Chapter 23 #2
“I, uh, I washed some of the clothes you left here last time and put them in a drawer for you.”
My heart gives a little knock. “You gave me a drawer, Prickles?”
“Yes,” he mumbles. “I bought a toothbrush for you too.”
A small smile plays on my lips and although we still have a way to go before everything between us is okay, something inside me settles for the first time in days.
I jolt awake, unsure what startled me. It’s not Harrison, who’s still fast asleep next to me and has the cutest little snore.
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I rub my face and take another look at him while he sleeps.
After our talk, we spent the day building bridges and just soaking up each other’s company. Most of the afternoon and evening were spent wrapped up in each other on his sofa watching nonsense on TV. It was nice, not something I’ve ever done with someone, and he said it’s the same for him.
We’ve still got a long way to go, but it was almost like getting a small glimpse into what a life together could be like, and I want it. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything this much in my life, but I’m not optimistic enough to believe it will be that easy.
Harrison spoke to both his dads again and his grandfather, and by the end of the evening, we changed the sheets, then slid into bed together, content to just hold on to each other and soak up the comfort.
It ended up a good, if tiring, day.
Which is why I’m at a bit of a loss as to why I’m awake now. I look around the darkened room in case Dusty or some other wayward spirit has decided to drop by, but no. It’s just me and Harrison.
The air feels strange though. Heavy, like just before a storm. Then my skin starts prickling and there’s a metallic taste in my mouth.
Magic.
I’m about to shake Prickles awake since we had just agreed no more secrets when I hear the cold notes of the music box drifting up from downstairs. My whole body feels like I’ve been doused with a bucket of ice-cold water, and a strange buzzing in my ears begins.
My mind’s fuzzy and it’s hard to think straight.
Was I about to do something? I can’t quite recall what it was.
Something about that haunting melody calls to me.
I push to my feet, the thought of grabbing Harrison’s bathrobe not even occurring to me, and follow the notes as if they float on the air.
Something about following the chilling sound of a supernaturally cursed music box should bother me, but when I try to think about why that is, I can’t hold on to the thread of that thought.
I drift through the flat, my bare feet making no sound, and down the stairs to the back room of the shop.
When I enter, I don’t give much thought to why the light is on when Harrison had made sure it was off earlier.
I’m too busy staring at the large, old-fashioned safe where he keeps the cursed objects.
There was a reason I wasn’t supposed to touch them, but it eludes me now. My hands skim the safe’s smooth black-painted finish, and I can feel the metal hum beneath my palms. My eyes fall on the combination lock, and I reach toward it.
The numbers are already in my mind.
4532
I spin the little dials, and the mechanism clicks open without a protest. Grabbing the large brass handle, I pull the thick door open, and there is the music box, still singing to me. It sits in a clear plastic tray, which I pull out and set on the workbench beside me.
Laid in the tray beside the music box is a small, elegant business card which reads: The Black Orchid Co.
I barely register it. My focus is all on the music box. I itch to touch it, pick it up, hold it. The compulsion is too strong. The moment my fingers curl around its golden edges and I lift it up, a shock shoots through my hands and up my arms. My hands cramp painfully, gripping the box even harder.
My body flushes hot from my toes to my scalp, my heart starts quickly pounding, and I can’t help the cry that tears from my lips. Incredibly potent magic slams into me, almost knocking me off my feet, and I stumble back, still clutching the box. I can’t let go.
Why can’t I let go?
“SAM, NO!” I hear Harrison scream, but I can’t breathe.
I’m vaguely aware of him diving towards me to rip the cursed music box from my hands, but as his fingers touch its black lacquered sides, purple light bursts around us.
Everything spins, and I feel dizzy. I think I’m going to be sick, if my heart doesn’t explode first.
Then suddenly, silence. Total blackness.
We stumble and thud against something hard.
“Sam?” says Harrison, breathless and concerned.
“Yeah,” I croak.
“Are you okay?” His fingers trail over the hot skin of my cheeks, hesitantly at first, but then he grips a little tighter.
“What were you thinking?” he scolds sharply. “My heart almost stopped. I told you to stay away from the cursed objects, especially since your psychic gifts make you susceptible to them.”
I draw in a shaky breath. My skin still feels a little clammy even though I’m only wearing my boxers. But at least my heart has stopped pounding.
The music box is lifeless in my hands. I don’t get so much as a stray vibe from it. “I think it’s broken.”
Harrison fumbles for it in the dark and takes it from my hands. “Hmm, the magic’s burned out. That means the curse served its purpose, which seems to be to get us here. The question is, what is here?”
I reach out on either side of myself and feel wooden surfaces.
“It feels like a cupboard,” I say. “Where do you think we are? Narnia?”
“Very funny,” he replies dryly. “But I think you’re right, we may be in some sort of cupboard. Hang on a minute, I think I feel a door handle.”
“No, Prickles, wait!”
Too late.
He turns the handle and the door I’m leaning against swings away from us. I start falling backwards and, without thinking, grab Harrison to keep my balance. Unfortunately, my momentum can’t be stopped, and we both tumble out of the cupboard.
I hit the floor first, vaguely aware of what feels like carpet cushioning my fall. Harrison lands on top of me, knocking the breath from me, and the music box falls from his lax grip and rolls to my side.
A hand reaches out and picks it up, causing both Harrison and me to lift our faces and glance up from where we’re splayed out on the carpet like a couple of stunned starfish. My mouth falls open and I have to blink several times.
I must be hallucinating.
Two men stare down at us. One is tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a rather dated suit. In fact, it looks Victorian. He’s in his fifties maybe, and has dark curly hair with a wide white streak at his temple like a really sexy Sweeney Todd.
The other is slim and has a moustache, his dark hair neatly parted and oiled.
Heavy rouge stains his cheeks and lips, and he’s wearing an old-fashioned corset and a silk robe.
What really grabs my attention though is that the robe, which is hanging negligently from his narrow shoulders, reveals quite brazenly the fact that he’s completely naked from the waist down.
There is no way to miss his soft cock nestled in a bush of dark hair, hanging freely.
“Bloody hell,” Harrison squeaks.
Sweeney Todd is holding the music box and staring at it like he recognises it. When he lifts his gaze to me in bewilderment, my breath catches in my throat.
I know exactly who this man is, but it shouldn’t be possible. I’ve only ever seen one photograph of him, in a box of loose papers containing the original notes for the Victorian spiritualist book, Crawshanks Guide to the Recently Departed. The notes that Viv had given Tristan.
Before I can utter the name pounding in my head, Harrison beats me to it.
“Cornelius Crawshanks?”