Page 76 of The Little Shop of Curiosities Cursed Object 1, The Music Box

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Istare down at my phone and read the message from Sam again.

Got what we need to regain control of the portal, heading to the bookshop. Wouldn’t say no to a little witchy help, but there’s no pressure. It’s okay if you’re not up for it.

My fingers hover over my reply.

I can’t. I’m sorry.

I want to hit send, but for some reason my fingers won’t move. There’s an awful churning in my belly and a tightness in my chest. Through the window, I can see the rain has stopped, but the sky is a roiling mess of black and grey clouds with an eye like a hurricane’s at its centre.

The eclipse is almost here, and with it, the alignment needed for the portal in the bookstore to open completely and allow the entity known as Chaos into our world.

I should be heading to Whitechapel as fast as I can to help Tristan and the others, but something is holding me back, and I don’t know what. Every instinct is telling me not to go.

I’m torn.

My mind tells me to put aside my issues with my mother, with her bookshop, with her legacy. But my gut says there’s something else at play here.

I look at Sam’s message again and my stomach turns. What if something happens to him? What if he gets hurt? We don’t know each other all that well yet, and one almost kiss doesn’t really count, but there is a connection between us. Whether it’s just because I feel like we understand each other or because I fancy the pants off him, I couldn’t say. But the thought of him being injured again does something to my equilibrium.

Fuck it.

I grab my keys from the counter and pull my coat on. Hurrying through the shop, I step out onto the street and lock the door behind me. I’m thankful the rain is holding off despite the sky churning ominously.

I don’t know how close they were to the bookshop when Sam messaged me, but it takes me nearly thirty minutes to get to Whitechapel. Despite the rain letting up for the first time in weeks, the streets are curiously empty, almost as if everyone subconsciously knows something big is happening.

My heart is tripping as I glance up into the sky. The great big swirling mass that I saw from Islington, the one that looked like a tropical storm system? The eye is directly over the bookstore. Because of course it is.

The wind picks up, roaring around me and tearing at my clothes. Litter and other minor debris kick up from the ground, swept up on the violent air currents. I run from the station, sweating and wheezing from my lack of cardio.

I skid to a halt at the end of the narrow alley and see Sam and the others heading into the shop further down. I try to call out, but the wind snatches away my voice as soon as I open my mouth. I start forward to catch up with them, but I’ve barely made it three steps when a man steps in front of me.

Where did he come from?

With him blocking my path, I slow and try to go around him, but he deliberately moves into my way. Given no choice but to stop, I glare at him.

“Excuse me,” I say as politely as possible. What I really want to do is tell him to get the fuck out of my way.

His mouth curves, but he doesn’t respond. I go to move around him yet again, but he steps into my path once more.

“Do you mind?” I snap. “I need to pass.”

“Sorry, Harrison, but this doesn’t involve you.” His voice, laced with power, ripples over me.

I take an involuntary step back. “Who are you?” My eyes narrow as I study him. “How do you know my name?”

He’s taller than me, broad-shouldered and trim, and wearing a long, dark overcoat over a black open-collar shirt and dark trousers. His hair is a deep brown, almost black, and hangs in a glossy swathe just past his shoulders. I can’t place his age, which is unusual for me. He seems young, maybe about my age or thereabouts, but there’s a timelessness to his handsome face that I can’t explain.

He ignores both of my questions when he replies, raising his voice above the roar of the wind, which is gaining in strength.

“What’s going on in there doesn’t involve you. This is something Tristan has to do.”

“You don’t know that,” I fire back.

“Actually, I do,” he says calmly.

“Who the hell are you?”