“What are you doing, Miss Talbot?” Mr. Grimm asked, his brow puckered.
“I’m going to walk to King Kybald Row,” she said, not looking at him. “I’ll catch the trolley home. No need for you to take me.”
She felt the intensity of his confused gaze fixed upon her. “I can drop you off—”
“No, no!” She shook her head, settling the last of the violets in the seat. “You’ve got to take these fellows home right away. Get them into some water.”
“I’m sure they’ll be all right,” he protested. “They’ve lasted this long.”
But Luna plucked up her coat, which she’d left folded inside the van, stepped back, and firmly shut the door. Slipping into her coat, she shoved her hands deep into the pockets, turned to face Mr. Grimm, and forced herself to meet his gaze quite steadily. “They’ve been out of their vases for quite some time now,” she said. “Don’t want them to get all wilty, do we?” She forced a smile onto her lips. A perfectly pleasant, perfectlyprofessional smile. “It was a good day’s work, I think. Here’s hoping we see a nice review in the paper tomorrow!”
Mr. Grimm’s eyes met hers, sad and searching. Luna kept her face schooled into an expression of careful blankness, allowing no cracks. Nothing through which he might read any untoward emotion. His gaze lingered, and she began to fear she wouldn’t be able to maintain the façade.
Finally, he released his breath in a little sigh. “Thank you for your efforts today, Miss Talbot.”
She nodded. “Any time, Mr. Grimm.”
With that, she turned and walked away. After a bit, she heard the van door shut again, followed by the engine turning over. Just as she strode past the parking attendant, nodding as she went, Mr. Grimm’s rented vehicle trundled by. She looked up, caught a glimpse of him through the windshield. But he didn’t look at her. His gaze was fixed on the road ahead. He pulled out into Coronet Street and drove off. Luna watched him take the turn out of sight.
A blustering sigh on her lips, Luna turned the opposite direction and strode up the sidewalk, making for King Kybald Row. It was a few blocks over, but she didn’t mind the walk. It was good to stretch her legs, good to work out some of the nervous, jumping tension in her body. Everything inside her felt strangely prickling and sick, but movement helped.
She concentrated on navigating the busy city streets, weaving in and out from among fellow pedestrians. The noise and traffic of a busy Ballycastle afternoon enveloped her: the beep of automagic mobile horns, the puffs of thaumatic exhaust. All very natural, normal, everyday things. Grounding. She reached King Kybald sooner than expected and approached the trolley stop shelter. It was empty. Which was a relief. She felt she could use a little privacy. Slipping inside, she took a seat.
Only now that she wasn’t moving anymore, her thoughts had time to catch up with her.
“Green Mother save me!” she whispered and squeezed her eyes shut. Her hands knotted into fists, and she dug her nails deep into her palms. It hurt. But she wanted it to hurt. She wanted to concentrate on that hurt and not on the roiling sickness in her middle.
A featherlight touch brushed the skin of her wrist. Luna blinked her eyes open and looked down to see a little violet in her lap. “Oh dear,” Luna said. “What are you doing here?” She must have missed this one when scooping its fellows out of her apron pocket. It turned its several little purple faces up to her and fluttered its petals, expectant and sweet. Luna smiled back and pressed the tip of her finger to one green stem.
Suddenly, she drew a ragged breath and dashed a tear from her cheek. “I really did think he was going to . . .” She paused, uncertain if she dared finish the sentence, then dropped her voice and spoke the last two words in a whisper: “ . . . kiss me.”
The violet tilted its faces at her, concern and curiosity radiating in equal parts.
Luna shook her head, struggling to swallow the lump in her throat. “I was probably imagining it. After all, if Mr. Grimm was going to kiss me, he would have done so a long time ago.” She peered down at the violet, her brows lifting. “Wouldn’t he?”
The violet shrugged.
“Well, he’s not shy to kiss girls if he wants to!”
A leaf stroked the back of her hand soothingly.
“I know, I know.” Luna shrugged and expelled another short breath. “He can kiss whomever he likes. It’s not my business. It’s just . . . I thought perhaps hewasn’tkissing me because of . . . because of Janet. Because of his broken heart.” She bit her lip, sniffing again. “A broken heart didn’t stop him from kissing Bryony.”
Three little purple faces nuzzled her thumb and forefinger. Luna breathed out a slow sigh. “Sometimes I think I see something. In his eyes, you know. Something so sweet. And painful. And I think maybe . . . maybe . . .” She dashed another tear from her cheek and turned her gaze to look up the road. “Where is that blasted trolley? It seems to be taking its time, doesn’t it?”
The violet fluttered its petals against her skin, present and eager to please. Luna smiled sadly down at it, grateful for the company. They were silent for a little while, and the traffic on King Kybald Row zipped back and forth, and the busy city went about its doings, utterly unconcerned with the plight of one tea witch and her bruised heart.
Luna leaned her head back against the wall. “Ican’tkiss him,” she murmured, as though to convince herself. “I can’t. I’m leaving on Wednesday.”
The violet looked up at her questioningly.
“No.” She shook her head. “I won’t put it off any longer. I know it’s been quiet these last few months, but . . . that’s just the thing that worries me.” For so long, she’d had to be so hyper-aware of the phantom figures haunting the edges of her existence. Now, having grown so comfortable with her life in Ballycastle, with her days spent at The Arcane Bouquet, Luna couldn’t remember the last time she even thought about those phantoms.
But they weren’t gone. They couldn’t be. They were coming for her, and it was only a matter of time before the inevitable happened. Her fate had been written long ago; the only question was how long she could forestall it. Oh, sure, sometimes she tried to imagine that she might escape it entirely, but . . . she’d been a tea witch far too long to believe such nonsense. Destiny was not something one could reshape to one’s liking all willy-nilly.
But that didn’t mean she had to accept it without a fight.
Luna gazed down at the violet once, her face set in determined lines. “Just three more days,” she whispered. “Two now, really.” She snorted then and rolled her eyes. “He’ll probably spend most of that time out in Garden any—”
