“Whew!” Luna sighed, wiping a strand of hair from her forehead. That reading took more out of her than usual. She glanced at the clock—just seven minutes until opening. Moving quickly, she returned to the nook to clean up, only to find that Mr. Grimm had already removed the tea tray and Miss Eugenia’s cup. She could hear sounds of him washing up in the kitchen. He had, however, neglected to see her own teacup, tucked away in a corner of the counter.
Luna moved to fetch it, thinking to carry it off to the kitchen. A sudden curiosity overcame her, however, and she paused to take the barest peek inside.
Her eyes widened.
Her own tea leaves were split as well. Two clumpings on either side, with a channel in between.
Luna set the cup down quickly and took a step back as though stung. Her breath came a little tight. AdoubleDouble Jeopardy? What were the odds? Not great, surely—she’d never heard of anything like this! Why, months, even years could go by at Tealeaf Cottage without a single Double Jeopardy disrupting the regular readings offered to the denizens of Greater Snoring. Before today, Luna couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen one.
So. Her future was split as well. Just like Miss Eugenia’s.
The temptation was strong. To look. To study what two overlaying images may appear. To see her own face doubled—two Luna Talbots, looking opposite directions.
She chewed her lip. The same perils applied to her as any other Double Jeopardy reading. A single glimpse could only tell so much, but it might be enough to deceive one into making choices, trying to bring about one future over another, and then . . .
“Wallflowers,” Luna whispered. “Wallflowers wait. Wallflowers watch.”
Advice that was good for the client was good for the tea witch as well. Wasn’t that one of Auntie Arabella’s sayings? She’d best take heed. And, today at least, not let herself be distracted by visions of the future.
Mr. Grimm’s footsteps sounded in the passage. Luna looked up and met his eye just as usual. “Well, Mr. Grimm!” she said in a bright, crisp voice. “How is your bruise this morning? Shall I make you a pot of that swelling-reduction tea I mentioned?”
His expression was smooth, closed, and perfectly composed, despite the weariness lining his eyes. “Thank you, Miss Talbot,” he said. “That would be very nice. Best get on with it, though. The shop opens in five minutes.”
“Right you are,” Luna said and bustled back to the kitchen.
Tomorrow had come. Just as she’d promised herself it would. She and Mr. Grimm would fit back into their established grooves, and all would be as it should be.
“Wallflower,” she whispered as she went. “Yes. Nice, patient, watchful wallflower.”
It started barely two weeks after the Saint Jollify Fair.
Nigel was going about the regular morning routine, glancing at the clock every so often in expectation of Miss Talbot’s arrival. He was in the middle of feeding the double-delight rose her Mama Morgana’s when he heard it.
Strains of a sighing violin. Quite close.
Too close.
Then a voice began to wail:
“Green Yule is here, oh, what fun!
Jingle bells ringing, everyone!
Merry little faces, shining bright
Dancing round in the—"
Before the end of the verse was reached, Nigel was across the shop floor. He yanked open the door, took a lunging step, and nearly fell over the street fiddler, who had taken up residence right there on his very doorstep.
“Out!”Nigel bellowed, flinging his arm in stern command. “No Green Yule carols on these premises, sir!” Then he added intones of pure disgust, “Mygods, man, it’s not even the first of winter yet!”
The fiddler unfolded his long limbs and scrambled to his feet, snatching his hat up from the sidewalk and cramming it on his head as he went. He tipped that hat to Luna, who just then approached from across the street, as though carried on a gust of cold, late-autumnal wind. She smiled in return, then saw Nigel standing in the doorway, red-faced with wrath. “Is everything all right, Mr. Grimm?” she asked.
“Everyyear!” Nigel growled. He watched the fiddler’s retreat, undisguised fury sparking in his eyes. The melodious vagrant took up residence in the doorway of the bicycle shop directly across the road, set out his hat, and made himself comfortable.“Everyyear, it’s the same! No matter where you go in the world, theinstantthere’s even the faintest chill in the air—BAM! Green Yule carols, everywhere! It’s like a plague.”
The fiddler plucked a few strings of his violin like a tiny guitar. He took up the song, serenading the city with a scratchy-voiced yowl that stayed onlyjustthis side of tuneful.
“Green Yule, Oh! Let’s sing our song,
