Chapter 13
As she hurried along the Pembroke sidewalk on her way back to Addle Street, Luna could not stop the brimming tears which threatened to spill over onto her cheeks.
Hating herself for not being able to keep her emotions better in check, she dashed them away quickly.
She should not be crying over a dress! Green Mother save her, someone might think she was upset about not going to the Governor’s Ball!
It wasn’t the ball that worried her.
It was Ward.
What would he do if she turned him down at the last minute after all?
If he showed up at six, expecting to have a date ready and willing, only for her to be like, “Um, sorry, Ward, but the bird scat all over my gown, and the laundry said they couldn’t get it back to me until tomorrow. Guess you’ll have to go stag!”
Luna shivered as an icy breeze blew straight through the too-thin fabric of her winter coat.
Would Ward . . . turn her in then? She didn’t want to think so.
She didn’t want to believe that her freedom was dependent on her continuing to play the good girlfriend.
It wasn’t as though Ward had said anything to that effect.
And to be fair, he’d never acted that way either.
But she was so close now to getting out. She couldn’t take stupid risks.
“Well, you don’t have much choice, do you?
” she muttered as her feet shuffled down the icy sidewalk.
That green dress might not have been appropriate for such a grand function, but it was a heck of a lot closer than anything else to which she had access.
She couldn’t go to this ball in her work blouse, and nothing in the carpetbag Bryony had brought over would come even close.
What, would she pull out and wear her cherry-print dress and scuffed black pumps?
Pausing a moment at the corner of Pembroke and Addle, Luna leaned against the lamppost as she fought for breath.
Closing her eyes, she considered her options.
The fact that Bryony had brought over her bag changed things.
Other than a few small odds and ends, it was already packed in readiness for her departure.
Had Bryony noticed that Luna had stuffed all her worldly goods into that bag?
It was so light, probably not; Luna didn’t have much by way of worldly goods.
She’d even secreted her little stash-purse into the lining.
So really, there was nothing stopping her from grabbing it and heading to the station right now.
Then she could simply hang out on the platform for the rest of the afternoon and through the long, cold night.
Maybe she could find a tucked-away spot in the lounge and manage to keep warm. Then she wouldn’t have to face Ward.
Luna bit her lip. This was not how she wanted her last day to go. This was not how she wanted to end her time in Ballycastle.
A creeping shudder made its way down the back of her neck.
Despite Ward’s assurances that the SSSD had picked up Lancelot Mortimer, she no longer felt safe.
Whether that had as much to do with the Brotherhood on her heels as it did with the Dark Sorcerer she’d kissed last night .
. . well, it was probably best not to speculate on that score.
“Get a grip, Luna,” she muttered, her hand on the lamppost tightening. “Everything’s going to be fine. You’re going to return to the shop, grab your bag, and slip away to the station. It’s the best plan you’ve got. Not a good plan, but better than nothing.”
Fortifying herself for what must be, she pushed away from the post and made the turn onto Addle Street. Only to stop short.
A queue of customers stood beneath the awning of The Arcane Bouquet.
Even from this little distance, she recognized three lady’s maids and a footman, all employed by Silly Young Things and come to pick up their mistresses’ orders for the ball.
But why were they standing outside in the cold?
Did Mr. Grimm lock up the shop for some reason?
“Sorry to keep you waiting!” Luna called out in greeting as she pressed her way through their numbers to the front door. She fumbled for the shop key in her purse. “Here, let me get you inside.”
A flurry of questions assaulted her ears, but she ignored them and concentrated on fitting her key in the lock.
She pushed the door open, and the small throng followed her into the shop, stamping street-snow off their boots as they came.
Luna hastily slipped behind the counter, hung up her coat, and turned to face the demands of her clients.
“Yes, yes, you had the dahlias for Miss Grantwood, right? One moment, please.”
She darted back to the kitchen to fetch corsages from the icebox, expecting to find Mr. Grimm back there.
But he was nowhere to be seen. How could he have abandoned the shop in the middle of the afternoon?
And on such a busy afternoon as this! He had to know they still had a load of pickups, hadn’t he?
“So much for grabbing my bag and slipping away,” Luna muttered, stacking nosegays and corsages in her arms. She shut the icebox door and returned to the front of the shop.
She remained busy for the next hour or so, signing orders, receiving payments, and making a few last-minute tweaks according to the specifications of Silly Young Things, as passed along by their maids. All this while, there was still no sign of Mr. Grimm. Or Debbie either, for that matter.
At some point, Luna turned to the double-delight rose, who seemed to have crept a bit closer to the counter than usual. “Have you any idea what’s going on?” she whispered.
Thorny canes shivered in a floral shrug.
Finally, 4 o’clock rolled around. While the shop was still officially open, the last of the pickups were complete.
No more little nosegays stuffed in the icebox.
No more order slips waiting to be fulfilled.
Luna looked around the shop. The space behind the counter was an absolute disaster of debris.
Petals, leaves, snippets of ribbon, tape, wire, and fake crystals littered every surface and scattered across the floor.
She chewed the inside of her cheek. This was the first time the shop had been quiet since she got back from Pearly Bubbles Laundry.
She should take the opportunity, snatch up her bag, and go.
Instead, she fetched the broom and dustpan and commenced with a thorough sweep-up.
All the while, the double-delight watched her closely with an expression she found oddly suspicious.
“What?” she demanded, moving her broom rather aggressively across the tiles at the base of its big pot.
“You want your Mama Morgana’s a little early? ”
The rose frilled petals at her.
“All right, all right. Just give me a minute to finish up back here, and then I’ll—”
A sudden clatter of footsteps sounded in the stairway.
Luna jumped and spun on heel just in time to see Mr. Grimm emerge, looking quite frazzled, his hair askew, his eyes rather hollow.
Had he been upstairs in his apartment this whole time?
Leaving her to work down here by herself, while he snoozed the afternoon away?
“Mr. Grimm,” Luna said sternly, gripping her broom handle in both hands, “where have you been? I’ve been run off my feet dealing with all these orders, and I—”
“Forgive me, Miss Talbot,” he gasped all in a rush.
He approached the counter on unsteady feet.
Despite his otherwise disheveled appearance, he’d removed his apron, put on his jacket, and even added a tie since last she’d seen him.
That didn’t do anything to soften the grayish tinge to his skin or the pinched quality around his eyes.
“Did you have any luck at the laundry?” he asked.
Luna shook her head. “They can’t get the dress back to me until tomorrow.”
An all-too-brief smile flashed across his face, there and gone again. “That’s unfortunate.”
“Yes.” Luna dropped her gaze to her feet for a moment before glancing up at him from under her lashes. He really did look dreadful. “Is the, um. Is the severmist still bothering you? I could make up another batch of tea, you know—”
“No!” Mr. Grimm grunted and shook his head. Then, modulating his voice to gentler tones, he added, “Thank you.” He smoothed his hair back with one hand, though one stubborn lock sprang forward again at once. “Miss Talbot, would you . . . would you do me the honor of . . . of coming upstairs?”
Luna blinked.
Though no clear thought of any kind would form for some moments, she became acutely aware of a flood of sensation flowing through every part of her body. Heat and ice. Simultaneously. Strange and terrifying and not unpleasant.
Dangerously not unpleasant.
“Why, Mr. Grimm?” she asked. Her words came out soft, faint.
His gaze flashed to meet hers, then away again. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I, erm, require your assistance with, erm . . . something.”
Luna pulled her lips in and bit down on them hard.
It didn’t matter. She couldn’t bite away the vivid memory of how his mouth had felt against hers.
Nor could she forget the timbre in his voice last night when he’d asked if she wanted to come home with him.
She’d inquired then if that invitation had included an intention of one of them sleeping behind the counter.
He’d looked her straight in the eye and answered in tones that made the ground beneath her feet tremble: “I think not.”
Of course, it hadn’t meant anything. Not any one thing. Not for certain.