Page 14 of The Little Shop of Curiosities, The Music Box Part 2

“Somewhere we shouldn’t be,” I whisper, and tentatively hold my arms out. “Will you come with me?”

He eyes my outstretched arms. “Where?”

“Somewhere safe,” I say.

He eyes my arms as if not sure what I’m offering, then climbs into my lap, and I hold him gently. Tobias sighs and snuggles into me, and I find myself rocking him as my heart breaks. I never held either of my children. My son was given to his father before I was fully aware after his birth, and my daughter was snatched from between my bloodied thighs in the asylum before I could even see her face. I have no idea what became of her, and I don’t think I want to know.

For just a moment, I cradle this poor boy and imagine that this is what it feels like to be a mother.

The grandfather clock chimes from the floor above us, and I know we cannot stay any longer. The judge’s servants will arrive before daybreak, and we cannot be here when they discover his remains.

“Come,” I murmur to Tobias, rising to my feet and keeping him firmly in my arms. “It is time to go.”

I carry him up the stairs and through the kitchen, back into the hallway leading to the front door, but as we approach the open doorway to the judge’s study, I make sure his face is tucked into my neck. “Close your eyes,” I whisper. “Don’t look.”

He does as I bid, and I swallow past the bile rising in my throat. The smell of blood and other bodily fluids coupled with the awful memories swirling in my mind make my stomach turn.

I need fresh air. I need to breathe.

I hurry forward and let myself out onto the quiet street. The street lamps are almost burned down, and the first pale rays of dawn creep across the sky. The ever-present smog fills the streets, and the air, while not fresh, is cold and welcome.

I stand still on the cobbled street and close my eyes, breathing heavily, feeling the slight weight of the boy in my arms. Closing my eyes, I allow myself to think back to the one place that gives me peace, my childhood home in India. For just a few brief moments, the smog and frigid air disappear, and I’m transported back, leaning out of my window, remembering the sensation of warm air rippling over my skin and the heady scent of night-blooming jasmine from the garden below me.

I want to go home.

Everything in me yearns to return, but I can’t. I’m not that girl anymore. She’s long gone. My soul is too stained to ever know peace now.

Opening my eyes, I glance down at the tiny blond boy in my arms and see that he’s drifted into a peaceful sleep, his head on my breast. I wonder how long it’s been since he’s felt safe. If he ever did.

I can’t send him back to the poorhouse, and he can’t stay with me. I certainly wouldn’t let him anywhere near my demon. There’s only one place I can think of where he’ll be safe. Or rather, only one person.

I draw in a breath and gather my power. Feeling it swirl around me, I don’t even check to see if anyone is watching. I don’t care anymore.

The street blurs and shifts. A funnel of purple smoke spins madly around us, and when it finally subsides, I am standing in the middle of a familiar foyer outside a different study. One I know very well.

Shifting the boy in my arms and trying not to wake him, I cross the threshold. As I do, my brother looks up from his desk. A myriad of emotions cross his handsome face.

His collar is unbuttoned and his sleeves are rolled to his forearms. He clearly hasn’t been to bed, still dressed from the day before, and it looks like he’s spent the night poring over the papers stacked on his cluttered desk.

His dark hair sticks up all over the place, which means he’s likely run his hands through it too many times. I was always combing his hair as a child, but it was as unruly as he was. I’d have never believed he’d grow into such a calm, capable man.

“Cordelia.” He breathes my name like a benediction and rises from his chair, but not before his gaze drops to the sleeping child in my arms. I step further into the room, and he crosses to meet me, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Who is this?”

I swallow tightly. “I found him in the cellar of Judge Maycliffe’s house.”

“Judge Maycliffe? But what…” His eyes flare and his gaze flicks back to the desk, which I now see is cluttered with newspaper articles about the killings across London, the ones I am responsible for. “What did you do?” he whispers in horror.

“Less than he deserved,” I answer coldly. “Had I found the boy before, I’d have made sure he suffered even more.”

“What do you mean, found the boy? What⁠—”

I glance down at Tobias. “Maycliffe had him chained to the wall like an animal.” I swallow tightly, trying to force back the memories. “I remember Maycliffe all too well from my time in the asylum. Whyte allowed him access to the patients. The young boys were his favourites.”

“Dear God,” he breathes out as he looks down at the boy, his eyes welling in sympathy. “Did he⁠—?”

“He won’t remember,” I mutter, stroking his matted hair. “I made sure of that. I’ve healed him too.”

“You healed him?” My brother blinks slowly. “How?”