an abandoned rugby ground in Surbiton because someone had discovered human bones buried beneath the pitch. Oh my god, how could I have forgotten?”

“Probably because you got hit in the head with a tree,” Chan mutters.

“You found bones?” Tristan says. “Human bones?”

Danny nods. “I don’t have any details. Honestly, the whole crime scene was strange. The bones were laid out weirdly, all neatly stacked on top of each other. And there weren’t any signs of digging at all. It looked like the ground just burst open and spat the bones out. Dr O’Hara said he wouldn’t be able to tell the age or gender of the victim until he’d got the bones back to his lab and examined them properly. But that was a couple of days ago, so maybe he has some answers by now.”

“O’Hara?” Tristan repeats. “Roger O’Hara?”

Danny nods. “That’s him. Odd bloke with a comb-over. Do you know him?”

“He works in the forensic anthropology department.” Tristan bites his lip and glances back at Death. “It’s just like you told me.”

“What’s going on?” Danny asks. “Do you know something about the bones?”

“Um. I think I know who the bones belong to.”

“What?” Danny frowns. “Who?”

“Bruce Reyes. He’s one of the ghosts at the bookshop in Whitechapel I told you about,” Tristan replies, and my gaze shoots to Dusty. Does he mean the same Bruce who’s Dusty’s not-boyfriend with the thick thighs and tiny shorts? “He’s Dusty’s–never mind. Anyway, he nearly always appears in a rugby kit. We think he died sometime in the eighties.”

Clearly yes. The one and same.

Maybe Dusty was right about the Upstairs Management, as she likes to call it. Perhaps I’m meant to be here. I mean, what are the odds? I came to London looking for answers about my mother and the bloodline I come from, only to be thrown into the middle of a supernatural crisis with a bunch of people who are connected to her and her building…and her ghosts, apparently. Not to mention Death’s involvement somehow.

“The eighties?” Danny scratches his jaw thoughtfully. “Can you narrow it down any further?”

Tristan shakes his head. “Bruce doesn’t remember anything about his death and his body was never recovered, so he’s never solved his unfinished business and moved on. Instead, he guards the magic doo–” He breaks off and glances at Death, who raises a brow. “I mean, the portal,” he amends with an eye roll. “He guards the portal.”