Luna definitely did not stay up half the night weeping into her pillow. Because she was a mature woman, and mature women don’t do that sort of thing.
She stayed upallnight weeping into her pillow instead.
But she did it very, very quietly. Quietly enough that Bryony would not hear her. It would be rude to disturb her roommate, after all. Her roommate, who had come upstairs following a prolonged interlude in the parlor below, humming happily to herself.
“Lunaloo, are you awake?” she’d asked, not even bothering to lower her voice. “That boss of yours asked me out at last! To The King’s Crown, of all places! D’you believe it?”
Luna held very still, her face to the wall, her eyes squeezed shut. She half-considered faking a snore, but didn’t trust that her acting skills were sufficient to pull it off. She refused to sniffle, at least, though her nose tickled badly, and tears streamed through her lashes to soak her blanket.
Bryony made a few more futile attempts to engage Luna before giving up and getting herself into bed. “I shan’t be able to sleep a wink tonight!” she declared.
And proceeded to fill the room with snores immediately thereafter.
Luna rolled onto her back, staring up at the peeling slope of ceiling just overhead. Tears continued to trickle from the corners of her eyes. She lay like so for what felt like forever, occasionally drawing a ragged little breath like a sob into her lungs. At some point, when she heard the distant chantry bells ringing out the 2 am toll, she sat up, hugged her knees, and stared at the pink unicorn stuffie sitting at the foot of her bed.
“What am I going todo?”she whispered.
The unicorn looked disdainful. After all, it was Ward who had won it for her at the fair. Surely this had instilled a sense of loyalty into its fluff-stuffed heart.
“Well, I can’t help it, can I?” Luna muttered, pressing her chin into the tops of her knees. “I’d fall in love with Ward if I could. Honestly!”
The unicorn continued to gaze at her with glassy-eyed judgement.
“Maybe I still can,” Luna continued with a sigh. “If I . . . if I give it arealeffort.”
Or maybe it was simply time to go. To get out of Ballycastle and never look back. Sure, she hadn’t seen any sign of the phantoms for months; there was no immediate reason for alarm on that score. But they always caught up with her eventually. Why wait until it happened?
Unable to bear the unicorn’s silent derision a moment more, Luna threw back her bedclothes and slipped out of bed. Her bare feet padded across the hole-ridden rug to the wainscoting by the footboard. There, deft fingers feeling out the seams in the darkness, she removed a small chunk of wood and plaster toreveal a hole in the wall. She kept a secret purse of cash inside, where Mrs. Boggs couldn’t get her sticky fingers on it. Luna pulled out the little purse, opened the drawstrings, and poured the contents into the lap of her nightgown. She counted it out, as she had many times over the last weeks, and sighed.
It wasn’t enough. Sure, she could get a train ticket to one of the little towns down south, maybe a couple of hours outside of Ballycastle. But it wasn’t enough to get herthoroughlyaway. Far enough away that Mr. Grimm wouldn’t be able to find her if he looked.
Not that he would come looking, of course.
Luna dashed more tears from her cheeks. Green Mother save her, she was going to be so dehydrated by morning at this rate! Stuffing the cash and coins back into the purse, she yanked the drawstring shut and stuffed the lot back into the wall before replacing the bit of wainscoting. “Don’t be rash now, Luna,” she whispered roughly. “Stay put. Keep your head down. Work hard for the next month or two. You’ll have enough saved up to leave Brython entirely then.”
She’d strike out for the Southern Continent. She didn’t know the language there, but from what she’d gathered, the harbor cities were multicultural enough, she should be able to get by. And down south, they weren’t so jumpy about sorcerers and sorcerer’s marks. She could find some kind of work. Survive a little longer.
And once she was gone, the Sovereign Troth would be broken. Mr. Grimm would be relieved, no doubt. Then he might focus his interests on Bryony, on the shop, on whatever future he liked. He’d soon forget all about his former shop girl.
While Luna knew with a conviction sprouted from the depths of her soul: she would never forget him. Not for a day. Not for a minute. Not for the rest of her life, however long or short that might be.
Her chin crumpled, and she stuffed her hand to her mouth. “Dratted hecks!” she whispered into trembling fingers. “Why did he have to go and take his hankie back?”
Then she climbed into bed, rolled to face the wall once more, and succumbed to another surge of stupid, stupid tears.
The 2 o’clock tea break the following afternoon found Luna leaning her elbows against the shop counter, her eyes extremely heavy, her head pounding, a cup of Sniff-Me-Not tea clutched in her hands. The pungent steam rose to her nostrils, and she grimaced as she took a sip. Technically, Sniff-Me-Not was intended for hangovers. Auntie Arabella used to brew up pots of it to pour down the throat of the vicar’s son, when he stopped at the cottage on his way home from the village pub.
Luna didn’t think she was hungover. Not on a few sips of sparkling wine, in any case. But one cannot stay up all night long weeping for the second time in a week and expect to suffer no ill-effects. Groaning softly, she took another sip. It was disgusting. But it did have quite a potent, revivifying effect. She could feel some of the knots at the base of her skull beginning to unravel.
“Never mind?”Debbie suggested from her pot.
“I know. It’s my own fool fault,” Luna whispered, casting her a sideways glance.
The raven, for once in her black-hearted life, offered a sympathetic croak and pecked gently at Luna’s ear.
“Thanks, Debbie.”
Of Mr. Grimm, she had seen no sign all day. When she’d arrived at 8:30 as usual—hollow-eyed and feet-dragging, but on time, Green Mother save her!—he had already vanished out intoGarden. Which didn’t really surprise her. Not after the idiot she’d made of herself last night.
