Chapter 9 #2
He withdrew his hand again, closing his fingers into a fist and feeling singularly inept.
“I assure you, Miss Talbot,” he said, forcing the words through a suddenly too-tight throat, “you are quite safe. I would never have brought you here if I thought there was the least chance of danger. I’ve traveled in the unspace outside of time on any number of occasions over the years.
The worst I’ve ever met here was a fellow sorcerer, who happened to be time-jumping in the same neighborhood.
Even that only happened the once. We had a bit of a collision, begged each other’s pardon, went on our merry way, and that was the end of it. ”
She stared at him as he spoke. Not with any comprehension, he suspected, but the tone of his voice seemed to help.
Her breathing eased somewhat. At last, she turned her gaze from his down to the bouquet in her lap.
The flowers stretched out their leaves to stroke her with affectionate concern and emitted a soothing perfume.
Finally, she let out a much longer breath, which seemed to release something tight in her chest. “Thank you, Mr. Grimm,” she murmured.
“You’re very . . . very . . .” She paused, closed her eyes. “I forget sometimes.”
“Forget what?”
“How dangerous you are.”
Nigel turned his eyes forward and brought his hand back to rest on the steering wheel, gripping hard. “Weren’t you just comparing me to your extremely great aunt?”
“She was dangerous too.”
“Fair enough.”
Luna lifted the bouquet to her face and inhaled the blossoms’ scent.
Then she turned her gaze to the violets, which she had scooped into a cupholder.
They sighed happily, looking quite snug.
“These fellows don’t seem particularly frightened,” she said, putting out one finger to stroke a purple-petaled face.
“So maybe this bubble-wrap world of yours is all right.” She lifted her chin and seemed to study the lady and her cat on the crosswalk in front of them.
“I don’t suppose you can drive through them. Like ghosts?”
Nigel shook his head. “The convergence of realities could cause a rip in time, and the essential modalities of the metacogniscience—”
“Just say it’ll all go bump.”
He paused. Then: “Yes. A rather big bump, actually.”
“So we’re stuck?”
“No, indeed.” Lifting his hand from the wheel, Nigel pointed out the shining dome of the cathedral, looming above the layered rooftops of the street. “Our destination is just there, Miss Talbot. We can walk the rest of the way.”
“Walk? In all that . . . that . . . pinkness?”
“I told you, it’s perfectly safe.”
“What about the van?”
“We’ll have to leave it here.”
“Outside of time? I don’t think the rental agency will like that very much.”
“It’ll snap back into timebound reality when I unmake the spell.”
“Won’t someone rear-end it then?”
She had a point. Turning in his seat, Nigel searched up and down the street.
His gaze lit upon a row of parking spots by a strip of shopfronts a little farther back.
Shifting gears, he put the van into reverse and very slowly, very methodically, backed away from the crosswalk, weaving through traffic.
It was painstaking work, but he managed to get the van snugged into the spot and shut off the motor.
“There,” he said. “Now, when the spell ends, no undue disturbance.”
Luna peered at the sign outside her door, struggling to discern the words through the haze. “It says one hour parking.”
“We’re outside of time, Miss Talbot. I don’t think it’s going to matter.”
“What if we have to snap back in before returning to the van? There’s a meter, you know.”
“I’ll pay it.”
“Can you do that?”
“Probably.”
“Won’t that throw the essential modalities of the metacog-whatsits out of whack?”
“Miss Talbot.” Nigel turned to face her, unfastening his seatbelt with some vehemence. “Do you want to get this bouquet to Miss Lambert and salvage the reputation of The Arcane Bouquet? Or would you prefer to quibble over essential modalities until the spell wears out?”
She flicked a look at him from under her dark lashes. “What if I said I preferred to quibble?”
It was so strange. Because in that moment, the strongest urge he felt was to kiss her.
Yes, there was a secondary urge to wring her neck, but that was so very faint compared to the much sharper, more pressing compulsion which even now told him to lunge over the protruding handbrake and the violets in their cupholder and press his lips hard against hers.
Granted, that urge was a nearly constant presence in his life these days.
But ordinarily he was able to keep it under wraps.
Long hours of hard manual labor in Garden helped, combined with a careful avoidance of her general presence.
But the draw to return to her atmosphere was always so profound.
And the minute he succumbed, the minute he allowed himself to once more breathe her air, that same, desperate desire always came roaring back.
It didn’t matter if she quibbled. He loved her quibbling.
He loved everything about her, quibbles included.
In fact, her quibbles might be his favorite thing.
Along with the darling shape of her mouth, the slightly fuller upper lip, that dark mole in the lower corner, the lovely little indent at the bow, and—
“Mr. Grimm? Are you quite all right?”
He dragged his gaze up from her mouth to her eyes once more.
Large eyes, blinking at him uncertainly from beneath drawn brows.
Nigel faced forward. Then, yanking the keys from the ignition, he pushed open his door, climbed out, and slammed the door behind him.
Marching around the van, he stepped up onto the sidewalk and slipped a coin into the meter.
He couldn’t pull the lever to make it go down, but close enough.
With a sigh and a hasty run of his fingers through his hair, he turned to the van and the pale face of his shop assistant, peering at him through the window. He opened her door and held out his hand. “See?” he said. “Safe as houses.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s rich coming from a man who dances with Dire Demons for the thrill of it.”
“I have never danced with a Dire Demon in my life,” he answered stiffly. “I may have played fetch with one. Once. But that was more inadvertent than anything.”
Luna wrinkled her brow. “Do I even want to know?”
“Probably not.”
A little whimper escaped her lips. But, with a stern lift of her chin, she unfastened her seatbelt then took hold of his outstretched hand.
And Nigel did his best not to be aware of the little shivering shock that went up his arm at this first, exquisite instant of contact between them in so many long weeks. He wasn’t very successful.
Careful to maintain an entirely neutral expression, he helped her out onto the sidewalk. Her knees seemed a bit trembly, but she let go of him almost immediately. Nigel suppressed a pang of disappointment. Instead, he shut the van door, locked it, then turned to her and said, “Shall we?”
She chewed the inside of her cheek. “Would you mind very much offering me your elbow?”
“Oh.” Hastily, Nigel did as requested, pleased at the sensation of her hand slipping through the crook of his arm. It wasn’t the same as skin-on-skin, but he liked it. And he liked the nearness of her, pressed up against him, as she shied away from the pinkish world around them.
They set off walking through the unspace of Ballycastle, weaving through the stationary civilians and traffic.
There was no need to bother with crosswalks—Nigel simply set the most direct course between them and Saint Agatha’s at a brisk but unhurried pace.
Perhaps it wasn’t the stroll in Bally Park which Luna had suggested earlier.
Perhaps there were no life-changing ducks to be fed.
But it was, nonetheless, very pleasant to find himself walking with her at his side, the sun bright and cheerful through the haze of reality’s veils.
The only thing they had to be cautious of were the puffs of thaumatic exhaust issued from the automagic mobiles.
These moved and twirled, just as real in this reality as any other, and quite hot.
Otherwise, all was very still. And pink.
Nigel looked down at Luna, only to find she’d squeezed her eyes tightly shut, her face turned into his shoulder. “I promise, Miss Talbot,” he said, resting his hand atop hers where she gripped his arm, “there’s nothing to fear.”
“You just keep on promising that, all right?” she gritted through her teeth.
They reached the cathedral sooner than Nigel would have liked.
It wasn’t crowded out on the street in front.
All the guests were tucked away inside for the service, and only the bride and groom’s magnificent getaway vehicle, a glamorous limousine, waited.
Its chauffer sat on alert at the wheel, ready to carry the happy couple off to their celebration at The King’s Crown.
“That’s odd,” Luna said suddenly, breaking the silence between them.
“What?” Nigel inquired.
She pointed up the enormous front steps to the cathedral doors. One door was partially open, and someone seemed to be caught in the act of rushing out, a look of wild frenzy on his proud face. “Isn’t that the Duke of Woolfwood?”
Frowning, Nigel looked again. He vaguely recognized the prominent proboscis featured on that consternated visage.
Where had he seen that man before? He couldn’t recall.
Nigel wasn’t very good with faces; people simply didn’t interest him all that much.
“Well, it is his wedding, isn’t it?” he offered by way of response.
“Of course.” Luna tilted her head slightly. “Which is why he ought to be standing at the altar with his bride even now.” She craned her head, looking back over her shoulder to catch a glimpse at the Old Bally Clocktower. Sure enough, the hands pointed to five minutes past one. “Something’s wrong.”