Page 16 of The Little Shop of Curiosities, The Music Box Part 2

It’s been locked away since Sam and I found it on my doorstep at Christmas, stored with all the other cursed objects in the safe at the back of the shop. I must confess, I haven’t really thought about it. What with Vivienne’s murder and everything else going on, it had slipped my mind.

But there’s something deeply unsettling about those notes, something beyond the fact that it started playing of its own volition from a floor below me while locked inside a thick, impenetrable safe. I shouldn’t even be able to hear it up here. I don’t need to ask how it’s possible. The air is thick with the scent of magic, the sharp scent of petrichor with a smoky undertone.

What the hell?

Why now? Today of all days. Before I have a chance to think about what I’m doing, I leave my flat and head downstairs, toward the back room of the shop. Pausing at the threshold, I draw in a slow breath. The air is so thick down here it’s making me dizzy. The notes are louder too. Now every single hair on my body is standing on end and a shiver runs down my spine.

There is something very wrong with that sound.

I back out of the room and then almost jump out of my skin at a sudden banging at the shop’s back door, which is the entrance to my flat. The music stops instantly, and the air clears until only a faint hint of the heaviness remains.

I draw in a shaky breath to calm my racing heart and smooth down my jacket, then open the door.

Sam is standing on the other side, causing my heart to thump harder, and for one awful moment, I want to throw myself into his arms and hold on tight. But I don’t. I straighten my spine, assume my most neutral expression, and take a step backwards.

Taking this as an invitation that I’m not sure I meant to imply, Sam steps inside. He’s wearing one of his usual suits, his only concession to formality being that he’s actually buttoned the collar and tightened his tie. It’s usually so loose that I sometimes wonder why he wears the damn thing.

He looks around, his brow furrowing, and sniffs. “You been burning candles down here, Prickles? It smells like a bonfire during a summer storm. Or are you actually having yourself a little witchy fire in the backroom? Should I have brought marshmallows and a fork with me?” he teases.

“You’re utterly ridiculous,” I say dryly.

His lips curve and he steps in close enough that I can almost feel the heat of his body. I should move back, get some distance between us, but I don’t. Nor do I move when he reaches up and grasps my jaw, skimming his fingertips along my skin as those dark eyes dance over my face. Instead, I watch his gaze drop to my lips, and my breath catches when he leans in and those soft lips press against mine.

Despite what happened between us at Christmas, we’ve barely seen each other over the past several weeks. Admittedly, I’ve been using the Vivienne situation to take a step back and get my bearings. I don’t know what we’ve been building between us, but after all the time we spent talking over the phone while he was in Yorkshire, I can at least call us friends.

Friends who kiss.

My lips part on a sigh, offering him permission to deepen the kiss. One of his hands pinches my jaw softly and the other snakes around to grip my neck. My mind empties of every thought but him, and this time my heart pounds for a completely different reason.

The slide of his lips, the taste of his tongue. God, this man knows how to kiss.

I don’t want this moment to end, but it has to. I draw back, even though it takes everything in me to do so. Sam smiles, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against mine. His hands still grip me gently, as if he’s worried I’ll disappear…or run.

The latter is far more likely.

“Missed you, Prickles.” He smiles. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much. I’m not avoiding you, I promise. Just with the investigation into Viv’s murder and trying to rebuild my PI business…”

The guilt sharpens, and I pull back, causing him to drop his hold on my jaw. I clear my throat and force a polite smile.

“Have you and Danny made any progress?” I ask, for want of anything better to say.

Sam’s smile fades as he searches my face, for what I’m not sure. I’m almost certain he’s going to ask me what’s wrong, which will only result in more lies, but he seems to think better of it and instead says, “No, not much. The new detective at the Yard is making things really difficult. We’re really no further along than we were when it first happened, and if we don’t get Maddie away from Detective Byrnes soon, we may end up with a second homicide on our hands.”

“I’m sorry,” I mutter.

“What are you sorry for, Prickles?”

I shrug. “Seemed like the thing to say.” My fingers twitch and I fight the urge to straighten his tie, which yes, might be tighter than usual but is still off-centre, and it’s bugging me now that I’ve noticed it. “I would’ve thought you’d be heading to the funeral with Danny and Tristan.”

“I said I’d meet them there,” he says casually. “Thought I’d ride with you.”

“I don’t drive.”

“But I do.”

My eyes narrow. “Why are you really here?” The realisation comes to me suddenly. “Oh my god, I don’t need babysitting, Sam.”

He shrugs again. “Pays to be a bit cautious. After all, there is a maniac on the loose using magic to kill.”