The seller handed over their cakes, wrapped in paper, then, with a wink, told her to “Wait up!” Luna paused, half-turning back, and he leaned over to sprinkle a veritable blizzard of extra powdered sugar on top. Luna flushed at this unexpectedpreference, even if it stemmed from a potbellied, hairy little man, old enough to be her grandfather. She smiled and moved away from the vendor, wondering how much powdered sugar would end up on her upper lip and nose.
Bryony had disappeared during that short interval. Making room for other customers, Luna shaded her eyes as she searched for her roommate. Had she already absconded with a dock worker, leaving Luna to her own devices? No, surely—
A hooded figure darted behind a hot dog vendor.
Luna’s heart stopped.
All the sounds and smells and stimulation of the busy fairground faded away, lost in the sudden coldness flooding her veins.
Though she waited for what felt like an age, the figure did not reappear. It seemed to have vanished into thin air. Behind the hot dogs.
“Green Mother save me,” Luna whispered softly, as her heart thudded back into motion. Hadtheycaught up with her already? She’d thought she’d glimpsed one a few weeks back, that night she and Mr. Grimm walked up to Northside Ballycastle in pursuit of a rogue tiger lily. But when no further sightings had been forthcoming, she’d convinced herself it was just her imagination. After two years she was, perhaps, a bit paranoid.
Maybe she’d invented it now as well. In the crowd, the noise, the merry mayhem, it was easy to let one’s brain get a bit turned about. And she’d not yet eaten today . . . and the smell of funnel cake was getting into her head . . . and . . . She turned sharply on heel, took two quick steps in flight, her head still craning over her shoulder.
Only to slam into someone.
Cake-first.
Her head whipped about, and she stared in horror at the sight of powdered sugar and fried batter spread across a neat, brown waistcoat. Her gaze slowly rose.
And met a pair of sad blue eyes.
“Oh!” Her voice burst from her throat in a choking gasp. “Mr. Grimm!”
He stood before her, plain as day. Clad in his suit, cufflinks, and a brown felt hat. The last person she expected to meet out here. At first, she couldn’t quite make herself believe the evidence of her eyes.
Then a furious blush flooded her cheeks. “Oh, Green Mother above, what have I done to you?”
“What indeed?” he answered softly. Was that a chuckle she heard, rumbling in his chest?
Her blush deepened. “I’m ever so sorry!” she gasped and reached out to brush powdered sugar from his front. “I didn’t see you there!”
“Well, that’s a relief. I should hate to think you launched a full-frontal funnel cake assault on purpose.”
Luna paused in the middle of plucking a piece of fried batter from his waistcoat, her gaze sliding up to meet his. Then she laughed. A little startled, gulp of sound, which she tried very hard to stifle, but couldn’t. It simply burst out of her, quite silly and perfectly girlish, and her ears burned. But Mr. Grimm’s face smoothed into a small smile of his own. One of those rare smiles, which never quite relieved the haunted shadows in his eyes. Not even now, as he brushed ineffectually at powdered sugar smears.
“Come on,” Luna said, beckoning. “They’ve got napkins at the vendor’s.”
“I hope you’ll let me buy you another cake, Miss Talbot.”
Bryony’s voice popped suddenly into her head: “Trust me, Lunaloo. Buy one of these now, you’ll not pay a penny for anything else the rest of the day.”As though Luna wasn’talready flushing badly enough! She shook her head and assumed what she hoped passed for a casual demeanor. “Oh, no need, Mr. Grimm. It was my fault entirely for splattering this one all over you.”
He waved a hand politely, indicating the back of the funnel cake line. “It would be my pleasure,” he insisted.
Luna didn’t have much choice but to join him. She cast a last look over her shoulder at the hot dog stand, but there was no sign of any shadowy, hooded figures. She must have imagined it. For the moment, that’s what she’d tell herself, anyway.
She turned to Mr. Grimm, determined to shake off any creeping sensations down her spine. “What about the shop? Will it be all right?”
“That I can’t tell you,” he replied solemnly. “I’m afraid there was quite an angry mob queuing up on the sidewalk when I escaped out the alley.”
“Oh, dear. Pitchforks and torches, I trust?”
“Naturally. I barely made it out with the skin on my back.”
Luna smirked at the mental picture of Mr. Grimm fleeing out the kitchen door with a pack of Silly Young Things on his heels, all demanding tea. “I suppose they’ll be met with some resistance when they break through the glass,” she mused.
“The tiger lilies will give them what for.”
