Mr. Grimm began to pass his hands over it. Luna felt the energy-transference taking place and cast her gaze about, curious to know from where he was sourcing. She couldn’t see any obvious candidates. It was possible he used his ownlifeforce, though she vividly remembered how disastrously that had turned out the last time. He was much more in control now, however. So precise, so concentrated. And so stupidly handsome.
Ugh.Whydid he have to look likethatwhile performing sorcery of all things? With that suit jacket hanging open, revealing his torso like he was the dashing hero right off the cover of one of Auntie Arabella’s trashy novels. Granted, those fellows tended to be a good three times larger than Mr. Grimm, but . . . if Luna was honest, she was never drawn to all that bulk. She could appreciate it, sure, but that didn’t mean it moved her, as such. Whereas everything Mr. Grimm had going on justworked, somehow. From that floppy lock of hair, to that severe brow, to the hard line of his jaw, his neck, all the way down his exposed sternum to where . . .
She grimaced.
. . . to where that ugly black heptagram tattoo was emblazoned.
A sudden flare of strange colors erupted in Luna’s vision. She couldn’t name any of them, though some she found vaguely familiar. She’d glimpsed colors like those on the night she climbed the wall at Bruxley Hall, and Mr. Grimm had blown open the front gate. These were colors drawn from the Dire Dimensions. Mr. Grimm held the trowel aloft. It burned, brilliant and strange, like some sort of arcane implement of ancient days. Presumably sorcerers of yore would work spells like that on their daggers and swords. It was a bit incongruous used on a gardening trowel, but the old instrument seemed to take the spell well enough.
“Stand back, Miss Talbot,” Mr. Grimm said, looking up at her from those black-gleaming eyes of his.
Luna drew a sharp breath and drew away quickly, horrified. He seemed taller. Not quite the seven-foot figure of whorlingdark sorcery she’d glimpsed before, but definitely something rather closer to that guise than usual.
He turned from her. His jacket billowed out from his naked torso in a profound wind of sorcerous energy, harvested from Realms Beyond. The snow continued to come down so hard, it was almost blinding, but the light from that trowel and the pulsing glow of anti-glitter surrounding Mr. Grimm made him impossible to miss. He approached the tree, stood before it, muttering words in a strange, fell tongue.
Then he plunged the trowel into the trunk, driving it deep. Far deeper than that rusty old metal should have penetrated into hardwood. But he made it look easy.
Luna caught her breath. Through her mind there appeared a vision she’d glimpsed months ago, in a tea mug. A vision she’d thought about many times since then, though she usually focused on one aspect in particular—the sight of Mr. Grimm caught in an amorous embrace with that beautiful, nightgown-clad woman. It was an image which haunted her at times more than she liked to admit.
But there was more.
There was the moment when he drove a gardening trowel up under that woman’s ribcage.
A single, sharp, violent motion.
Not at all unlike what she just saw him do to that tree.
Luna pressed both hands to her pounding heart. How many times in the intervening months had she tried to convince herself that vision was a mistake? Her Sight wasn’t particularly strong, usually limited to small fortunes in near futures. Anything on a grand scale was more likely to be a misconstrued thaumatic resonance, picked up from some alternate universe, not meant for this world, this timeline, this understanding.
But seeing Mr. Grimm like this—tall and deadly, brimming with such power—Luna had to wonder: was that future drawingnear? Was it coming for him, stalking him like a vicious tiger in the night? Was he destined to meet that redheaded beauty and . . . and love her? For surely he could not kiss her likethatwithout real passion.
All this flashed through Luna’s mind in the instant that trowel plunged into the tree trunk. A complicated sort of instant, but that happened sometimes when one is a scryer.
The next instant, however, was far less complicated. It involved a sudden, powerful surge of magic, rippling out from that place where the trowel entered the trunk. A burst that flowed from the Heart Tree in a ripple of multi-colored energy and anti-glitter, which caught Mr. Grimm up in its force and sent him flying.
The blast hit Luna a moment later. It didn’t knock her off her feet, however. The power dispersed quickly and was only strong enough to set her back on her heels by the time it reached her.
Luna braced herself, putting her hands up to wave away the stink of anti-glitter and the prickling of broken magic. The sorcerous covering Mr. Grimm had placed over her protected her from the worst of it, but she got the sense that it might have burned her rather badly otherwise.
“Mr. Grimm!” she cried when she’d recovered her balance. The snow within the radius of that blast was turned to melty slush, and she trudged through it hastily to reach him. He lay flat on his back, his jacket flung wide open, the sorcery-covering still glowing on his skin. His eyes were closed. Was he breathing?
With a little gasp, Luna knelt and placed her ear against his chest. His heart beat . . . and while she rested there, she felt his lungs suddenly drag in a great gasp of air. His body spasmed then, and he bolted upright. Luna lost her balance and sat down heavily on one hip, while he hunched over, his spine bent,gasping and choking. Luna touched his back. “Mr. Grimm, are you all right?”
He nodded, still coughing roughly, then shook his head. Finally, he lifted his face and gazed anxiously up at the Heart Tree. Luna looked as well. She could alreadyfeelhow much healthier it was, and the evidence was beginning to show already on the snow-lined branches. Little green buds appeared, and a warm radiance of Green Magic vibrated from inside. All around them, the sky began to clear, big breaks in the clouds as the sun shone through, balmy and sweet. Luna, turning her head to take it all in, breathed out a tremendous sigh of relief. “You’ve done it, Mr. Grimm!” she said, turning to him with a smile.
He nodded and expelled an exhale. He looked tired, worn out. Not like he had after the transmutation of Lord Bruxley, but enough that she had to wonder again if he’d sourced energy from his own reserves. “It was stronger than I expected,” he admitted, studying the tree. The line of his brow was very hard. “Not well-crafted. But there was a good deal of power behind it.”
“It’s gone now, though. Right?”
“Yes. It’s gone.”
“Do you think . . .” Luna hesitated. She did not like to ask this question. But she would be foolish not to. “Do you think whoever cast it got what they wanted?” If some strange sorcerer had discovered the location of Garden, hidden in The Arcane Bouquet, this place which had been her safe haven for months now would be compromised. She would need to pack her bags and leave. Tonight.
But Mr. Grimm faced her, answering at once, “No. I’m sure not. That spell was too roughshod and never took full effect. Garden saw to that.” He stroked the ground beside him, which was already beginning to pop out a fresh green lawn. It was such an odd little gesture of affection, and Luna smiled to see aseries of small purple wildflowers appear around his fingers in response.
Mr. Grimm got to his feet, then turned to offer her his hand. Luna slipped her fingers into his, allowing him to help her up. As he did so, a breeze blew through the great apple tree’s branches and billowed his jacket back in a gust of fabric. He looked down with some surprise, eyes widening at the sight of his naked torso. Hastily, he pulled the jacket shut and buttoned it. Not that it improved matters much; Luna could still see a deep V’s worth of chest. But trust Mr. Grimm to make the effort.
“Here, Miss Talbot,” he said, turning to her. “I can take that off you now.”
