“Now, we progress to the former Great Hall,” the old gentleman declared, ambling on down the cordoned-off pathway, which navigated the ruins. Nigel and Luna shuffled into place behind the honeymooners, who were pinching each other and giggling inappropriately. Luna kept her eyes firmly averted, pretending an intense fascination in the crumbling walls of the Great Hall. Nigel, meanwhile, kept his gaze fixed on Luna.
As the group took a turn to explore the one remaining turret of the old castle, which stood proudly above the rest of the rubble, their guide warned everyone to hold tight to the handrail. He led the way, disappearing around the first turn, and Luna took the opportunity to lean into Nigel’s shoulder and whisper, “Do you think we could slip away and skip the rest of this tour?”
“You mean you’re not riveted by this dynamic recounting of ancient days?”
She gave him a look.
Nigel grinned. “I don’t mind. They seem to have installed a little café in the old moat house. We could nip out and have a cuppa if you like.”
The smile she gave him at this suggestion was worth kingdoms. “Oh, please!” she said and bit her lip with eagerness.
Nigel turned and motioned for her to proceed him into the passage. But they hadn’t taken two steps before they came face-to-face with a large brick of a woman: the second tour guide, whose sole job it was to keep groups together. While her nametag boasted the incongruous appellative “Bonnibelle,” her eyes fixed on them with lancelike intensity as she crossed two meaty arms over an equally meaty bosom. “Going somewhere?” she growled in singularly un-bell-like tones.
Luna yelped and stepped back a pace, the heel of her shoe bumping into Nigel’s foot. He placed steadying hands on each of her arms, very aware of the feel of her back against his chest. But she did not stay there. Spinning about, she whispered a hasty, “I suppose there’s nothing for it,” and sprang for the turret stairs.
Nigel had no choice but to follow.
It was not a long climb, but the steps were very narrow, as though carved for much smaller feet. Somewhere up ahead, the tour guide’s voice droned on, echoing faintly against the stonework, and it really would be quite the dullest way to spend an afternoon except . . . well. Nigel smiled softly. He was spending the afternoon with Luna Talbot. No amount of dry history could spoil that.
The top of the turret proved worth the climb at least. The view, as they emerged into open space, was nothing short of spectacular. Luna gasped out loud and flew eagerly to the viewing rail. Nigel followed after, taking in the sight of the city spread before them. Old Bally Castle was situated right in the heart of the ancient city, which had sprawled around it in all directions. This turret was perched high on its promontory, and every major landmark could be seen from here. There was the glittering dome of Saint Agatha’s Cathedral. There was the Governor’s Mansion. There was the gold angel mounted at the top of Queen Maris’s Theater.
“Look! You can see the Lower Eastside harbor from here,” Luna said, pointing eagerly. She continued to study the view for some little while, gripping the rail with both hands. “Well,all right,” she declared at last. “This may have been worth the climb.”
The breeze was brisk up here, blowing at her curls. It tried to blow her hat off and very nearly succeeded. Nigel stretched out his hand and caught it before it went far, pushing it back firmly onto her head. Luna put up a hand to hold it in place, and her fingers momentarily brushed his, and . . . yes. Yes, it was all well worth the climb.
“All right, you folks, gather round, gather round,” the tour guide demanded, interrupting everyone’s enjoyment of the moment. Luna heaved another sigh, casting Nigel a brief glance. But they both turned obediently to face the little man, who beckoned with both arms.
“This turret,” he said, his voice raised slightly to be heard over the breeze, “is known as the Lover’s Tower. How many of you are familiar with the story of Julian and Miranda?”
Nigel heard Luna catch a little breath. “Wait a second!” she yipped, her whole being suddenly brimming with excitement. “This isthattower?”
The tour guide nodded. “According to legend, Miranda, the daughter of the king, fell in love with a poor stable hand, a young fellow by the name of Julian. Their love was doomed, and the king ordered for Julian to be put to death for daring to aspire above his station. Rather than give up her love, Miranda led him to the top of this very turret, where they leapt hand-in-hand. Some say to their death. Other sources from the era claim the gods themselves caught them up and raised them to heaven, in honor of the purity of their love.”
Luna listened with shining eyes, as though the story weren’t being delivered in the dry tones of a grocery bill recitation. Nigel leaned in and whispered in her ear, “You know, Stutterington Castle in Southern Plym claimstheirturret is the one from the legend—”
“Shhhh!” Luna said and smacked his shoulder lightly with the back of her hand. “Let the man finish!”
Nigel rolled his eyes, but a smile quirked the corner of his mouth.
“The lovers’ devotion was so great,” their guide droned on, “it spawned a miracle of magic—the great mystery of Old Bally Castle. Every evening, just as the last of the sun’s rays vanish from the sky and nightfall descends, a shooting star appears directly over this turret, illuminating the darkness for a single moment. It is said that if two lovers, as devoted to one another as Miranda and Julian, wish upon that star, their wish will come true.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” the retired couple murmured, even as the college students snickered together, and the honeymooner’s ignored everyone and everything but each other.
Luna sighed happily and placed a hand over her heart. “You don’t really believe in wishing stars, do you, Miss Talbot?” Nigel said, glancing down at her uncertainly.
“Why not?” She tipped her gaze up to him. “I believe in Green Magic and Dark Magic. Why should Miracle Magic be any different? There are all sorts of wonders and marvels to be had in this world. More even than you may have dreamed up, Mr. Grimm.”
Having completed the legend, the tour guide moved on to some other droning tale, but Luna turned away to take in the view once more. Then, clasping her hat tightly to her head, she tilted her face back, gazing up into the clear blue sky. “I wonder if it really shows up every night?”
“What?”
“The shooting star. If it’s so dependable as all that, why aren’t lovers up here getting their wishes-come-true on the regular?”
“Well, the castle closes at six,” Nigel pointed out blandly.
Luna turned and fixed him with a sharp look. “We should find out.”
“Erm . . . find out what?”
