Chapter 23 #3
“It is.” I set it down on the table, and Sam stares at it.
“Sam,” I say softly, “why don’t you go upstairs and put the kettle on? It wouldn’t be good for you to be in here when I open the safe. We already know you’re drawn to objects like these based on the way you reacted when they were in the glass cabinet out in the shop.”
Sam watches me closely for a moment, then nods. “Fine, but if you’re not upstairs in ten minutes, I’m coming back down here to make sure you haven’t been changed into a chicken.”
“A chicken?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know how curses work.”
“In many different ways, but I must admit, I’ve not yet come across one that can change someone into poultry.”
“Ten minutes.” Sam points at me. “Then you have an appointment with your sofa and my lips.”
I snort. “Fine, ten minutes.”
Once he’s safely out of the room, I unlock the safe and add the music box to its rapidly expanding contents. After closing the door and making triple sure it’s secure, I remove the gloves and set them neatly on the bench.
Picking up the now harmless cardboard box, I’m about to flatten it down and put it into the recycling when I see something laying in the bottom. Reaching inside, I pull it out.
It’s a business card, but there’s nothing on it except a flower.
I turn it over to see that it’s blank on the other side, then switch back to study the design on the front. I’ve seen that design somewhere before.
It comes to me suddenly, and I pull down the black cloth-bound book written by Elias Black.
Flipping through the pages, I stop at the endpapers at the back of the book. There, in tiny print, is the same symbol and a name.
The Black Orchid Co.
So, there is a connection between this Elias Black and Cordelia Crawshanks. There are so many questions floating around my head, but at least now I know where to start. That’s with researching the Black Orchid Company and seeing if it still exists today.
Tucking the business card inside the book, I slot it back onto the shelf. I’ll tell Sam about this, but not until I know more about what I’m dealing with. If this business is somehow involved with cursed objects, I want it as far away from Sam as possible.
With the decision made, I climb the stairs and go in search of those lips I was promised.
Once again, I can’t sleep. Sam snores peacefully beside me, his arm thrown over my waist and anchoring my body to his.
For once, the lack of sleep isn’t due to bad dreams. It’s not even due to getting used to sharing my personal space with someone who is a human hot water bottle and loves to snuggle in his sleep.
My brain simply won’t switch off. I keep coming back to questioning who left the music box outside my shop.
It’s not the usual way I come across cursed objects.
In the past, I’ve been contacted by the owner then taken possession of the item after several conversations about safe transportation.
But this was just abandoned on my doorstep where anyone could have stumbled across it.
Maybe they’d heard about my previous work with curses? However, a smaller, more worrying voice at the back of my mind wonders if it’s because they know the connection between me and Cordelia, and not merely by DNA.
What if this is somehow tied to the dreams I’ve been having?
Sighing in frustration and wishing I could just slip into sleep, I shift and turn my head, then almost scream as my eyes fall on a man standing beside the bed. I scramble up and switch the light on, displacing Sam, who is as naked as I am.
“What?” he says sleepily, lifting his head to peer blearily.
His gaze sharpens as it lands on the man, who just stands and watches us.
He’s dead, for a start.
I’ve never had a ghost just appear in my bedroom in the middle of the night. I must say, it’s very unnerving.
There’s something familiar about him, about his face. I tilt my head as I study him. He’s tall and skinny, with short brown hair, and he’s wearing jeans and an old Queen T-shirt.
“Dusty?” Sam says in confusion, and my eyes widen.
Oh my goodness, he’s right.
It’s Tristan’s friend and Spirit Guide in Training. I didn’t recognise him since I’ve never seen him out of drag before.
“I need your help,” he says. When I look closer, I see his eyes are red-rimmed and filled with tears.
“Dusty, what’s wrong?” Sam asks.
He sniffs and wipes his eyes. “Actually, it’s Dustin when I’m not in drag.”
“Sorry,” Sam says gently. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Viv,” Dustin chokes out, more tears flooding down his pale cheeks.
My stomach clenches hard, and my heart starts to pound. Is he talking about my mother? He must be.
“She’s–she’s,” he whispers. “She’s dead. She’s been murdered.”
The whole room tunnels around me and a slow, high-pitched whine fills my ears. My hands tremble from the shock.
“Are you sure? What happened?” Sam asks as he climbs out of bed, grabbing his jeans and yanking them on.
“I’m a thousand percent certain. Bruce and I found her. She’s on the floor in the shop. Someone…” He swallows hard. “What they did to her.” He shakes his head. “The whole place reeks of magic, the really dark kind, and there are all these symbols over her body.”
Sam yanks his T-shirt on, followed by his sweater, then goes for his socks and shoes.
“Danny and Tristan are still snowed in at that hotel in Yorkshire, and Bruce and I are both dead, so it’s not like we can call the police. I just can’t bear the thought of leaving her lying there on the floor, waiting for someone to find her.”
“You need to go and tell Danny and Tris what happened,” Sam says. “I’ll call Danny’s partner, Maddie. She might not know about all the ghost stuff, but she’s still the only one in Scotland Yard I trust.”
Dustin sniffs and produces a tissue out of thin air to blow his nose on. “Okay,” he hiccups, his voice small and sad. “And don’t think we won’t be talking about what I just walked in on in here.” He waves his hand towards me and the bed, then disappears.
I’m numb, my brain struggling to process the words I so clearly heard.
“I have to go.” Sam shoves his phone in his pocket.
I manage to get myself out of bed and pull my bathrobe on. Following behind him silently, I watch as he pulls on his coat and grabs his car keys. When we get to the doorstep and I open the door, we see the first rays of dawn streak the sky.
“I’ll call and let you know what’s happening as soon as I can,” he promises, leaning in for a brief, hard kiss. Then he’s gone, hurrying down the street to where he’s parked.
I close the door and lock it, just trying to concentrate on breathing.
I can’t move, I can’t make my legs work. Instead, I lean back against the door and slide down to the floor.
My mother is dead. And someone used dark magic to do it.
My mother is dead.
The thought hits me like a train. I should’ve gone to see her. All these months I’ve been living in London. I wasn’t ready. I thought I had more time. And now it’s too late.
It’s too late.
Those three words pound in my head like a drum as I lay my head on my raised knees and cry.
My mother is dead.
TO BE CONTINUED…