Luna shuddered. She had to pass Mystic Infusions on her way to work every day and always turned her head away from the windows, taking care that her face was hidden behind her hat. No doubt Mr. Marlin had been aware all this while of the tea witch at The Arcane Bouquet, slowly but surely leeching his business. The Silly Young Things didn’t like the readings they got at his place anymore, which they claimed were nothing but “tall dark strangers” and “mysterious liaisons.” Nothing authentic. He also served Twiglings brand tea which, while very nice quality, was simply not on a par with Luna’s freshly-harvested, home-blended brews.
Still, until a few days ago, there hadn’t been a sign over their door advertising “and teas.” That seemed to be the final straw.
“Ah!” Mr. Grimm said, a world of understanding in that single syllable.
“He’s none too pleased about the addition to the shop sign.” Luna grimaced. “He remembers me, I’m afraid. From when I applied there, months ago. He remembers . . .” She held up her wrist, letting her cuff fall back to reveal the ugly heptagram mark. “He’s threatening to file a report with the SSSD.”
Mr. Grimm drew a long breath. Then, holding out a hand he almost but not quite touched her arm. “It’s all right, Miss Talbot,” he said. “I’ll deal with this. Erm, if you’ll just step aside, please.”
Luna hastily sidled away from the door, feeling the spot on her arm where he hadnottouched her with strange awareness. She worried her lower lip, watched Mr. Grimm take hold of the door latch and push forward to step through.
Only, the latch wouldn’t give.
Mr. Grimm frowned. He tried the latch again, more firmly. Then again, and this time, he put his shoulder to the door and heaved, while Luna tried to pretend she didn’t notice the flex of his arm muscles, prominently displayed by that sweaty undershirt. He jiggled the latch again, then stepped back, scowling at the door. “Locked,” he said.
Luna swallowed. “You have the key, don’t you?”
“Of course. But it’s . . . strange.” He fished into his trouser pocket and removed a tiny metal key which he inserted into the lock. But though he turned, strained, adjusted his stance, and strained again, the lock wouldn’t budge. “Stuck,” he said.
Another drop of sweat trickled down Luna’s forehead and off the end of her nose. She wiped a sleeve across her face. “Maybe try taking it out and putting it back in again?”
Mr. Grimm shot her a swift look. In absence of other options, however, he did as suggested, removing the key, turning it around in his fingers, then applying it to the keyhole once more. Only this time, the key wouldn’t go in at all.
“May I try?” Luna asked. “Garden’s sometimes a bit less ornery with me, you know.”
Mr. Grimm raised an eyebrow. Then, with a shrug, he handed the key over and stepped back.
“All right now,” Luna said, casting her voice out to Garden’s sprawling grounds. “Let’s behave, shall we?” She lifted the key to the keyhole.
Only there was no keyhole. None whatsoever. Nor was there any lock or latch. Nothing but blank slats in the freestanding doorframe. Even the hinges were gone.
Luna’s eyes rounded. She turned sharply to Mr. Grimm, only to find him staring at the door with equal surprise and no little horror. His gaze lifted to hers, and she saw there real shock. This, more than anything, frightened her. She’d never seen Mr. Grimm look like that while standing in his own Garden.
She blinked. More sweat dripped into her eyes. “It’s getting rather hot, isn’t it?” she said.
Nigel stared mutely at the shut door in front of him. At the absence of latch and lock and keyhole.
Something was wrong. Something was deeply wrong. He’d never known Garden to act like this before.
Luna’s eyes were watching him. He felt them with an intensity like twin thaumatic lasers. Nigel blinked—sweat rolled into his eyes, and he shook it away hastily. Gods, it really was hot! Much hotter than it ought to be. He’d halfway noticed about twenty minutes ago that the atmosphere was growing uncomfortable, but had assumed it was simply from the exertion of hauling dead chunks of Dire Matter. Deciding it was time to take a break, he’d begun the long, slow walk back up to the door. Only it hadn’t cooled him down as it usually did, and Garden never sent a refreshing breeze.
But there was no reason to concern Luna with any of this.
He turned to face her, taking care that his features betrayed no untoward emotion. It was difficult. Looking at her. More difficult than he wanted to admit. He’d spent all night staring up at his bedroom ceiling, tryingnotto think about her in thatgreen gown, tryingnotto remember the feeling of her body pressed underneath his, or the sensation of her breath on his face. Trying not to recall in exquisite detail the porcelain curve of her exposed shoulder . . .
He wasn’t terribly successful.
Steeling himself now, Nigel cleared his throat and drew his head back slightly. “Not to worry, Miss Talbot,” he said. “Garden is temperamental like this sometimes.”
Luna’s brow tightened. She glanced around at the nearest flowerbeds. All the pretty blossoms were beginning to wilt. “This doesn’tseemlike Garden though, does it?” she said.
She was right. This absolutely didnotseem like Garden. Garden’s entire reason for existence was the growth and health and production of flowers and plant life. While there were remote parts of the grounds that were adapted for desert flora or tropical blossoms, this wasn’t like either of those climes. There was something off about this heat, something unnatural. This kind of heat could do real damage if it went on much longer.
“He will self-regulate soon enough,” Nigel insisted. “He always does. There must be some reason for this heatwave, something we cannot see.”
Luna bit her lip but nodded. Wiping sweat from her brow, she glanced at the door. “So what are we going to do in the meanwhile?”
Nigel considered. “Is the shop open?” he asked with sudden alarm.
