Page 95 of The Little Shop of Curiosities, The Music Box Part 2

“Hello?” I answer. “Grumps?”

“Harrison! Oh, thank goodness.” He exhales sharply. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

“I switched it to silent during the funeral, and I must’ve forgotten to switch it back. What’s going on? Why do I have so many missed calls from Dad and Pops?”

“Harrison, they know.”

“Know what?” I say faintly.

“Pretty much everything I do.”

“You told them?” The words come out a little more accusatory than I intended.

“Harry, what happened to you last night?” Grumps says in concern.

“What?”

“We know something bad happened, all three of us felt it. Did you forget we’re all witches, boy? Or that we have a deep connection to you? When your dads couldn’t get hold of you, they called me, and you know how shrill Hayden gets when he’s panicking. He was ready to call international rescue and fake a medical emergency to try and get himself airlifted off that cruise ship. Lucas had to talk him off that particular ledge. I told them I was already in London, so after that, I had to tell them the truth.”

I sigh. “It’s alright, Grumps. This is my fault. I should have told them the truth from the beginning.” I rub my face tiredly and head towards the kitchen, needing some caffeine before I call my dads back. But as I get to the door of the living room, I stop dead. Sam is laid out on the sofa, where he’s obviously spent the night. His clothes are rumpled from sleeping in them, and there are bloodstains on his shirt. My gaze tracks across to the empty glass and the bottle of Glenfiddich Grumps gave me when I moved to London, now minus about one-third of the contents.

“What happened?” I hear Grumps ask. “Was it the demon? The killer?”

“Both,” I mutter, still fixed on Sam. He opens his eyes and meets mine.

“Well?” Grumps says impatiently. “What happened?”

“They’re both dealt with. It’s over.”

My phone starts vibrating in my hand again, and when I glance at the screen, I wince. “Grumps, I have to go. Dad’s calling me. I’ll call you back later and explain everything, okay?”

“You’d better,” he huffs, and hangs up as I accept the call from my dad.

“Harrison!” Dad’s voice is so loud I have to pull the phone a few inches from my ear. “What the hell happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m okay, Dad. I’m sorry I didn’t answer your calls. I put my phone on silent for a funeral yesterday and forgot to change it back.”

“A funeral? Do you mean your mother’s?” he says sharply. I can hear how angry and concerned he is. The two usually go hand in hand with him.

“No,” I reply quietly, my eyes still on Sam, who is watching me, his expression unreadable. “That was weeks ago. This was Tristan’s dad’s funeral.”

“Oh? Did he get murdered too?”

“No.” I wince. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth about Vivienne.”

“When did she die?” he demands.

“Just before you left,” I confess.

“You let us get on this cruise ship and go on bloody holiday knowing your mother had just been brutally murdered by a psychotic witch and said nothing?”

“Dad, I—” I break off, unable to force the words past my lips. There’s a hot, hard ball of misery trapped in my throat. I deserve every accusation he throws at me. I was in the wrong and I know it.

“What happened last night? Are you hurt?”

“I—”

“Don’t even think about lying to us, Harrison Ames. You are in so much trouble right now. Tell me the truth.”