Biting her lip, she looked away from him again, scanning the landscape as though for insight. Nigel found his gaze irresistibly drawn to the sight of those white teeth, worrying away at that plump lip, turning it redder and plumper by the moment. Gods, why did he have to be so very aware of her and all her feminine attributes? Apparently he was just like every other man in Ballycastle—struck by the mere sight of her. Only he hadn’t the suavity of a burly wardsman officer, buying her carnations and winking and the like. All he had was a measly job offer. A job which he could not allow himself to compromise with any untowardfeelings.
Swallowing hard, he reached up to straighten his tie, only to find it still unfastened following the revelation of his heptagram tattoo.
Suddenly, Luna pointed into the greenery on her right. “There,” she said. “That’s a Wolf Brittlebum.”
Nigel looked where she indicated and saw a large, ugly, pink flower with a spiky black stamen, which protruded from the white carpel like spider legs. He’d never seen anything like it before, had no idea Garden grew such monstrosities. “Yes?” he answered uncertainly.
“Auntie Apolonia grew those. Back home at Tealeaf Cottage. The bulbs make a strong tea, good for ill humors and for dreams. It’s a bit on the toxic side, unless blended with dandelion root. Auntie Apolonia also used it as rat poison on occasion, but properly mixed, it’s an excellent remedy for nightmares.” Luna turned to Nigel, her expression a cipher. “It’sveryrare. Auntie paid a fortune for just one bulb and nurtured it like a baby for years until she had a little crop of bulbils.”
“Ah.” Nigel nodded and glanced at the ugly bloom again, convinced Garden had brought it forefront for the singular purpose of impressing Miss Talbot.
She pointed again, this time to a patch of ground beyond him. He looked and saw a bush brimming with spiny red blossom clusters. “That,” she said, “is a Royal Lobsetty. It’s good for rheumatism. Auntie Aurora used to drink a brew made from the petals every night.” From there she turned and pointed to a yellow, radial blossom, with a face larger than Nigel’s palm. “That’s a Sniff-Me-Not. It smells like old socks, but it’ll cure hangover in a jiffy.”
“And . . . which of your aunties needed hangover cures on the regular?”
Luna laughed, her stern expression breaking into a smile that sent a quake straight down his spine. “None of them! But the vicar’s son would drop in on his way home from the pub, in need of sobering up before the vicar collared him. Auntie Aurora wasalways for him receiving his just reward, but Auntie Arabella is a soft-hearted soul.”
She went on to point out several more interesting varieties of blossom, none of which Nigel had ever before seen. It would seem Garden was rather smitten with Luna Talbot, determined to show off its best tea flowers for her benefit. “Settle down, old man,” Nigel muttered under his breath.
But Luna walked the perimeter of the blighted plot, admiring the various offerings, her face more relaxed by the moment. When she came fully around, she approached Nigel where he stood at the tombstone, looked him straight in the eye. And held out her hand.
Nigel dropped his gaze to her fingers then raised it to her eyes, inquiringly.
“We have an agreement,” she said. “I will work in your shop, and I will keep your secret, so long as you honor your promise to practice no superfluous sorcery.”
His throat rather tight, Nigel pressed her hand, taken aback by the strength of her grip. Then she smiled again, and it very nearly sent him reeling. He had to tighten his own grip just to stand in place. Would he ever grow accustomed to the brilliance of that smile, or was he destined to be rattled by its every appearance?
“Thank you, Mr. Grimm,” Luna said, little sparks shining on the edges of her eyes.
“For what?”
“For bringing me here. For giving me this job. For . . .everything.”
For a moment, he feared he wouldn’t be able to respond. In the end, he managed a hasty, “You’re very welcome, Miss Talbot.”
“Never mind!”croaked Debbie, even as the wind picked up, blowing through flowers, petals, leaves, and twigs, rustling alland sundry. Nigel could almost swear he detected the distant echo of his father’s laughter, just on the edge of hearing.
Strains of a popular tune met Luna’s ears at 8:25 the following morning, when she made the turn from Nettleton Lane onto Addle Street. The street fiddler stood beneath the lamppost, scraping out the swoony melody with surprising vigor for such an early hour, and Luna stopped to listen, wishing she had a spare coin to toss into the fellow’s waiting hat.
Spare coins she had none, however. For though Mr. Grimm was generous enough to pay her a half-week’s wage in advance—and Luna had walked home with her purse clinking for the first time in weeks—Mrs. Boggs had waited on the front steps of the boardinghouse last evening, lurking like a vulture. She’d promptly confiscated every last coin and demanded promises that more would be forthcoming the following week. In the end, there was nothing left over for superfluous luxuries. Like dinner. Or cheerful street tunes.
Still, Luna allowed herself a moment to linger, hugging her arms around her middle and tapping her foot. The song was a hit on the thaumatic-radio waves that summer. One of the Young Women of Good Character, who shared the boardinghouse, played it on her portable radio any night Mrs. Boggs chanced to be away visiting her ailing sister. (Bless the poor invalid . . .her bad spells were the only relief anyone got from their landlady’s ominous presence!) Sometimes the girls even pushed back the furniture in the communal sitting room and practiced the hottest new dance steps, while crooning out the achingly romantic lyrics:
“Oh, love! Like a rose in the rain,
Each petal a sigh, each thorn a sweet pain!”
Luna whisper-sang the words to herself there on the street as she swayed in time to the sweet tune. The fiddler caught her eye and startled her with a big, gap-toothed smile. Luna couldn’t help grinning back, but followed it up with a sad gesture, indicating her lack of funds. He shrugged and continued playing, even as she proceeded down Addle Street to the door of The Arcane Bouquet.
High spirits buoyed every step she made down the busy sidewalk. Today would be a good day, she was convinced, enjoying an optimism she’d not felt since first arriving in Ballycastle three months ago. Of course, she knew better than to get too comfortable, too settled. But it would be so nice not to wonder, for a little while at least, if she’d even have a roof over her head, much less a mouthful or two to fill her belly in the weeks to come. Beyond that . . . well, she wouldn’t bother thinking that far ahead. There wasn’t any point in worrying.
Retrieving from her purse the little key Mr. Grimm had given her the day before, Luna unlocked the front door, adding her own voice to the tinkle of bells as she called out a cheerful, “Good morning!”
A strange scuffle of movement from the left side of the shop drew her attention. A series of tall ferns acted as a sort of screen, but from behind them, she heard Mr. Grimm’s voice cry out intones of panic, “Shut the door! Shut the door!”followed by an,“ermph!”and the sound of a body hitting the floor rather hard.
Luna hastily leaped inside and pulled the door shut behind her. Only just in time. Out from under the nearest table, bursting from between two buckets of long-stemmed peonies, rushed a . . . it took Luna a few blinks to quite make sense of what she saw. A bulb, split into something resembling two ungainly hind quarters. Long green leaves curved to form forelimbs. And ferocious petals unfurled in what could only be described as a snarl.
Yelping with surprise, Luna clicked the latch of the door shut just as the rogue tiger lily launched itself toward freedom. The vicious flower struck the door, losing three petals in the process, and landed heavily on its bulb-haunches, dazed. And growling.
