Page 83 of The Little Shop of Curiosities, The Music Box Part 2

I blink in confusion. It looks like Inspector Byrnes, the police detective who showed up out of the blue and took an instant dislike to Danny and Tristan. But at the same time, it’s also not him.

This person is using some sort of spell to change his appearance, but here in this shop supercharged with magic, I can see straight through his disguise to an old man. He’s in his late seventies, maybe. I’ve never been any good at guessing people’s ages, but his face is heavily lined. His brows are wiry and almost white, his hair the same. When I look down at his hands, they’re twisted and gnarled with age.

“You’re not Inspector Byrnes.”

His eyes narrow and his thin lips curl in distaste. “I’m not, and if you’d been a witch worth your salt, you’d have known that from the beginning.” His gaze sweeps over my half-naked and graffitied body. “I must confess, I don’t know why he was so insistent you be kept alive.”

“Who?” I demand.

He ignores my question, instead just continuing to stare at me, his twisted fingers stroking his bony jaw. “I was expecting you to be slightly more impressive.”

“Well, you’re not exactly catching me at my best,” I mutter.

Taking a slow breath, I reach inside myself for my magic, but something is wrong. I can’t seem to access it. Some of my panic must bleed through my expression because the old man chuckles.

“What’s the matter?” he tuts. “Missing something?”

I glare at him. “What did you do?”

He lifts his chin, indicating the bindings at my wrists, which I’m trying to ignore even as my skin blisters beneath them.

“That’s witch rope. Don’t you know anything, boy?” he scoffs. “You’re not fit to bear the Crawshanks name.”

Something in the loathing of his tone and the resentment in his eyes brings a moment of clarity. “But you are?” I reply coolly. “You’re a descendant too, aren’t you?”

“I am Issac, the true descendant of the Crawshanks bloodline,” his says imperiously. “I come from Cordelia. Unlike you, who were spawned from her useless sister.”

“Useless?” I raise a brow. “And yet Constance was powerful enough to stop her sister and trap a demon.”

The man bares his teeth and hisses. “You dare to think you’re more powerful… more deserving than me?”

“More powerful, I have no idea. More deserving?” I hum a little. “Debatable. Have a more highly evolved moral compass? Definitely.” We stare at each other for a long, silent moment. “Why did you do it?” I whisper. “Why did you kill Vivienne? We both know unlocking a blood-magic spell only takes a vial’s worth of blood at most. There was no need for her to die.”

Issac’s grin is filled with sadistic glee. “I’d have thought you’d be glad.”

“Why the hell would I be glad?”

“I did you a favour. She was a whore, getting herself pregnant so young. Then she threw you away like you were nothing.”

I can’t help my flinch as his words hit a little too close, but he notices, and his smile widens.

“That’s right. She didn’t give a fuck about her bastard child. You were just a dirty little secret she had to get rid of. She didn’t deserve the Crawshanks legacy,” he growls in disgust. “This place, the fortune tucked away in several accounts. I should have killed her when I killed her parents. Their deaths were so unsatisfying. I really had wanted to make them suffer, just like I finally did with their slut of a daughter, but the timing wasn’t right. I couldn’t afford to draw too much attention, so I had to make it look like an accident.”

“You killed her—” I suck in a sharp breath. “Why?”

“Why did I kill your grandparents?” He raises one bushy brow. “The same reason I killed your drunken whore of a mother, the same reason I’m going to kill you. Because I hate you. Because I am going to wipe out the whole of Constance’s bloodline.” His gaze sweeps the room. “Can you feel the power in this place? There is so much more here than you realise. You have no idea of the secrets it hides. You are unworthy of it.”

“I don’t want it,” I admit. “Never did. And neither did Vivienne, she was trapped here.”

“Aww, defending your mummy?” he mocks. “Even after she threw you away like trash. You really are pathetic. I’d have smothered you in your crib if I could.”

“Then why didn’t you?” I hiss.

“I was beyond tempted, but that bitch got rid of you before I could find you. Gave you to those two fucking poofs that have the nerve to call themselves witches.”

Anger sears through me.

“Don’t call them that!” My voice reverberates through the entire room like a sonic boom, making the floorboards tremble beneath him.