Page 68 of The Little Shop of Curiosities Cursed Object 1, The Music Box

“And not just with the gifts he’s given her, but with her home too.” I look around. “I felt it as soon as I walked in. It’s like warding, but not quite. If we’re right about Chaos and what he’s doing, Death knows he’s trying to manipulate people and circumstances on this side.”

“He’s going out of his way to make sure his evil twin doesn’t fuck with Chan?” Dusty’s eyes widen in surprise. She pouts for a moment before adding, “Well. Doesn’t mean I’m happy about it though.”

“She’ll be fine, Dusty,” Tristan assures her, and for some reason, I get the feeling he’s right.

Dusty turns to him with her arms folded across her chest. “I hope you’re right, boo, because you just set my bestie up on a blind date with the Grim Reaper.”

15

London 1850

Crawshanks House, Whitechapel.

Ismooth down the front of my sister’s gown, admiring the way it clings to the newly restored curves of my body.

I’d snuck into her room while she slept and taken the dark forest green and black taffeta gown, a little stuffy for my tastes but certainly better than the old dusty ones hanging in my wardrobe. Gowns I haven’t worn in more than a decade and never will again. They’re nothing more than a reminder of a young girl who is long gone. She’d believed in love only to be betrayed by the boy who’d promised her the world. He’d taken our son and travelled back to his family in Ireland while I’d been committed to Crowscroft for my sins.

Isn’t that always the way of it. The men walk away with not even a smear on their reputation while the women pay the price.

I learned that lesson and learned it well. The sweet words he’d whispered to me so that he could crawl between my thighs had been nothing but empty promises and lust. That was all I’d been worth. At the time, I thought I couldn’t suffer more, but those first days in Dr Whyte’s care had thoroughly disabused me of that childish notion. I’d thought I knew pain but I hadn’t, not until the day I met Ignatius Whyte.

My jaw begins to ache and I realise that I’ve been clenching it tightly. Forcing the memories to the back of my mind, I run a hand through my long dark hair. It feels so good to have it back and not just because they’d shaved it off before Cornelius freed me. For years now, it has been a heavy, matted mess.

Now I can look at my reflection and once more see me. I know I’m considered beautiful. It’s not conceit, just fact. It is what has attracted these abusive men—or any men, really—to me, but my value is not in how I look. It gives me no pleasure.

I lift my hand, looking down at my upraised palm, and feel the power ripple through my veins. Smoke swirls around my fingers, which spark with purple lightning.

This is what I value.

Power.

Picking up a rather coarse-looking bag I found downstairs, which must belong to one of the servants, I sling it over my head and settle it diagonally across my body. The book of Lala Khal is lying on the foot of my bed. I pick it up, caressing the front cover lovingly. Now that I have it back, I’m not letting it out of my sight. Besides, I’m going to need it for what I have planned.

Slipping it into the bag sitting at my hip, I pick up the dark, heavy cloak I also appropriated. This, I believe, may belong to my brother. Draping it around my shoulders and fastening it at my chin, I press the material to my face and inhale.

Bergamot and something spicy. It’s definitely Cornelius’. The scent is comforting, and I’m glad of that small tether that will see me through what comes next.

I give my room one last glance, a room that hasn’t been mine in years. I won’t be coming back here. These last few days, even though I’ve been ill and lain abed, have shown me I don’t belong here anymore.

Not that I ever did.

This house belongs to Constance now. My path lies in a very different direction. Taking note of the time on the small carriage clock, I cross the room and slip out of the door. The household will begin to stir soon, so I hurry down the stairs, past the second floor and towards the foyer. I’ve almost reached the last step when I hear Constance shouting, her voice filled with panic.

“Cornelius! Cordelia is gone! Cornelius!”

I quicken my pace to the door and from the corner of my eye see Cornelius and his lover spill from the study where they’ve obviously been all night.

“Cordelia!” he bellows, and there’s so much authority in his voice, I stop and turn to him.

He and Ichabod are staring at me, both rumpled but dressed. I ignore the redhead and focus on my brother, whose eyes widen on my glossy thick head of hair, my clear skin, and my full figure.

“What have you done!” He whispers the words, but I hear them as loud and as clear as a bell. It only takes a second for his quick and agile mind to come to the correct conclusion. “You have the book. I’ve searched for it for ten years, inspected this house from top to bottom. Where did you hide it?”

I smirk slowly and tut, just the way I did when we were children. “Do you really expect me to tell you all my secrets?”

His eyes flick over the cloak, the dress, the bag I carry, and my proximity to the door.

“What are you doing?”