Chapter 30
Was it possible that Ward had somehow become a worse kisser since that afternoon?
Because that was the fact of the matter.
Luna knew it now, having some basis for comparison: Ward wasn’t a good kisser.
Or, at the very least, he didn’t know how to kiss her.
Ward threw himself into his kissing like it was a game he intended to win at all costs.
It was overwhelming, exhausting, and unpleasantly damp.
Luna struggled to imagine how anyone could actually enjoy being on the receiving end of that sort of amorousness.
Oh dear, she thought when his tongue sought to gain entrance through her fastened lips. Have I become a kissing snob?
Maybe. Or maybe she was just spoiled. Because after the delicious pleasure of Mr. Grimm’s kisses—the way his lips had played with and plied hers, gently guiding her from a place of delicate sweetness down deeper into something so richly delectable, so sensitive, so exquisitely aware of her barest response—gods!
She didn’t know how a girl was supposed to come back from kisses like those.
Green Mother above, was this kiss still going on? Was Ward’s tongue still trying to pry her mouth open, while his hands were . . . yikes, his hands.
Luna shook her head, grunting softly as she broke contact. “Gracious, Ward!” she gasped, then forced herself to smile and look up at him all limpid-heroine-like. “A girl’s got to breathe, remember?”
“What?” Ward grinned down at her, his dimples deepening even as his eyes glittered with an expression she did not entirely trust. “Afraid Old Man Grimm is going to walk in on us?”
Luna couldn’t help the barest flash of a glance toward the nook curtain.
Oh, please, let Mr. Grimm still be slumped unconscious back there, oblivious to the world and the doings in his shop!
“He might,” she said and planted her hands on Ward’s chest, pushing.
His hands were still gripping her, one slipped rather lower on her hips than she liked. “Seriously, Ward, you need to go.”
At a second, more forceful push, he released her.
She took his arm then, turning him around and all but dragging him up the center shop aisle back to the front door.
“It was nice of you to stop by,” she said, but was cut off before the words quite left her mouth by another abrupt pressing of eager lips against hers.
Oh gods, did he think he could just kiss her whenever he liked now?
She had no choice but to endure it, so she braced herself, trying not to let any obvious recoil betray her true state of mind.
When he finally pulled back, she forced herself to smile again. “Thanks,” she said.
Ward’s eyebrow rose. “Thanks?”
“Yes?” Luna peered up at him. “You know, for the, um . . .” She pointed vaguely at her mouth.
“Are you thanking me for kissing you?”
“Well, you know, I, um. Yes?”
Ward shook his head, dimple flashing again briefly. “There’s that sweet little Crimble girl,” he said and pinched her chin with forefinger and thumb. “I swear, Luna Talbot, you and your polite little schoolmarm schtick drive me absolutely wild.”
She could tell. Her bruised lips were evidence of the fact. “I’m . . . sorry?” she offered.
“Oh, don’t be.” Sparks glinted in the depths of his green eyes. “I told you long ago that I enjoy a challenge, and I meant it. So, do you think I’m on the right track?”
“For what?”
“For making you fall head-over-heels in love with me?”
Her stomach knotted. But since he wasn’t out the door yet, she forced another grin and made herself flutter her lashes lightly. “Oh, Ward. How’s a girl supposed to stop herself from falling for you?” she murmured. “You . . . you take my breath away!”
And he did. Quite literally. Her lungs were still starving for a little air.
Pleased, Ward allowed her to open the door for him and didn’t seem to notice the forceful way she pressed against his shoulders, trying to get him to move, darn it.
Even as the shop bells tinkled overhead, he paused, however.
“By the way,” he said, and Luna stiffened, wondering if yet another kiss was forthcoming.
“While I was down at the warehouse tonight, I found something. Something curious.”
He fished in his pocket then held out his hand. There, in his large palm, lay a rather bent but still very sparkly shooting star earring. One of its dangling tails had been broken off, but the others still glinted cheerfully in the light glowing from behind the shop counter.
Luna stared at it for a moment without comprehension. Then, before she could stop herself, her other hand flew to her ear, where she felt the matching earring still dangling.
Her eyes lifted, round with horror, meeting Ward’s gaze.
“Thought you might like it,” he said.
“Oh.” Luna breathed. “Yes. It’s . . . very pretty.”
With trembling fingers she reached out, took the battered earring. Realizing as she did so what it was he was doing: offering her evidence. Evidence of her own presence down at the warehouse. Her, a heptagram-marked sorceress. On location at the scene of a bootlegger’s drop.
“Good thing you weren’t down there tonight, Luna Talbot,” Ward said in a low voice, his eyes strangely hooded. “Things definitely got a bit crazy. Hard to say who was there, who wasn’t. Chaos, you know.”
“Right,” Luna whispered. She couldn’t meet his gaze.
“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Ward stuck his thumbs in his belt and rocked on his heels. “Might stop by for a kiss or two. If you think you’ll want me around, that is.”
“Oh, of course!” she answered hastily and forced another smile onto her lips, though it wobbled rather. “Have a . . . have a good night, Ward. And . . . thank you.”
“Oh, thank you,” he replied.
With that, he stepped over the threshold and strode down the night-darkened sidewalk, whistling as he went. Leaving Luna to close the door behind him and twist the bolt.
Turning, she sank back heavily against the wall and stared down at the earring in her hand.
It twinkled in the light of the lone thaumatic bulb, faintly mocking.
Luna bit her lip. Then she turned her wrist, revealing from under the cuff of her blouse the ugly red marks where binding ropes had bitten into her flesh.
And under those, the black heptagram tattoo.
Ward could have taken her in. Tonight. He’d had every reason to.
She could have landed behind bars, held for questioning, incarcerated. Trapped in the confines of a windowless cell.
He might still take her in tomorrow, of course. But she didn’t think he would. Not when he’d handed over the only real evidence against her in his possession. Perhaps she was safe. Perhaps Ward was still her . . . friend.
Luna closed her eyes. Her lips felt tired, her body ached from the life force which had been syphoned out, and her stomach was knotted with terrors she could not fully comprehend.
But Mr. Grimm. He was still back in the nook.
Still poisoned. She had to help him. She had to pull herself together and make certain he survived the night.
And then she had to face the truth of everything Lancelot Mortimer had revealed.
Mr. Grimm was still seated in the cane chair where she’d left him when Luna pulled back the curtain and peered behind it into the nook.
He was slumped, and for a moment she thought he might be unconscious once more.
But when she stepped back into the shadowed space and caught a glimpse of the side of his face, she saw that his eyes were open.
He seemed to be staring fixedly at the stove, but she couldn’t say for certain if he was alert.
“Mr. Grimm?” she asked tentatively.
He blinked.
Luna sucked both lips in, biting down. Then, drawing a swift, determined breath, she knelt and placed her hand atop his where it rested on his knee.
His flesh was icy cold, but she felt him flinch at her touch.
Not enough that he pulled away, but he was, at the very least, aware of her presence.
“Mr. Grimm,” she said, “how do you feel?”
He blinked again, his gaze still fixed on the stove. His lips moved silently, then pressed into a line. Finally, he managed a low mumble: “I’m fine.”
“Did . . . ?” Luna hesitated. But she needed to know. She needed to get the information from him if she was going to help him properly. “Before the . . . the severmist gas hit . . . did that sorcerer hurt you? That is to say, are you Dire-burnt?”
A long moment of stillness. Then he nodded.
“All right.” Luna’s stomach clenched. “Where?”
“Internal,” he muttered.
She nodded again. Then, squeezing his hand, she got to her feet and hastened to the kitchen.
As much as possible, she kept her mind focused on the task at hand, gathering dried sprigs of Saint Hylda’s Wort, stinging nettles, and shriveled calendula, grinding them together while the kettle boiled.
She would not let herself think about Ward.
About that earring. About her near-escape.
She would not let herself think about whether or not she had escaped, or was it just a matter of time before Lancelot Mortimer tracked her down.
Would he follow her here? Or did the wardsmen manage to catch him?
Because, from the sound of it, Ward and his fellows had, indeed, made it to the warehouse and had some sort of altercation with the Brute Boys.
Ward had said something about sorcery slung about, so maybe they’d apprehended the sorcerer?
“Oh gods,” she whispered suddenly, lifting her head from her work and blinking into empty space.
“What about Tobias?” She’d quite forgotten the poor fool boy in all the rest of the tumultuous business of the evening.
Green Mother willing he’d gotten out of that warehouse in one piece, made his way home to his mother.
She’d have to make a point of checking on Mrs. Goddard once she was done here. If she could.