Chapter 10
It was incredible how such a simple maneuver could send such a pyroclastic flow surging through her veins.
Luna thought she might actually begin to melt. Starting from that place where Mr. Grimm’s hand pressed into the small of her back. She could feel her spine going all bendy, her knees buckling, and had no choice but to grasp hold of the front of his bib apron for pure survival.
And when he dropped his mouth close to her ear and spoke in those rough, almost growling tones—“More like this.”—that fire in her veins burst in her chest cavity and ran trickling down into every secret part of her body. Her breath caught on a ragged inhale through parted lips, and then . . .
The veils of reality split apart, and Luna and her employer tumbled through.
Luna ought to have been prepared for this part.
At least somewhat. They’d just done it going the opposite way, not all that long ago, in the hotel parking lot.
But it had been different, popping between realities while her bum was firmly planted in a bucket seat with a seatbelt wrapped across her torso.
It was another thing entirely while held in the arms of the man who .
. . who . . . well, if she was totally honest with herself, the man whose arms she’d been dreaming about for weeks now.
A bizarre combination of sensations, terror and pleasure, difficult to discern from one another, tangled up inside her.
By the time the essential modalities of whosiewhatsit settled around them once more, Luna felt as though her body had been transformed into a bowl of limp noodles.
The solid floor beneath her feet tilted wildly. She tilted with it, ready to go right over.
“There, Miss Talbot, I’ve got you,” Mr. Grimm’s melting voice murmured in her ear, not helping matters at all, blast him.
His other arm wrapped around her, his strong hand pressed into her shoulders, supporting her.
Through the whirling in her head and the thunder in her temples, Luna was painfully aware of the way his body bent over hers as he prevented her from falling. “Up you come now,” he said.
Luna gripped his shoulders with both hands, vaguely aware that she seemed to have dropped the bouquet somewhere in transition.
Did it make it back into this reality? Shuffling her feet, she tried to find a steadying angle, but the world continued to tip, and she leaned forward.
For a moment, her forehead came to rest against something solid.
Mr. Grimm’s shoulder, in fact. She breathed in the sandalwood-and-cinnamon scent of him, which didn’t help to calm her racing heart as much as she might have wished.
Slowly, she turned her head. Only to find Mr. Grimm’s face quite close to hers, his expression concerned, his lips parted. And so very near. “Are you all right?” he asked. “Reality-shifting can leave one a bit nauseated, especially when you’re not used to it.”
Was she nauseated? Her stomach was definitely doing something.
Only it wasn’t something unpleasant. Luna opened her mouth, trying to speak words of reassurance, but no words would come.
Her mouth seemed far too preoccupied with the nearness of his mouth and the sudden, almost overwhelming desire to—
“What are you doing here?”
Luna jerked her head sharply away from Mr. Grimm’s shoulder, turning to find the flabbergasted gaze of Sutton fixed upon them. Ordinarily, Miss Eugenia’s faithful maid maintained a stoic state of being. This expression of shock didn’t fit well on her features.
Blushing furiously, Luna found her footing, planted her palms against Mr. Grimm’s chest, and pushed away.
For just a moment, she thought she felt resistance in his hands, the one still pressed against her shoulder blade, the other still wrapped around her waist. But the instant passed, and he stepped back as well, putting both hands behind his back and staring hard at the floor.
His gaze came into abrupt focus, and he knelt to retrieve the fallen bridal bouquet.
Oh good, Luna thought. She hadn’t inadvertently left it behind in the . . . the bubble wrap.
“I beg your pardon, madame,” Mr. Grimm said in his most thoroughly starched tones. He held the bouquet out to the startled Sutton. “We wanted to make certain this ended up in the proper hands. Will you see it delivered to Miss Lambert?”
Sutton looked at the bouquet. Her eyes narrowed, and she turned a suspicious glare on the two of them. Without a word, she shifted the cup of tea she held to one hand, then snatched the bouquet from Mr. Grimm with the other. Turning on heel, she started down the hallway.
“Sutton!” Luna called after her.
The maid paused.
Trying very hard not to be aware of the burning places on her body where Mr. Grimm’s hands had just pressed, Luna straightened her shoulders and hastened after her.
They didn’t have much time. Tom Doorhandler must even now be making his way down the passage and would converge on them in another moment or two.
“Your mistress,” Luna said, dropping her voice. “Where is she?”
The curl of Sutton’s lip expressed more clearly than words a powerful sense of, And why would I tell you?
Just in that moment, Mr. Grimm’s voice spoke quite loudly, “I say! Aren’t you the man to speak to about can openers?”
Luna glanced back to see her employer jump bodily in the way of the oncoming Tom.
The young man, whose face had been turned eagerly toward Sutton, his mouth open to cry out and make his demands, whipped his head about to peer at Mr. Grimm instead.
“Why yes, sir! That I am,” he answered with booming enthusiasm, his mission momentarily forgotten.
“And are you in the market for a good can opener?”
“I could be.” Mr. Grimm made a motioning gesture with his hand behind his back. “What does your can opener have to offer that others do not? Tell me exactly. In detail. I am, you will find, all ears.”
Bless you, Mr. Grimm, Luna thought and rounded on Sutton once more. “She’s in hiding, isn’t she?” she whispered urgently. “She doesn’t want to go through with this wedding.”
Sutton met Luna’s gaze. Then she offered the barest shake of her head.
“She doesn’t know what she wants, does she?”
At this, the faintest hint of rolled eyes.
“I can help her,” Luna pressed. “At least, I think I can.” She looked down at the cup of tea in Sutton’s hand, her keen nose able to discern the delicate scent of jasmine pearls. “That’s for her, isn’t it? Wherever she’s hiding?”
Sutton’s eyes somehow contrived to narrow further without altogether closing. Which was impressive.
Luna pressed on. “You do want your mistress to be happy, don’t you?”
A moment of silence followed in which the maid seemed to be considering her answer to this.
In that silence, Luna heard Mr. Grimm behind her declaring, “Amazing! A thaumatically-powered automagic can opener? For the home kitchen? I never would have dreamed of such a thing. And what kind of cans will it open?”
“Oh, all your standard cans,” Tom Doorhandler replied with enthusiasm. “Anything off the grocery shelves.”
“What about beans?”
“For sure.”
“Black beans?”
“Naturally.”
“Kidney?”
“Yes.”
“What about peas?”
“Definitely.”
“But they aren’t beans.”
“As long as they’re in a can, the Doorhandler Can Opener can open them for you.”
Sutton cast a look of absolute loathing over Luna’s shoulder. Luna leaned in and whispered, “He’s going to run out of canned items eventually. Please, Sutton!”
The maid’s jaw tightened. Finally, with a little toss of her head, she motioned for Luna to follow her.
The two of them slipped down the hall, leaving the gents to their enthusiastic litany of all things canned, took a turn, and passed by the dressing rooms. Sutton led the way to the very back of the cathedral, where everything was rather less grand and godly and rather more of-this-world.
A faint smell of cheese lingered in the air.
It reminded Luna of the chantry house back home in Greater Snoring, where she took Auntie Aurora for services every Sunday.
Was cheese somehow a sacred smell unto the gods?
Sutton paused before a narrow door in the wall and turned to face Luna. She gave her a look, then jerked her chin once.
Luna, more than a little trepidatious, took hold of the handle, turned it, and peered into the dimness of a broom closet.
A broom closet positively mounding with fluffy white tulle.
And in the center of that fluffy whiteness sat none other than the lady of the hour, Miss Eugenia Lambert herself. Knees up and chin in hands.
“Did you fetch my tea, Sutton?” she demanded, looking up with a sulky expression on her mousy little face.
Upon seeing Luna standing there, the sulkiness melted away into surprise, then confusion, followed by a sudden flash of recognition.
“Miss Witch?” she said, using the name all the Silly Young Things had adopted for their favorite scryer. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” Luna turned to Sutton, holding out her hand. “May I?”
The maid relinquished the teacup and saucer but retained the bouquet.
Satisfied, Luna slipped into the broom closet, taking care to avoid stepping on Miss Eugenia’s gown.
She knelt and offered the tea. Eugenia all but snatched the cup from Luna’s hands and took a loud gulp.
It must have gone rather tepid, otherwise a gulp like that would have scalded the roof of her mouth. Miss Eugenia didn’t seem to care.
“Mother didn’t want me having tea this morning,” she said, tossing Luna a look from under heavily mascaraed lashes. “She said I’d dribble.” She sighed then and set the cup back in its saucer. “She’s probably right.”
“Well, who cares if you dribble?” Luna shrugged. “You’re the bride. You can dribble if you like. It’s your day, after all.”
“Try telling that to Mother,” Eugenia sniffed before taking another sip.