Nigel grimac
Nigel woke to a strong-smelling stench in his nostrils. One he vaguely recognized. Groaning, he turned his face away from the smell, desperate to escape it.
“Oh, come now, sweetheart,” a gentle, wooly-lamb sort of voice said coaxingly. “You need to sit up and take your tea, there’s a good boy.”
Strange . . . but he’d heard Luna use a tone not at all unsimilar upon more than one occasion.
How many times had she coaxed him into imbibing her medicinal brews, both pleasant and disgusting?
In fact, he could almost swear it was Luna’s voice, only aged up by a number of decades and stripped of all her sass and spice.
Luna.
His brow crinkled.
Did he . . . save her?
An image flashed through his brain: a dark cell.
Luna bound in chains. Followed by pain, pain, pain .
. . oh, right. The severmist. He’d used sorcery, and the severmist had punished him for it, but he’d managed the portal and transportation through the Dire.
He was fairly certain he remembered the portal opening on the far side as well.
They’d made it out, hadn’t they? Yes, they’d made it out, and . . . and . . .
Nigel opened his eyes very slowly, peering up into a cherubic face wreathed in delicate wrinkles and fluffy faded-gold curls.
Her coloring was nothing at all like Luna’s, being all pale and blue-eyed.
But her mouth. That full upper lip, not as full as it once was, perhaps, but still a recognizable shape. He knew that mouth.
The old woman smiled sweetly. “There you go, here’s a sip!”
He seemed to be halfway propped-up on a bunch of scratchy old pillows, while the woman held a cup of foul-smelling tea to his lips.
Nigel wanted to protest, to dash it away, but one simply did not behave that way in front of such a gentle personage.
Instead, he dutifully took a sip, gagged, then somehow managed to force the mouthful down. “Wh—what is it?” he asked.
“Wolf Brittlebum,” the lady answered at once. “It’ll give you energy, luv. You were quite worn to bits when you arrived. Fainted outright!”
Nigel grimaced. Pain still throbbed through his head, and the rest of him didn’t feel a whole lot better.
Running a hand down his face, he turned, trying to get some sense of where he was.
He seemed to be lying on the ground in the middle of a sloped and grassy lawn.
Which made sense—a little old lady like the one before him wasn’t going to be able to drag a fully-grown man inside.
“Another sip, dear,” she said.
He took it obediently, nearly spitting it up again, but managed, out of sheer gentlemanly determination to keep it down.
Then he pushed onto his elbow, panting a little, and cast about, trying to get his bearings.
The portal had landed him just outside a little cottage built of weathered gray stone, darkened by decades of mountain rain.
The roof sagged beneath old slate tiles mottled with lichen, and a pair of stout chimneys rose from either end.
Beyond the cottage, the mountain slopes lay under a blanket of snow, and Nigel could just glimpse the rooftops of a village nestled in a curve of the valley, smoke drifting lazily from scattered chimneys into the still air.
The cottage itself seemed untouched by the season.
The lawn where he sat remained green and damp beneath him, while an impressive tea garden spread away to one side of the house, protected by unseen enchantment.
A low stone wall enclosed the grounds, marking the boundary where winter abruptly resumed.
Beyond it, snow lay thick and undisturbed.
The day was overcast, but not gloomy. Clouds hung low and soft over the mountains, wrapping the landscape in a quiet gray hush that felt less like bad weather and more like a blanket drawn snug around the world.
Luna could be safe here, surely. For a little while at least. Long enough to recover from whatever spells the Brotherhood had placed upon her.
But they couldn’t stay. Because, despite whatever protective wards may be placed around this property, the Brotherhood knew about it.
They would come, sooner or later. Probably sooner.
Much sooner. While Nigel would like to think he’d caused enough havoc among them to give him and Luna a little breather, it wouldn’t last.
“Where is Luna?” he asked, turning to the old lady. Then he shook his head, closing his eyes, and corrected himself. “Miss Talbot. Where is Miss Talbot?”
“Miss Talbot?” The lady narrowed her soft blue eyes. “You’re a formal sort, aren’t you?”
“Where is she?” Nigel demanded again, pushing himself more fully upright.
In so doing, he became aware of the fact that his dressing gown and shirt were both hanging open rather alarmingly, and he’d apparently forgotten to don an undershirt.
Which meant the heptagram tattoo on his chest was prominently displayed.
He hastily gripped his shirt and pulled it closed, but a quick glance at the old lady told him she’d noticed already.
“Tell me,” she said, rather than answering his roughly-spoken question, “what is my sweet Luna doing, associating with a sorcerer like your fine self? Hmmm?”
“I’m not a sorcerer,” Nigel said quickly.
She gave him a look.
“That is, not anymore,” he amended. “I’m retired.”
“Judging by the complexity of that portal sigil, which opened up right in the middle of my anti-sorcerer-warded yard, not to mention that outrageously fluffy demon you’ve apparently enthralled to your will . . . I’d say you’re not as retired as all that.”
Though her voice was gooey-sweet, the sharpness in her gaze was undeniable. Yet again, she reminded him rather starkly of Luna. Nigel rolled his jaw. “It’s a long story.”
“Well, I do like stories,” she said, then held the teacup to his lips again. He obediently took a gulp, grimacing with distaste. “However, something tells me we don’t have much time for stories at the moment, so just answer me this: Do you love my little niece?”
Nigel sputtered, droplets of tea spattering down the front of his exposed torso.
Swallowing hard, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, flushing furiously.
“I, erm, that is.” He coughed again, clearing his throat.
“I’m her boss. Her employer. She works for me at my, erm, my flower shop.
Best employee I ever had. Very, erm, very hardworking.
Innovative. Quite a favorite with the customer base. Erm.”
The old lady’s eyebrow rose in an expression that was so very Luna-like, it was almost uncanny. “And?”
He dropped his gaze, his face burning. Then he murmured, “And I love her.” He looked up then, meeting the old woman’s eyes as he added in tones of torment, “Desperately.”
For a moment, the old woman was very still, very silent.
Then, with a little, “Oooooh!” she set her teacup aside and clasped her hands before her sagging bosom.
“Ooooooh, it’s just like The Viscount’s Unrelenting Passion, isn’t it?
Ooooooh, and look at you! So pretty and romantic!
Not what I would have thought for our Luna, not a sorcerer, but well, who am I to judge our dear girl’s choices?
And that dreamy voice of yours does cover a multitude of sins! Ooooooooh!”
Nigel’s mouth opened and closed, trying to find the words to explain that, whatever his feelings for Luna might be, there was no understanding between them, nothing for which old aunties should be getting excited over.
Before any words would come, however, she snatched up the teacup, shoved it to his lips, and he found himself ingesting another hideous gulp.
“I’m Arabella, by the way,” she said. “You can call me ‘Auntie,’ if you like. Everybody does, no need to stand on ceremony!” She force-fed him another mouthful before adding, “Luna’s up in her old room.
Aurora and I, we carried her between us.
We’re sturdier than we look, you know! She’s all right, but there’s a bit of a dark spell on her.
Aurora’s looking into it, and just as soon as she figures out what’s what, we’ll get it broken, never you fear.
Now!” She sat back a bit and gave him a once-over that made him hastily pull the front of his dressing gown closed.
“Can you tell me how to banish that demon of yours?”
“Erm.”
“Only it’s settled down for a nap out in the front yard, and our old mare, Gwendolyn Astoria, is quite distressed over it. Personally, I thought it seemed like a dear, sweet creature, but probably not happiest in this dimension, no?”
Nigel cleared his throat. “The, erm. The ‘Gronk Cat Boogie’ is, I find, generally effective. For banishment.”
“Really? I don’t know that one. You’ll have to teach me.
” Auntie Arabella tapped her lip thoughtfully.
“Perhaps a saucer of milk first, just to see the poor thing off right?” Before Nigel could protest any efforts to make a pet of a Dire demon, Arabella heaved herself to her feet with minimal grunting and crackling.
“I’ll take you to Luna now,” she said, offering a hand to Nigel.
Though a bit skeptical, he accepted it and allowed the old lady to assist him up, her strength unexpected.
She might have clung to his hand a little longer than necessary, uttering a pleased little, “Hmmmmm,” and giving him another once-over that brought a tinge of pink to his cheeks.
But the next moment, she turned about and led the way to the cottage.