Page 5 of The Little Shop of Curiosities, The Music Box Part 2

I help myself to a cigarette knowing Viv wouldn’t have minded. The lighter is a strange one, heavier than most and with some kind of bronze plating in the shape of a mermaid on it. She’s lounging on rocks, and even in the dim light she’s so lifelike that her long hair seems to be actually swaying in an unseen breeze.

I snort and shake my head. It’s so Viv to have something like this rather than a cheap plastic one from the closest corner shop.

Cupping my hands, I light the cigarette and take a long drag. My head falls back against the brick wall as I exhale and watch the smoke coil upward.

The feel of magic in the air has lessened now. Inside the shop, it’s still really fucking potent, but outside it seems to have begun to dissipate. My skin still prickles like the air is charged with electricity though.

I take another couple of drags while the events of the night roll over in my mind. Once the cigarette is down to a stub, I drop it to the ground, grinding it out under my heel. Slipping the lighter into my pocket, I head towards the nearest bin to toss the rest of the packet. It took me ages to quit smoking in the first place. It’s probably not a good idea to start again now, especially not when I’m trying to support Mum’s recovery by being healthier myself.

Just as I’m about to toss the packet into the bin, something written on the back of it catches my eye in the dim light. Retrieving my phone from my pocket, I switch the flashlight on. As the glow highlights the letters and numbers, my breath catches in my throat.

It reads SAM 4532.

Does she mean me? And if she does⁠—

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

2

By the time I finally finish crying and crawl back into bed, my eyes are like sandpaper. Pulling the covers up over my head, I cocoon myself in my own little world of misery.

I can’t believe this is happening. Why would someone want to kill Vivienne? And more than that, why kill her using magic? There are a lot less time-consuming ways to end someone’s life, ones requiring a far lesser skill set.

After a while, I start to feel a little hot and claustrophobic, so I pull the covers down and tuck them under my chin.

In the darkness of my room, I stare at the ceiling for a long time until a dim glow catches the corner of my eye. When I look across to the foot of my bed, my breath catches in my throat and my heart starts pounding.

It’s her. My mother. Vivienne is hovering at the end of my bed.

Slowly, I push myself to a sitting position so as not to startle her, but she’s not looking at me. I don’t think she even registers my presence. She just stares at the wall somewhere above my head. My gaze drifts down her ghostly form and notes the bloodstains on her dress, the paleness of her skin, the dark, sunken shadows beneath her eyes. What most draws my attention are the slashing sigils etched painfully into her skin. They’re like nothing I’ve ever seen before, and they send a chill through my body, right down to my bones.

But the worst thing of all? Is her mouth.

It’s…not there anymore. Just a patch of smooth skin where her lips should’ve been and an ominous-looking symbol.

I blink, and between one breath and another, she’s gone.

The room is empty, but the atmosphere is cold and there’s a scent in the air. Something I can’t quite place, something dark. A prickly sensation ripples across my skin, making the tiny hairs rise, and I know it’s the aftermath of some pretty powerful magic, the kind I’ve never experienced before.

And it scares me.

I fall back on my bed and pull the covers over my head once more, trying to shut out the world. But I can’t shut out my thoughts. I close my eyes inside my little dark cave, but sleep doesn’t come. I toss and turn, unable to quiet my mind or my body, and by the time morning approaches, I’m beyond exhausted.

I haven’t slept properly in weeks. But now thoughts of the nightmares that have plagued me since I arrived in London barely enter my head. Only one thought swirls round and round to an exhausting drumbeat: My mother is dead. My mother is dead.

Why did I wait so long? Why was I such a coward? Now it’s too late. What were the secrets she was hiding about the Crawshanks family? Secrets she’s now taken to the grave with her.

I climb out of bed, my body stiff and my actions robotic. I head for the kitchen where I fill the kettle and flick the switch to set it heating, not really paying attention to what I’m doing. I don’t know how long I stare out of the window and watch the pale rise of dawn creep over the buildings opposite my flat. An empty mug sits on the counter in front of me, and by the time I look down at it, the kettle has long since boiled and is now almost cold again.

What am I supposed to do now?

I’m startled from my daze at the sudden pounding at my front door carrying up into the flat. It must be Sam. Tristan and Danny are still up north, snowed in at some hotel, and I doubt it would be anyone else at this time of the morning.

Turning away from the window, I head downstairs and open the door to find Sam standing on the doorstep, just as I suspected. His usually playful gaze is absent, his mouth devoid of the half smile almost permanently curving his soft lips. Now they’re set in a grim line, and his eyes are dark and troubled.

For a long moment, we just stare at each other. Finally, I realise he’s making no move to step inside.

“Are you going to come in?” I take a small step back to allow him to enter.