Page 53 of The Little Shop of Curiosities Cursed Object 1, The Music Box

Neat and tidy, and as fascinating as the proprietor himself. It’s a small, square room, with large windows to the front. Glass display cabinets filled with all kinds of intriguing objects line the walls, and sitting in front of the back wall is a desk with a large ledger sat on top of it. To the side of it is a doorway and beside that in the corner of the room is a comfortable, plush-looking armchair.

I smile when I see the chair, imagining Harrison curled up and reading a book. Spying a small bell on the desk, I step forward and tap the top, listening to the quiet ping.

“I’ll be with you in just a moment,” Harrison calls out from the back room.

Waiting patiently, I take a stroll to the nearest display cabinet and lean in to examine the contents. I consider myself fairly worldly, but I have to confess I don’t have a clue when it comes to the contents lining the glass shelves. They seem so random for a shop of occult supplies. There’s a small, tarnished silver teaspoon, an egg timer, a locket, a small creepy-looking child’s shoe, which looks like it’s from the early nineteenth century, a roughly stitched rag doll, and other macabre items. My fingers twitch, and I have an overwhelming urge to open the cabinet and touch them. I’m reaching for the handle before I know it but stop when I find it’s securely locked.

Probably for the best. After my brush with death—and I mean the moment I almost died, not when I was sitting in Tristan’s kitchen with the actual Grim Reaper—I wasn’t just left able to see ghosts but also with an uncanny ability to read objects. Sometimes I’m given images, sometimes snatches of conversations or thoughts, occasionally just a scent.

Fuck my life’s weird these days.

When it first happened, I thought I was going crazy, but no. Apparently, it’s just who I am now. I can’t say I’ve got used to it exactly, but I’m embracing it rather than shying away from it. It certainly comes in handy with my work as a private investigator.

I stare at the objects in the cabinet, and the desire to touch them is so strong I almost rock forward. Just as I’m lifting my hand once again, a voice startles me, breaking the strange hold the cabinet has over me.

“Sorry to keep you, Mr Fleischer. I was trying to find one of the items you request–” Harrison breaks off as he looks up from the package wrapped in brown paper that he’s holding and sees me. His gaze dips to my wet shirt, which is almost transparent, and his cheeks pinken, then he clears his throat. “You’re not Mr Fleischer.”

“No, I’m not.” The corner of my mouth curves. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

Harrison scowls and looks down at his watch. “He’s late. He should have been here ten minutes ago.”

“Who?”

“Mr Fleischer,” he says in annoyance, then mutters under his breath, “For goodness’ sake, I don’t have all day. I have appointments for a reason.”

“Stand down, Prickles.” I chuckle. “He probably just got held up. We’re having a full-blown monsoon out there in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“It’s a bit hard to miss,” he says primly, and places the package on the counter, then turns his attention back to me.

He’s looking just as gorgeous today, with his neatly combed, flaming red hair, pretty blue eyes, and flushed cheeks. He’s dressed much the same as the last two times I’ve seen him, in a shirt and tie with a light V-necked sweater over the top. He looks so delectably tidy and respectable, it just makes me want to muss him all up.

“Do you run your shop by appointment only?” I ask curiously.

“Mostly. I don’t like a lot of people trampling through my stop and touching everything. This is a highly selective emporium. I source specialty items for those who know how to use them, and I vet my clients thoroughly. Although I do get the odd walk-in, usually due to word of mouth, but there are only certain harmless items I sell without an appointment.” His eyes flick to the cabinet I’m standing close to. “I wouldn’t stare at the items in there too closely,” he warns.

“Why?”

“Because they’re cursed objects, designed to cause as much damage as possible. The longer you look at them the more you’ll want to touch them and…that would be very bad...for you.”

Isn’t that exactly what I’d been doing? Staring at them and feeling an irresistible urge to reach out and touch. I glance back, and the urge to reach for them slams into me this time. I take a step closer but halt in my tracks when I hear Harrison’s soft voice.

“Sam,” he says, his voice cutting through the compulsion. “Come here.”

Even though he’s standing behind the desk, the scent of him washes over me. Something lush and earthy, breaking the strange hold of that collection of random items. His voice tugs at me, and without thinking, I turn and move to the desk.

I blink and shake my head as if coming out of a trance.

“There,” Harrison says matter-of-factly. “Don’t look at them again.”

“Do you actually sell those?” I frown.

“Of course not.” He tuts, rolling his eyes as if it’s an absolutely idiotic question and not a natural assumption given they are displayed in a glass-fronted cabinet. “I acquire them, study them, and once I’ve figured out how they were cursed, I break the curses so they can’t be used to harm anyone else. There’s no place in the world for those awful things.”

“Why have you got them out here on display then?”

“It’s only temporary,” he replies. “It’s the only cupboard I have with a lock. Usually, I have it covered up so the items can’t catch anyone’s eye, but I was cleaning and haven’t put the cover back yet.”

“Perhaps it would be better if it was moved out of the main shop, maybe in the back if there’s space. I could help,” I offer.