Page 17 of The Little Shop of Curiosities, The Music Box Part 2

“We don’t know that they used magic to kill,” I pointed out. “Right now, all we know is that they used magic to bind Vivienne’s soul to keep her from talking in the afterlife…unless”—I frown—“have you got her post-mortem results back yet?”

Sam shakes his head. “Look, I’m not trying to babysit you. I know you’re capable of taking care of yourself. Maybe I need you to protect me? Have you ever thought of that? Not everyone has their own honest-to-god witch with kick-ass powers. Maybe I need you to guard my body.”

“I stand by my earlier statement, you are utterly ridiculous. Do you really think I’d fall for that? You’re just as capable as I am.”

“Is that a compliment, Prickles?” He grins.

I sigh and roll my eyes. “Why are you like this?”

“Humour is how I deal with uncomfortable situations.”

“Did you just call me an uncomfortable situation?”

“No,” he snorts. “But I hate funerals. I figured it would at least be better with you. We could suffer through it together.”

“How romantic.”

He grins. “How about it? Wanna be my date?”

“To a funeral? Of a murder victim? From a case that you are helping to investigate?”

“Never let it be said I don’t know how to show a man a good time.”

“If you’d been around in the Victorian era, you would have been one of those men who took their date to watch a live autopsy at the Royal College of Surgeons, wouldn’t you?”

He chuckles. “Is that a yes?”

“It’s a we’re both going to the same funeral so I might as well get a lift with you. It saves me getting the Tube, I suppose.”

“And I really appreciate the lukewarm enthusiasm.”

“I don’t like funerals either, so this is as good as it gets.” I pull my phone from my pocket and check the time. “I suppose we should get this over with.”

“That’s the spirit, Prickles.” Sam opens the door, and I grab my keys on the way out.

Sadness swamps me. And this time it’s not someone else’s feelings I’m being involuntarily smothered with.

Nope, it’s all my own. I shift on the uncomfortable chair in the crematorium and glance around the almost empty room. On the left side of the room, Chan sits with Aidan beside him. Behind them are Maddie and her wife, Sonia. A middle-aged man with a cold expression sits directly behind them, but I don’t recognise him. To the right side of the room, Dusty sits next to Tristan and Danny in the front row.

Besides me and Sam, there’s only one other person in attendance, a man sitting in the back corner. He’s in his sixties, maybe. His hair is pure white, his eyes a pale green, and he’s wearing a black suit with a crisp white shirt and a perfectly knotted tie. I don’t recognise him either, so I turn back to the coffin on the dais at the front of the room.

This was all my mother’s life amounted to. A handful of people, most of them she met in the last couple of years. Was she lonely? Did she intentionally keep people at arm’s length like I do? Is this what it’s going to be like when my time comes?

The thought makes me even sadder.

I glance across to Sam, who is reading the order of service, I think more to have something to do than out of any real desire to see which hymns Tristan and Danny chose.

A throat clears at the small podium beside the coffin, and I turn my attention to the officiant who, obviously realising there will be no other mourners attending the shamefully small funeral, seems ready to start.

“Friends, we are gathered here today in remembrance of our dearly departed sister, Vivienne. Let us come together in unity and share our sorrow at her passing, but also celebrate her life, which I’m sure was lived to the fullest.”

Looking around, I can’t say that I believe that to be true. As his voice drones on, I lose track of what he’s saying. My skin begins to prickle, and I roll my shoulders uncomfortably. It feels like I’m being watched. I turn my head and my eyes lock with the man sitting behind Maddie and Sonia. He’s staring at me brazenly, his mouth set in a thin line, his eyes dark and penetrating. There’s something about that gaze that unnerves me.

“Sam,” I say quietly. I feel rather than see him turn his attention to me. “Who’s that man sitting behind Maddie?”

“That’s Detective Byrnes.” I can hear the disdain lacing his usually easy-going tone.

The air begins to grow heavy, and it feels like it’s charged with static electricity. Once again, the hairs on my arms rise, and I taste the magic on the air.