“Yes.”
“What about that tea witch of yours?”
Something in Nigel’s chest tightened. “She’s none of your concern.”
Fabian’s teeth—or rather, Ebenezar Prodigimus’s teeth—flashed in a harsh smile. “She’s not just a tea witch, is she? She recognized the face-swapping spell. No mere witch could do that; such perception requires sorcerous inclination, and—”
“I told you. We are not discussing these matters here. You have to go. Now.”
Fabian held up both hands. “Fine, fine. Meet me at The King’s Crown Hotel tonight. I’m staying there—as Minister Supreme Prodigimus, of course. He keeps rooms when he’s in town. Everything’s on tab. My treat. We can meet at the hotel restaurant, have a few laughs, catch up on each other’s lives. And you can tell me all about how you source that floral bounty of yours.”
“All right,” Nigel snarled. “The King’s Crown. Tonight.”
“Eight o’clock.”
“I’ll be there.”
Fabian gave him a once-over. “Wear something decent, man. They don’t let shopkeepers into The King’s Crown. Try to remember something of your bygone days.”
Nigel stepped back several paces, crossing his arms. “Go,” he said. “I’ll see you tonight.”
Fabian tapped his fur-lined hat and glided away, not even trying to make his movements match with the height and breadth of his disguise. He just lurched along without any concern for subterfuge, trusting in that face-cream enchantment to make up for his deficiencies. Nigel shook his head, uttering a derisive huff. There were many reasons why Fabian was never invited to join the Nocturnus Institute. Mostly because he was a damned idiot. But a damned idiot who thought himself very clever indeed. Which, everyone knew, made for the damnedest of all idiots.
Nigel returned inside to find something of a crowd. But though Luna was speaking to customers by the holly wreaths, she murmured a hasty “Excuse me,” before rushing to his side. She wore her tattered old boots again, he noticed, stuffed with as much cardboard as she could manage.
“Mr. Grimm!” she whispered, drawing close. “Quick, back to the stove with you!” She motioned him behind the counter and, once ensconced there, pulled the curtain closed so that it was just the two of them. Then, to Nigel’s complete and utter shock, she took his hands between hers and began to rub them vigorously. “Oh, Mr. Grimm! You’ll catch your death running around out there in this cold.”
She bent and blew on his fingers, her breath warm against his frozen skin. Nigel thought he might faint. Right there. Right then.
Instead, he somehow managed to take a seat in the cane chair. He would have caught and held onto her hands if he was fast enough, but his fingers were still too numb for dexterity. So she slipped away from him, leaving him bereft, only to return a minute later and press a cup of tea upon him.
“Hold that,” she said. “Drink it too, if you can! You need warming all the way through.”
He obeyed in silence, while she slipped back out to the shop. Nigel listened to her ringing up customers and making excuses fornotserving tea and readings this morning, inviting folks to come back in the afternoon. There were some protests, but she handled it all with her easy, breezy, friendly confidence. No one left the shop unduly perturbed.
By the time she returned to the alcove behind the curtain, Nigel had finished his tea and was relatively reheated. Nevertheless, Luna filled his cup again. “Here,” she said, pressing it back into his hands. “We want to make certain we fill every nook and cranny.”
This time she didn’t leave, but stood by and watched him take a sip. “So,” she said after a few moments, “that man was your brother, was he?”
Nigel paused, looking at her over the rim of the cup. Then he nodded.
“Wow.” Luna shook her head slowly. “Wow, I never would have expected it. He’s a right pompous ass, isn’t he?” Then she gulped and covered her mouth. Nigel could swear he heard her murmur a quick prayer of penance to the Green Mother.
“Some might say,” Nigel offered, “that pompous ass-ery runs in the family, as it were.”
Luna snorted. “Well, anyone who says so can take it up with me if they like. I’ll defend your honor, Mr. Grimm! Pompous you may be, but certainly not a . . . a donkey.”
Though in his heart of hearts, Nigel knew he was possibly the donkey-est of asses ever bred, it was nice to know this wasn’t Miss Talbot’s impression of him.
No,he reminded himself bitterly,she just thinks you’re a curmudgeon.
He took another gulp of tea.
“So what did he want? Your brother, I mean.”
“I don’t know.”
Luna narrowed her eyes. “He’s after Garden, isn’t he.”
