Page 42 of The Little Shop of Curiosities, The Music Box Part 2

When I finally reach it, I give the locked door a little nudge with my magic. It clicks open and swings slowly inward. Dr Whyte is rushing around his office, gathering papers and files and shoving them into a leather satchel. At the sight of me, he pauses, his eyes widening and his disfigured mouth stretching grotesquely as he lets loose a growl.

I step over the threshold, smirking at the ruined face of the man who took deep pleasure in abusing me for years.

“Hello, Dr Whyte,” I say coldly. “I hear you’ve been looking for me.”

The door slams shut, and he lunges for me, but I lift my hand and let my power loose before he can get near me. My magic catapults him backwards and pins him to the wall, causing the papers he’s been holding to flutter to the desk and floor.

As he struggles, I tighten his invisible bonds and slowly drag him up the wall until he’s suspended several feet above the ground.

“How?” His eyes are wide with fear, and drool spills from his misshapen mouth as he forces the words out. “How are you doing this?”

I tut slowly. “Dr Whyte, you were so caught up in your bright, shiny toy called science, so eager to experiment on the unfortunate inmates of Crowscroft, that you didn’t realise there is a power far older.” I curl my fingers into a fist and he begins to choke, making a pathetic sound in a desperate attempt to draw oxygen in. “Magic, Doctor.”

I uncurl my fingers and he drags in an uneven breath. “What did you do to the others?”

My mouth curves. “Oh, we’ll get to the subject of your friends and associates.” I draw my hand closer and he detaches from the wall. His feet drag over the surface of his desk, scattering more papers, until he hangs midair in front of me. “Now,” I say coldly. “Shall we begin with what you did to my daughter?”

“I-I didn’t do anything to her.” His damaged lower lip makes it impossible for him to speak without spitting and slurring. “She’s alive, I swear.”

I draw my fingers in and tighten the invisible force around his throat again. “Where. Is. She?”

“Sister Agatha took her to an orphanage in Trafalgar Square so she couldn’t be directly traced back to Crowscroft,” he gasps out.

My eyes narrow. “Which orphanage?”

“It’s run by the sisters of St Martin in the Fields.”

My next question makes me sick to even contemplate, but I need to know. “How can I trust that you didn’t give her to the members of your Demon Club?”

“I didn’t, I swear. She was my blood.”

“Do you think you have earned some kind of consideration because of that?” Hate fills every part of me as I stare at him.

“Cordelia, please. Mercy.”

“Mercy?” I whisper. “You think you deserve mercy? After the pain and suffering you’ve forced upon those under your care? Pain that you not only caused but revelled in? No, Doctor. I have something very special planned for you.” I tilt my head, my gaze hardening. “Kneel.”

I bring my hand down sharply and slam him to the floor, his legs folding beneath him in a sickening crunch of bones. An agonised scream is torn from his mouth.

“That’s better,” I croon. My magic holds him in a kneeling position, but I make sure to force his body weight to press down on his crushed legs. “Now, I know you have an absolute fascination with a certain type of creature. You would whisper it in my ear while you were forcing yourself on me. You even named your little club after it.”

I look down at him distastefully. He pants through the pain, sweat dripping from his clammy forehead to the floorboards.

“Say the word.”

“Please,” he whispers.

“SAY IT,” I snap.

“Demon,” he hisses out grudgingly.

“That’s right.” I smile. “You do find demons intriguing, don’t you? Well, this is your lucky night, Dr Whyte. It is my pleasure to introduce you to a real one.”

He looks up at me in pain and confusion.

“Ishaan.” At my murmured summoning, a thick, dark smoke tunnels under the closed door and swirls around the room before coalescing into a form.

Made of writhing smoke snapping with flames, the form grows taller and wider, causing Dr Whyte’s eyes to widen and what’s left of his mouth to fall open. Once it reaches the ceiling, it begins to bend but continues to grow. When the smoke at last parts, Ishaan stands in his true form. Fourteen feet tall and with eight arms, each ending in cruelly hooked, needle-like talons. His eyes are blood red, his skin pale blue, and a crown of flowers adorns his head just above his pointed ears. A slow, malicious smile splits his mouth as he stares at Dr Whyte, rows of sharply pointed teeth coming into view.