Chapter 30 #3
Luna nodded slowly. The famine had not reached as far as Crimble, but there were signs nonetheless.
Whispers and rumors from hollow-eyed vagabonds, wandering through the mountains on their way to better prospects.
She had always believed the sorcery they spoke of was the Shadowbane Lady’s doing, however.
“So,” she said at last, her voice sounding dull as blunted knives in her ears. “This is why they tattooed you. With that large heptagram. On your chest.”
He nodded.
“Why didn’t they just kill you?”
How cold the question was once stated. But she couldn’t soften it. Even if she wanted to.
Mr. Grimm turned away, closing his eyes, even as a fresh outpouring of tears raced down his haggard cheeks.
“They should have. They should have killed me or, at the very least, locked me up forever. But I overthrew the Shadowbane Lady. In the end, they felt they couldn’t.
That’s the story they told me, anyway. Right before they exiled me. ”
Luna stared at him. Trying to reconcile everything she knew, every dark tale she’d been told, every ominous rumor which had reached her ear, with this man who stood before her.
This man who had been nothing but kind to her from the moment she met him.
This man who had always fallen over himself to see to her comforts and happiness, who sought out ways to make her laugh, to make her smile.
This man who seemed to rise each morning with the sole purpose in mind of somehow making her life a little better, a little easier.
This man whose kisses had awakened in her a desire like nothing she’d ever known.
But what did any of this matter? There was a time, not so long ago, when everything he was had belonged to her. To the Shadowbane Lady. His kisses were given for her lewd pleasure, his every breath and deed devoted to her dark desires.
“It was then that I saw him. On his knees. His face buried between her—”
“I’ve got to go,” Luna said abruptly, pushing away from the stove. She could not look at him, not one second longer, so she focused instead on the toes of her shoes as she shuffled to maneuver past him in the tiny nook.
His hand shot out, long fingers closing around her elbow.
There was strength in his grip, and a jolt of something delicious and terrible shot through her senses, causing her to freeze.
Still Luna would not look at him, kept her eyes firmly averted, even as she felt his burning gaze fixed on her face.
“Where are you going?” he demanded, his voice rough.
She swallowed painfully. “I’m going to Mrs. Goddard’s. I’ll sit up with her until we hear news of Tobias. She’ll need the company.”
He breathed out a ragged exhale. “Will you come back tomorrow?”
Luna closed her eyes. Then, slowly, she turned her head, peered up into his blue eyes.
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. Wednesday felt so perilously far away.
What if Lancelot Mortimer came searching for her?
What if he was out there looking for her right now?
What if he’d tagged her again tonight, and she hadn’t even noticed? What if . . . what if . . . ?
Mr. Grimm tilted his head toward her, his expression earnest. “I can protect you.”
Luna stiffened, her eyes flashing. “Protect me from what, Mr. Grimm?” she asked.
Then she wrenched out of his grasp and took a few steps back out from the nook. Her heart beat strangely. Did he know? Did he know her real name? Did he know who she was?
Suddenly, she struggled to see him—to see Nigel Grimm, florist and gardener and brewer of teas.
Instead, she felt as though she stood before that figure of seven-foot, towering horror she’d glimpsed on a few occasions.
It took only a series of furious blinks to make him resolve back into the image of her disheveled boss, with his stained shirt and unbuttoned waistcoat, and his hair spilling over his forehead, but the after-image remained, haunting her brain.
Mr. Grimm turned away from her, closing his eyes. “Never mind,” he said softly. “Go if you must.”
Turning on heel, Luna hastened to the hinged portion of the counter, opening and closing it a little too fast so that it banged.
Debbie shuffled on her skull-pot, muttering a grouchy, “Never mind,” but Luna ignored her.
She hurried to the back passage, meaning to flee through the kitchen, gathering her coat along the way. She paused, however, and looked back.
Mr. Grimm stood where she’d left him. He slumped with his forehead resting against the wall, his eyes closed, his body bent, as though he struggled to stay on his feet.
She couldn’t see anything of his features, but the line of his neck and the tension in his shoulders was clear beneath the unfeeling light of the thaumatic bulb.
Luna bit her lip. Then: “Arnica and dandelion.”
He turned, his blue eyes shimmering once more with unshed tears. His brow wrinkled as he blinked at her stupidly. “What?”
“For the . . . this.” She pointed at her own cheek and jaw. “Arnica and dandelion will bring down the swelling, and I added a pinch of orclily to help with discoloration. There’s a little box of sachets in the pantry. I left them there, after . . . after Saint Jollify. When you had that black eye.”
Mr. Grimm nodded. “Thank you, Miss Talbot.”
She licked her lips. “Good night, Mr. Grimm,” she said softly.
“Good night.”
Without another word, she turned and fled.