Page 61 of The Little Shop of Curiosities Cursed Object 1, The Music Box

I sigh. “I think you’d better come with me.” As I move past them, Tristan reaches out and grasps my sleeve.

“Harrison, I need your help. I need to make sure my dad is safe. He’s so scared and he doesn’t understand what’s happening. He has advanced dementia, so I can’t take him away from his home, but I can’t leave him there.”

My heart softens. I know how I’d feel if it was either of my dads. “Trust me, I know what to do. We’ll protect him, I promise you.”

He lets out a small, relieved breath.

“Come with me,” I tell him again, and this time he follows me through the door into the back room.

I watch as he looks around curiously. A desk on one side holds a laptop and stacks of organised paperwork. Racks and shelving line the walls, all containing ruthlessly ordered jars and bottles, each neatly labelled. Across the other side of the room is a huge wooden workbench stacked with more items, neatly folded squares of hessian and muslin, and balls of string.

“Whoa.” Dusty eyes all the jars of various powders, liquids, and other items. “Are you sure you’re not a serial killer, Prickles?”

“Keep calling me Prickles and you’ll find out,” I mutter, then turn to Tristan. “I’m going to start putting together something for your dad, but while I’m doing that, I have something you should have a look at.”

“Sounds dirty.” Dusty grins. “Just what exactly did you lure my boo into your back room for?”

I head over to the desk. “I’ve been researching the bookshop.”

“Oh, you’ve been helping?”

I frown at his question. “I said I would.”

“Yeah, but I thought you only said yes because Chan kinda steamrolled you into it.”

“She did. I still have the marks from the heels of her stilettos up my back,” I reply dryly, and Dusty gives a loud snort.

“So, what did you find?”

“Take a look.” I show him the chart laid out on the desk. “At first I tried to research portals and gateways to other dimensions or anything that mentioned passages to the spirit worlds and afterlife, but there’s unsurprisingly very little in the way of hard evidence and documentation, then I started researching Bruce Reyes himself.”

“What?” Dusty clips over and looks down at the masses of paperwork. “What did you find?”

“Well, Death said it was all about bloodlines, so I figured Bruce’s family tree was as good a place to start as any. Sam came over and gave me a copy of Bruce’s missing person’s report. Once I had his date of birth and the names of his parents, I had my starting point.”

“Sam was here?” Tristan tilts his head to study my face, although what he’s looking for I don’t know.

“That man is infuriating,” I murmur.

“Infuriatingly hot.” Dusty smirks.

I try not to think about how attractive I find him. So instead, I clear my throat and continue talking.

“I ran into a bit of a wall with his Mexican heritage because anything past his father’s generation would be international records and much harder to get hold of. But I figured out pretty early that it was his mother’s side that we wanted anyway. She’s British and her family all come from London, so they were pretty easy to find.” I pick up a piece of paper with a roughly sketched-out family tree on it and hand it to Tristan. “If you follow the matrilineal line from Bruce’s mother, look where you end up.”

“C-Cordelia…Crawshanks. Oh my god.” His eyes widen and he glances at Dusty who’s now peering over his shoulder. “He’s directly descended from Cordelia Crawshanks?”

“Yes,” I nod. “She was the sister of a rather famous Victorian medium.”

“I think you mean infamous,” Dusty mutters as she studies the piece of paper Tristan is holding.

“There were three siblings by all accounts,” I continue. “Cordelia, who was the oldest, the middle sister, Constance, and Cornelius, who was the youngest and the only boy.”

“We know about Cornelius,” Tristan interjects. “I have a copy of his book, Crawshanks Guide to the Recently Departed.”

“Really?” I reply in surprise. I didn’t realise he’d written a book. “I’d love to have a look at that sometime.”

“Sure.” Tristan nods. “Or I could probably get you a copy. Madame Viv, the current owner of the bookshop, is related to him. She said he never sold a copy other than the one I have. All the rest of the small print run are sitting in boxes in her storage room.”