Page 53 of The Little Shop of Curiosities, The Music Box Part 2

Lucien shakes his head. “Like I said, that particular version is one of the oldest forms, a lost language. There’s only one person I know who would definitely be able to read it, but she’s busy right now.”

“That’s not very helpful.” I cross my arms, more to keep from touching Sam than from any real annoyance.

“You know, the demon that’s trapped down there?” Lucien strokes his beard. “If he’s old enough, he probably knows the language. Which means he’s awake enough to be whispering in someone’s ear.”

I’m vaguely aware that Lucien is explaining to them that whoever raises a demon and binds it by magic would literally be a god among men. But I don’t need to listen; I know first-hand because I’ve witnessed it.

It’s the power Cordelia wielded.

“Does anyone else get the feeling we’re in really deep shit?” Sam murmurs.

“I have to go.” Lucien frowns. “There’s someone who needs to know about this.” He turns towards the door. “We’ll be in touch.”

“Wait!” I call out, and Lucien pauses, twisting to look back in my direction. “What do you know about the trap itself? How was it made? How was it used to imprison a demon?”

“I’ve only ever heard of one other demon trap like this one. It was created and sealed with blood magic, the strongest magic there is. If this is the same, then it means it can only be unlocked by the blood of a direct descendant of whoever trapped the demon in there in the first place. I have to go,” he repeats, and without another word or backwards glance, he stalks out of the shop, the merry tinkle of bells ringing out in the sudden silence as the door closes.

I stare at the door and as I try to make sense of everything I’ve discovered, Lucien’s words keep repeating in my mind.

He’s awake enough to be whispering in someone’s ear.

My mouth is dry and a wave of nausea washes over me as a new and terrifying thought occurs to me. What if I have this all wrong? What if it’s not Cordelia showing me her memories.

What if it’s the demon?

13

It’s raining as I hurry down the street. It’s the first time I’ve been to Cheapside, but like most of London, it’s easy to navigate, especially since I looked up the quickest route to my destination before I left my office.

Turning down a narrow side street where the buildings either side of me are part of old London, like a narrow snickelway time forgot, as opposed to the wide, bright main high street I’ve just left. A sudden change in the atmosphere, faint but definitely measurable, causes me to slow my pace. The shadows are deeper than they should be for this time of day, and the air itself is heavier, making my skin prickle with awareness and the hairs on the back of my neck rise.

The rain isn’t particularly heavy, but the wind is cold and biting, not surprising since we’re still in that strange space between no longer winter but not quite spring.

About halfway down the street, I find the address I’m looking for. Two columns flank the small entrance and frame a highly polished black door. Rivulets of rain slide down its surface, sparkling slightly in the dim light as they slip downwards, past an intricately detailed lion knocker with a ring through its mouth.

To the left of me is an intercom with brass buttons and to my right is a shiny metal plaque which reads:

Hadley & Mason, by appointment only

Pushing my wet hair from my face, I reach out and press the button. A few seconds after the quiet buzz, an abrupt but well-spoken female voice answers.

“Hadley and Mason.”

“Good morning,” I reply. “I was hoping to speak with Mr Hadley. I’m⁠—”

She cuts me off sharply. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No. My name is Sam Stone. I’m a private invest⁠—”

“Appointments only,” she snaps, and hangs up.

I huff in annoyance and press the buzzer again and again, then decide to keep my finger pressed down on it.

After what seems like an inordinately long amount of time, the intercom crackles and the same prim voice answers.

“Hadley and Mason,” she says, like she doesn’t know it’s still me.

“I’d like to speak with Mr Hadley regarding the current murder investigation of one of his clients. It’s import⁠—”