Page 41 of The Little Shop of Curiosities, The Music Box Part 2

“Are you okay, baby?” he whispers against my ear.

“Mmm, so good,” I slur, my face still mashed up against the pillow.

I literally can’t move, I’m boneless. I feel him chuckle against my back and then slowly withdraw from my body.

I slip in and out of sleep, vaguely aware of him moving around, cleaning us both up and sliding me into bed properly. When he finally wraps me up in his arms, I have one final, half-coherent thought before I descend into a deeper slumber.

“I’ll tell him the truth tomorrow.”

10

Crowscroft Asylum

London 1850

It’s dark, not a single star in the sky tonight, only a full blood moon barely visible above the ever-present smog of the city. Every now and then, the freezing cold, heavily polluted air shifts and I catch a glimpse of it.

It seems fitting. A full circle.

I remember the last blood moon I saw staining the sky above this evil place. It had been the night they brought me here; my body still tender with pain from bringing my son into this world. My heart broken from the betrayal of my own blood.

I was dragged in through those very doors, kicking and screaming under the watchful eye of my cruel father. It was he who had me committed to this hellhole, who delivered me straight into the hands of Dr Ignatius Whyte.

I pull my cloak tighter and allow myself the memory. I should never have been brought here. My only crime had been falling in love with a boy and bearing him a child out of wedlock. It’s funny, but I no longer can bring to mind the face of the boy I’d once loved. It was a lifetime ago. The girl I was is long gone—in fact, I can barely even recall her.

The second time I saw the outside of this place, I was broken and dying, carried out like a frail old woman. My saviour had been my brother, who’d thought he was rescuing me. But he was wrong. My body may have healed, but I cannot be saved, and after tonight, he’ll finally accept that.

All I care about is finishing what I started. It all ends tonight.

Dr Whyte thinks he’s escaped me. He hasn’t been at his private residence in weeks, not since Ishaan left him the judge’s eyes as a little gift. Instead, he’s been holed up in his precious asylum, as if the thick walls and his loyal staff will be enough to protect him from my justice.

How foolish.

A small smile curves my lips, and my stomach tightens in anticipation. I take a minute to savour it, then head towards the locked entrance. A casual flip of my hand throws the bolts, and the doors creak open.

Several pairs of eyes follow me as I walk into the lobby, mostly belonging to orderlies and nurses. All of them look stunned to see me stroll so brazenly into the hellhole nobody expected me to return to.

I head into the east wing, which is filled with rooms packed beyond capacity with patients. I’m barely halfway down the dimly lit corridor when I hear my name called in a sharp, authoritative tone. A tone with which I have heard too many times to count. Pausing, I turn around to a familiar sight.

Sister Agatha’s signature haughty expression meets my gaze, her high-necked deep blue dress and starched white apron as pristine as ever. On either side of her are the two orderlies who never stray far from her side, Hobbs and Cooper. I am very well acquainted with all three of them. Hobbs and Cooper took great satisfaction in pinning me down. Of having me helpless and at their mercy. They drugged me, groped me, dunked me in ice cold baths, took perverse delight in my suffering. And all this mistreatment happened under the steely-eyed gaze of Sister Agatha, who was absolutely loyal to Dr Whyte.

“Cordelia.” Sister Agatha’s voice is laced with icy authority. “I see you have returned to us. That will please Dr Whyte.” She pauses and looks me up and down, her eyes narrowing. “Although I believe some punishment is in order for the inconvenience and injury you have caused him.”

Hobbs grins beside her, his fists tightening on the buckled leather restraints he’s holding in his hands.

I stare at them dispassionately, my tone calm. “I think you’re mistaken at just who will be punished.”

Fortunately, I don’t need to look to know Ishaan is materialising behind me because I’m too busy enjoying the look of abject horror on their faces at the sight of my demon.

“Ishaan,” I purr in pleasure, “rip them apart.”

He surges forward and I continue walking. Their terrified and pain-filled screams echoing in the hallway behind me warm me right down to my bones. Of course, their agonised cries set off the patients, and a cacophony of hoots, screams, and door-rattling fills the air as I pass by.

Power floods my body, fed by the hysteria of my fellow prisoners. Maybe it’s time I give them back a little of their power too. After all, it would be selfish of me to keep all the vengeance for myself.

Spreading my arms wide, I let loose winding tendrils of deep purple smoke from my fingertips, unbolting rooms and loosening straitjackets and restraints as I go.

Doors slam open as the patients escape. All I can hear is the screams of the staff and the chaos left in my wake. The air is alive, pulsing with madness. I throw my head back and laugh as I head towards the office of Dr Ignatius Whyte.