It hadn’t been easy. It had taken most of yesterday for his strength to return enough to manage the complex transmutation spell. Then he’d had to figure out the tricky balance of returning the offensive Bruxley to his original human shape before subduing him enough to remove certain memories from his mind. He’d almost attempted the memory-removal while Lord Bruxley was still in spider form, but spider brains were notoriously tricky to navigate. Nigel didn’t have practical experience with them and risked magically lobotomizing the lord. Which wouldn’t have bothered Nigel all that much, but definitely wouldnothave met with Luna’s approval.
In the end, Bruxley had solved one problem for Nigel all on his own. The instant his human shape was restored, he made a beeline for the wall and tried to climb it with limbs he no longer possessed. This resulted in a crash, a bruised skull, and a temporary unconsciousness, which Nigel was quick to exploit. He deftly removed the memories, draining the life force from an entire hydrangea to source the necessary sorcerous energy. He’d then dug up a bottle of cooking wine from the depths of thepantry and poured it all over Bruxley’s shirt and vest, figuring a boozy bender was as good an explanation for the lord’s addled state of being as any.
Finally, after slapping Bruxley back into a state of semi-lucidity, Nigel had assisted him, stumbling and weaving down the sidewalk and around to Pembroke Street. There he’d hailed a taxi. “Delivery for Bruxley Hall, Northside,” he’d told the driver, bundling his tipsy nemesis into the back seat.
And that was the last he hoped ever to see of Lord Archibald and his striped trousers.
Luna studied Nigel’s face for a moment, trying to read more information than was expressed in his one-worded answer. For a moment, she looked as though she might question him further. Then, with a short shake of her head, she turned to the teapot on the counter. “Five minutes, you said?”
“Four now,” Nigel answered. Then he slipped from the kitchen and let the door shut behind him. His gaze flitted longingly down the passage to where Garden’s door stood. The temptation was strong to make his escape, to lose himself in those twisting paths and secret green depths, as far from all this excruciating awkwardness as he could get. But no. Was he a man or a maggot? He would face his problems head-on with . . . with manly courage. And all that.
He returned to the shop counter and his waiting logbook. Debbie, back on her skull, shot him a knowing look.“Never mind,”she said.
“Shut up,” he growled back and, brandishing his pencil, prepared to attempt the tally once more. Before he’d made any progress, however, there was a knock at the door. “We open at nine!” Nigel called, without looking up.
Another knock.
Nigel lifted his head, scowling. And his stomach dropped to the pit of his very soul.
Ward. The Wardsman. Standing there under the awning. Grinning and waving, like the two of them were great chums.
The spider spell was still fresh in Nigel’s brain. His fingers twitched with temptation . . .
Slamming the logbook shut, he pushed open the hinged portion of the counter with enough violence to make Debbie squawk and flutter, and stormed across the display floor. He glared at Ward through the glass. “We’re closed,” he growled, not quite loud enough that Luna should hear from the kitchen.
Ward nodded. “I know.” His voice came a little muffled through the glass. “My shift starts in fifteen anyway. But I’ve got to speak to Luna for a quick sec.”
Nigel set his teeth. “Can I take a message?”
Here the handsome wardsman actually looked embarrassed. “Erh, no. Not about this.” He grimaced then. “Open up, won’t you? I don’t want half of Addle Street knowing my business.”
Nigel released a long sigh. With a series of muttered curses, he unlocked the door and opened it a fraction. “What?” he demanded again, keeping an arm in place to block the wardsman’s entrance.
Ward peered over his shoulder, but looked disappointed. “I’ll give it to you straight, Grimm,” he said, meeting Nigel’s less-than-encouraging gaze. “I’m here to take my last shot with Luna. I’m off on assignment tonight and won’t be back for a month maybe. I want to know if there’s any point in looking her up when I get back. Gotta make some progress, you know? Or it’s time to cut my losses.”
Something about the way this was spoken put Nigel’s hackles up. Like Luna was some sort of project to be accomplished, not a person to be known and understood and appreciated. He didn’t say anything, however, merely looked at the wardsman. Silently. Sternly.
“Anyway,” Ward continued, “I mean to ask her to dinner. This evening. Make up for that date we didn’t go on before Green Yule. It’s all or nothing, so wish me luck!” He grinned and drew his shoulders back. “Will you send her up to see me? It’s still a few minutes before opening, right?”
“Right,” Nigel admitted. He felt a simultaneously burning and freezing sensation pulse in his veins. The Dark Sorcerer in him, who had reared his foul head so violently just yesterday, clamored once more at the barriers in his mind, still very much alive and kicking.Come on,that insidious voice whispered in the back of his brain.Just one little spell. This hulking beefcake will never see it coming—
“Step inside,” Nigel said and backed away, allowing Ward to enter. “Wait here. And don’t touch anything!”
Looking oddly chastened, Ward put his hands behind his back and stood, feet shoulder-width apart, simultaneously militant and like an overlarge schoolboy about to recite his lessons. In that moment, Nigel wasn’t certain he’d ever truly loathed anyone before. Not as he loathed this man. Which, he realized, was grossly unfair, but nonetheless . . .
He marched back across the shop floor, raising a silent finger of warning to Debbie as he passed her on her skull-pot. Then he stepped into the back passage, pushed the kitchen door partially open, and barked, “John Ward is here to see you.”
“Oh!” he heard from inside. But didn’t wait to hear more. Leaping for the storage room, he pushed inside, grabbed the key from the polka-dot flowerpot. He didn’t pause to wonder if Ward the Wardsman had a sorcery sensor on him or if there was any chance that the spells around the portal might set it off. He jammed the key into the lock and flung the boiler room door open at the exact same moment the kitchen door creaked behind him.
He didn’t look back. He stepped through into Garden, slammed the door shut, and fell back heavily against it.
“Damn,” he cursed and hit his head against the slats a few times, eyes squeezed shut.
Time to spend a couple of hours hauling Dire Matter. Until his body ached, and his brain was numb, and he no longer had the strength to think. About Luna. About Ward. About troths pledged, about magic expended, and certainly not about kisses which had never happened.
The tea was off.
Luna took a slow sip, eyes closed. And grimaced.
