Page 101 of The Little Shop of Curiosities, The Music Box Part 2

Everything spins, and I feel dizzy. I think I’m going to be sick, if my heart doesn’t explode first.

Then suddenly, silence. Total blackness.

We stumble and thud against something hard.

“Sam?” says Harrison, breathless and concerned.

“Yeah,” I croak.

“Are you okay?” His fingers trail over the hot skin of my cheeks, hesitantly at first, but then he grips a little tighter.

“What were you thinking?” he scolds sharply. “My heart almost stopped. I told you to stay away from the cursed objects, especially since your psychic gifts make you susceptible to them.”

I draw in a shaky breath. My skin still feels a little clammy even though I’m only wearing my boxers. But at least my heart has stopped pounding.

The music box is lifeless in my hands. I don’t get so much as a stray vibe from it. “I think it’s broken.”

Harrison fumbles for it in the dark and takes it from my hands. “Hmm, the magic’s burned out. That means the curse served its purpose, which seems to be to get us here. The question is, what is here?”

I reach out on either side of myself and feel wooden surfaces.

“It feels like a cupboard,” I say. “Where do you think we are? Narnia?”

“Very funny,” he replies dryly. “But I think you’re right, we may be in some sort of cupboard. Hang on a minute, I think I feel a door handle.”

“No, Prickles, wait!”

Too late.

He turns the handle and the door I’m leaning against swings away from us. I start falling backwards and, without thinking, grab Harrison to keep my balance. Unfortunately, my momentum can’t be stopped, and we both tumble out of the cupboard.

I hit the floor first, vaguely aware of what feels like carpet cushioning my fall. Harrison lands on top of me, knocking the breath from me, and the music box falls from his lax grip and rolls to my side.

A hand reaches out and picks it up, causing both Harrison and me to lift our faces and glance up from where we’re splayed out on the carpet like a couple of stunned starfish. My mouth falls open and I have to blink several times.

I must be hallucinating.

Two men stare down at us. One is tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a rather dated suit. In fact, it looks Victorian. He’s in his fifties maybe, and has dark curly hair with a wide white streak at his temple like a really sexy Sweeney Todd.

The other is slim and has a moustache, his dark hair neatly parted and oiled. Heavy rouge stains his cheeks and lips, and he’s wearing an old-fashioned corset and a silk robe. What really grabs my attention though is that the robe, which is hanging negligently from his narrow shoulders, reveals quite brazenly the fact that he’s completely naked from the waist down. There is no way to miss his soft cock nestled in a bush of dark hair, hanging freely.

“Bloody hell,” Harrison squeaks.

Sweeney Todd is holding the music box and staring at it like he recognises it. When he lifts his gaze to me in bewilderment, my breath catches in my throat.

I know exactly who this man is, but it shouldn’t be possible. I’ve only ever seen one photograph of him, in a box of loose papers containing the original notes for the Victorian spiritualist book, Crawshanks Guide to the Recently Departed. The notes that Viv had given Tristan.

Before I can utter the name pounding in my head, Harrison beats me to it.

“Cornelius Crawshanks?”

24

Lord Francis’ Molly House

Islington 1886

Sam gasps. “Cornelius?”