Chapter 12
The rain hammers down, soaking my hair in the moments it takes me to run from my parked car to the front of Harrison’s shop.
There’s no point in trying to use an umbrella, not in this gale force wind. Ducking my head down, I reach the door and open it quickly, hurrying inside.
The door closes behind me, and I shake out my trench coat. I probably should’ve buttoned it because now my shirt is soaked through. Wiping the dripping water from my face and running my hands through my hair to push it out of my eyes, I take in the space around me.
Neat and tidy, and as fascinating as the proprietor himself.
It’s a small, square room, with large windows to the front.
Glass display cabinets filled with all kinds of intriguing objects line the walls, and sitting in front of the back wall is a desk with a large ledger sat on top of it.
To the side of it is a doorway and beside that in the corner of the room is a comfortable, plush-looking armchair.
I smile when I see the chair, imagining Harrison curled up and reading a book. Spying a small bell on the desk, I step forward and tap the top, listening to the quiet ping.
“I’ll be with you in just a moment,” Harrison calls out from the back room.
Waiting patiently, I take a stroll to the nearest display cabinet and lean in to examine the contents.
I consider myself fairly worldly, but I have to confess I don’t have a clue when it comes to the contents lining the glass shelves.
They seem so random for a shop of occult supplies.
There’s a small, tarnished silver teaspoon, an egg timer, a locket, a small creepy-looking child’s shoe, which looks like it’s from the early nineteenth century, a roughly stitched rag doll, and other macabre items. My fingers twitch, and I have an overwhelming urge to open the cabinet and touch them.
I’m reaching for the handle before I know it but stop when I find it’s securely locked.
Probably for the best. After my brush with death—and I mean the moment I almost died, not when I was sitting in Tristan’s kitchen with the actual Grim Reaper—I wasn’t just left able to see ghosts but also with an uncanny ability to read objects.
Sometimes I’m given images, sometimes snatches of conversations or thoughts, occasionally just a scent.
Fuck my life’s weird these days.
When it first happened, I thought I was going crazy, but no. Apparently, it’s just who I am now. I can’t say I’ve got used to it exactly, but I’m embracing it rather than shying away from it. It certainly comes in handy with my work as a private investigator.
I stare at the objects in the cabinet, and the desire to touch them is so strong I almost rock forward. Just as I’m lifting my hand once again, a voice startles me, breaking the strange hold the cabinet has over me.
“Sorry to keep you, Mr Fleischer. I was trying to find one of the items you request–” Harrison breaks off as he looks up from the package wrapped in brown paper that he’s holding and sees me.
His gaze dips to my wet shirt, which is almost transparent, and his cheeks pinken, then he clears his throat. “You’re not Mr Fleischer.”
“No, I’m not.” The corner of my mouth curves. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
Harrison scowls and looks down at his watch. “He’s late. He should have been here ten minutes ago.”
“Who?”
“Mr Fleischer,” he says in annoyance, then mutters under his breath, “For goodness’ sake, I don’t have all day. I have appointments for a reason.”
“Stand down, Prickles.” I chuckle. “He probably just got held up. We’re having a full-blown monsoon out there in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“It’s a bit hard to miss,” he says primly, and places the package on the counter, then turns his attention back to me.
He’s looking just as gorgeous today, with his neatly combed, flaming red hair, pretty blue eyes, and flushed cheeks.
He’s dressed much the same as the last two times I’ve seen him, in a shirt and tie with a light V-necked sweater over the top.
He looks so delectably tidy and respectable, it just makes me want to muss him all up.
“Do you run your shop by appointment only?” I ask curiously.
“Mostly. I don’t like a lot of people trampling through my stop and touching everything.
This is a highly selective emporium. I source specialty items for those who know how to use them, and I vet my clients thoroughly.
Although I do get the odd walk-in, usually due to word of mouth, but there are only certain harmless items I sell without an appointment.
” His eyes flick to the cabinet I’m standing close to.
“I wouldn’t stare at the items in there too closely,” he warns.
“Why?”
“Because they’re cursed objects, designed to cause as much damage as possible. The longer you look at them the more you’ll want to touch them and…that would be very bad...for you.”
Isn’t that exactly what I’d been doing? Staring at them and feeling an irresistible urge to reach out and touch. I glance back, and the urge to reach for them slams into me this time. I take a step closer but halt in my tracks when I hear Harrison’s soft voice.
“Sam,” he says, his voice cutting through the compulsion. “Come here.”
Even though he’s standing behind the desk, the scent of him washes over me. Something lush and earthy, breaking the strange hold of that collection of random items. His voice tugs at me, and without thinking, I turn and move to the desk.
I blink and shake my head as if coming out of a trance.
“There,” Harrison says matter-of-factly. “Don’t look at them again.”
“Do you actually sell those?” I frown.
“Of course not.” He tuts, rolling his eyes as if it’s an absolutely idiotic question and not a natural assumption given they are displayed in a glass-fronted cabinet.
“I acquire them, study them, and once I’ve figured out how they were cursed, I break the curses so they can’t be used to harm anyone else.
There’s no place in the world for those awful things. ”
“Why have you got them out here on display then?”
“It’s only temporary,” he replies. “It’s the only cupboard I have with a lock. Usually, I have it covered up so the items can’t catch anyone’s eye, but I was cleaning and haven’t put the cover back yet.”
“Perhaps it would be better if it was moved out of the main shop, maybe in the back if there’s space. I could help,” I offer.
“Thank you, but there’s no need.” Harrison shakes his head. “I’m having a large metal safe installed in the back room in a few days.”
“A large metal safe?” I blink. “Are they really that dangerous?”
“In the wrong hands, yes.” He chews the corner of his mouth thoughtfully, and this time my fingers twitch with the urge to reach out and touch those tempting lips.
“Lately, I–” He breaks off, his brows wrinkling.
“What?” I unconsciously lean in closer. Even though there’s a sturdy desk between us, I can’t help but gravitate towards him.
He shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“No, go on,” I urge.
He blows out a heavier breath. “It’s just that the last few cursed items I’ve acquired have been…” He hesitates, but not because he doesn’t want to tell me. It’s more like he’s looking for the right words. “Stronger,” he decides. “Cursed objects always pack a punch and not in a good way.”
“Is there a good way to get punched?” I grin to lighten his mood, and he rolls his eyes.
“You know what I mean.” He goes back to chewing his lip, and I want to tug it free of his teeth and replace it with my mouth.
“What I’m trying to say is that most cursed objects are pretty potent, it’s their very nature, but these ones have been almost supercharged.”
That startles me from my inappropriate thoughts and back to the subject. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure.” He shakes his head slowly. “The original curses would’ve been bad enough, but now they seem more somehow. Like something is powering them up.”
“For what?”
He shrugs. “I wouldn’t have a clue. Right now I’m not even certain what’s causing it.”
“The storm?” I offer.
He stares at me contemplatively, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You know it’s not natural?”
I nod and think back to the restaurant and then again at Danny and Tristan’s place. Beneath all the prickles, there’s a real sense of vulnerability to Harrison, and it makes me want to give him a little part of myself that I’ve only shared with Danny so far.
“I know that the storm is supernatural in origin,” I say, drawing in a breath. “I’m not exactly…normal myself.”
His head tilts curiously as he studies me, and it spurs me on.
“You already know I can see spirits like Tristan can.”
“You said you had a near death experience?” he says, his tone soft.
“Yeah.” I swallow, trying to force back the hidden memories always hovering at the edge of my mind. “I can…when I touch objects, I see things, sometime feel or smell things.”
“Psychometry?” Harrison murmurs.
“I guess so.” I shrug. “When I researched it, that was the closest explanation I came to that explains the things I can do.”
“Hmm.” He purses his lips in thought, glancing at the cabinet of curios. “That would make you especially susceptible to cursed objects.” He turns his head back to me. “You didn’t have anyone to help you? When you first discovered your abilities?”
I shake my head, unable to stop myself from thinking back to those long months of pain and loneliness as I tried to heal.
“The first few months of my recovery were…” I close my eyes and shake my head, not able to force the words past my lips.
I feel a warmth blanket my hand as it rests on the desk, and when I open my eyes, it’s to see Harrison’s hand covering mine.
I look up and he seems as surprised as I am.
His big blue eyes widen, and an arc of electricity shoots through his hand into mine, like static electricity but a thousand times stronger.
For one brief second, I see an image, a black-edged mirror, and it’s so clear it’s almost like I’m standing in front of it.