Chapter 8
Luna carefully poured steaming water from the kettle into the squat red teapot.
Then, setting aside the kettle, she picked up the pot and carefully swirled the liquid to warm the porcelain on the inside.
This accomplished, she picked up the little tin of slow-dried orange llarmi tea and carefully measured out two level spoonfuls (plus the dibble-dab, of course) into the measure of hot water.
She swirled the contents again, three gentle rotations, and watched how the leaves dispersed inside.
Then she poured more hot water, filling the pot up to the appropriate line for two cups of tea.
Finally, she popped the lid on the pot (it was shaped like a mushroom cap; very whimsical), snugged on an elaborately-embroidered tea cozy, and checked the kitchen clock, taking note of the time for a five-minute brew.
It was all so methodical. Almost a meditation, in its way.
The humble magic of a tea witch, ingrained in her blood and bones.
She felt steadier. Though she could not deny the way her hand had quivered as she spooned the dry tea leaves.
Shock was still pulsing in her veins, but surely all she needed was a little hot beverage to reclaim her equilibrium.
Then she would somehow find the strength to face . . . everything.
“You don’t need to sit up with me, luv,” a tired voice spoke from the kitchen table behind her.
Luna looked back over her shoulder at the round figure of Mrs. Goddard, seated beneath a tassel-trimmed lampshade, which softened the harsh glow of the thaumatic bulb overhead.
Even so, the light made the lines of her face seem deeper and more careworn than Luna ever remembered seeing before.
Her small, cheerful, wrinkle-framed eyes were strangely haunted tonight as they gazed up at Luna.
“You must be tired. A young thing like you needs her sleep, and there ain’t no use waiting through the small hours with an old woman. ”
Picking up the teapot, Luna carried it from the counter to the table, where two mushroom-shaped teacups sat on green leaf saucers. The whimsicality of Mrs. Goddard’s kitchen was working its darndest to counteract the feeling of impending doom in the atmosphere. One had to give credit for effort.
“I’m happy to be here with you, Mrs. Goddard,” Luna said gently as she took her seat across from the good woman. “I don’t think you should be alone while you . . . wait.”
Wait to find out if her nincompoop of a youngest son was picked up by wardsmen, caught in sorcerous crossfire, or somehow escaped to make it home to his mother’s arms. Luna wasn’t holding her breath.
Truth be told, her motives for staying weren’t altogether altruistic.
Luna simply didn’t know where else she could possibly go tonight.
It was well past curfew at Mrs. Boggs’s Boardinghouse for Young Women of Good Character, and Bryony was working at the Rowdy House, so there would be no one to let her in through the fire escape.
She’d been foolish to stay out so late, foolish to .
. . well, to do a lot of things this evening.
To convince Mr. Grimm to sneak up the Lover’s Tower.
To take his hand when he offered it, to let her fingers twine with his.
To let him look at her the way he did, until she felt she might drown in the star-filled depths of his sad, blue gaze.
To close her eyes, to part her lips, to let him lean in and kiss her . . .
Luna squeezed her fists tight in her lap.
No, she definitely shouldn’t have done any of those things.
And she really, really shouldn’t have taken Mr. Grimm up on his offer to come home with him, back to The Arcane Bouquet.
Because, seriously, what did she think was going to happen between them tonight?
What did she want to happen between them tonight?
She couldn’t articulate it. If she did, she might end up spilling confessions that would make poor Auntie Arabella blush and Auntie Aurora dive to her knees to utter earnest prayers for her niece’s wayward soul and tarnished character.
But—and here was the dangerous truth—she didn’t really regret any of those things.
Not the hand-holding. Not the kisses. Not even the unstated but possibly not-altogether-chaste intentions which had driven her to take that taxi ride home with her boss and had ultimately seen her wrapped tightly in his arms, losing all sense of reason and decorum to the delicious onslaught of his passion.
No. Her only big regret was that she’d let her concern for Tobias Goddard drive her down to the warehouse district tonight.
She should have let the fool boy flounder in the mire of his own bad choices.
This thought brought with it a pang of guilt, however.
After all, it wasn’t Tobias for whom she’d been primarily concerned, but his poor, desperate mother.
Luna sent a gentle look across the table.
She hoped her presence was comforting, though she suspected it wasn’t really.
“And did you say you saw my sweet boy?” Mrs. Goddard asked as Luna poured tea through a strainer, filling the two cups, one after the other.
Luna nodded. She didn’t think it prudent to share the true circumstances of her misadventure, but she owed the kindly old lady something at least. “I did see him, Mrs. Goddard. And I urged him to come back to you. I . . . I don’t know that he meant to listen.
He was with rather a rough crowd at the time.
But I hope something I said may have gotten through. ”
Even as she spoke the words, her lip curled.
Tobias had been right there with the rest of them when she was bound to that chair, and Lancelot Mortimer had limped out of the shadows to leer down at her from his Dire-warped face.
No one lifted a finger to help her when Mortimer had drawn lifeforce from her body to power a sleeping spell, which he’d subsequently used to knock her out.
Green Mother above! It had been quite the night, hadn’t it?
Luna took a sip of her tea, hands trembling so much, she struggled to keep her cup steady.
“You look pale, dearie,” Mrs. Goddard observed from over the lip of her own cup.
Luna felt pale. But she murmured only a soft, “I’m all right.”
“And your Mr. Grimm? Last I saw the man, he was heading out after my boy as well. He told me to come back here and wait. Is he all right too? Did you see him?”
Luna took another fortifying gulp of tea, her gaze wandering about the kitchen in an effort not to meet those knowing eyes across the table.
But she could not stop the image of Mr. Grimm as she had last seen him from encroaching on her mind.
Seated in the chair behind the counter. Purple poison staining his chin and shirt. Tears pouring down his face.
“I am not that person anymore.”
His voice, usually so posh, now broken with agonized emotion, echoed in the dark spaces of her memory.
“I am ashamed of who I was. Of what I became. But I have put all that behind me. The Grimshade Lord is dead and buried.”
Luna blinked hard and sniffed, determined to keep her feelings at bay. “No doubt Mr. Grimm is fine,” she said and took another sip of tea.
Mrs. Goddard’s hand slid across the lacework table-topper and touched Luna’s arm gently. “Did something happen between the two of you?”
“What do you mean?” Luna wouldn’t meet her gaze.
“Oh, don’t try to be coy!” Mrs. Goddard chuckled, though the sound wasn’t particularly mirthful.
“I’ve seen my share of lovesick fools in my time.
Why, I mothered seven sons, didn’t I? Seemed like not a day went by but one of ‘em was breaking his heart over some girl or another!” Her fingers tightened on Luna’s arm, a slight pressure.
“But I swear, I ain’t never seen a man so dead-gone on anyone as that Mr. Grimm is on you. ”
Luna frowned into her cup. “I’m sure you’re mistaken, Mrs. Goddard,” she said and took another large gulp.
“I’m not,” Mrs. Goddard answered with confidence.
“And even if he were,” Luna continued, setting the cup down on its leaf saucer, “I couldn’t . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she bit her lip.
“Why?” Mrs. Goddard pressed. “Because he’s your boss?”
Because he’s dangerous.
Because he belonged to HER, long before he felt anything for me.
Because everything I thought I knew about him might actually be a lie.
The thoughts tumbled around in Luna’s head, but her brow puckered tight.
None of those excuses quite fit. However shocking the revelations Lancelot Mortimer had inflicted on her might have been, they didn’t change the reality of the man she knew.
The man who bought her winter boots and tea sets.
The man who memorized every tea in her accumulated stash and the proper proportions for brewing them, just so he could help her out when the afternoon rush got hectic.
The man who held her so gently while dancing, be it on a dance floor or under a fancy Chippenham table.
The man who somehow managed to make her laugh nearly every day with his deadpan humor.
The man who nursed her through pneumonia and threw her surprise parties and cradled her close when she thought her heart was breaking.
The man who had brought so much more beauty and joy to her life than she’d ever known was possible.
The man who had kissed her like she was the beginning and ending of his entire existence.
Luna took a last gulp of tea. “Because I’m leaving,” she said. “On the four am mail train, Wednesday morning.”
“What?” Mrs. Goddard’s hand flew to her chest as she gasped. “Luna, luv . . . does Mr. Grimm know?”
Luna shook her head. “And you can’t tell him, Mrs. Goddard!” she added hastily, her eyes flashing to meet the old woman’s. “No one knows. No one can know. Not until I’m gone.”
“But . . . but why?” Mrs. Goddard’s sweet expression hardened into an unexpectedly ferocious mask. “Did he do something improper?”