Chapter 12
It was slower going back to the hotel without the added benefit of being able to cross through unspace.
Traffic was congested for a Sunday afternoon, and Nigel found he rather missed the quiet of the slip of reality on the outside of time.
Luna, however, was much more at ease. And that was worth any other little inconveniences.
She sat beside him, a handful of violets cupped in her palms. “You wretched little troublemakers,” she crooned over them. “But how can I be mad at you? If it weren’t for you, where would Miss Eugenia be now?”
“Married, most likely,” Nigel muttered as the van put-putted across a busy intersection.
“And miserable!” Luna buried her nose in the violets, who all rubbed their velvety soft petals against her cheeks affectionately. “She owes you a great deal, you little blighters, though she’ll never know it!”
Nigel forced himself to concentrate on the road ahead rather than on the sensation of gnawing jealousy in his gut. What had he come to that he was jealous of flowers? A ridiculous notion, though . . . if he was honest, he would give a great deal to have Luna nuzzle him like that.
He bit down on the inside of his cheek.
They had agreed, while walking back to the van, to head directly to the reception in advance of the guests and try to reclaim the other violets.
As they couldn’t guess how many people would take Miss Eugenia’s invitation at face value, they would have to be quick indeed.
“Do you think Mrs. Lambert will still give us a good review in the Bally Daily?” Luna asked as they made a turn onto Coronet Street, and The King’s Crown Hotel came into view.
“As long as she never suspects the shop girl of having unduly influenced Miss Eugenia’s choices, I suppose there’s a chance,” Nigel answered dryly.
He put on his blinker and took the turn to the back of the building and into the parking garage.
Nodding to the parking lot attendant, he pulled into the vendor parking space.
He had scarcely cut the engine before Luna, having deposited the violets back into the cupholder, unfastened her seatbelt and began climbing from the van. “You needn’t come with me, Mr. Grimm,” she said, tossing the words over her shoulder. “I’ll just nab the violets and be out again in two ticks.”
“No, no,” Nigel protested, hurriedly unfastening his own belt. “I’ll accompany you. Just in case that head waiter tries to give you a hard time.”
“What will you do to him if he does?” Luna asked a bit suspiciously. “I won’t give you permission to transmorph him into a polliwog, you know.”
“Nonsense.” Locking the van, Nigel turned to face her and drew himself up with great dignity. “I think I’ve proven myself quite adept at the art of distraction today. Tom Doorhandler was put off the scent, was he not?”
Luna’s mouth twisted in an effort to suppress a giggle, which nonetheless burst forth. “You were rather brilliant, actually,” she admitted. “Poor Tom didn’t know what hit him!”
A pleasant flush warmed Nigel’s cheeks. He looked down at his shoes, uncertain how to take the compliment.
But Luna was already hastening for the stairwell.
“All right, Mr. Grimm!” she called back.
“You may serve a role in this reclamation effort if you wish. But let’s hurry, before the wedding hordes descend! ”
The climb back up to the sixth floor banquet hall was a bit longer than Nigel remembered.
They were silent as they made each tedious turn.
Not that he minded. Any time spent in Luna’s company was golden as far as he was concerned.
Perhaps, after the events of today, they would be able to resume something of their old, easy dynamic?
As long as he didn’t do anything stupid to mess it up between then and now.
“Do you think,” Luna said suddenly as they took the turn to the fourth floor, “there’s any chance Miss Eugenia will end up living Happily Ever After?”
Nigel cast her a sideways glance, tossing back a lock of hair from his forehead as he did so. “I’m not sure I’m familiar with the phrase.”
Luna turned to him sharply, her eyes bright with surprise. “Not really!”
He shrugged.
“‘And they all lived Happily Ever After? The end?’” she quoted and shook her head. “Have you never read even a single novel, Mr. Grimm?”
“My father didn’t approve of novels.”
“Well!” She was silent for a few steps save for her huffing breath.
Then finally: “Well, I don’t think I approve of your father!
” The words were no sooner slipped from her lips than she clapped a hand over her mouth and shot Nigel an apologetic look over her fingers.
“I’m sorry. That was rude of me, wasn’t it? Speaking ill of the dead and all.”
The corner of Nigel’s mouth pulled. “I’m not offended.” He progressed up a few more steps before adding, “Truth be told, I think the old man would have quite liked you. Your brand of Green Magic would have suited him exactly.”
“Now I feel even more like a beast.”
He looked back at her where she trailed a few steps behind him. “Don’t feel bad, Miss Talbot. Alfred P. Grimm was a mixed-bag of a person. He wouldn’t have cared whether you approved of him or not. He simply was what he was.”
They reached the landing and paused for breath.
Luna rested against the wall, not looking at Nigel.
So he took the opportunity to look at her instead.
He liked to see her this way, with her cheeks all pinked from exercise.
She’d taken particular care to curl and style her hair this morning in preparation for interactions with their High Society customers, but one would never know it now by the amount of frizz and tangle.
Sweet and disheveled, her angelic beauty in no way compromised, somehow she seemed more attainable like this.
Not that she truly was attainable. Not for a man like him.
Not after everything he’d done and been.
Nigel swiveled his gaze away from her, studying the texture of the concrete wall. To fill the silence more than anything, he said, “So, what exactly is the definition of this Happily Ever After of yours?”
“Oh, it’s pretty much what it sounds like.” Luna tilted her head, considering her answer. “Following the great crisis and ultimate resolution, our plucky and intrepid heroine achieves a pleasant outcome, and nothing bad happens to her ever again.”
“Sounds a bit boring, actually.”
Luna sniffed. “I suppose you’re right.” She pushed away from the wall and continued on up to the sixth floor.
Nigel fell into pace beside her. “And I suppose I wouldn’t wish it on her anyway, come to think of it.
But maybe a little Happily For Now would just about suit Eugenia.
Something to brace her before the next adventure. ”
They achieved the sixth landing. “This is the correct floor, is it not?” Nigel said.
Luna nodded. “Are you ready to assault the wait staff defenses?” she asked, leaning against the door.
Nigel offered a crisp salute.
With a wicked grin, Luna pushed the door open and sprang into the hall. “No one here,” she declared, beckoning him. “Quick, while their guard is down!”
She led the way along the plush red carpet to the side entrance of the banquet hall.
Nigel trailed at her heels, casting a few nervous glances over his shoulder, not altogether convinced the wait staff wouldn’t use violence if necessary.
Some of those fellows had looked quite combative.
Cracking the door open, Luna peered into the banquet hall.
Soft strains of music emerged from within; apparently, the reception band was already in place and practicing.
This made their little covert endeavor rather less covert.
Luna and Nigel exchanged glances, then Luna shrugged and stepped boldly forward. Nigel followed her into the gaudy chamber, greeted by a blast of familiar, floral perfume from all the many arrangements.
“Green Mother drat it!” Luna declared, fisted hands planting on her hips.
“Something wrong, Miss Talbot?”
She pointed to the nearest table, then the next, then the one after. Little spatters of potting soil trailed away from each of the arrangements, across the white tablecloths, and onto the parquet floor. “The violets,” she said and heaved a sigh. “Every last one of them has abandoned its post!”
All the trails seemed to lead in a single direction. Like a hound on the scent, Nigel led the way through the tables and chairs to the bride and groom’s table at the head of the chamber. Luna followed him, and they got down on their hands and knees as Nigel lifted the tablecloth.
A hundred little purple faces turned to blink up at them before immediately ducking shyly behind little green-leaf hands.
“Oh, you little ninnies!” Luna huffed. She turned her head to Nigel, her nose nearly bumping his. She blinked rapidly and faced forward again, and he thought perhaps a little pink tinged her cheeks. “Lesson learned,” she said. “You’ll never catch me using violets in formal arrangements again!”
“Perhaps we could request Garden breed a more courageous strain,” Nigel suggested. “For future endeavors.”
She blew a sigh through her lips. “I suppose it doesn’t matter, since the wedding’s off anyway. I’ll just gather these fellows, and—”
Just in that moment, an imperious voice rang out from across the banquet hall, louder even than the musicians at their practice.
“No, I will not be calm! Our daughter has made a most foolish and headstrong decision, and now all that effort is to be ruined on a frivolous display of sheer, arrogant willfulness?”
Luna and Nigel exchanged wide-eyed glances.
Of one accord, they both dived under the table after the violets.
Luna pressed up against one side of the lyre-carved support, and Nigel pulled down the tablecloth behind them, sheltering them in the silken dimness.
He grabbed hold of the lyre himself, only his hand came down on top of Luna’s.
Hyper-aware of the feeling of her skin, he hastily yanked back again.