Page 98 of The Little Shop of Curiosities, The Music Box Part 2

He nods, his brows drawing down. “I fear I must accept part of the blame, Sam. Harrison would have told you the truth about his parentage eventually. He does things in his own time, always has. The subject of Vivienne has been a tender one for him all his life. He was just coming to the point where he was going to tell you, but I told him not to.”

I stop abruptly and stare at him. “You did? Why?”

He inhales slowly, then lets the breath out. “When I realised what the killer wanted Vivienne’s blood for, and that she’d been dosing herself with magic to render her blood essentially useless, I knew Harrison was in a very dangerous position as the only other living descendant of Constance Crawshanks that we know of. I couldn’t risk the wrong person finding out or someone overhearing.”

I absorb his words as we begin walking again. “I can understand that, but he had months before then to tell me the truth, and he didn’t.”

“Well, that’s something you’ll need to discuss with my grandson, but I can tell you this. You are important to him, and he doesn’t form attachments easily.”

Harrison’s building starts to come into view. The old man has led me in a huge circle to arrive right back where we started.

“I think you should go and talk to him,” he states. His tone is firm but not unkind as we come to a stop.

“I don’t know.” I frown, glancing down at my ruined clothes. I really don’t look—or smell—my best. “I should probably go home to shower and change.”

“There’s a perfectly good shower in there.” He pokes his walking stick at Harrison’s front door. “You may not want my advice, Sam, but as an old man, it’s my prerogative to give it anyway. Just go talk to Harrison. You may not resolve anything, but at least you can clear the air. Tell him how you feel. He has just as much to learn as you do, and he doesn’t have the experience of opening up to others. He’s kept himself isolated for a long time.” He offers me a small smile. “I think you’re just what he needs, but equally, I think he’s what you need too.”

I look up at the windows of Harrison’s flat.

“Just tell me one thing,” he asks, and I turn to him. “Is he safe?”

I nod. “For now. The demon’s been returned to where he came from.”

“And the killer?”

“Issac Crawshanks,” I answer. “When Cordelia was incarcerated at Crowscroft Asylum, she gave birth to a daughter, who was then taken away from her. We have no record of her at all, but according to Issac, he’s descended from that bloodline.”

He chews his lip, deep in thought. “I’ll look into the family tree. We’ll need to make sure no other distant cousins come crawling out of the woodwork.”

“At least, not homicidal ones,” I mutter.

“This isn’t over though?”

I shake my head. “No, I think we’ve barely grazed the surface. The Crawshanks family have more than one secret, and it’s all tied to that bookshop.”

His lips tighten, and he looks determined. “Thank you for being honest with me, Sam. I appreciate it. Now, one last piece of unsolicited advice if you’ll indulge me.”

“Sure,” I murmur.

“Don’t leave things unsaid. You never know if you’re going to lose the chance to make things right. Harrison and his mother are a prime example.”

That’s a bit of a complicated example, but I get what he’s trying to say and give a short nod.

“Good,” he replies. “Then I’ll give you both some space. Tell my grandson I’ll speak to him later. I’ll be at Riley’s house, but something tells me I may be staying in London longer than I anticipated.”

“Okay, Mr Ames.”

“Call me Wallace. Or, if you prefer, Grumps,” he replies gruffly, then turns and strolls off.

He’s as abrupt as his grandson. At least now I know where Harrison gets it.

Taking a deep breath, I try the handle on the back door, then frown. Harrison didn’t come down and lock it behind me when I left. Locking it now, I head upstairs to his flat and let myself in. I’ve barely stepped across the threshold when I hear him crying.

It makes my heart hurt.

I find him sitting on the bathroom floor with his back to the side of the bath and his knees drawn up.

He looks up at the sound of my footsteps. I cross the room, slide down onto the floor beside him, and lean against the bath panel. Wordlessly, I take his hand and hold it. For a moment, we just sit in silence.