Chapter 12 #2
Ding! went the bell a second time.
“And the man does it again!” the manager of the high striker exclaimed, waving his hands to hype up the already-hyped crowd.
A display like this was good for business.
It didn’t matter if they came for the game or for the impressive physique of the burly wardsman.
Business was business. “Tell you what, sirrah!” he cried, turning to Ward.
“Do it five times running, and your little lady can pick one of my exclusive prizes!”
Ward tossed back his bouncing curl. “No problem.”
He hit the bell again. And again.
He made it look easy.
The vendor threw up his hands in mock despair, even as he goaded the crowd. Luna’s eyes shone with excitement, her attention entirely absorbed.
Nigel’s fingers played softly, tracing an unconscious sigil. He felt the faintest accumulation of Dire Matter forming at his call, and—No! He squeezed both hands tightly into fists.
Ding! went the bell for a fifth and final time.
“There it is!” the vendor cried, and he threw back the cover of his little cart to reveal a display of shockingly cheap prizes.
“Well, little lady”—he beckoned to Luna, who suddenly found herself the object of much female scrutiny and no little jealousy from several dozen pairs of mascara-limned eyes—“why don’t you step forward and pick yourself a prize? ”
Luna shook her head, smiling shyly. “That’s quite all right.”
“Why not? The man performed feats of heroic strength just for you, didn’t he?
The least you can do is enjoy the spoils!
” The vendor reached into the cart, withdrew something at random: a large, pink unicorn stuffie, with yellow glass eyes, which seemed to gaze with horror into the dark voids of the abyss.
He pressed this into Luna’s hands. “For you, missy. To remember this auspicious day!”
Luna, all pretty blushes, smiled at Ward as he rolled down his shirt sleeves and moved to rejoin her.
“What about you, Mr. Grimm?” Bryony asked suddenly, resting her chin against Nigel’s shoulder, her lips near his ear. “Care to win a girl one of those pink ponies?”
“Oh, gods,” Nigel murmured. But someone else must have heard his buxom companion, for suddenly he found himself pushed and prodded forward, standing in front of the striker. He looked around wildly, uncertain how he’d come to be in such desperate straits.
He caught Luna’s gaze. She watched him thoughtfully from beneath slightly upraised brows. She’d not moved on with Officer Ward to some other festival delight. She stood as though rooted. Waiting for him. Clutching that pink unicorn to her stomach.
The unicorn’s harrowed eyes mirrored the truth of Nigel’s soul as it stared him down.
But he couldn’t disappoint Luna.
“Go on, Grimmsy!” Bryony hooted from where she’d moved to stand beside her roommate.
Nigel set his jaw. Then he handed his coin to the vendor and turned to face the contraption.
He removed his jacket, tossed it to the ground, followed by his hat.
He even unfastened his cufflinks—there were some “Oooooohs” and some “Booooos!” from the crowd at this—stuffed them in his pocket alongside the purple garters, and rolled up his sleeves.
He held out his hand, and the vendor passed him the hammer.
Gods! It was heavy. Nigel staggered a little, thrown off-balance.
He faced the high striker again, drew a long breath. Raised the hammer over his shoulders.
Underneath the noise of the crowd, he heard Bryony’s voice, carrying a bit louder than the rest: “And so what if I am? You’ve already got yourself a yummy fellow. Are you going to hog them both?”
Nigel’s hammer came down hard. It pounded dirt, missing the lever entirely, and jarred Nigel’s wrist bones so that he nearly dropped it.
The crowd uttered a unanimous, “Awww!” of disappointment.
Nigel’s cheeks burned. He glanced back to where Luna and Bryony stood close together. Luna stared down at her pink unicorn, mouth set in a tight line. Ward hovered just behind her, and he called out, “Tough luck, old boy!”
“Try again,” the vendor said magnanimously. “You paid for three hits, and three you gets!”
Nigel yanked his focus back to the high striker.
He heaved the hammer back over his shoulder then down again, this time managing to strike the lever.
The puck shot up the pole, and the crowd caught their breath in an audible, “Ahhhh?” only to release it in a disappointed, “Ahhhh!” as it sank without striking.
“One more! One more!” the vendor cried. “You can still win one of the little prizes. Get your lady a nice pillbox for her headaches!”
Nigel cast the man a disparaging glance.
But he was committed to this humiliation now; best to see it through rather than abandon it entirely.
He faced the striker again, stared it down.
His lips curved at a malicious angle. With just the tiniest application of Dire Matter—an absolutely microscopic speck of anti-glitter, radiant with sorcerous energy—he could send that puck shattering through the bell and on up into the stratosphere, never to be seen again.
But using sorcery in front of this crowd, right under the nose of an SSSD officer . . . it wouldn’t be fair to Luna. Probably wouldn’t do him much good either.
He heaved the hammer. Hit the lever.
The puck bounced up, once more drawing near, but not quite reaching the bell.
The crowd expelled a final, “Ahhhh!” of disappointment. The vendor shook his head, saying, “Too bad, too bad. Want another try?”
Nigel shook his head, fetched his jacket and hat from the ground, and turned the hammer over to the next scrawny young fellow keen to embarrass himself in front of his lady friend.
He couldn’t bear to look at Luna, but Bryony slipped up to his side.
“Never you mind, Mr. Grimm,” she said, with a toss of her bouncing curls.
“No one wants those smelly pillboxes anyway.” She took his arm, smiling with a suggestive tilt of one brow. “How about you take me for a ride?”
Nigel blinked. His gaze dropped to her face, and he summoned up superhuman self-control from the absolute pit of his soul, refusing to let it drop any farther.
Bryony, who knew exactly what she was about, laughed out loud before reaching up to boop him on the nose.
Actually boop him. On the nose. Nigel didn’t think he’d been nose-booped since he was a tot, and that was by Great Aunt Galatea.
It wasn’t something he would have believed could be sexy.
But then, he suspected, there were a lot of things someone like Bryony could make sexy.
“I mean on the fete wheel, you dog!” she pealed, before leaning in and speaking in a whisper that somehow carried through the noise. “Though, if you play your cards right, a girl might start to get other ideas.”
Before Nigel could begin to find an answer to this, Ward stepped forward. “The fete wheel sounds like a good plan,” he said smoothly. “What do you think, Miss Talbot? It seats four.”
“Oh!” Luna shook her head. “No, that’s all right.”
“Come on, I insist.” Ward offered his arm. “There’s no better way to get the full scope of Saint Jollify than from the top of the wheel! It’s my favorite part of the fair every year. I know you’ll like it.”
But Luna’s cheeks had gone strangely pale, and she couldn’t quite meet the wardsman’s eye.
Nigel took a step, tugging against Bryony’s hold on his elbow.
“If she doesn’t want to go, she doesn’t have to,” he said, his voice dropped a dark octave.
He stood rather closer than he’d meant to, almost as though he was trying to get between Luna and Ward.
Ward looked down at him from his towering vantage. His eyebrow rose ever-so slightly.
“No, really, it’s all right,” Luna said quickly, her eyes turning from Nigel back to Ward. She clutched her pink unicorn against her stomach. “I’m sure it’ll be . . . fun.”
“It will,” Ward said easily. He turned his attention back to Luna and offered his arm again.
This time, Luna took it.