Page 82 of The Little Shop of Curiosities, The Music Box Part 2

I can’t speak. Can’t even shake my head in denial.

“I’ve respected your boundaries. I’ve never asked you about your birth mother or the circumstances of your adoption because I figured it was private and you’d tell me if you wanted to. I want to give you that space, Harrison, I do. But can’t you see how dangerous it is? If Danny and Tristan are right and Viv’s killer is hell-bent on opening the demon trap and setting Ishaan loose, then Viv’s son is in very real danger of being kidnapped or even killed.”

It’s too hot in here.

I can’t breathe.

I need to get out.

“I can’t do this.” I shake my head.

How can I be responsible for the surge of supernatural abilities? Why are they centred around me and the Whitechapel bookshop? Sam’s right. It is dangerous. I’m dangerous. And he needs to stay far away from me until I can figure it out.

“Harrison,” Sam says as I grab my jacket and pick up the lunch box containing the cursed rabbit’s foot.

“No, I can’t do this right now.” I head towards the door and pull it open. I hear Sam move towards me, and I stop, turning to face him. “I’m not him,” I tell him desperately. “I’m not Sage Wilson.”

I’m Harrison, I tell myself as I storm out, slamming the door behind me.

I’ve pretty certain I’ve just ruined the best thing in my life, but I’m terrified that if I don’t run, I’ll drag Sam down with me. I won’t let him become another victim of the Crawshanks Curse.

I’d rather die first.

19

My head pounds relentlessly. It’s so heavy, and I struggle to focus.

The last thing I remember was being outside the pub after the funeral. Martin’s service had been very nice, Chan had done an amazing job, but I needed to get some air. With everything that happened with Sam yesterday, the revelation that I might somehow be responsible for the increase in supernatural cases and then being at the funeral with everyone’s emotions crashing in on me had been overwhelming.

Over the months since I’ve been with Sam, it’s been getting easier to manage my empathic abilities. Somehow, he grounds me, makes it easier to focus. Being in such a busy city, I’ve had no choice but to learn how to block out others’ emotions or I’d have been a basket case by now.

But that still doesn’t explain what happened. I was outside and then the next moment⁠—

Darkness.

I blink at the blurry lights above me. My stomach churns and bile burns at the back of my throat. Then I taste it.

Dark magic.

A high ceiling comes into view as I open my eyes fully. I’m indoors somewhere. Fighting back a brutal wave of nausea, I draw in a slow breath through my nose and force it out through my mouth, then repeat the action a couple of times until I’m certain I’m not going to be sick.

My shoulders scream in agony and my body shivers violently. I’m so cold.

When the room finally stops spinning, I recognise my surroundings with a sinking feeling. I’m in the bookshop.

It’s then I’m aware of the ropes binding my wrists. I’m strung up over a hook, leaving me suspended a foot above the ground. Tiny white flowers are woven into the twisted fibres of the ropes, and my skin burns wherever the flowers touch. I’ve been stripped to the waist, and the same symbols which had marked Vivienne’s corpse now adorn my body. My feet are also bare, my toes almost numb in the icy air of the room.

Well, fuck.

Did I just get myself kidnapped?

My gaze trails to the wooden floor, and my stomach clenches. A circle has been cast over the demon trap, with lit candles that give off an unpleasant, oily scent placed at intervals around its perimeter.

Footsteps approach from behind me, and I try to twist my body, but it’s no use. From this angle, I can’t see who it is.

“You’re awake, then?”

The voice is deep and male, and has a rasp to it. A moment later, a hooded figure appears. From where I’m dangling, he doesn’t look particularly tall, maybe average height, and is dressed in a very clichéd deeply cowled white robe. He stops a few steps from me and draws his hood back.