Chapter 29
Nigel jolted back into consciousness momentarily . . . only to slip back once more into the depths of a poison-addled haze.
It kept happening. Back and forth, little ten second intervals. Awake, asleep. Awake, asleep. Never long enough in either state to gain a foothold, to find some sort of comfort.
He tried in those ten seconds of awareness to pull together some sort of idea of his surroundings.
He seemed to remember getting partway up Addle Street before the poison he had breathed finally got the best of him.
Then he seemed to recall a very strange, rather heady memory of pressing his face against Luna’s coated breast. A button had dug into his cheek, and her fingers had woven in his hair—the one sensation singularly unpleasant but the other so brilliantly lovely, he couldn’t much care about anything else.
After that, there was the sound of her scolding voice and more walking. No longer burdened save with the burden of his own self, his own life, his own ongoing and inconvenient existence. Nothing else was clear until the moment when he came to himself in a fit of painful, gut-wrenching vomiting.
This nastiness accomplished, he didn’t sink back into unconsciousness as swiftly.
The agony in his veins subsided, and he thought, Well, perhaps I won’t die after all.
This thought vaguely looping in his head, he’d looked up.
And his swimming gaze discovered Luna’s worried face hovering in front of him, and a sudden, desperate urge to live had coursed through his soul.
Then he vomited a second time.
Now he seemed to be coming to again. Seated in the cane chair.
His mouth tasting of sickness and florals, not a winning combination.
His head was a little clearer, at least. Not wholly clear, but not quite so lost in that poisonous fog and funk.
He blinked bleary eyes, taking in the sight of the old stove in front of him before sinking back into unconsciousness for another ten seconds.
When consciousness returned, he flicked his gaze to the side and saw the cup of tea stashed on the little table alongside his handkerchief, which was looking a bit worse for wear. He faded out again.
When he returned, there were voices. One deep, the other high.
Creating a sort of disharmonious duet of noise in his ringing ears.
He let himself fade out again. When he came to again, ten seconds later, he recognized Luna’s sweet voice.
At the sound of it, irritable though she was, a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.
He forced himself to stay awake this time, to try to understand what she said.
“Ward, I’m telling you, there’s nothing to find in here! The shop’s been perfectly quiet all evening!”
“Yeah, I hear you.” That rumbling voice—that was Ward. Ward-the-Blasted Wardsman. Nigel’s stomach clenched, wanting to heave again, but he stifled it. The sound of heavy boots on tile echoed in his head.
“But what I don’t understand,” Ward’s voice continued, “is why you are here at all. It’s half-past ten at night. Mr. Grimm invite you for a sleepover?”
A stricken silence followed this not-so-subtle implication.
Fury boiled in Nigel’s gut, and he wanted to rise, to come to Luna’s defense.
What right had Ward to be casting a slur upon her character?
His numb hands grappled with the arms of the chair, and he sought to find some leverage, to push himself to his feet, to charge out from behind the curtain, roaring with righteous indignation on her behalf!
Only he had invited her to stay the night. Worse than that, he hadn’t any clear idea exactly what he’d meant when he made the invitation.
But the fact remained: he’d invited her. And she’d accepted.
And it wasn’t a pot of tea they’d been sharing before Mrs. Goddard barged in.
“Ward,” Luna spoke at last, her voice laced with ice, “I don’t know if I should be offended or amused. Seriously. You think that of me? And Mr. Grimm?”
Nigel’s brow puckered.
“Well,” Ward answered slowly, “I find you here, late at night, long after closing time, with most of the lights off. What else do you expect a fellow to think?”
“I don’t expect a fellow to think anything at all. Particularly not on a night when he’s supposed to be working! Didn’t you say something about some do down at the warehouse district tonight?”
“Yeah, I guess I did mention something about that, didn’t I.”
“Well? How did it go?”
“It was a thing.”
Another silence followed this. Nigel used the opportunity to once more try to brace his hands on the arms of his chair, to very little success.
Then Ward spoke again: “You know, I thought I might have seen one of those thugs heading up this way, toward Addle Street. Was on his tail when I saw the lights on in here. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
“No,” Luna answered firmly.
“You sure?”
“Do you really think any gangsters are going to stop in and buy flowers on their way home from nefarious doings?”
“Seems a bit unlikely.”
“My point exactly. Now, if you don’t mind, John Ward, I’m extremely busy.”
“Doing what?”
“Inventory.”
“Inventory of what?”
“Florist things.”
“Such as?”
“Flowers. Vases. Fertilizer. Things.”
“Right. Sounds important.”
“Not as important as hunting down your man, so . . .”
“And your boss has just left you to manage all this inventorying on your own?”
Luna fell silent. Nigel, more awake by the moment, felt now would be a really good time for him to burst out from behind the curtain and declare that, no, of course not!
He would never abandon Luna to any task.
Really, the gall of that damnable wardsman .
. . But he couldn’t get his feet under him.
And while he could just about make his fingers grip the arms of the cane chair, his muscles wouldn’t work.
With an extreme effort, he managed to lift himself an inch or two, only to sink back down again heavily, breathing hard.
“He stepped out,” Luna said. “To . . . to get us a late dinner.”
“What’s open and serving dinner at this hour?”
“I didn’t press for details.”
“And you expect he’ll be back soon?”
“Probably. Quite soon. Why?”
“Just thought I’d ask him a few questions, that’s all. Maybe he saw something of this fellow I tailed.”
“I doubt very much that Mr. Grimm knows anything about the doings down in the warehouse district, Ward.”
“You sure about that?”
“Quite. Why, he doesn’t pay attention to anything outside this shop!”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed he’s a bit of a square like that. Makes a fellow wonder . . .”
“Wonder what?”
“Why you stick up for him the way you do.”
Nigel heard Luna’s sharply indrawn breath. “I . . . don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I think you do. You’re very loyal to the old man. Won’t hear a cross word against him. Someone might start to think you had feelings for him.”
A rush of heat churned in Nigel’s gut. He shouldn’t be listening to this. He shouldn’t be privy to this conversation. But what could he do? Cover his ears?
“Mr. Grimm has been very good to me,” Luna answered slowly. “He gave me work when no one else would. You know, Ward, with my, um, with this thing on my wrist, it’s not always easy.”
Ward snorted. “Oh, yeah. That makes sense. I can see how that would inspire a lot of gratitude from a hardworking girl like yourself.”
Luna’s voice dropped by a few degrees. “If you want to say something to me, I wish you’d just say it.”
“I don’t want to say anything. Why? Do you want me to say something?”
“I want you to leave. I’ve had a . . . a long day. And I want to finish up inventory and get home.”
No! Something inside Nigel screamed. No, she can’t go home!
He’d invited her to stay, and she’d said she would, and anyway, she’d missed curfew, hadn’t she?
If she set out for home now, she’d end up freezing outside overnight.
He needed to get up. He needed to stop her from leaving.
Nigel opened his mouth, but nothing more than a little gurgling sound emerged.
His tongue tasted like acid. Gripping the arms of the chair, he pushed a little harder, and this time nearly managed to get to his feet.
“I’ll go, I’ll go,” Ward said, his voice placating. “But do you mind if I take a quick look around first?”
“Why?” Luna snapped.
“Just to make certain this goon didn’t sneak in and hide somewhere. I’d never forgive myself if I walked away now, only to find out later you and old Grimm had been murdered.”
“Oh, really, Ward, don’t be ridiculous! Ward!”
“What’s back here?”
The wardsman’s footsteps sounded in the passage, and Nigel’s heart jolted against his sternum. He could hear Luna’s voice from farther away, saying, “It’s just a storage room!”
“And this?”
“Water closet!”
“What about this?”
“The . . . boiler room.”
“Why is it locked?”
“We always keep it locked.”
“Yes, but why?”
“I don’t know. Don’t you lock your boiler room door?”
“Not as a rule. Don’t know why you would. What happens if you’ve got to get in there for something?”
“You would unlock it, I suppose.”
“Do you have the key?”
“No.”
“Who does?”
“Probably Mr. Grimm.”
“Mr. Grimm who’s out on a midnight snack-run.”
“It’s not midnight, Ward.”
“Close enough.”
More footsteps. Nigel heard the kitchen door open and close, and their voices were muffled for a few moments.
He chose to use that time to finally push himself up and out of the chair.
For a moment, he feared he would topple headlong, but somehow managed to get his legs braced.
Part of him was vaguely aware that his mental faculties were probably not working at top notch just then.
He was sore and sick and dizzy and burned from the inside out.
That last would be from whatever Mortimer had done to him, before the poison of the severmist filled his lungs.
And his jaw hurt. He rolled it experimentally, wondering if the bone was cracked.
He took a step. Nearly pivoted over. Throwing out one hand, he landed heavily on the table, knocking the teacup to the floor.
It shattered in a hundred shards of porcelain.
Nigel stared down at the damage, his heart thudding in his ears. Then, as though from a distance, he heard the kitchen door open, followed by long-striding footsteps. “I tell you,” Ward’s voice growled, “I heard something crash out here in the shop.”
“I didn’t hear anything, Ward!” Luna protested, hot on his heels. “Please, just leave it alone!”
Nigel remained poised where he was, still leaning hard against the table.
Should he step out from behind the curtain?
Declare his presence, demand Ward the Wardsman vacate the premises?
But no. He looked down at his front, saw the purple stain of poisoned spittle and sickness on his shirt and unbuttoned waistcoat.
He had no explanation to offer for any aspect of his appearance. He practically reeked of guilt.
The hinged portion of the counter creaked. Footsteps drew near, approaching the nook curtain.
“Ward!”
The footsteps stopped.
“What?” Ward’s voice was sharp, as sharp as Nigel had ever heard it.
“Ward, will you . . . come back here, please?” In contrast to Ward’s tone, Luna’s was suddenly soft. Dulcet, even. Dreamy.
“Why?”
“I . . . I just . . . It occurred to me that . . . that you must have been in a great deal of danger tonight. Were you?”
A moment of considering silence. Then: “Yeah. I was a bit. There was some sorcery slung about, not to mention a little gunfire.”
“Sounds terrifying!”
“Aw, you know. Part of a night’s work.”
“But you could have been hurt, couldn’t you?”
“Always a risk in my line of business.”
“Oh, Ward! I just . . . I don’t think I realized until now . . . how very brave you are!”
Iced razor blades sliced through Nigel’s heart. What was this voice of hers? What was this sweetness, this . . . this . . . seduction? He hated it. Hated it so much. He tried to move his arm, to grasp the edge of the curtain and yank it back, but his hand felt like a lead weight at his side.
“Is that what you think? That I’m brave?” Ward’s voice was turned away from the curtain now. Nigel listened to more footsteps, to the sound of the counter hinge creaking up and down.
“You know, Ward,” Luna continued, “I’ve been thinking. About what you said earlier today.”
“Have you? Remind me. What did I say earlier today?”
“How you’ve got plans? To, um, to make me fall head-over-heels in love with you.”
“Oh, did I say that?”
“You also asked if . . . if I would come out from behind the counter and kiss you again.”
“Sounds like something I’d say, yeah.”
“And Ward.”
“Yes, Luna?”
“I’m out from behind the counter now, aren’t I?”
There followed the sound of several short footsteps.
Then silence.
Too much silence.
Nigel made another attempt to grab the curtain. This time, his fingers managed to catch hold of a fold of fabric, and he twitched it back just a little. Just enough.
Enough to be hit full in the face with the sight of Ward the Wardsman, Luna wrapped in his big, muscular arms, bending her over backwards in an absolutely enormously swallowing sort of kiss.