Page 67 of The Little Shop of Curiosities Cursed Object 1, The Music Box

“Um, Chan?” Tristan gives a little wave to get her attention. “A word, please.”

Her eyes remain on Death for a few more seconds, her expression unreadable, before she turns and sashays her way over to Tristan, and I move closer. Seriously, once you get over the initial shock of being in the presence of an ancient and powerful supernatural entity, the interaction between him and Chan is marvellously entertaining.

“Before you answer,” Tristan whispers to Chan as Dusty leans in to hear better, “uh, maybe you could consider going on a date with him.”

“What?” Dusty hisses, but Tristan ignores her.

“It’s just that this is the perfect opportunity. He seems uncharacteristically chatty with you. Whenever I ask him a question, he flat-out avoids answering, but maybe this is a chance to get some information from him.”

“Oh my god.” Chan says incredulously. “Did you seriously just ask me to. Take. One. For. The. Team?”

“Um…yes?”

I glance over to see Death studying the painting like it’s the first time he’s seeing it and not that he’s half-inched it from the Louvre.

“You want me to go on a date? With Death?” Chan says slowly, drawing my attention back to the conversation.

“No?” Tristan winces. “Maybe…just...just think about it, okay? We could use all the help we can get right now.”

“What, like a spy? A femme fatalé?” she muses. “I can work with that.”

“No,” he sighs. “I just thought…never mind, you don’t have to.”

Chan lets out a sigh and rolls her eyes.

She sashays over to Death, one hand on her hip as she flips her hair over her shoulder and levels him with a dry stare that would’ve withered a lesser man. “Fine,” she says haughtily. Death’s mouth curves slightly. “But just so you know, I don’t put out on the first date.”

“Liar,” Dusty coughs into her fist.

“But first you need to do something with all of this.” She waves her hand at the pile of gifts. “And for the love of ballroom dancing, put that bloody painting back before you give the French police a collective aneurysm.”

“Okay?” He tilts his head as he studies her.

“I have to be at The Rainbow Room in an hour.” She spins on her heel and heads toward her bedroom, and Death follows along behind her like a puppy. When she reaches her door, she turns and points a finger at him. “No more leaving weird presents lying about, no more just appearing in my flat. You will arrive tomorrow at 8 p.m. on the dot, on the other side of my front door, and you will knock like a normal person.”

“Okay,” he replies, his mouth curving.

“Good. I expect flowers. Fully assembled, colourful ones would be nice, not just petals strewn everywhere. They may be considered romantic, but all they do is clog up my hoover. Wine is optional.” She slams the door in his face. “AND YOU GUYS, LOCK THE DOOR ON YOUR WAY OUT,” she yells through the door.

Death snorts quietly and turns to give us one last look before he disappears, taking the huge painting and the other items with him.

I have the incredible urge to laugh. “I have a feeling my life is never going to be boring with you around, Tristan.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing, boo.” Dusty’s brows rise pointedly as she stares at Tristan in concern.

“Chan will be perfectly safe with Death,” Tristan replies, then he pauses and frowns as if just realising the sheer insanity of that sentence. “Fucking hell, this is weird,” he mutters.

“I’d be more worried about Death at this point,” I murmur. “Chan may be pretty, but she’s like a glittery tornado.”

“You have no idea,” Dusty replies. “You’re sure she’ll be safe?”

“You’re not seeing it, are you?” I say to Dusty.

“Seeing what?”

“Almost every gift Death has given Chan is intended to protect.”

“He’s protecting her?” Dusty’s mouth falls open.