Chapter 18
It’s been weeks since that day at the judge’s house and I’m still no closer to figuring out what Demonfire is or how the hell I was able to conjure it. Fire isn’t even my strongest element, Earth is.
But honestly, that’s been the least of my problems. After everything we experienced, Riley still refuses to leave the house, saying she won’t burden a new owner with the consequences of her ancestors’ epically bad choices.
The same day we met and saw the echoes of Dr Whyte’s Demon Club amassed in her parlour, I returned, with supplies and my grandfather in tow, to perform a clearing—not to be confused with an exorcism or spiritual banishing.
Our goal had been to try and clear some of the bad vibes in the house, for want of a better word, and make it a little more comfortable for her to stay.
I can’t really say her decision to stay is wrong. It’s probably the same reason Vivienne stayed in the bookshop. Familial obligations. One severely unhinged person doing something horrifying and dooming their descendants to spend generations undoing.
I guess I feel a sort of kinship with her and apparently so did Grumps.
They got on like a bloody house on fire.
Turns out, when she’s not stressed out seeing masked echoes and I’m not trying to set her kitchen alight with weird green fire, Riley is incredibly funny and very sarcastic.
Which is, of course, my grandfather’s love language.
They bonded in the first five minutes of meeting, and the next thing I know, Grumps had moved out of his hotel and into one of Riley’s spare rooms. As much as I worry about him, I can’t say it’s a bad idea.
At least this way Riley isn’t on her own in that house, and Grumps can help her navigate her newly acquired paranormal abilities.
I say navigate, but the last time I left them, they were attempting to use her telekinetic ability to play Ping-Pong. At this point, I honestly don’t know which one of them is supposed to be the sensible one. My guess is neither.
At least Grumps has also spent some time going through the journal, which we believe belonged to Simon Maycliffe.
So far, he hasn’t found anything pertinent to Whyte’s Demon Club or the boy Cordelia rescued.
There’s also no hint as to why Simon and the shadow man wanted him so badly.
Surely, if Tobias was so important they would have kept him away from the judge.
Unless they didn’t know what he was doing to the boy.
I shake my head. I wish I knew what had become of him, but I’ve searched every archive, family history, and genealogy site I can find. There’s no mention of a Tobias connected to the Crawshanks family. It’s like the boy just disappeared after that night.
My dreams have also been suspiciously absent. I don’t even know for certain what happened to Cordelia, but I’m almost positive it’s her demon under the floorboards in the bookshop.
Sam’s been really busy lately too. Between helping Danny with Vivienne’s murder investigation and chasing down all the leads Mr Hadley keeps sending his way, he hasn’t stopped to catch his breath. Fortunately, that doesn’t mean we haven’t spent every moment we can together.
I’m falling for him. Hard and fast.
Who am I kidding? I’m already all the way off that particular cliff, which brings its own set of issues.
As far as Danny and the others are aware, I didn’t really know Viv, and I’ve been largely spared from having to get involved in the investigation.
But that is yet another reason the opportunity to tell him the truth about who I am hasn’t really come up.
While Sam’s had his hands full with all those cases, I haven’t exactly been idle either.
Apart from running the shop, I’ve been steadily ploughing through the cursed objects in the safe.
Although I still haven’t touched the music box, I’ve at least managed to break several of the other curses, basically rendering the items harmless now.
Not that it’s made a difference.
I look down at the old lunch box in my hand. From the 1980s, it has a scratched and faded picture of The Muppet Show on the front and is bound together tightly with rather sturdy duct tape.
What the casual observer can’t see is the inside of the box. It’s covered with protective sigils and holds the very cursed rabbit’s foot wrapped firmly in packing paper that the sigils are supposed to counteract.
The occult shop in Soho that had reached out to me told me about a run of dangerously bad luck, from a staff member being electrocuted—they thankfully recovered—to the building catching fire.
They soon realised that what they’d assumed was a quirky piece of vintage nostalgia décor was actually only an incident or two away from actually killing someone.
This isn’t even the first cursed object I’ve collected this week. The more I break, the more that land in my lap. There shouldn’t be so many. We need to figure out this uptick of supernatural phenomena before things really start getting out of hand.
As I cross the street and head towards Sam’s office, my phone rings. Gingerly moving the lunch box to one hand, I dig my phone out of my jacket pocket and glance at the screen. I’m surprised to find it’s Tristan calling me.
“Tristan,” I say by way of greeting.
“Hi, Harrison.” His voice is subdued, and a sigh comes through the line. “I just wanted to say sorry for being a bit of a dick when you stopped by the other day.”
“There’s no need.”
“There kinda is. You were just trying to be nice and I was…not.”
“It’s understandable. Tristan, you lost your dad. No one expects you to be okay. I’d be inconsolable if it was one of my dads.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that. You were right though. About what you said.”
“Not an unusual occurrence, but to which part are you referring?”
“The bit about the person who probably killed Viv wanting to use her blood to open the demon trap in the bookshop.”
“Oh.” I came to that conclusion some time ago, but I’m glad the others are finally catching up.
“I went to see Evangeline, you know, the ghost who haunts the shop? Cornelius Crawshanks’ niece.”
“And?”
“She says that Cordelia gave birth to a daughter while she was locked up in that asylum. And that daughter was taken away from her just like her son was.”
“I see,” I reply vaguely. I can’t really tell him I already know all of this because of weird and horrifying dreams.
“Danny is trying to track down that daughter’s family tree. But since it’s pretty much agreed that Viv’s murderer probably has some connection to the Crawshanks family, we’re thinking they might be a descendant of that little girl.”
“It’s possible,” I mutter.
“Anyway, we’re going to follow up on it after the funeral tomorrow. You are coming, right?”
His voice wobbles, and my heart softens with a wave of sympathy. “Of course I will, Tristan.”
“Okay, thanks.” He releases a breath. “You got the details from Chan?”
“I did. I’ll be there.”
“Okay, okay,” he mutters to himself.
“Tristan, it’ll be alright,” I tell him gently as I come to a stop outside the building where Sam’s office is.
“I know, I’m just…” He pauses, and his voice drops to a whisper. “It just came around so fast. I’m not ready to say goodbye.”
“We never are, but you know better than anyone that he’s in a good place. He’s with your mum, and one day you’ll get to see him again.”
“Yeah,” he says sadly. “Anyway, I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I reply as he hangs up.
Slipping my phone back into my pocket, I let myself in the main entrance and head up to the floor Sam’s on.
“Come in,” he calls out when I knock gently on the frosted glass door panel, which has Sam Stone, PI printed on it in black lettering.
“You know that door is very cliché,” I say as I walk into the room.
Sam looks up from where he’s sat at his desk and grins. “Just like me, then.”
“There’s nothing cliché about you. You’re a constant source of surprise.”
“I am?”
“Yes. For example, imagine my surprise when I heard you’d gifted Grumps and Riley a whole box of tennis balls, a bag of marshmallows, an inflatable chair, a bottle of Hendricks Gin, and a packet of spaghetti.”
He blinks. “They asked. They said it was for scientific purposes, something to do with testing Riley’s telekinetic abilities.”
I sigh loudly and roll my eyes. “Stop encouraging them.”
“And actually, I think the spaghetti was because they were cooking a bolognese.”
I can’t help the snort that escapes. “I’m almost afraid to ask about the rest.”
“Then don’t. They’re having fun, and Riley hasn’t had much of that lately.”
“I suppose.”
His gaze drops to the Muppets lunch box in my hand. “You bring me lunch, Prickles?”
“Not unless you like cursed rabbit’s foot as an entrée.”
“Another one?” He frowns.
I close the door behind me and set the box on top of the nearest filing cabinet. “Yes, this time in Soho. I thought I’d stop by on my way home from collecting it.”
“Stop by? From Soho, on your way to Islington? You thought you’d travel miles out of your way to come and see me?” His eyes sparkle in amusement as I cross the room, and he scoots his chair back, making room for me to edge in front of him.
“Well”—I sit on his desk and pull his tie so that he has to stand and settle between my thighs—“as you’re going to be over at Danny and Tristan’s later, and I have to go over to check on the chaos twins before their paranormal experimentation gets out of hand, I probably won’t get to see you until tomorrow. ”
“Aww, you going to miss me, Prickles?”
“Maybe.” I shrug, although a smile is tugging at my mouth. “The barest amount.” I raise my hand showing the tiniest fraction of an inch between my thumb and index finger. “Hardly at all.”
“And why don’t I believe you?” he rumbles against my lips.
“That sounds like a you problem.”
“Prickles?” he whispers.
“Yes?” I reply breathlessly.
“You’re sitting on my case files.”
I snort loudly and close the distance, pressing my mouth to his and wrapping my arms and legs around him. He leans further into me and slides his tongue into my mouth.