But what did any of this matter? There was a time, not so long ago, when everything he was had belonged toher.To the Shadowbane Lady. His kisses were given for her lewd pleasure, his every breath and deed devoted to her dark desires.
“It was then that I saw him. On his knees. His face buried between her—”
“I’ve got to go,” Luna said abruptly, pushing away from the stove. She could not look at him, not one second longer, so she focused instead on the toes of her shoes as she shuffled to maneuver past him in the tiny nook.
His hand shot out, long fingers closing around her elbow. There was strength in his grip, and a jolt of something delicious and terrible shot through her senses, causing her to freeze. Still Luna would not look at him, kept her eyes firmly averted, even as she felt his burning gaze fixed on her face.
“Where are you going?” he demanded, his voice rough.
She swallowed painfully. “I’m going to Mrs. Goddard’s. I’ll sit up with her until we hear news of Tobias. She’ll need the company.”
He breathed out a ragged exhale. “Will you come back tomorrow?”
Luna closed her eyes. Then, slowly, she turned her head, peered up into his blue eyes. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. Wednesday felt so perilously far away. What if Lancelot Mortimer came searching for her? What if he was out there looking for her right now? What if he’d tagged her again tonight, and she hadn’t even noticed? What if . . .what if . . . ?
Mr. Grimm tilted his head toward her, his expression earnest. “I can protect you.”
Luna stiffened, her eyes flashing. “Protect me fromwhat,Mr. Grimm?” she asked.
Then she wrenched out of his grasp and took a few steps back out from the nook. Her heart beat strangely. Did he know? Did he know her real name? Did he know who she was?
Suddenly, she struggled to see him—to see Nigel Grimm, florist and gardener and brewer of teas. Instead, she felt as though she stood before that figure of seven-foot, towering horror she’d glimpsed on a few occasions. It took only a series of furious blinks to make him resolve back into the image of her disheveled boss, with his stained shirt and unbuttoned waistcoat, and his hair spilling over his forehead, but the after-image remained, haunting her brain.
Mr. Grimm turned away from her, closing his eyes. “Never mind,” he said softly. “Go if you must.”
Turning on heel, Luna hastened to the hinged portion of the counter, opening and closing it a little too fast so that it banged. Debbie shuffled on her skull-pot, muttering a grouchy,“Never mind,”but Luna ignored her. She hurried to the back passage, meaning to flee through the kitchen, gathering her coat along the way. She paused, however, and looked back.
Mr. Grimm stood where she’d left him. He slumped with his forehead resting against the wall, his eyes closed, his body bent, as though he struggled to stay on his feet. She couldn’t see anything of his features, but the line of his neck and the tension in his shoulders was clear beneath the unfeeling light of the thaumatic bulb.
Luna bit her lip. Then: “Arnica and dandelion.”
He turned, his blue eyes shimmering once more with unshed tears. His brow wrinkled as he blinked at her stupidly. “What?”
“For the . . . this.” She pointed at her own cheek and jaw. “Arnica and dandelion will bring down the swelling, and I added a pinch of orclily to help with discoloration. There’s a little boxof sachets in the pantry. I left them there, after . . . after Saint Jollify. When you had that black eye.”
Mr. Grimm nodded. “Thank you, Miss Talbot.”
She licked her lips. “Good night, Mr. Grimm,” she said softly.
“Good night.”
Without another word, she turned and fled.
When he heard the door to the back alley shut behind her, Nigel’s knees gave out. He somehow managed to direct himself to the cane chair and collapsed into it rather than straight to the floor. All the remaining strength in his body seemed to flood out of him and flow away in every direction, leaving him a drained husk where he sat.
Debbie fluttered from her skull and landed on his shoulder. Her claws pinched, a comforting pain. She felt strangely heavy. For a while, they were silent together. The raven occasionally picked at his ear and hair and the buttons of his unfastened collar, but otherwise left him to his thoughts.
Then, in a low voice, Nigel said: “She knows, Debbie. It’s over. She knows.”
“Never mind?”the raven suggested.
But there was no never minding now. The look on her face was emblazoned in his memory for all time—the look of horror that suffused her sweet features when she realized that everything Lancelot Mortimer had told her about him was true.
And what allhadMortimer related? Nigel hadn’t been there for that part. He’d obviously told her about the affair with Jastira, not to mention dropping his Dark Sorcerer’s name. Had he also told her that Nigel was responsible for those awful facial scars Mortimer now bore? Probably. No doubt he’d relished the telling.
In light of these revelations, how could Luna do anything other than flee his presence? How could she bear even to look at him? He couldn’t blame her. He wouldn’t. It was his own fault after all. He’d deceived himself into believing that he could become a better man, a man worthy of her friendship, of her . . . of her kisses. Of her love.
But whatever he’d shared with her in those heated moments on the Lover’s Tower and in his own kitchen, it was over now. Moments were all they would ever have. All to brief, all too fleeting. Mere tastes of hope far beyond anything he deserved.
