Page 7 of The Little Shop of Curiosities Cursed Object 1, The Music Box

Dad slumps in his seat. “Do you know how many people live in the city? 8.5 million. 8.5 million people broadcasting every random thought and feeling.” He turns to look at me in worry. “I know you’ve managed to get some of your abilities under control the last several years, but that’s been while you were living here on the farm, mostly isolated so you wouldn’t be overwhelmed. I don’t see why you can’t just stay local. I get wanting to move out, I don’t have a problem with that. But why does it have to be London?”

I place my fork down. “You know why,” I say softly.

“Babe, we’ve talked about this,” Pop says to Dad, his tone firm but gentle. “He has a right to know his mother.”

Dad frowns. “I’m not disputing that, but you weren’t there that night. You didn’t see that scared kid. This wasn’t some teenage runaway who got herself in trouble. She was terrified and not for herself. For her child.” He looks across to me. “She could tell immediately what I was, that’s why she asked me to take you and keep you safe. That girl wanted you as far away from her family as possible and not because she was ashamed of you. I could see her love for you the moment I placed you in her arms. This squalling pink ball of wriggling limbs and a shock of red hair.”

“Charming.” My lips quirk.

“Harrison, that family has dark secrets. I don’t know what they are, but I do know that whatever they’re hiding, it’s dangerous.”

“That’s why I have to go.”

Dad swallows hard. “I’m really worried for you. I just want you to be safe and happy.”

The chair legs scrape loudly as I stand. Abandoning my breakfast, I move to the seat next to Dad and put my arms around him, laying my head on his shoulder like I did as a child.

“I am happy,” I murmur as I feel him lift his hand and stroke my hair. “I can’t ever repay what you both have done for me.”

“Harrison, there’s nothing to repay,” Pop insists, and I lift my head to look at him. He’s still the same man I’ve always looked up to. Tall with broad shoulders and thick arms, the scruff at his jaw and his blonde hair blended with grey. He’s wearing one of his signature Hawaiian shirts over an old band T-shirt, his faded Levi’s, and heavy boots.

Even into his late fifties, he’s still a good-looking man, as is Dad. My gaze migrates to him and his ruthlessly pressed indigo jeans and light grey sweater, the white collar of his polo shirt folded neatly over the neckline. His dark hair is now shot with white streaks, and his dimples have deepened into creases whenever he smiles.

As I watch them both, I’m filled with love for these two men.

“Your Pop is right. There are no checks and balances here, nothing owed.” He reaches up and cups my jaw. “You have been the absolute light of our lives, and we wouldn’t change a single thing.”

“Not even to have had a normal kid?” I ask before I can censor the words coming from my mouth.

“What?” Dad whispers.

“I just mean, I’ve never been easy,” I confess. “I know that. You had to move and always accommodate my… issues. All those times we couldn’t go out or socialise because being around people was too much for me. I took up all your time and was such a burden that you couldn’t have more children.”

“Harrison, how long have you felt this way?” Pop asks, his expression serious.

I shrug.

“We never wanted or needed more children,” Pop says firmly, and reaches for my hand. “You were ours from the moment we first laid eyes on you, and every moment with you has been a joy, not a burden. Harry”—he squeezes my hand—“you’re perfectly imperfect, just like the rest of us. And we wouldn’t have you any other way.”

“But I’m not like everyone else, am I?” I murmur. “That’s why I have to go. That’s why I have to find my mother and talk to her. I need to know why I’m different and if there’s anyone else out there like me. But please, please understand that it’s not a reflection on either of you. I love you so much. You’re my parents, my family. It’s just that there’s a part of me that’s…” The word missing doesn’t feel accurate, so I instead settle on, “Unexplainable.” I shrug and continue. “I’m trying to figure out who I am and, more importantly, why I’m the way I am. And to do that, I need to find the biological side of my family. I need to know if I inherited this…” I shake my head. “I need to know if there’s a reason or if I’m just a weird anomaly.”

“I know.” Dad sighs. “But just promise you’ll call and that you’ll tell us if there’s a problem.”

“I promise,” I say softly.

“Okay.” He gives a slow exhale. “You’d better eat what’s left of your breakfast.”

“What?” I turn to look and find Demeter sitting on my chair and happily chewing a slice of bacon. The sausages are history too. The eggs and beans are the only things left, the contents of my plate which she clearly doesn’t like.

“That’s your fault.” Dad casts a reproving look at Pop.

I sigh heavily. “I’ll just have toast.”

2

Iturn the rose quartz forty degrees to the left, my nose crinkling as I scrutinise it. Finally, after several long seconds, I turn it back to its original position and then move the moonstone beside it twenty degrees to the right.

With a sigh, I make myself take a step back from the glass display case containing neat rows of healing stones and crystals. I’m hyperfixating and I know it. Shaking my head in annoyance—mostly at myself—I pick up the empty cardboard boxes and head into the back room of my new shop.