Chapter 10
While Luna did her best with the comb Mrs. Goddard had loaned her, it couldn’t work miracles. It couldn’t instill bounce and curl into the limp and lifeless strands of hair framing the haggard, sleep-deprived face peering back at her from the little vanity glass.
Luna frowned pensively at her reflection.
Last night had seen her taken captive by ruffians, bound to a chair in an abandoned warehouse, threatened by a Dark Sorcerer, enchanted, and forced to use her unpracticed feminine wiles to distract a wardsman.
Not to mention confronting the fact that the man with whom she’d just shared what could only be described as A Heated Moment was, in fact, the ex-paramour of the most evil sorceress ever to tyrannize the modern world.
In light of these events, a bit of limpness in the hair and pallor in the cheeks didn’t seem worth getting upset over.
Nevertheless, she would give a great deal for a bit of rouge right about then.
Something to infuse some color into her complexion.
It wouldn’t do to spend her last day in Ballycastle floating about like a wan waif from some gothic novel.
Luna bit her lips, trying to pink them, but they faded back to dull, lifeless beige almost immediately.
She looked the way she felt: exhausted to the bone.
But in the small, dark hours just before dawn, she’d made a decision, and she was determined to stick with it.
“I’ll work today,” she told her reflection in the glass, even as she tied her hair back from her face with a bit of ribbon.
“I’m probably safer at the shop than anywhere else in Ballycastle. ”
It was a risk, of course. Only two days ago, when she’d first bumped into Lancelot Mortimer, she’d been wearing her work apron with the shop name embroidered across the front.
He’d commented on it, and though she’d tried to cover by telling him it was the name of a laundry, it was only a matter of time before he’d figure out the truth.
But surely she could risk one day. She’d finish up all those commissions for the Governor’s Ball, then say some sort of proper goodbye.
To Garden. To the flowers. To Debbie. To . . .
She bit her lip again, this time in an effort to suppress the sudden pressure of brimming tears.
“You can’t say goodbye,” she whispered sternly at her reflected self.
“He . . . They . . . No one can know.” She swallowed hard and steeled her expression into something stern.
“You’ve got to play it cool, Luna Talbot. ”
Which might be easier to accomplish if she’d ever been cool in her life.
Giving herself an all-over shake, Luna pulled her blouse on over her white slip.
Yesterday’s clothing wasn’t all that fresh anymore, but she didn’t have time to go back to the boardinghouse for a change.
Truth be told, she didn’t feel safe walking the streets of Ballycastle just now.
No, it would be better to stick close to the shop today, concentrate on her work, keep her head down.
If there was any sign of sorcerous disturbance, she could dart into Garden.
Garden was absolutely swathed in protective and deflective spells.
It was probably the safest place in the entire city.
But what about Mr. Grimm?
Luna’s fingers shook so hard, she struggled to do up her own buttons.
How was she going to face him? How could she even bear to look him in the eye after . . . after everything?
Her fingers trailed up to touch her lips.
Very gently, a faint little brush. But she closed her eyes and felt all over again the burning brilliance of his kiss.
So light at first, so careful. But then gathering in courage and conviction, pulling her in, deepening into something dark and dangerous and oh!
so delicious. A kiss which had awakened a fiery furnace, hot in her core, filling her with hunger unlike anything she’d ever—
“Snap out of it!” Luna growled. She opened her eyes again, glaring at her reflection as she finished her buttons. “You’re playing it cool, remember?”
She would only interact with that man as much as was absolutely necessary. Otherwise, she’d concentrate on her work, fulfilling all those commissions, which had been left to languish yesterday when she absconded from the shop with her boss in tow.
Yes, the work would keep her busy. Then it would all be over. She would bid him a simple “good night” and listen to the shop bells tinkle as she stepped through the door.
And she would never see him again.
“It’s for the best,” she reminded her pale reflection. “For everyone.”
Slipping on her coat and gathering up her few things, Luna paused a moment to look around Mrs. Goddard’s guest room.
Her eyes strayed to the wastebasket beside the chest of drawers.
It was empty save for the thaumagraph, which she’d tossed in there last night.
After tearing it into eight ragged pieces.
Luna swallowed hard.
Then with a little, “Oh!” she scooped up the shredded thaumagraph bits and stuffed them into her purse.
It was just so that Mrs. Goddard wouldn’t find them, of course.
Not because she meant to keep them. Not because she intended to carefully paste the pieces back together like a jigsaw puzzle then moon over them like a lovesick puppy during the dark and lonely nights to come.
No. She was simply tidying up after herself. Like any good guest should.
A toothsome scent of frying sausages greeted Luna as she descended the stairs and made her way back to the kitchen.
Mrs. Goddard, hard at work preparing her standard breakfast platters for her tenants, looked much fresher and rosier than one might expect, considering the harrowing night she’d just endured.
But the hours of darkness had turned to dawn at last, and no wardsmen had showed up on her doorstep.
She had every reason to believe all would be well, and her robust good humor buoyed her spirits. Luna couldn’t help but admire her.
The laces of the landlady’s old-fashioned cap wafted as she turned to see Luna step into the kitchen. “Gracious, duckie, why didn’t you sleep in?” she demanded.
“I’m not tired, Mrs. Goddard,” Luna answered at once, though she knew the hollows around her eyes belied her words. “I need to get going. There’s an awful lot of orders piled up at the shop. For the Governor’s Ball, you know.”
Mrs. Goddard’s face crinkled. Luna could feel the old woman restraining a series of comments. Before she could let one of them through, Luna hastily stepped forward, indicating a silver breakfast tray. “Is this one ready? I can take it over to Mr. Grimm’s for you.”
Mrs. Goddard slid several sausages onto the plate, then set the lid in place. She nodded, but brought her hand down firmly on top just as Luna tried to lift it. Her voice was uncharacteristically stern when she spoke: “You need to tell him, luv.”
Luna wouldn’t meet her gaze.
“It’s not right, leaving him without a goodbye.”
“I know,” Luna whispered. Then she flashed the landlady a quick glance. “Please, Mrs. Goddard, don’t say anything to him. Promise me.”
The good woman sighed but nodded her agreement. She lifted her hand, allowing Luna to take the platter. “If I don’t see you again,” she said sadly, “be a good girl and take care of yourself, won’t you?”
“I’ll do my best,” Luna answered a bit thickly.
Then, before she could disgrace herself and cry more tears she could ill-afford to waste, she stepped out into the alley and the bitter cold.
Fool’s Spring was over, and winter had returned with a vengeance to Ballycastle. A fitting match for her own mood.
She paused for a long while at the back door of The Arcane Bouquet, working up her courage.
But she’d committed to this course now, and she wanted to believe it was, in fact, the most sensible option before her.
It wasn’t as though she could leave Ballycastle today; her ticket wasn’t good until tomorrow morning.
One more day shouldn’t make any difference.
Balancing the tray on one arm, she fished out her key and got the back door opened.
“Hullo, Mr. Grimm! I’m here!” she called out as she stepped into the kitchen.
She meant it to sound cheerful; it came out horrifically fabricated.
Gods, what possessed her to attempt that sunshiny voice after everything which had transpired?
No answer came. Luna set the breakfast platter on the table, heart pounding as she strained her ears. She heard no sign of Mr. Grimm out in the shop. Perhaps he’d not come down from his apartment yet? They’d had rather a long night, after all. No doubt he was exhausted.
Though her stomach was hollow with hunger, Luna couldn’t stand the idea of eating just now.
She left Mrs. Goddard’s breakfast in the kitchen and stepped into the shop, slipping out of her coat as she went.
If she could get a good start on the opening routine before Mr. Grimm even showed up, maybe she could force a degree of normalcy between them. Just for one day. Just one more day.
The shop was dark. The shutters on the windows were closed up, the thaumatic light bulbs were off.
A strange air of hushed stillness hovered in the atmosphere, as though all the flowers were holding their collective breaths.
Luna stood in the passage doorway, frowning as she peered into the shadows. “Hullo?” she called out.
A few blossoms turned their faces toward her. Otherwise, no response. Pulse thudding with trepidation, Luna moved to the counter, lifted the hinged portion, and stepped behind it. Then she switched on the thaumatic light overhead.
And saw Mr. Grimm seated in the nook chair. Slumped over.
Luna froze where she stood. Every extremity seemed to have turned to ice.
He’s dead, she thought. I left him too soon last night. The poison got him, and he’s dead.