Turning her head, Luna stared through the windshield once more. “So . . .” She worried her lower lip before forcing herself to continue. “So I’m notinmy own reality?”
“Well . . .”
“Well what? You just said we’re in the bubble wrap!”
“Yes, but to be totally outside of our reality, you’d have to be beyond the wooden crate as well. We’re still safe and snug within our own reality. We’re merely outside of time. That’s all.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes.”
“And . . . on the other side of the wooden crate . . .” Luna swallowed hard. “That would be the Dire Dimensions?”
Nigel shrugged. “For the purposes of this analogy, sure.”
“Oh, sweet Green Mother preserve us!”
With this exclamation, Luna pressed a hand to her breast and fell back into another series of prayers, uttered with even more pious desperation than before. Nigel winced. Apparently, his attempts to allay her fears had gone astray somewhere. But really, what did she want him to say? It wasn’t as though they were—
“Watch out, Mr. Grimm!”
Nigel whipped his gaze forward and slammed on the brakes. Though there really wasn’t much slamming required, considering the pace they were making. They came to a stop just at a crosswalk, where a woman strode boldly forth with her cat on a leash. Her cat? Yes, that was a cat, most certainly. Whiskers and question-mark tail and everything. And they were taking up this whole side of the crosswalk, while a prune-faced nanny with a pram and a tugging toddler on the end of her arm took up the other.
“It would seem this is as far as we can go by motor,” Nigel said with a sigh. There wasn’t room to drive up on the sidewalk here. “I can see the dome of Saint Agatha’s. We aren’t far and should be able to . . .” His voice trailed away as he turned to his companion and found that she was still grasping her breast with one hand, panting hard and struggling to make little gulping breaths. “Miss Talbot, are you quite all right?”
“No!” she squeaked, turning her furious gaze his way. “I’m ruddy wellnotall right! Not by any definition ofallrightnessam Iall right!”
Nigel’s brow puckered. On impulse, he reached out a reassuring hand, but stopped short of touching her. They had both been very careful not to touch each other over the last four weeks. Not even the simplest, most innocent brush of fingers. Whether this was purposeful on her part or not, Nigel couldn’t say. But he had been aware of it, nonetheless.
He withdrew his hand again, closing his fingers into a fist and feeling singularly inept. “I assure you, Miss Talbot,” he said, forcing the words through a suddenly too-tight throat, “you are quite safe. I would never have brought you here if I thought there was the least chance of danger. I’ve traveled in theunspaceoutside of time on any number of occasions over the years. The worst I’ve ever met here was a fellow sorcerer, who happenedto be time-jumping in the same neighborhood. Even that only happened the once. We had a bit of a collision, begged each other’s pardon, went on our merry way, and that was the end of it.”
She stared at him as he spoke. Not with any comprehension, he suspected, but the tone of his voice seemed to help. Her breathing eased somewhat. At last, she turned her gaze from his down to the bouquet in her lap. The flowers stretched out their leaves to stroke her with affectionate concern and emitted a soothing perfume. Finally, she let out a much longer breath, which seemed to release something tight in her chest. “Thank you, Mr. Grimm,” she murmured. “You’re very . . . very . . .” She paused, closed her eyes. “I forget sometimes.”
“Forget what?”
“How dangerous you are.”
Nigel turned his eyes forward and brought his hand back to rest on the steering wheel, gripping hard. “Weren’t you just comparing me to your extremely great aunt?”
“She was dangerous too.”
“Fair enough.”
Luna lifted the bouquet to her face and inhaled the blossoms’ scent. Then she turned her gaze to the violets, which she had scooped into a cupholder. They sighed happily, looking quite snug. “These fellows don’t seem particularly frightened,” she said, putting out one finger to stroke a purple-petaled face. “So maybe this bubble-wrap world of yours is all right.” She lifted her chin and seemed to study the lady and her cat on the crosswalk in front of them. “I don’t suppose you can drivethroughthem. Like ghosts?”
Nigel shook his head. “The convergence of realities could cause a rip in time, and the essential modalities of the metacogniscience—”
“Just say it’ll all go bump.”
He paused. Then: “Yes. A rather big bump, actually.”
“So we’re stuck?”
“No, indeed.” Lifting his hand from the wheel, Nigel pointed out the shining dome of the cathedral, looming above the layered rooftops of the street. “Our destination is just there, Miss Talbot. We can walk the rest of the way.”
“Walk?In all that . . . that . . .pinkness?”
“I told you, it’s perfectly safe.”
