Page 12 of The Little Shop of Curiosities, The Music Box Part 2

I guess I just want to keep it private for as long as I can. I’m not really sure where Harrison and I are heading and the last thing either of us needs is our friends having a front row seat and eating popcorn while we try to figure it out. Prickles is a complicated person, and I come to this situationship with my own issues. We need time to explore whatever this is without a murder investigation coming between us.

“I’ll keep an eye on Prickles,” I tell Danny. “You keep an eye on Tristan.”

“Just try not to aggravate Harrison too much.” Danny rolls his eyes. “In the meantime, I’ll see if Tristan can get his hands on the post-mortem report. I’m not sure which mortuary Viv was sent to. I’m trying to get hold of Maddie to see what she’s been able to find out. If we can get photos of the markings on Viv’s body, maybe Harrison will recognise them, and if not, maybe he’ll be able to find out what they are. Out of all of us, he’s the one with the most experience with magic.”

“I’ve already got photos of the markings on Viv’s body. I managed to sneak some pictures of the crime scene before Byrnes and the others showed up,” I confess, knowing what a stickler Danny usually is for the rules. This time, he doesn’t say anything. “I’ll speak to Prickles about it. It might also be a good idea, like you said, to speak to Death. See if he can tell us anything.”

Danny nods. “He’s not always very forthcoming, but I’ll see if Chan can get any information out of him.” I watch as he drains his formerly forgotten glass, then pushes himself out of the chair. “I’m glad you’re back, Sam. I’m really grateful to have you here.”

I study his face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he starts to say, then pauses. “You know what? Can I be honest?”

“Of course, always.”

He draws in a slow breath. “I love Tristan. I love my life here. I wouldn’t change a single thing, but when I came to London, I had no idea that my world was about to expand to include ghosts and chaos monsters and potential apocalypses and the Grim Reaper and a whole bunch of drag queens.” He snorts. “Sometimes, it just feels⁠—”

“A bit much?”

“I can handle it, but sometimes it just feels like my head’s gonna explode. I’m really grateful to have you, someone who understands, someone who won’t look at me like I’m crazy.”

“I get it.” I nod. “My life has been a bit of a rollercoaster for the past year or so, and I’m grateful for you too. Now we have to do what we can for Viv.”

Danny’s expression hardens. “I can tell you one thing. Viv’s killer better run, because he’s really not going to like what happens when I catch up with him.”

I smile slowly. “Danny, this is so unlike you. It’s so refreshingly”—I search for the right word—“bellicose.”

Danny’s tone cools.

“I prefer to think of it as justice.”

4

London 1850

“Very creative,” I murmur dispassionately, staring down at the eviscerated corpse splayed across an expensive, finely woven rug.

His entrails are spread out in a grotesque parody of a butterfly’s wings. Satisfaction surges through my veins at the sound of his screams echoing in my ears. I hope the good judge is now burning in hell, writhing in eternal torment and damnation. It’s no less than he deserves; he and all the rest of Dr Whyte’s little Demon Club.

I continue to study the mangled remains—they barely resemble a man anymore. My demon was very thorough. Murders, the papers are calling them. My little crusade has the whole of London in terror, and well they should be. The scent of fear in the air is so sweet. Now they know how it feels to be afraid, to know that something evil stalks them. But I don’t consider what I’ve done evil.

I consider it justice.

I give the bloodied slop that was once Judge Maycliffe a disgusted sneer and turn away. I saw exactly what he did to the young boys in the asylum, and trust me, he got everything he deserved.

My gaze lands on Ishaan, my demon. He watches me carefully, his blood-red gaze unreadable while his nostrils flare slightly. His forearms and claw-like fingers drip with blood and chunks of flesh.

“I’ve encountered many bloodthirsty humans before, but you surprise me.”

Before, he would study me as if I were no more than a minor inconvenience to him, but now there’s a flicker of calculated interest.

I shrug. “We should leave,” I reply, and once more glance around the room. The only other sound is the snap of the fire and the monotonous tick of the small carriage clock on the mantel. “But”—I pause thoughtfully—“perhaps we should send Dr Whyte a little gift so he knows I haven’t forgotten him.” My gaze dips to the mangled body. “Judge Maycliffe’s eyes, I think…if you can find them.”

Giving me one more speculative look, Ishaan leans down and, with a revolting, squelching sound, retrieves the items I requested.

“Oh and, Ishaan, I think you should leave them on Dr Whyte’s pillow for him.”

He bows in acquiescence, but there’s no submission in that gesture. There’s something in the way he watches me that perhaps should alarm me, but it matters not; he’s under my control, and that’s the way it’s going to stay.