“It’s personal for you,” she said gently. “Isn’t it, Mr. Grimm?”
Nigel’s heart constricted.
“She’s like a bogey from a storybook to most of us. But not to you.”
Did sheknow?But how could she? How could she even guess such a thing? That he and Jastira . . . that they were . . .
“Because of your dad.”
“Oh!” Nigel let the word out in a single gasp of relief. “My dad. Yes.”
He’d half-forgotten he’d told Luna about his father’s confrontation with the Shadowbane Lady. How she’d attempted to drain the magical force from Garden. How the old man had defied her and received a shot of Dire Matter straight through the heart for his pains. He’d simply neglected to mention any of the other details.
Such as his own romantic entanglement with Jastira.
Or what had happened when he arrived on the scene of his father’s murder.
Sweat dripped from the end of his nose. Nigel reached into his pocket, fishing for a handkerchief. His fingers closed around a small scrap of fabric, and he pulled it out, applied it to his forehead, only to frown at the scratchy texture of lace. He yanked the object away, peering at it in the harsh light.
It was a purple garter.
He gaped at it rather stupidly for a breath. “Oh . . . dear.”
Then he lifted his eyes again, meeting Luna’s gaze.
She bit her lip. Pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling a little gulping hiccup. Her eyes flicked down to the garter, then back at Nigel again.
Suddenly both of them were laughing. It was that kind ofbreakinglaugh, that near-painful relief after a moment ofterrible tension, when one realizes suddenly that life really is mostly made up of a series of absurdities, and one could always choose to enjoy the hilarity if one wished. Luna’s whole face crinkled up until her dark eyes disappeared, and she fell against the wall beside him, her knees threatening to give out. Nigel used the garter to wipe tears from his eyes, which only made her double-over harder.
His own laugh sounded rather strange to his ears, as though it belonged to some other man. Some man who had never heard of the Nocturnus Institute. Or Jastira. Or the Dire Dimensions. Like one of the Wacky House mirror-versions of himself, a warped reflection of the bitter truth.
The curtain at the entrance pulled aside, and the large figure of Officer Ward loomed into view. “Geeze, is thatyoutwo making that racket?” he demanded, eyebrows rising. “You sound like that last ghost drove you out of your minds! Though I’ll admit: she’s a doozy.” He turned to Luna and held out a pink unicorn with staring yellow eyes. “Hey, you dropped something.”
“Unicornicus!” Luna yelped, still laughing. She accepted the stuffie and hugged it to her chest. “I think I’ve had just about enough of haunted houses. What about you, gentlemen?”
“Agreed,” Ward said. “I don’t spook easy, not in my line of work, but I prefer my Wacky Houses to stay on the wacky-side. Shall we?”
He offered his elbow. And for a moment, Luna hesitated. Mr. Grimm had swallowed his laughter and stood very still, watching her. Those sad blue eyes of his always were a bit haunted, more so now in this eerie lighting. He’d had a shock, she knew. She also knew he wouldn’t want her to make a fuss. Particularly not in front of Ward. Anything that might draw too much of the SSSD officer’s attention Mr. Grimm’s way must be avoided.
So, without so much as a glance at her employer, Luna slipped her hand through the loop of Ward’s arm and smiled pleasantly.
It was, she had to admit, much nicer to navigate the last gruesome corridor of this haunted house with company. On the whole, she’d not found the little frights and jump-scares particularly creepy—events of her early life had inured her to such cheap frights—but it was all mildly entertaining enough. That last image, however . . . that was in poor taste. People had died under the Shadowbane Lady’s reign of tyranny. Recently. Lives had been turned upside-down and inside-out forever. Hardly appropriate fodder for a festival gag. Though, here in Brython, folks were spared the worst of it. While Plym fell under a shadow of famine and terror, Brython merely faced the looming threat from across the channel. It wasn’t fullyrealto them.
Ward led her down a hall of spooky portraits (beautiful faces which turned into rotten corpses as one walked past), and pushed open the heavy exit door. Luna stepped, blinking, out into the sunlit world beyond. Gracious Green Mother, but she’d half-forgotten it was still daylight outside!
Bryony appeared before her, a blur of red hair to Luna’s dazzled eyes. “Good job, Lunaloo!” she hissed, sidling up close so that Luna’s nostrils were overwhelmed with her too-sweet perfume. “Looks like you enjoyed the bogeymen after all!”
Luna flushed and pretended as though she hadn’t heard. She shaded her eyes, watching the back door, through which Mr. Grimm emerged last of all. Her smile, which had become a bit fixed, faded when Bryony cried out, “The ghosts didn’t carry you away then, Mr. Grimm?” and dropped away entirely when her roommate tucked up against his side, gripping his arm with her long, red fingernails. “Good, because I’mhungry.”
It was a gift, Luna realized. That knack for turning every little thing into a subtle innuendo. A talent, honed over years of practice, no doubt, but born from some innate skill which Luna herself simply did not possess. The pallor haunting Mr. Grimm’scheeks vanished in a sudden flood of heat, and Luna looked away quickly.
“I’m hungry too,” Ward declared. “All that wackiness works up an appetite.” He grinned down at Luna. “What do you say, Miss Talbot?” he asked gallantly.
“I am a bit peckish,” she admitted. Thus encouraged, Ward led Luna into the crowds, while Bryony and Mr. Grimm trailed behind. Countless aromas from innumerable food sellers beckoned from every which way, but Ward strode purposefully past them all. “Chickin’ Lickin’,” he said with confidence, even as Bryony yanked Mr. Grimm aside to come stand in line with her for ice creams. “That’s what we need now, not all this sweet stuff. A classic chicken sandwich and chips. Chickin’ Lickin’ is the place!”
Luna may have cast a single look back, watching the way Bryony hung on Mr. Grimm even as she pointed out items on the ice cream vendor’s menu. But she faced forward again quickly, a little frown tightening her brow. “A sandwich would be nice, Officer Ward. Thank you.”
“Just Ward, remember?” he said easily, leading her on through the crowds. “Or John, if you prefer. Just not Johnny or Johnny-boy, or you’ll sound like my old mam!”
