“What about her?” Tobias asked shakily.
“I’ll worry about Miss Talbot. Go on! While they’re distracted!”
Tobias swallowed hard, then turned and fled to the newly-created exit. Nigel could only hope he’d somehow make it home to his mother tonight.
Staggering under the weight of his burden, Nigel hastened through the whirling gas to the far wall of the warehouse where a couple of old crates stood beneath a window. Feeling around with his foot, he located the brick he’d used to break through the window on the fire escape and pushed it aside. Then he crouched, grasped the invisible folds of Yorik Balthazar’s dressing gown. Draping it around the two of them, Nigel allowed himself a moment to simply breathe through the mushroom-hankie. His body shook, trying to remind him that he was in terrible pain, but he didn’t have time for that right now. Luna’s pale face lay against his shoulder. He could not let her down.
Surging to his feet, he wafted unseen through the mayhem, making for the nearest exit.
She was aware of certain things. But only partially and only at intervals.
There was the sound of labored breaths. That was most prominent, and she directed her semi-conscious mind to focus there as much as it could. Big, gasping, struggling inhales and exhales, not quite rhythmic. Sometimes she lost them as darkness, sparked with anti-glitter motes, pulled her back in. But if she fought through the darkness, she could usually find them again, and each time she managed it, they grew more distinct, and she was able to hold onto her awareness for longer.
Then, slowly, she started to feel things as well. Jostling against her right ear. Soft silk fabric brushing exposed skin. A pulse thudding too fast under her hand.
She’d been ensorcelled. The knowledge crept in as awareness increased. She’d been ensorcelled and, worse still, the sorcerer who had done the ensorcelling had exchanged her own life force to power the spell. Fortunately, she didn’t seem to be dead. So that was something.
A terrible jolt brought her more fully awake than she’d been moments ago. Her hand, which had been lying gently against a heaving chest, tensed, fingers gripping fabric. The gusts of labored breath sounded louder than before, and Luna began to put a few pieces together. She was being carried in a pair of strong but trembling arms. And the heavy-breather was the one who carried her. And by the smell of him—that sandalwood-and-cinnamon scent which so often haunted her dreams—she could make a pretty good guess as to his identity.
Luna pried her eyes half open. The world was dark and blurry, but she managed to tilt her gaze up. To her surprise, she found herself looking at a series of dancing mushrooms picked out in embroidery thread. Which wasn’t quite what she’d expected.
With a sudden surge of muscle, her rescuer pushed away from whatever wall he’d been leaning against and started walking again, a swift but staggering stride. His breath sounded worse and worse, and Luna knew he shouldn’t be exerting himself like this.
“Mr. Grimm?” she tried to say. But her voice wouldn’t work, and her lips formed the words around a silent expulsion of air. She faded back into darkness once more.
When she came back the next time, however, she was much more awake. Much more aware of Mr. Grimm, who was apparently leaning hard against the post of a streetlamp, his arms quaking with the effort to hold her, his breathing positively ragged. This time, Luna realized that they were enshrouded in folds of invisible silk. Mr. Grimm’s enchanted dressing gown. But invisibility wouldn’t do them much good if someone came walking by. Not with Mr. Grimm gasping for air like this.
Suddenly, he sagged to the ground. Luna let out a little yelp as his grip on her went slack, and she tumbled to the sidewalk. At least whatever ensorcellment she’d been under seemed to have mostly faded by now. She managed to pick herself up, first ontoher hands and knees, then into a kneeling position. The fabric of the invisibility robe had fallen away and lay in a pile of silver moons and stars on blue silk beside Mr. Grimm.
“Mr. Grimm?” Luna pushed limp strands of hair back from her face and took a good look at her employer. “Mr. Grimm, can you hear me? What happened?” Her voice came out strangely slurred.
He seemed to be not all there. Still upright, eyes open, but his expression was glassy, uncomprehending. Half of his face was covered in his handkerchief, which puffed out from his mouth with each breath he heaved, making the mushrooms flutter. Something was certainly wrong with him. Something beyond the mere exhaustion of carrying her who-knows-how-far.
Luna cast a quick look around, trying to get some sense of location. To her surprise, the street sign illuminated by the lamp said Addle Street and Bingley Lane. They were within a block of the shop.
“Mr. Grimm,” she started again, turning back to him. “We can’t—”
A terrible moan issued from behind the handkerchief. To Luna’s horror, she watched his eyes roll back, and he tipped abruptly forward. Her arms shot out, and she caught him. His face pressed hard into the front of her winter coat, and his hands grasped lightly at her elbows for a moment before falling limply on either side of her.
Luna sat frozen on her knees, staring down at the head of blond hair, illuminated by thaumatic glow. Her mouth opened and closed a few times before she clonked it shut firmly. What was going on here? She shook her head, memory of the events leading up to her ensorcellment foggy. She seemed to recall the warehouse, seemed to remember a skull of black, polished stone with red eyes. A name appeared in her head: Lancelot Mortimer. The Dark Sorcerer! That’s right, he’d had her bound to a chairand gagged, so she couldn’t release Mr. Grimm’s troth and . . . and . . .
And there were other memories as well, crowding in faster.
“Then, one day, I walked in on them. They were together in Jastira’s own bedchamber—”
No!
Luna drew a sharp breath. She couldn’t let those memories in. Not yet. Not until she got Mr. Grimm safely home. In the distance, she could swear she heard gunshots going off from the warehouse district.
Ignoring the tears brimming against her lashes, Luna gripped her employer’s shoulders firmly, pushing him back from her breast. “Mr. Grimm, we’ve got to get home. Now,” she said.
He blinked vaguely, his eyes struggling to focus on her face.
Luna set her jaw. Then, steeling herself to the task, she slapped him. Hard. Hard enough that her fingers stung, and she grimaced at the pain. But it worked. Startled, his gaze momentarily focused on her face.
“Luna?” he quavered.
His voice cut her to the quick. It was only the third time she’d ever heard him use her name. But she couldn’t let herself think about that now either.
