Chapter SIXTEEN
Luna felt as though someone had reached into her chest and scraped out the contents with a spoon. The result left her outer shell feeling oddly brittle, like the least bit of pressure might cause her to collapse in on herself. She didn’t dare try to get to her feet—the effort required was too much.
But she didn’t have to move. Not yet.
Perhaps I’ll stay behind this counter forever, she thought idly, looking at her new boots, stretched out in front of her. Just me. And Mr. Grimm. And Debbie, judging us from the skull-pot.
It was a nice thought. One could imagine all the world and its pains and sorrows and horrors were out there, somewhere. Beyond the counter’s boundaries. But fortified here, she didn’t have to face them.
Mr. Grimm poured her another tea. And when she’d drunk that, he poured another. He was quite good at it these days. Maybe not wholly proficient, but only a real tea expert would notice enough to critique. Luna wondered, idly, if Auntie Apolonia would have approved his technique.
And then she began to cry again.
Mr. Grimm didn’t seem discomfited by her persistent outbursts of grief. He simply resumed his seat at the wall beside her, poured more tea, and gently urged her to keep on talking through her tears. Telling story after story about life with the aunties, about days long gone but dearly held in her heart. As a result, a strange sensation of dual-existence came over Luna. It was as though, by talking, some part of her soul journeyed back to those olden days. She could almost imagine the dark events which had driven her from home had never happened at all, and she still dwelled in that happy, carefree, somewhat lonely, but beautiful place, surrounded by spinster aunts and animals and so much tea.
Her voice trailed away—coming to the end of a story which involved Auntie Apolonia, a particularly pungent wart-removal tea, and the local vicar—when Mr. Grimm lifted his head suddenly, tilting it to one side. “I think I hear Mrs. Goddard in the kitchen,” he said.
“Oh!“
Luna hastily set down her teacup and wiped at her face with both hands. “I can’t bear to see anyone right now! Please, don’t let her know I’m here.”
“Don’t worry,“
Mr. Grimm said, making a reassuring gesture with one hand. “I’ve got this. You wait here and stay quiet. You too Debbie,“
he added, pointing at the raven as he rose.
He stepped out from behind the counter, and Luna watched him go. He’d removed his work apron at some point in the afternoon and donned his suit jacket. Quite a formal look for floor-sitting and the comforting of downhearted shop assistants. But he made it look natural. And pomade had kept his hair in place for the most part, other than that one lock which always escaped and flopped over his forehead.
Luna bit her lip gently. She needed to get up, to leave. Now was as good a time as any, while Mr. Grimm was distracted in the back room and couldn’t stop her. Because something told her that he would stop her. He would insist she shouldn’t be alone, would entreat her to stay, to share supper with him. But if she didn’t get moving, she wouldn’t make it for early curfew. There was no two ways about it: she must go. Now.
But what if she . . . didn’t?
She looked down at Mr. Grimm’s monogrammed handkerchief, twisting it in her hands.
You can’t stay, you know, she told herself.
But why couldn’t she?
Nice girls don’t stay over at men’s houses.
Who’s to say she actually was a nice girl, though? She’d never really had opportunity to find out one way or the other.
Your auntie just died!
Oh, yes. There was that.
Luna pressed her fisted hands against her stomach, as though she could work out some of the knotted tension. But it wouldn’t give. “You’re not in the position to be making potentially life-altering bad decisions right now,“
she muttered through clenched teeth.
Then again, who said she had to make any sort of decision? Mr. Grimm wouldn’t ask anything improper of her. Gods, he probably didn’t want anything improper from her to begin with! Who knew with that man? Sometimes she thought maybe there was a . . . something? But then he always retreated behind that buttoned-up politeness of his, and she was left second-guessing everything.
“He could have danced with you last night,“
she whispered.
But he didn’t.
He’d danced with Bryony instead.
“Redheads,“
Luna muttered and squeezed her eyes shut. In the dark of her mind, she saw again that tea mug vision from months ago, that glimpse she’d had of Mr. Grimm’s future. He and that woman, that eerie, floating, redheaded beauty, grappling with each other, consuming each other. All hands and mouths and teeth and need and—
“Hungry, Miss Talbot?”
Luna gulped, her eyes flaring open to see Mr. Grimm lift the hinged portion of the counter and step through. He had a covered dinner platter in hand, and managed to set it and himself down on the floor. He moved quite gracefully, despite the awkward exercise of navigating this narrow space. But that was Mr. Grimm for you—even his awkwardness was graceful.
“Is Mrs. Goddard gone?“
Luna asked, keeping her voice down just in case.
“Tobias, actually. And yes.“
Mr. Grimm shuddered faintly. “What an unpleasant sort of person he is.”
Luna snorted. “And yet, he remains the light of his mother’s eye!”
Mr. Grimm shot her a look. “No accounting for taste. And speaking of . . .“
He lifted the platter lid, revealing the culinary delights prepared with such loving care by his landlady. “Looks like mystery meat stew again tonight. One of her better offerings.“
He picked up the spoon and held it out to Luna. “You should eat, Miss Talbot.”
Luna eyed the stew. Then the spoon. Then she looked up at her employer, feeling suddenly weak and shaky, her stomach twisting tighter than ever. “I can’t,“
she said softly.
He pressed his lips into a line. Setting aside the spoon, he selected the thick hunk of homemade bread and handed it to her instead. “Try this,“
he said. “Small bites. Just do what you can.”
Luna accepted, breaking off little portions of bread and popping them into her mouth, where they sat and dissolved before she swallowed. Mr. Grimm ate some of the stew, but upon noticing that the smell made her a bit nauseated, set the cover over it again and pushed it aside. “How about another round of tea?“
he suggested.
She nodded.
She allowed herself to slip into a dull, numb space while Mr. Grimm stepped over her outstretched legs and put the kettle on the nook stove, rather than retreating to the kitchen. Her gaze idly followed his movements. His longer fingers lighting the burner. The nice line of his shoulders under the fitted seam of his jacket. The set of his brow as he concentrated on the task before him, his pretty features transformed into hard, serious, and undeniably masculine lines.
Luna dropped her gaze to the bread in her hands. Closed her eyes.
Suddenly she was back in the kitchen of Tealeaf Cottage, two and a half years ago. Auntie Apolonia stood before her, hands on her bony hips, nostrils flaring. “You must be a good girl and listen to your elders for once!“
she’d declared in that imperious tone of hers. “Those fiends out there are messing with your head! But they can’t actually do anything to you. Not while you’re safe behind the wards.”
“But, Auntie,“
Luna had protested, wringing her hands with frustration, “there are more of them every day! I’ve heard the town bells ringing at least five times today alone. People must be terrified! Soon there will be too many of them, and any chance I had of getting away will be gone. And when do you think their masters will follow? Tomorrow? The next day?“
She’d reached out then, grabbed up a pot of very strong black tea, which her aunt had just put on to brew. “How long can we fight off Dark Sorcerers with tea and Green Magic?”
“I’ve dealt with my share of sorcerers in this life,“
Auntie Apolonia had replied with a grim lift of her chin.
“I’m not talking about Sorcerer Biddercombe!“
Luna had cried, and thunked the teapot down on the counter so hard, the porcelain cracked. “You weren’t there, Auntie! You weren’t there when they knocked on our door! You weren’t there when the whole house lit up with evil magic! You weren’t there—”
“That’s right,“
Auntie Apolonia had cut her off severely. Her aged eyes flashed with an inner fire which had only grown hotter with each passing decade. “I wasn’t there. Had I been there, your poor mother and father would still be alive. Just as you will still be alive at the end of this.”
“Don’t worry, dear,“
Auntie Arabella had inserted then in her softest, wooly-lamb voice. “Apolonia destroyed one of those hideous things just last night, didn’t she? And weren’t we so proud of her?”
“Yes, but there were three more in its place by morning!“
Luna had wailed. “You’ve got to let me go, Auntie.“
Tears burned in her eyes, furious and desperate. “You’ve got to let me get away from here. They’ll pin me down if you don’t, and when their masters get here, it will all be over—”
But Auntie Apolonia had stomped her foot. Actually stomped it, like she was twelve, and not seventy-five years old. “We are not discussing this further,“
she’d declared. And with that, she’d whirled on heel, marched into her bedroom, and slammed the door behind her.
“URRRRGH!“
Luna had raged, turning and kicking the leg of the table, inarticulate in her fury and fear. It took all her willpower not to catch up the teapot again and dash it to the stone floor.
“Now, dear,“
Auntie Aurora had said calmly from where she sat knitting by the kitchen fire in Extremely Great Aunt Amelia’s old rocker, “let us take care to compose our minds with prayer and turn every trouble over to the Green Mother’s keeping.”
“That’s right,“
Auntie Arabella had trilled. “And remember, your Auntie Apolonia only has your best interests at heart.”
“But not your best interests,“
Luna had snapped, whirling upon both aunties with tears running down her cheeks. “She’s going to get you all killed. And they’ll take me anyway in the end.”
Then she had marched up the crooked back stairs to her own little room, slamming her door with as much vehemence as Auntie Apolonia had mustered. The whole house seemed to shake with the force of it.
That was the last time she’d seen any of them.
Luna opened her eyes and stared down at a lap full of crumbs. Apparently, she’d pulled the bread apart without realizing it. What a mess. And was she crying again?
She sucked in a breath and sniffed loudly. Truth be told, she’d never really believed she wouldn’t see the aunties again. Even though, logically, she knew it wasn’t likely. Even though she could foresee no future that included a return to Tealeaf Cottage. There was still some stubbornly optimistic part of her that simply refused to accept that her life from now on would be composed entirely of this vagabond existence. Surely the wandering must end eventually. The sorcerers would lose interest or find some other dark scheme to pursue or . . . or something.
Her nose tickled. And seemed to be running, rather. She fumbled around for Mr. Grimm’s handkerchief, misplaced somewhere.
“Here, Miss Talbot,“
Mr. Grimm’s quiet voice murmured from above.
A tea towel appeared in her line of vision. Mushrooms danced whimsically in cross-stitch patterns, a grotesque contrast with her present mood. Luna accepted it nonetheless and mopped her face. She seemed to remember doing this before, months ago, on that first day, when she blew through the doors of The Arcane Bouquet. She’d sat back in this same nook, balling her eyes out, and Mr. Grimm had handed her this same tea towel.
She glanced up at him again. Unaware of her scrutiny, he stood at the trimming sink, cleaning out the Royal Bastian teapot. He knew better now not to leave the dregs of a previous brew behind when making a fresh pot. He’d taken pains to learn so many little things, all in an effort to make her a nice cup of tea now and then. Not because it mattered to him—only because it mattered to her.
He truly was the kindest man she’d ever met.
He’s a sorcerer, remember, some stern inner voice hissed inside her head.
Yes, but . . . but he wasn’t that sort of sorcerer. He was probably something more like Sorcerer Biddercombe. Academic and fusty and a bit pompous, exceedingly proud of the little bit of magic he’d mastered. But not a sorcerous sort of sorcerer.
Sorcerer Biddercombe’s eyes never flashed like shards of onyx.
Well, all right, there was that.
Luna shuddered and turned away from Mr. Grimm, fixing her gaze on the squat little stove instead. But when he returned to the space behind the counter and offered her yet another cup of tea, she accepted. How many teas did that make by now? She was going to be quite awash soon and would need to make a run around the corner. But she was inexplicably afraid that if she moved, if she stood, if she stepped out from behind that counter . . . that would be it. This safe space he’d created for her in which to mourn would vanish. And she’d be out in the cold world with this ache in her chest. Alone.
She couldn’t face that. Not yet.
So she drank her tea in silence.
Mr. Grimm sipped his own cup. He didn’t sit, but remained standing at the counter, leaning back at the hips. One ankle crossed over the other, and, though Luna tried, she could not help but be aware of his easy elegance. She’d never realized it was possible for a man to be elegant. Elegant men were in short supply in the Crimble Mountains, nor had she run into any during these last two wandering years. Her employer was, in her experience at least, an anomaly.
The clock chimed. Mr. Grimm looked up, brows rising. “I fear you’re running close to curfew, Miss Talbot. You will, of course, allow me to call you a cab, won’t you?”
Luna studied the contents of her teacup, embarrassed to admit the truth now that she must. “Actually,“
she said, slowly, “Mrs. Boggs set early curfew tonight. I’m . . . already locked out, I’m afraid.”
“Ah.”
He didn’t say anything else. Luna couldn’t bear to look at him, to try to read the expression on his face. She continued to stare into her cup. “She does that sometimes,“
she murmured. “Early curfew, I mean. Just to prove she can.“
She lifted the cup to her lips and muttered, “The old dragon,“
before taking a sip.
Mr. Grimm was silent. Very silent. A studied sort of silence.
Then he said slowly, “Bryony?”
“Working tonight.”
“Any of your other boardinghouse mates?”
“The fire escape doesn’t go past their rooms.”
“Perhaps you could, erm, throw rocks at their windows?”
He really was determined to get rid of her, wasn’t he? Something in Luna’s hollow chest tightened. “Yes,“
she said. “Yes, perhaps I could.“
She took another sip of tea. “Not a lot of rocks in Bootblack Alley. Plenty of garbage though. I’m sure I can find something throwable.”
Another long silence lingered. The clock ticked rather loudly. Had it always been that loud? What an obnoxious contraption. Someone really ought to take a hammer to it and—
“You can use my bed.”
Mr. Grimm’s voice was calm. Steady. No inflection, no wavering.
Luna flashed a glance up at him. But he was staring into his teacup, and she could tell—she could just tell, blast him—that he meant that offer in the most decorous and gentlemanly manner possible. Nothing improper in his suggestion whatsoever.
“I can’t take your bed, Mr. Grimm,“
she said shortly.
“It’s no trouble,“
he replied at once, still without lifting his gaze from his suddenly oh-so-fascinating teacup. “I will be perfectly comfortable down here.”
Luna’s brow lowered. “Where?”
He made a gesturing sort of motion with his chin. “I’ll make up a bed behind the counter. There are plenty of extra blankets and quilts in the wardrobe upstairs.“
He cleared his throat then, for his voice had gone a little rough.
Luna chewed the inside of her cheek. Then: “Fine. That sounds good to me. I’ll take the behind-the-counter spot, though. You’ll sleep upstairs.”
At this, he finally looked at her, his blue eyes flashing in the glow of the thaumatic lightbulb hanging overhead. “That . . . wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me.”
“Oh, and it would be so much more ladylike for me to boot you from your own bed?”
Mr. Grimm frowned and returned his gaze to his cup. Like he was trying to scry out a vision for himself. “I’m not certain of the exact etiquette demanded in this particular scenario. It wasn’t covered in any book I’ve read on the topic of polite dealings in society.”
“You clearly haven’t read enough of Auntie Arabella’s darning-basket novels.”
Another brief flash of a glance and even swifter return to tea-scrutiny.
Luna sighed. Setting her cup aside, she forced herself to gather her limbs under her. She had grown incredibly stiff in the last several hours, not to mention deeply aware of just how many cups of tea she’d imbibed. The prospect of sleeping in this cold, dark counter nook was not exactly pleasant, but it was her own fault, letting curfew come and go like that. She deserved what she got. “Well, Mr. Grimm,“
she said a bit coldly, “before we come to blows over who will out-etiquette the other, I need to powder my nose.”
“Of course.“
He moved, holding his teacup to one side to make way for her to slip past him. In that narrow space, she was briefly aware of the exhale of his breath against her face. Then she was opening the hinged portion of the counter and stepping out. The interlude of secluded safety was at an end. But then, she supposed, it had to end eventually.
Luna didn’t rush in the water closet. Having taken care of the most pressing business, she stood a while at the sink, looking at herself in the little square mirror. Oh, gods. What a ghastly sight! Her face was all hollow and blotchy and puffy and just painfully unattractive. She looked like a ghoul! And were those mascara smears?
“Which is why,“
she muttered to herself in the glass, “this particular only-one-bed situation isn’t playing out like one of Auntie Arabella’s darning-basket novels.”
Not that she wanted that. She didn’t. Green Mother bless her, she’d never even been kissed by a man! Other than on the cheek. Twice. Last night. By two different men. Luna bit her lip. Cheek-kisses didn’t count. And they certainly didn’t make her feel prepared for the sharing of beds and . . . and whatever else that might imply.
Not that she was implying anything.
Mr. Grimm certainly wasn’t. Not to this face.
A little growl in her throat, Luna turned on the taps and proceeded to splash water on her cheeks, rinsing her sore eyes and wiping away any last vestiges of cosmetics which her tears hadn’t already cried away. Then she washed out her mouth, ran her fingers through her tangled pin-curls, and shook her head a few times. This accomplished, she looked at herself in the glass again.
And burst into a fresh set of tears. Because, just for a moment, it was Auntie Apolonia’s furious face she saw, in that instant before her bedroom door slammed. The last time Luna would ever see her in this life.
Why couldn’t she have tried to make nice before escaping? She could have brewed up a cup of orange llarmi and knocked at her auntie’s door, and apologized for being a little pill. She could have received one of Auntie Apolonia’s famously bone-crushing hugs, and smelled her lavender-and-old-lady scent, and known that, yes, she was going to break her heart, but, for a moment at least, all was well.
But she hadn’t. She’d been so angry. And so focused on what she knew she must do. So concentrated on breaking all those little spell-wards surrounding the cottage and fleeing into the night, where hideous, twisted, phantom-creatures stalked the shadows. Her terror and determination had overshadowed everything else, and she’d missed the most important thing of all.
And the chance was lost. Forever.
Luna gripped the basin of the sink, staring into her own dark eyes. You won’t make that mistake again, she vowed to herself, silently. No more missed chances.
Straightening her shoulders, she pinched her cheeks before sticking her tongue out at her reflection. Then she exited the bathroom at last.
Mr. Grimm was once more behind the counter when she stepped out of the back passage. Luna frowned, noting a large stack of quilts, hand-stitched by the redoubtable Mrs. Goddard, no doubt, and festooned with whimsical mushrooms. Mr. Grimm had cleared out all traces of tea and the dinner platter, and was now carefully folding each quilt in half and spreading it on the ground in a neat pile.
He had, Luna noted, already removed his shoes. And his tie.
“Miss Talbot,“
he said solemnly as she approached the counter. “You’ll find a spare toothbrush in the cupboard over the upstairs sink. And help yourself to anything else that will make you comfortable. Debbie has already gone up in advance. Don’t let her bully you out of the pillow.”
So saying, he removed his jacket, folded it up neatly. Then he settled down on the pile of blankets and tucked the jacket under his head as a pillow. Closing his eyes, he folded his hands across his waistcoat, and said, “Turn off the lights on your way upstairs, if you please.”
Luna stared down at him. Her mouth twisted into a tight little sideways knot.
Then she reached out and flipped off the shop lights. The world plunged into darkness save for the low glow emitted from the nook stove.
Luna leaned against the counter, lifted her right foot, pulled the buttons, and slipped her boot off. She did the same for the other. Setting her boots aside, she lifted the hinged portion of the counter. It creaked very loudly in the stillness, but she didn’t let that deter her. Stepping through, she closed it firmly behind her, and proceeded into the narrow space.
“What are you—“
Mr. Grimm’s voice sounded just before her foot came into contact with something solid. “Ouch.”
“Sorry,“
Luna said.
“That was my ear.”
“I said sorry, didn’t I?”
She sidled around the recumbent form on the floor, found the edge of the blanket pile, and settled down. There wasn’t a lot of room, but she stretched herself out, between Mr. Grimm and the back wall. Then she folded her hands over her stomach in the same manner he had, and stared at the dark tangle of ceiling pipes overhead, just visible in the stove’s low glow.
Once more, Luna found herself very aware of the clock’s ticking. So loud. Who could ever sleep through that racket? It rattled in the ears so obnoxiously, she couldn’t even hear Mr. Grimm breathing beside her. He lay so very still. As though he’d been carved out of stone. Was it possible he’d just gone ahead and died right then and there? Shocked to his eternal end by her improper behavior? At length, however, he cleared his throat. Still alive then. Luna supposed that was a good thing.
A short while later, he spoke: “This is deeply uncomfortable.”
“It is, isn’t it?“
Luna acknowledged.
He was silent again for a time. Luna waited, counting her heartbeats all the way up to a hundred.
“My bed is very nice, actually,“
he said abruptly. “Creaks a bit. But the pillow is soft.”
“Sounds lovely,“
she answered. “I hope you sleep well up there tonight.”
Another silence. Longer than the last one.
It was broken at last by a low, rumbling sound.
Luna frowned. “What was that?”
“What was what?”
“Did you just snigger, Mr. Grimm?”
“No.”
“I distinctly heard a snigger.”
“I’ve never sniggered in my life.”
“What would you call it then?”
“A . . . manly chuckle?”
“Oh, yes?“
Luna swiveled her eyes, just able to discern a faint trace of his profile in the darkness. “And what were you chuckling over so manfully?”
“I was just thinking about your extremely great aunt.”
Luna blinked. Then she frowned. Her fingers, still folded together and resting on her stomach, tightened somewhat.
“And why would you be thinking about my extremely great aunt in this particular moment?“
she demanded at last.
Another soft rumble of sound, low in his chest. “It occurred to me that stubborn old battleaxery might run in the family.”
For some reason, tears sprang to Luna’s eyes again. Why, exactly, she couldn’t say. Extremely Great Aunt Amelia had passed away long ago. But if there was ever an old battleaxe to take her place, it was Auntie Apolonia. Who would step into that role now? Who would watch over and protect the other two aunties? Arabella was such a gentle soul, and Aurora was so disinterested in things of this world, focused as she was on Higher Truths. For all they were women in their seventies, they were so sheltered, hardly more than little girls at heart. Alone out there in that cottage, tucked away in the Crimble Mountains, without Apolonia to keep an eye on them, what would become of them?
It should have been her. The role of caretaker, guardian, and resident battleaxe—it should have been Luna’s inheritance. She should be there right now, helping them through their mourning, assisting with all practical matters related to the funeral and the household. She should be the one holding their wrinkled hands, praying with them, fussing over them, fetching them their tea.
Instead she was here. Far away across the channel, in a strange city. Lying behind a shop counter. Beside a man. In the dark.
She swallowed painfully, forcing down the lump in her throat. “You know,“
she said at last, hoping her voice didn’t betray any quaver, “we’d be less uncomfortable if you raised your arm.”
“I’d be less uncomfortable if you went upstairs.”
Luna didn’t answer. She bit her lip, tried not to let tears escape again. Hadn’t she cried enough for one day? She didn’t think she had any tears left, and yet they would keep bubbling up.
Mr. Grimm shifted beside her. His elbow bumped her in the side.
Then, slowly, his arm lifted up.
Immediately, Luna rolled into him, tucking close to his side. One hand resting against his buttoned waistcoat, her head snuggled against his shoulder, she closed her eyes. Despite her best efforts, two tears slipped out through her lashes, but though she swallowed painfully, her breath escaped in a relieved little sigh. Mr. Grimm kept his arm outstretched for some moments at an awkward angle, hovering in the darkness. After a little while, he lowered it. Carefully. Gingerly. Wrapped it around her body, a warm, strong, sheltering pressure.
The fire in the stove burned down, the low glow deepening, the shadows closing in. Luna watched it through cracked eyelids, wondering if there was any chance she would fall asleep before it went out entirely. Sometimes she wondered if Mr. Grimm had nodded off, but then he would shift slightly. Not in the manner of a sleeper, but in the manner of a man who cannot find a comfortable position. Despite the pile of folded blankets, the floor was very hard. But he was warm. And solid. Luna felt too cozy to complain. She wished she could somehow put him at ease as well.
She tilted her head back, tried to get a look at him in the darkness. At first she couldn’t see much. But her eyes slowly adjusted, and she began to discern the hard line of his jaw, the tense cheek, the long, straight nose and square brow. His eyes were open—she could just see a gleam of stove-light reflected in their depths. He seemed to be staring up at the ceiling pipes. There was a certain rigidity in his face. Like he was holding his breath. Luna bit down on both lips, moistening them.
Then, giving in to impulse, she lifted her head slightly and kissed his jaw.
It was nothing, really. Just the barest little brush, a whisper-like touch. And yet, her heart thudded with sudden terror and exhilaration, as though she’d just leapt from the dome of Saint Agatha’s Cathedral.
Mr. Grimm sucked in a sharp breath. She saw his eyes flare a little wider.
Abruptly, his body shifted. He yanked his arm and shoulder out from under her, and her stomach pitched like a plummet, though she only fell a few inches. She found herself lying flat on her back on the piled-up blankets. Staring up into Mr. Grimm’s shadowed face.
His right elbow and forearm planted firmly beside her head, supporting the weight of his body, while his left hand clutched at the hair of her temple, his palm cold against her cheek. He breathed out, a hard, ragged sound. Her eyes opened wider, trying to see better, to get a clearer view of that face. But the darkness was so deep by now, and his body blocked out most of the stove light. His chest pinned hers down, gently crushing. Her heart beat wildly. She wondered if he could feel it, right through that waistcoat of his.
“You’re overtired, Miss Talbot.”
His voice—raw, ragged. But the words were still so polite, so careful.
Luna emitted a little shivering gasp. She didn’t feel tired. Not now. Exhilaration coursed through every vein, wild and prickling and frightening and wonderful. Her head spun like she was trapped on a rogue merry-go-round, even as her body lay frozen in perfect stillness under his.
“You are sad,“
he said. Firmly, almost harshly, a note of anger in his tone. As though he wasn’t speaking to her. “You are in mourning.”
“Yes, Mr. Grimm.”
His head lowered slightly. She could feel it—the shape of his mouth, hovering just over hers. She could feel the way his lips would fit against her lips. Perfectly. Like the exquisite alignment of planets in the heavens above, inevitable and cosmic and glorious. His breath on her skin was hot, almost searing, and she opened her mouth, suddenly ravenous.
He uttered a tortured growl. “What kind of villain would I have to be to . . . to . . .”
“To what?“
she whispered.
His fingers tightened in her hair, a sharp, painful tug. Luna gasped with surprise, her eyes widening, her back arching, angling her body into his.
“Damn,“
he snarled.
The arm beside her abruptly tensed, elbow straightening. He let go of her hair, planted his hand on the blankets beside her, and pushed away, relieving her of the pressure of his chest. Rolling to the side, he sat upright, one knee drawn at an angle. He rested his elbow on that knee and hid his face in the palm of his hand. Then he ran his fingers back through his hair, making it stand up wildly in the low stove light. “I’ve got to go,“
he said, and began to gather his feet under him.
“No!“
Luna cried. She pushed up with her elbows, lunged, fingers catching hold of his waistcoat. Her voice burst from her throat in a desperate little squeak. “Please! Please, don’t leave me. Not alone in the dark.”
He looked down at her hand, her pale fingers gripping the fabric in a twist. His breath was tight between grinding teeth. Luna closed her eyes, bowed her head. But she didn’t relax her hold.
“I promise,“
she whispered. “I’ll be good. I won’t . . . I won’t tease you, I won’t . . . Please. Just don’t go. Don’t leave me here.”
How long they remained like so, she couldn’t guess. Him, seated there, one knee bent, his hair standing all on end; her, clinging to him like the last lifeline to shore in the midst of a hurricane. She didn’t know what she feared exactly, only that she was terrified. And that she wouldn’t, couldn’t let him go.
Finally, he bowed his head. “Damn,“
he whispered again. But this time it was the sound of surrender mingled with no little exhaustion. Slowly, carefully, he lowered himself back onto the blanket pile. Luna released her grip and lay down as well. His arm was no longer around her, and she knew better than to ask him to hold her again. Something told her if she did, he would vault over the counter, flee the shop, and run like a madman down Addle Street to escape her.
Forcing back yet another welling of stupid tears, Luna rolled onto her side, putting her back to him, and tucked her knees up to her chest. After a little while, she said, “I’m cold.”
A slight shift of movement behind her. The next moment, a spare quilt, set aside for the purpose, draped over her body. Luna took hold of the edge, pulled it up to her chin, and curled a little tighter, her gaze fixed on the wall.
“Good night, Mr. Grimm,“
she said at length.
“Good night, Miss Talbot,“
he answered softly.
Her face crumpled, and tears began to fall. Silent. Hopelessly. Carrying her on a wave of sorrow deep into the night.