Chapter SEVEN
In those first few, lightning-bolt moments of absolute shock coursing through her brain, Luna realized that she probably should have recognized the signs. The sparkly bustier. The cheap blouse with the ill-sewn seams. Yes. Yes, the signs were all there. If she’d only paid attention.
But she hadn’t.
With a gasp, Luna pivoted on heel, flight mode fully activated, and promptly crashed into the blonde behind her. This girl, without a break in her absolutely enormous smile, managed to convey an expression of furious disapproval. Then she reached out and, before anything could be done to prevent her, ripped off Luna’s blouse and tossed it into the crowd with the rest of them.
Luna squeaked and crossed her arms over her exposed décolletage. Her voice was drowned out in the wail of jazzy trumpets and one determinedly sensual saxophone. The girl behind her grabbed Luna’s arm, whirled her forward, and dragged her across the floor. Luna found herself following a line of shimmying beauties, all of whom seemed to know exactly what to do with their arms and legs and all their other assets besides. And just when Luna didn’t think it could possibly get any worse, they burst into three-part harmony:
“Dreaming about that boy all day,
Can’t shake, shake, shake, shake, shake him away!”
With each repetition of the word, “shake,“
the Rowdy House girls did exactly that. There was such a flash of sequins, such a tremendous amount of bouncing. Luna gaped, open-mouthed at the crowd, aware of the uproarious laughter in her ears which, she suspected, might be directed at her. A sea of flashing teeth and pointing fingers swam before her vision, all caught in a dreamlike haze of insanity.
“He’s the song, my heart’s gotta play!
Every night and every day-yay-yay-yay-yay!”
Apparently, that last “yay“
was another cue. With a rustle and rip of cheap fabric, skirts went flying. Luna just managed to avoid the snatching hands of the girl next to her, who only caught the edge of her skirt. She ripped it open in front, but not entirely away, thus sparing Luna the indignity of displaying her ruffly pantaloons to the eyes of Ballycastle’s upper crust . . . though one lace garter was certainly visible, along with the full length of a rose-patterned stocking.
“Baby, sweetie, hear me say,
You’re the one who makes me sway-yay-yay-yay-yay!”
Oh, dear Green Mother above, let Mr. Grimm not be in that crowd! Let that fleeting glimpse of him have been nothing more than a figment of her overtaxed imagination. Let him be home, right now, in his flower shop. Tucked away safely in the nook, a cup of over-brewed tea in hand, a raven on his shoulder, as far from this disaster as possible.
The girls pranced in a pattern, performing a nimble jiggle-brush step. Luna, hustled along from behind, hadn’t the first idea how to make her feet do anything like that. A gyrating arm caught her across the jaw, and she staggered back, nearly falling into the saxophonist. Two girls caught her by the elbows and hauled her up again, and she thought she heard Bryony’s voice saying, “Watch out, Lunaloo!”
“Right in my heart, you’re here to stay,
Got me feeling some kind of way, oh yay-yay-yay-yay-yay!”
The music swelled to a great crash-crash-pow! climax. The Rowdy Girls wiggled their pantaloons like their tips depended on it, and Luna found herself shaken and stirred right to the front of the troupe. There she tripped on the dragging hem of her partially-ripped skirt—ripping it further in the process—and fell to one knee, displaying the entirety of her leg. She caught herself, bent forward on both hands, and just as the music ended, threw her head back, tossing pin curls out of her eyes.
And stared into the bourbon-limned eyes of Lord Bruxley.
He gazed down at her, clapping and smiling broadly, with no trace of recognition in his face. But then—though all around him his mates were cheering and guffawing and whooping, while the girls shimmied and took their bows, and the music shivered away to some other lively tune—Bruxley’s face seemed to harden behind the loose lines of inebriation. His eyes snapped, and Luna clearly saw the instant when he realized who she was.
She was up like a shot, darting back in among the girls. “Hey, watch it!“
some of them protested as Luna elbowed through then darted around behind the band, fleeing for the nearest uninhabited passage she could find. She found one, bolted in, not even bothering to switch on the thaumatic lights. Her bustier felt much too tight, her breathing much too labored, and she was fairly certain she’d bruised her knee when she went down on the floor like that.
But she was out of it now. Out of the noise, out of the insanity. Safe in the shadows of some back hallway, where not even any servers bustled. She collapsed against a wall, one hand pressed against her chest, and tilted her head back, breathing out a long gust of air. “Oh, Green Mother, save me!”
“I don’t think the Green Mother has time for girls like you.”
Startled, Luna sprang away from the wall, her hands forming fists. Lord Bruxley lurched into view, his face half-shadowed. He staggered toward her, his movements strangely sluggish. How much liquid courage had he imbibed in preparation for this evening? Not enough to drown out the malicious glitter in his eyes, it would seem.
“I know who you are,“
he slurred, lifting one finger and pointing her way. “Did you think I wouldn’t recognize you?“
He stopped, swayed, then continued forward, dragging his feet somewhat. “So you missed me, eh? What, did you read about my little engagement in the society papers and decide you wanted your chance with me after all?”
“I didn’t come here to see you,“
Luna answered boldly, backing up a step. She wanted to run, but felt the uneasy certainty that flight would only provoke him to give chase. Better to stand her ground.
“Oh, didn’t you? Well, that’s too bad.“
His gaze dropped leeringly. “Because I’m quite happy to see you. All of you.“
He drew in closer, until she inhaled the bourbon on his breath. It smelled expensive, but it still stank. “Come on,“
he said, leaning an elbow against the wall. He reached out and tried to chuck her under the chin, but missed. “You owe me, you know.”
“How do you figure that?“
she snarled.
“I could have made that wardsman lock you up that night. I could have pointed out this.“
Moving with surprising speed, he latched hold of her wrist and yanked it up, displaying her heptagram tattoo—a tattoo which was much too visible without a sleeve cuff to hide it. “Don’t think I didn’t notice this little beauty mark at our first meeting.“
Bruxley grinned nastily. “But not to worry! I like a touch of danger in my minxes.“
Drawing a little closer, he breathed out a cloud of alcohol. “You’ve cast one spell on me already. Care to cast another?”
Luna snarled wordlessly and made as though to push him away. But he grabbed her by the shoulders and pressed her back against the wall. “Come on, love,“
he sneered through his mustache. “Be a sport. I might even get you a little—”
Whatever false promise was about to fall from his lips, Luna never learned. Before the words had a chance to be uttered, Lord Bruxley was suddenly yanked back from her, spun on his nice, shiny heels, and slammed back against the wall. Luna found herself staring open-mouthed at the stern profile of Mr. Grimm, who had one hand fisted in the front of Bruxley’s tuxedo jacket, the other upraised, his fingers forming a strange sigil in the air.
With a gasp, Luna sprang forward and grabbed his arm. “Don’t!“
she whisper-cried. “There’s SSSD everywhere!”
Mr. Grimm turned to her sharply. For an instant, she found herself staring into eyes of pure onyx, sparking with anti-glitter. She caught her breath, released her hold on him, and staggered back a pace.
Then Lord Bruxley groaned. His knees buckled, and he sank heavily to the ground, pulling free of Mr. Grimm’s grasp in the process. Mr. Grimm blinked swiftly, the blackness vanishing from his gaze. He closed his fist, and the motes of anti-glitter vanished in a little poof.
For a moment, all was still. Luna could hear nothing but the sound of Mr. Grimm’s heavy breathing and her own throbbing heart.
Then, from outside the passage but not far away, a deep voice called out, “Hey, Bateman! Did your sensor go off?”
“Yeah, I got something,“
a second voice answered. “It’s faint, but it’s something.”
Mr. Grimm sprang into motion. Turning to Luna, he caught hold of her hand, and growled softly, “Come on!”
“Wouldn’t it be better if we don’t?“
Luna protested in a whisper, even as he pulled her into motion, dragging her down the hallway. “Can’t we just tell them the truth? That he was drunk and fell over?”
“With that mark on your wrist, they won’t wait to hear anything you have to say,“
Mr. Grimm answered. “They’ll search us both, and then . . .”
He didn’t have to finish. Luna knew what would happen if they found that large heptagram tattoo emblazoned on Mr. Grimm’s chest. Both their lives would be as good as over.
Panic thrilling in her veins, she stumbled after her boss, struggling in her too-tight shoes. There were voices behind them. Had the wardsmen discovered Lord Bruxley? “This way,“
Mr. Grimm said, and with another sharp tug, led her around a bend. Luna’s heart lifted. Those were kitchen sounds she heard! Which meant they couldn’t be far from the back door. Escape was suddenly possible, and she forgot all intention of speaking with the countess—
Mr. Grimm stopped short. She crashed into his shoulders and inhaled a strong scent of sandalwood and cinnamon, which momentarily stunned her. Then she heard the voices up ahead. Masculine, authoritative voices. “No sorcerers back here! I’m checking the passage.”
“Damn,“
Mr. Grimm growled and tugged Luna back around the bend, where they both pressed their backs against the wall. His nostrils flared with a sharp intake of breath.
“Now what?“
Luna breathed.
He turned to her. His gaze dropped, skimmed ever-so-briefly down to the form-hugging line of her bustier, before he faced forward and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. The muscles in his throat constricted. As footsteps sounded in the passage, drawing near, he uttered a soft word which sounded like another curse.
Then he darted forward and opened the door in the wall directly across from them. Luna gasped when she saw the top of a dark, narrow staircase, leading down into some sort of cellar. As Mr. Grimm tugged her through the doorway, her hand moved in search of the thaumatic light switch. “No, they’ll see,“
Mr. Grimm said, pushing her hand away.
“But I can’t see!“
Luna protested, even as Mr. Grimm began his descent. “I’ll break my neck!”
“Put your hand on my shoulder,“
he said. “And stay close.”
Was it possible the man could see in the dark? Luna wondered as he pulled the door shut behind them before leading the way down the stairs. She’d never noticed before if so. But then, they hadn’t been around each other in darkness like this before. Was it some sorcerer’s trick? Was he using sorcery even now, with the SSSD in hot pursuit? She wanted to ask, but her heart was pounding too hard, and she had to concentrate everything she had on not tumbling headlong.
They came to the bottom of the stairwell and emerged into a large, musty space. Luna sniffed. A wine cellar, most likely. “This way,“
Mr. Grimm said, and pulled her to the left. Luna had a vague impression of rows and rows of shelving all around them, but nothing else.
Then she heard the door opening overhead. And footsteps on the stairs. Oh gods! The wardsmen were coming down after them! How many? It sounded like a thundering herd, all converging on them at once and—
“Quick, inside,“
Mr. Grimm said in a low voice.
“Inside where?“
Luna hissed back. But there was no time to dither. At a press of Mr. Grimm’s hand at the small of her back, she moved forward. Her hand brushed something that might be a door frame, then she stepped through into a new space.
A confined space.
The air was still. And close. Too close.
“Mr. Grimm!“
she began, her voice nearly breaking from a whisper into a scream, heedless of their pursuers. Terror seized her heart, threatening to crush it in tight fingers.
“Hush,“
Mr. Grimm said. She felt the solidness of his body bumping into her, then the sound of a hinge creaking. A click. Like a shut door.
They were closed in.
Closed into a small, dark, secret place.
She pressed both hands over her mouth, struggling to stifle rising panic.
In her head, her mother’s voice spoke, soothing and sweet: “Don’t make a sound, sweetheart, no matter what happens.”
A whimper eked from her throat.
“Shhh, shhh.“
Mr. Grimm turned toward her. She couldn’t see him, but she felt his arm drape around her shoulders, then jerk away the next moment when his hand encountered bare flesh. But she reached out, took hold of his waistcoat, and dragged him closer, and he wrapped his arm around her again.
A flash of light.
Luna’s gaze shot to the ground where a thaumatic torch’s beam shone underneath the crack between door and floorboards. Her breath completely stopped. Her knees started to buckle, and only her iron grip on Mr. Grimm’s waistcoat kept her upright.
Then a voice spoke from the other side of the door: “Nothing back here, Bateman.”
“Right. Not here either. Let’s check back upstairs.”
Another round of footsteps, this time retreating. Followed by silence.
Luna released a small, trembling breath. With all her might, she tried not to hear the remembered sounds of her own childhood self, weeping. Tears burned on her cheeks, but she wiped them away swiftly and whispered in a calm voice, “Can we get out now, Mr. Grimm?”
“Wait a minute,“
he answered. “We need to be certain they’re gone.”
So they waited. And Luna gripped Mr. Grimm’s waistcoat with one hand, pressed her other hand to her mouth, trying to stifle the series of whimpers that crowded in her throat. After a minute, sounds of a third set of footprints stirred on the far side of the door. Another wardsman, having lingered behind to see if they would emerge from hiding, had given up. He retreated up the stairs behind his fellows.
Luna released a shuddering breath. She stood on the very brink of a full-blown panic attack, but she wasn’t lost to it yet. “Mr. Grimm!“
she hissed.
“All right,“
he murmured. “I think it’s safe now. We can go.”
“Then let’s go, shall we?”
A moment of silence. Followed by the sound of metal turning. A pause. A rattle. Mr. Grimm shifted position. Then a thumbling sound.
“Mr. Grimm?“
Luna squeaked. Her heart felt ready to pound right through the bustier’s boning.
“Erm.“
He sounded chagrinned. “It would seem the, erm, bolt dropped when I pulled the door shut. We’re . . . locked in.”
“What?”