Chapter 13
Nigel stared mutely at the shut door in front of him. At the absence of latch and lock and keyhole.
Something was wrong. Something was deeply wrong. He’d never known Garden to act like this before.
Luna’s eyes were watching him. He felt them with an intensity like twin thaumatic lasers.
Nigel blinked—sweat rolled into his eyes, and he shook it away hastily.
Gods, it really was hot! Much hotter than it ought to be.
He’d halfway noticed about twenty minutes ago that the atmosphere was growing uncomfortable, but had assumed it was simply from the exertion of hauling dead chunks of Dire Matter.
Deciding it was time to take a break, he’d begun the long, slow walk back up to the door.
Only it hadn’t cooled him down as it usually did, and Garden never sent a refreshing breeze.
But there was no reason to concern Luna with any of this.
He turned to face her, taking care that his features betrayed no untoward emotion.
It was difficult. Looking at her. More difficult than he wanted to admit.
He’d spent all night staring up at his bedroom ceiling, trying not to think about her in that green gown, trying not to remember the feeling of her body pressed underneath his, or the sensation of her breath on his face.
Trying not to recall in exquisite detail the porcelain curve of her exposed shoulder . . .
He wasn’t terribly successful.
Steeling himself now, Nigel cleared his throat and drew his head back slightly. “Not to worry, Miss Talbot,” he said. “Garden is temperamental like this sometimes.”
Luna’s brow tightened. She glanced around at the nearest flowerbeds. All the pretty blossoms were beginning to wilt. “This doesn’t seem like Garden though, does it?” she said.
She was right. This absolutely did not seem like Garden.
Garden’s entire reason for existence was the growth and health and production of flowers and plant life.
While there were remote parts of the grounds that were adapted for desert flora or tropical blossoms, this wasn’t like either of those climes.
There was something off about this heat, something unnatural.
This kind of heat could do real damage if it went on much longer.
“He will self-regulate soon enough,” Nigel insisted. “He always does. There must be some reason for this heatwave, something we cannot see.”
Luna bit her lip but nodded. Wiping sweat from her brow, she glanced at the door. “So what are we going to do in the meanwhile?”
Nigel considered. “Is the shop open?” he asked with sudden alarm.
To his relief, Luna shook her head. “No, I closed it for two o’clock tea break.”
“Ah.” A little pang stabbed his heart, and he looked away quickly.
He’d avoided their tea break. Again. On purpose.
He was beginning to wonder if he’d ever feel comfortable enough to simply sit and enjoy a cup of tea with this woman again.
Those days might, in fact, be gone. And this idea hurt as much or more than all the rest: that he had ruined the easy friendship between them, all because he simply could not get his feelings in order.
But that was the whole point of taking Bryony out tonight, wasn’t it? A reset. A last-ditch effort to fix everything he’d spoiled.
Though, granted, he wouldn’t be going anywhere, with anyone, if Garden didn’t release them.
“Well, surely Mr. Marlin will be on his merry way soon enough,” Nigel said, pushing sweaty hair back from his forehead. “Then perhaps Debbie can . . . can . . .”
“Peck the door down?” Luna suggested dryly.
Nigel flashed her a short glance. “I was going to suggest shoving the key under the door to see if she can manage the lock from that side.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Is Debbie that dexterous?”
“Probably not.”
“Hmmm.”
Nigel rolled his jaw. Then, for want of another idea, he addressed himself to the door once more and pounded it with his fist. “Debbie?” he called.
It took a few tries, but eventually a familiar hoarse squawking sounded on the far side of the slats.
“Are you alone?” Nigel asked.
“Never mind!”
“Good, good. I’m pushing the key through to you. Do you see it?” So saying, he slid the little metal key through the small gap between the door slats and the floor. It was a tight fit, but with a little jiggling, he got it under.
There was a sound of pecking and scraping, followed by a, “Never mind.”
Nigel grimaced and glanced Luna’s way. She stood close by, hands on hips, sweat dampening her blouse in interesting ways and . . .
He turned to the door again, staring at the slats in front of him intently. “Can you get it into the lock?”
A moment of scuffle and flapping. Then: “Never mind!”
“Right, never mind, never mind.” Nigel blew out a sigh and sat back on his heels. “Very well, if nothing changes between now and then, I need you to give the key to Mrs. Goddard when she arrives. Convince her to open the boiler room door. Do you understand?”
“Never mind?”
“I know it’s risky. But we can’t stay out here forever.”
The last thing, the absolute last thing he needed was to be locked in somewhere with Luna Talbot overnight. Not that being locked in the wide and rolling acreage of Garden was anything like being trapped in Lord Bruxley’s undercroft . . . but still.
Debbie squawked again and fluttered her wings at the door.
“I don’t know.” Nigel shook his head, spattering droplets of perspiration as he did so. “Figure it out. Make a fuss. Steal her cap. Just don’t do anything violent.”
With much grumbling and disapproval, the raven agreed at last. Emitting another sigh, Nigel turned and sat with his back against the door. He tilted his head, forcing himself to meet Luna’s narrowed gaze. Her mouth was set in a hard line, and Nigel braced himself for what he knew was coming.
“So what happens,” she said, her voice cold despite the sultry atmosphere, “when Mrs. Goddard gets an eyeful of Garden? Are you going to rearrange her memories like you did for Lord Bruxley?”
“Only if my Sovereign Lady so ordains,” Nigel answered through edged teeth.
Luna took a backward step. Her lips thinned. Then, turning away from him, she crossed her arms and stared out across the sweltering landscape, leaving Nigel to wish he could take back the bitterness from his tone.
“I wouldn’t worry about it over much, Miss Talbot,” he said more gently.
“The spells on Garden’s door are such that, should anyone without sorcerous inclination stumble through, they won’t see anything save the boiler room.
I have never met a woman more adamantly unmagical than our Mrs. Goddard,” he added with a little huff of laughter. “We should be safe.”
With those words, he got to his feet and tried to put his hands in his pockets.
Only then did he realize that he wasn’t wearing his jacket and shirt but had been carrying on this whole conversation clad only in his undershirt and suspenders.
Oh gods. No wonder Luna didn’t want to look at him.
He couldn’t imagine what a dirty, smelly wreck he must appear to her.
Hastily, he donned his shirt, then almost immediately wished he hadn’t.
Because it was simply too hot. He couldn’t bear to do up any buttons, decency be damned. But at least his arms were covered.
He moved to stand by Luna’s side, keeping a good several yards of space between them. “I doubt very much,” he said, “that we will require Mrs. Goddard’s help in the end. Garden should self-correct and let us out long before her arrival.”
Luna swallowed hard, still refusing to look at him.
He studied her with a sideways gaze, taking in the stern set of her profile, the hard line of her jaw and brow.
Her features were so sweet, it was always such a contrast to see them like this—a glimpse of the iron core at her center.
She did not let fear rule her, but channeled it into determination, stubbornness, and a sheer force of will which he could not help but admire.
“I’m thirsty,” she said abruptly.
Nigel nodded. He was too, actually. In fact, he was parched. “I know a place with running water.”
“Is it far?”
“Shouldn’t be.”
“Is it safe to leave the door?”
Nigel shrugged. “It’s not going anywhere.” He motioned with one hand. “Come on. Let’s get you something to drink.”
Ordinarily speaking, it wouldn’t have taken more than five minutes to reach their destination.
Garden would simply open paths before their feet, guiding them swiftly through its many winding ways and depositing them safely where they meant to go.
But for some reason, the grounds remained fixed today.
There was no shifting of the landscape for their convenience, and no unexpected shady arbors to relieve the oppressive heat.
Nigel was obliged to dig into memories from long ago, recalling the way.
It took nearly twenty minutes of trudging.
By the time he at last smelled the bright freshness in the air, Luna was looking quite limp and melty.
All the bounce had gone out from her pin curls, and her hair hung in sweaty strands down her neck and shoulders.
At last they came to a little break in the landscape and looked down upon a surprisingly idyllic scene. “Oh!” Luna gasped, her eyes brightening. “Oh, how lovely!”
The river which ran through Garden widened out here into a series of small waterfalls—ten feet tall, maybe twenty at most—each of which poured down into separate dark pools, full of roiling bubbles, before continuing on to the next dropping point.
At the base of this series of cascades was a larger pool, almost perfectly round and lined with smooth stones, not even pretending to be naturally-hewn.
There were rivulets and side pools branching out from this one, some of which brimmed with water lilies.