There wasn’t a great deal more to see of the shop itself. It was a contained little establishment, comprised of the display floor, the storage room, the kitchen in the back, and Mr. Grimm’s own apartment upstairs. The storage room was larger than Luna expected, and in it could be found all the implements of the florist trade, organized neatly on rows of metal shelves: vases and pots of various sizes, floral foam, wire, string, yardsticks, shears, great bags of Mama Morgana’s Miracle Manure, and more. Luna found she wasn’t as overwhelmed as she might have been; her years tending the gardens of Tealeaf Cottage had taught her a good deal about plant life.
After the storage room was thoroughly gone over, Mr. Grimm took her back to the shop floor itself, and began acquainting her with the flowers. This struck Luna as rather odd at first . . . then much odder still when she began to notice the flowers’ own reactions both to Mr. Grimm and to herself. The tiger lilies, for instance, seemed to rub their leaves together in such a way as to emit a subtle growl. And the dahlias . . . was she mistaken in thinking they sighed like lovelorn misses when Mr. Grimm walked past?
Magic,she thought again. What had struck her as a subtle atmosphere before became more and more unignorable by the moment. How had she missed it yesterday? Perhaps some of the enchantment of this place was dampened by the weather, but she should have been more on her guard.
“And this,” Mr. Grimm spoke with great solemnity, standing before a large, porcelain pot in which stood an impressive rose bush, adorned in bounteous blooms of pink and yellow, “is the double-delight rose.”
Luna glanced at Mr. Grimm, who watched her with a look of expectation she couldn’t quite interpret. Facing the rose, she bit her lip and, on impulse, offered a little curtsy such as she’d made for Mrs. Goddard earlier that morning. “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” she said, trying very hard not to feel ridiculous. But Mr. Grimm looked pleased.
“She can be difficult,” he said, turning to the rose with an expression of wary regard. “But so long as you conduct yourself with the proper respect, you should get on well enough.”
Luna searched Mr. Grimm’s face for even the faintest inkling of humor. There was none. Was he possibly a madman? Madness would be in keeping with the trowel-stabbing visions, of course. But how could a man this buttoned-up, his collar starched, not a hair out of place, and sporting cufflinks—actualcufflinks—be mad?
“I will endeavor to oblige,” Luna offered in what she hoped were appropriately somber tones.
Mr. Grimm nodded, satisfied. He swung a hand to indicate the rest of the bountiful displays. “These you may become acquainted with by and by. I wouldn’t want to overwhelm you with introductions.”
“Very kind, I’m sure,” Luna murmured and bit her lip again. She ought to inquire directly. About the magic. Better to know immediately if there was sorcery at play, anything which mightget her in trouble. She couldn’t afford to get tangled up with the law, not with this hateful tattoo on her wrist, and not with the shadows always closing in . . . well. Best not to think about those. Still, she needed to be careful.
But she also needed this job. Desperately.
Rather than ask the many questions burning on her lips, she offered Mr. Grimm another smile and said, “How about that spot of tea?”
Though Mr. Grimm offered to get it, Luna hastily declared her intention of managing on her own. “I must learn my way around after all, mustn’t I?” she said and betook herself to the counter nook, where the dilapidated kettle still sat upon the stove.
She peeked inside, full of trepidation. Sure enough, soggy tea leaves from yesterday still floated around inside several inches of leftover water. Her stomach turned over, and she dropped the lid. Carrying the kettle back to the kitchen, she located the wastebin, tossed out the old leaves, and rinsed the kettle thoroughly in the stainless steel sink.
A quick exploration of Mr. Grimm’s cupboards and pantry revealed . . . not much. Apparently the man subsisted on Mrs. Goddard’s daily offerings. She did find a box of teabags—Limpty’s Lemon, a brand she wouldn’t be caught dead drinking under ordinary circumstances. Mr. Grimm must have opened up the teabags and poured the leaves into the kettle. The poor man really knew nothing about tea, did he?
Fetching the Limpty’s Lemon, along with the chipped mugs from yesterday, she started back for the counter nook. As she stepped into the passage, however, another whiff of delightful freshness tickled her nose. Her head turned sharply to that door at the end of the passage. The door that could only lead to an internal chamber of some sort, and yet . . .
She drew closer to it, her footsteps slightly hesitant, but too curious to resist. The door was as innocuous as a door could be,yet she could swear that sweet, open-air scent was emanating through the slats. If her hands weren’t full, she’d be tempted to try the knob and have a peek inside. As it was, she simply leaned closer, sniffing softly. A vibration prickled the fine hairs of her cheek.Magic.She was sure of it. Potent enough to make her catch her breath and take several backwards steps.
She stood in the passage for a moment, considering the door, the scent, the hum of power in the air. For some reason, there flashed through her mind the image of Mr. Grimm’s dressing gown: blue and black-tasseled and silver-lined, so very sorcerous in its cut. There was also that enchanted shampoo bottle in the caddy. Which, granted, was hardly suspicious. Some of the Young Women of Good Character with whom she shared Mrs. Boggs’s boardinghouse splurged on black market shampoo or facial creams. It might be illegal, but there wasn’t really any harm in it.
But this? This was something more than enchanted shampoo. This was proper magic on a tremendous scale. Far beyond anything she’d encountered in her aunties’ gardens at Tealeaf. Sorcery?
Luna let out a slow breath. Half-afraid to put her back to that door, she hastened from the passage and back to the nook behind the counter. Mr. Grimm was still out among the flowers, which was a relief. She could take a few moments to collect herself. She filled the kettle fresh from the trimming sink, lit the stove, and proceeded to arrange teabags in mugs. Returning to the kitchen, she fetched two small plates—too large for saucers, but they would do. When the kettle began to whistle, she poured, then covered the mugs with the plates.
Mr. Grimm, drifting back to the counter, watched with interest. “Why the plates?” he asked.
Luna offered what she hoped wasn’t a nervous smile. “To keep the heat trapped while the tea brews.”
He nodded, his brow knotting. Then: “I have a tea cozy.”
She grinned properly at that. “And I’m sure it’s lovely, but a cozy only works with a teapot. Do you have one of those?”
He motioned to the kettle on the stove.
“That’s a kettle,” she said patiently. “It’s not the same thing.”
“Ah.” He frowned.
Poor man. After all, Luna reminded herself, not everyone knew the joy of being brought up by tea witches. Not liking for things to get awkward, she hastily changed the subject. “Did you have a new delivery early this morning, Mr. Grimm? All your flowers are so very fresh and perky.”
“No,” he replied, not meeting her gaze. “These are yesterday’s flowers.”
But there’d been no delivery yesterday either. Not in that storm. Luna narrowed her eyes. Then, deciding it best to be straightforward, she asked: “Do you use magic to keep them fresh?”
