Page 19 of The Little Shop of Curiosities, The Music Box Part 2

“But I’d rather be with you,” he says simply, and I’m not sure what to do with that because deep down, it’s what I want too.

“There’ll be time for us,” I say honestly.

Just as soon as I get up the courage to tell you the truth about me.

“But I need some time on my own to think over everything.”

“At least let me drive you home.”

My mouth curves. “I told you I don’t need a babysitter. I’m not going to get murdered by an evil wizard in broad daylight on the Bakerloo line.”

“Prickles,” he says lightly, even though I know he feels anything but. “Did you just make a joke?”

“It’s been known to happen on occasion.” Then I sober. “I’ll be fine, Sam.” He hesitates, his brows drawing down. “Would it make you feel better if I text you when I get home?” I offer.

“Yes.”

I chuckle, then glance around. Tris and the others are quite far away, looking at the memorial flowers, and no one is paying attention, so I impulsively lean in and drop a soft kiss on Sam’s lips. When I draw back, he’s surprised but can’t hide his pleasure over me taking the first step this time.

“Go spend some time with the others,” I urge him. “I’m sure Tristan is a little shaken up after what happened.”

He nods and steps back. “You promise you’ll message so I know you’re okay?”

“I promise,” I reply softly.

“Because if you don’t,” he says, walking backwards in the direction of Danny and the others, “I’m coming to stalk you.”

“You’re going to do that anyway,” I reply, and he grins. Sending me one last wink, he turns and heads to the little group huddled in the distance.

“This is such a bad idea.” I sigh and set off down the winding path towards the main entrance of the grounds.

When I reach the main road, I’m about to turn left towards the Tube station but instead stop dead in the middle of the path. There, a short distance in front of me, is the fox I saw last year in front of Vivienne’s shop during the eclipse.

Its distinctive black and burnished red colouring is unmistakable as it sits there calmly, like it’s been waiting for me.

We stare at each other for several long seconds, then it stands up and trots off down the road, but after a few steps, it pauses and looks back over its shoulder at me, and I know it wants me to follow it. Strangely, I don’t feel afraid, just curious.

Before I can second-guess myself, my feet are moving. We head down winding back alleys and across roads until we finally round a corner and are in front of a large, slightly weathered iron archway. The fox saunters straight through, so I follow. Once I enter the grounds, I see an old, run-down chapel. The fox has led me to a sprawling graveyard. An old one.

We wind between aged headstones and overgrown grass, and I catch a glimpse of some of the dates on the graves, none of which are later than the early to mid-1900s. Eventually, the fox stops and sits, elegantly wrapping its long, bushy tail around its legs while it waits for me to catch up.

When I finally approach, it dips its head, then stands up, walks directly into a headstone, and disappears through it.

What the hell?

I look around, but no, it’s nowhere to be seen. It had seemed so solid, so real.

I dip my gaze to the gravestone I’ve been led to, and my breath catches in my throat as I read the inscription.

Here lies Cordelia Crawshanks…

6

“She was a complicated woman.”

I jolt in shock. I don’t know how long I’ve stood here staring at the grave in front of me. I certainly didn’t hear anyone creeping up on me, but when I turn sharply to see who’s spoken, I see the white-haired man from Vivienne’s funeral approaching.

Does he mean Vivienne?