Nigel jumped, as his raven appeared, flapping down the stairwell from the apartment above, and landed with a flutter on her skull-pot. He flashed his teeth in a grimacing sort of smile. “She didn’t mean anything by it, you know. She’s just . . . concerned. Or something.”
Debbie turned her head to stare at him from one black eye.
“All right!” Nigel threw up both hands, then ran one of them through his hair, dislodging all the pomade he’d used to carefully arrange it that morning. “All right, I admit it. I’ve got a . . . a . . . What is it the kids used to say? Acrush.Nothing to take seriously. It happens! To everyone!”
“Never mind.”
“Yes, well, youarea bird. I suppose it’s a bit different among avian species.”
Debbie clacked her beak at him.
“It doesn’tmeananything,” Nigel persisted and slammed the logbook shut with a snap. He stared down at the cover and drummed his fingers on the countertop. “It’s just . . . feelings. One cannot let oneself be ruled by them. Gods, if I haven’t learnedthatlesson the hard way!”
A ruffle of wings and shifting of taloned feet.
“Quite right.” Nigel drew a long, steadying breath, and smoothed his hair back once more. “We face the truth. We compartmentalize. We move on. It’s the only way forward. I have a crush on Miss Luna Talbot. She, on the other hand, has feelings for this Officer Ward. That’s her business, not mine.”
Only she claimed she wasn’t going to the fair with Officer Ward.
Was it the truth? Or was she just afraid to be honest about it? Afraid Nigel would suddenly change his mind, like he’d done yesterday? He didn’t think Luna Talbot was the sort to go speaking falsehoods. She had her secrets, but she never lied. At least, not that he was aware of.
“Never mind.”
“No, of course.” Nigel shook his head shortly. “She works for me. I pay her wage. Any fraternizing between us would be inappropriate. So we go on as we have. Nothing changes. Nothing needs to.” He let out his breath in a ragged gust. “It’s just a crush.”
Bolstered by the double fortifications of honesty and reason, he set to work caring for the plants. The clock ticked on, and the hour drew nearer to opening time. Customers lined up on the sidewalk, eager to start their day with one of Luna’s teas before continuing on to the festival. They watched Nigel’s comings and goings through the window. Some smiled; some waved.
But he didn’t see them.
When the clock chimed nine, he moved in a vague sort of way to the door. As his hand reached for the sign to turn it to OPEN, however, his gaze shifted. Even from inside the shop, he could see the garlands and bunting festooning Addle Street. With a little crane of his head, he spied booths and tables set up farther down the sidewalk. Music reached his ears as well, both automagic and live. All swelling in a storm of noise, mingled with the voices of early-morning festival-goers, determined to make the most of their holiday fun.
Someone tapped on the window, an impatient, wordless inquiry. Someone else spoke, voice muffled through the glass: “Oi! Are you opening any time today?”
Nigel rubbed the thumb of one hand across the knuckles of the other. Right where Luna’s fingers had gripped him for a lingering moment.
“Have a little fun,”she’d said.
His jaw worked. After all, why shouldn’t he have a little fun? Alittlefun, areasonableamount, never hurt anyone.
Suddenly, Nigel turned to the faces peering at him through the windows. “We’re closed all day,” he said loudly, and pulled the shade of the square door window firmly down. An eruption of protests sounded from the sidewalk, but he did not care. He yanked off his apron, tossed it at the counter, and Debbie squawked furiously as it settled over her head. She fluttered and struggled, escaping its folds just as Nigel pulled on his jacket and grabbed his hat.“Never mind!”she declared furiously, batting her wings in the air.
“Neveryoumind,” Nigel replied.
And he slipped out the back door, into the alley.
Luna practically ran home to Mrs. Boggs’s Boardinghouse for Young Women of Good Character, afraid she would be too late, and her roommate would have already gone. She needn’t have bothered. After a night of work at the Rowdy House, Bryony never rose before the crack of 10 o’clock, even when there were fairs to be enjoyed. When Luna burst back into their shared garret room, calling out a cheery, “I can go with you after all, Bryony!” she received no more than a low grunt from underneath a mound of blankets and a creak of old bedsprings.
Luna didn’t mind. It gave her more time to pull herself together for a day of fun. She didn’t get to go about enjoying herself very often, but she did own one special occasion dress—cherry print, with a sweetheart neckline. The sleeves were short, which didn’t serve well to hide the heptagram mark, and cherries weren’t particularly autumnal either. But, when paired with her faded cream cardigan, she hoped it would do. It was already warming up nicely outside, so she could dispense with her coat and hat as well.
She was in the process of restyling her hair, adding a little red ribbon to hold it back from her face, by the time Bryony dragged herself out of bed and began the process of a slow toilette. “Ithought you said you had work today,” her roommate muttered between yawns.
“Mr. Grimm gave me the day off.”
Bryony, bent over the washbasin, turned her wet face to give her a look. “You can’t afford days off.”
“Paid holiday.” Luna shrugged and adjusted the set of her ribbon.
Bryony straightened, her eyebrows shooting up her forehead. Her red fingernails clattered against the lid of her face cream jar. “So, the old curmudgeon has a soft center, has he?”
