Who knew that backs were something that could be sonice?
Realizing Mr. Grimm was affording her privacy which she wasnotreciprocating, Luna spun hastily on heel and shrugged out of her own slip. Leaving it in a heap on the ground, she swiped water from her skin and considered removing her brassiere and panties as well. But that was a level of immodesty she couldn’t quite justify, no matter how cold the wind blew. She pulled on her skirt, shrugged into her blouse, and hastily did up the front buttons with trembling fingers.
“Are you clothed, Miss Talbot?” Mr. Grimm asked, standing with his back to her, rocking on his feet. He’d donned his dry suit jacket, though she suspected those wet trousers of his were freezing by now.
“I am,” she answered. “Let me just pop on my shoes.” She didn’t bother to garter her stockings, merely pulled them up as far as she could and stepped into her boots. By the time she was finished, she could see actual ice forming on the edge of the nearest pool. Now proper fear began to set in. Her wet hair felt like it was turning into a series of icicles.
“Let’s go,” Mr. Grimm said sternly.
They set off trudging across Garden’s landscape once more, mimicking each other’s attitude of arms-wrapped shivering. Luna could see the air before her lips forming vapors, and she began to regret giving into that foolish impulse to swim. “Is this normal regulation?” she asked through chattering teeth. “Is this what you expect Garden to do after a heat wave?”
“No.” Mr. Grimm’s voice was dark, serious. He cast about, looking at the flower beds. The heat-wilted blossoms were all bent now under the weight of frost. Overhead, clouds crowded in the sky, threatening mounds of darkness. “No, this is not normal.”
“Do you think the door will be open?”
“We can only hope, Miss Talbot.”
But it proved to be a forlorn hope. When they reached the door at last, after what felt like a million-mile hike, it was just as they had left it. No latch. No lock. Just bare slats, blocking their entrance. Luna’s heart sank. Her teeth chattered extra loud. Mr. Grimm, standing in front of the door, ran a hand through his hair, which seemed to be hardening with ice. Then, turning his head sharply, he frowned at her.
Before she realized what he intended to do, he shrugged out of his jacket. Leaving his own bare torso completely exposed to the swiftly dropping temperatures, he slung it over her shoulders.
“Oh, Mr. Grimm!” Luna gasped. For a moment she couldn’t say more. Because the sight of his bare chest shocked her—not just the gratuitous display of flesh, for which she was completely unprepared. But also that black, seven-pointed star, tattooed over his heart. The heptagram; the sorcerer’s mark. Because of where it was placed, it was too easy sometimes to forget about it entirely. Seeing it now, so stark against his pale skin, chilled her blood even more than the sudden blast of wintry wind.
She backed away a step. “No!” she protested, beginning to peel off the jacket. “You need this more than I do.”
“Nonsense,” he answered sharply and turned away from her, studying the door again. “I don’t feel the cold. It’s a sorcerer thing.”
That was a lie. She knew it. She’d seen him react to the elements the same as any other man. Luna narrowed her eyes, studying the side of his face.See?she thought in the privacy of her own mind.Youarea blooming nurturer, aren’t you? You just can’t seem to help yourself!
But that wasn’t pertinent right now. Nor was the wiry musculature of his arms, nor the definition of his chest, nor that incredible slope from shoulder to waist . . . nope. None of that was pertinent. Absolutely not.
Mr. Grimm pounded on the door, calling out, “Debbie?”
The raven’s voice croaked on the far side:“Never mind?”
“Any sign of Mrs. Goddard?”
“Never mind!”
He cursed and ran a hand down his face, pulling at the skin under his eyes.
A few flakes of snow drifted down before Luna’s vision. “Something is wrong with Garden,” she said, shivering inside his jacket. “Isn’t it?”
“Yes.” He shook his head. “Yes, something is definitely wrong. But what?” He turned sharply then, looking at her. “Your lips are turning blue.”
“Are they?” she chattered.
Mr. Grimm shook his head, blowing out a huff of frosty air. “Miss Talbot, you’ve got to release my magic.”
“What?”
“If the temperature continues to drop,” he said, “it’s going to get dangerous. You need to unleash my magic while I still have the capacity to help us.”
Luna set her teeth. She really did not want him to use sorcery. Never again. “Mr. Grimm—” she began.
But he cut her off. “We can keep arguing until we both freeze to death, or you can release me. Let me do what I must to save you.”
Luna bit down on her lips. She knew he was right. But that didn’t make the admission any easier. “All right,” she said at last, her jaw stiff. “What do I need to do?”
