Mr. Grimm appeared through the ferns like some jungle explorer, lacking only a machete to complete the picture. He was looking rather the worse for wear, with hairline scratches all over his face, leaves in his hair, and a harrowed look in his blue eyes.
“Did it get out?” he demanded, breathless.
Luna pointed at the plant, still seated at her feet, its petaled head swaying as though it even now saw stars.
“Quick! Catch it!” her employer cried.
Luna bent down and plucked up the tiger lily by its stem, pinching it between forefinger and thumb. It continued to growl, but otherwise hung docilely enough.
Mr. Grimm grabbed a terracotta pot, hastened across the floor, and stuffed the lily’s bulb into the waiting dirt, which he hastily tamped down hard. “Andstaythere!” he growled, giving pot and blossom a little shake. The lily rattled its leaves at him, but he answered with a stern, “And none of your lip!”
He carried it back to where the other potted tiger lilies sat all in a row beneath one of the display tables, muttering as hewent, “I swear, my father bred the damnable things for pure bullheadedness. Andthisone is the worst of the lot! It’s bad enough they terrify the violets and stalk the petunias . . . now this fool flower is determined there’s better hunting to be had in the street. Nothing I say will convince it that it’s all pavement and cobblestones out there, hardly another plant in sight!”
Luna followed him through the shop, bemused. She supposed she’d have to get used to these little floral oddities while working in The Arcane Bouquet. “Why don’t you send the tiger lilies back out into Garden if they’re such trouble?” she asked. “It doesn’t seem as though they’d be very safe to sell in any case.”
“Oh, but I have!” Mr. Grimm answered, shoving the pot in roughly among its fellows. “The blasted things keep sneaking through when my back is turned and causing havoc. No, it’s best if I pot them myself and make certain they’re secure. This one, however, keeps managing to dig itself up. I’m tempted to tie it to a stake and see how it likes it!”
While the lily aggressively fluttered its remaining petals at him, Luna hid a smile behind her hand. It was rather funny, seeing buttoned-up Mr. Grimm so out of sorts! Quite a change from the nervous persona of the last two days. She’d never have guessed the stuttering man who fell over himself with embarrassment trying to serve her tea could manifest such vim and violence . . . even if directed at a flower.
Having secured his lily, Mr. Grimm looked down at his disheveled self. Potting soil smeared his waistcoat, and his hair was all askew, rather adorably so, to be honest. Luna wouldn’t have minded reaching out and mussing it a little more.
Hastily stifling such a ridiculous thought, she set her purse down behind the shop counter and said brightly, “Why don’t you nip upstairs and straighten up, Mr. Grimm? I can finish feeding the rest of the plants and get the front door display arranged before opening.”
Mr. Grimm smoothed back his hair (part of which escaped to flop over his forehead once more). “Actually, Miss Talbot,” he said, reclaiming his posh and reserved inflection, as though he’d never done battle with tiger lilies a day in his life, “I would be much obliged if you would make us a morning tea.”
Debbie, perched on her counter skull, ruffled her feathers and uttered a hoarse cough of disgust. Luna glanced at her then back at Mr. Grimm. “Are you sure? There’s still a great deal to do.”
“Oh, yes. Quite sure. Best to properly brace ourselves for the coming day, right?”
Luna lifted a brow. She was perfectly aware that Mr. Grimm never so much as touched the tea she’d made for him yesterday. Not that she blamed him—even a properly brewed Limpty’s Lemon was hardly inspiring stuff. “Well,” she said with a little shrug, “you’re the boss.”
As she made for the kitchen, Mr. Grimm’s voice called after her, “I hope you’ll find everything you need!” Which was odd. Luna paused, frowning slightly. Then she shrugged again and continued on her way down the passage.
Before turning into the kitchen, she found her gaze drawn to the boiler room door. More aware than ever of the buzz of sorcery surrounding it, she chewed the inside of her cheek. The key Mr. Grimm gave her to the shop did not work on this door, but she knew now where Mr. Grimm kept the ensorcelled key. The responsibility of that secret felt like a weight on her shoulders. She was half-tempted to venture into Garden, just to see what it might have to offer by way of tea options this morning. Not the Wolf Brittlebum, of course. But perhaps it could be coaxed into providing a humble dark taerel?
It wouldn’t matter, of course. She didn’t have anything in which to brew a proper tea. With a sigh, Luna resigned herself to the inevitability of Limpty’s and stepped into the kitchen.
There she was met with a surprising sight. In the center of the work table, stood a large pink giftbag, brimming over with white tissue paper. Luna stopped in her tracks, taken aback. Her gut tightened painfully at sight of the logo printed on the side of that bag in swirling calligraphy:Mystic Infusions: Tea and Readings.For a moment, she was right back where she’d been two days ago, entering that tea shop with all the optimism in the world, only to be chased back out into the storm by yet another remorseless bigot.
Shaking that unpleasant memory away, she drew closer, curiosity piqued. Mr. Grimm must have gone shopping yesterday, after closing time. Did he . . . could he . . . ? Fingers trembling with some trepidation, Luna carefully removed the top layer of tissue to reveal a white box within. Her heart skipped a beat. Was that a Royal Bastian label, stamped in the center?
Qualms effectively quashed, she pulled the box out, popped the lid, and uttered a little cry of delight. There, protected in a bed of foam, sat the most darling little teapot: white and decorated with a charming pattern of pink roses and little, dainty violets, topped with a gilt-edged lid. Small and squat, not a thing of elegance, but of pure, adorable comfort. Just the right size for two cups of tea.
Further exploration revealed cups as well, floral and gold-edged to match the pot, complete with perfect little saucers. Not a chip to be found betwixt them! And better still, three boxes of looseleaf tea: a silver needle, a robust orange llarmi, and—she grinned—a chamomile-lavender. Someone with some knowledge of tea must have recommended these to Mr. Grimm. Not a Limpty’s logo anywhere in sight: these were all the expensive Twiglings brand, of which even Auntie Apolonia might approve when in a mild temper, and which Auntie Arabella liked to sip on the sly.
Luna’s heart swelled. There was also a tea strainer and a set of darling silver spoons. She’d had to sell her own silver spoons last year when times were particularly lean, and she’d lost her tea-ball strainer somewhere on the voyage over the channel the year before that. She gazed with delight at the treasures spread before her, ready to forgive them all for originating from someplace as horrible as Mystic Infusions.
Then, frowning a little, she gave her head a quick shake. Whatever profits the flower shop brought in yesterday certainly wouldn’t pay for all this. Royal Bastien was high quality porcelain, favored by the Queen of Brython herself. Why, the pot alone must be worth fifty crowns!
“Really, Mr. Grimm, it’s too much,” she murmured.
She cast a quick glance at the kitchen clock, which read 8:45. If she was going to make the requested tea, she’d better hustle. Only she’d left the kettle out in the kitchen nook. Hastening back to the passage, she paused in the shop doorway, a blush warming her cheeks. What was she supposed to say to Mr. Grimm exactly? He wouldn’t have splurged on tea things for himself. She may have only known him a grand total of two days, but she’d seen enough to confirm the man knew nothing about tea whatsoever.He’s probably a coffee drinker,she thought, and shuddered.
But it wasn’t as though the pot and cups were agift.Surely not. She could never accept them if so! But if they were just for the shop, that was all right, wasn’t it?
Luna chewed her lower lip. First risky secrets, now extravagant spending? Working for Mr. Grimm was going to prove more challenging than she initially thought. Or maybe she was making too much of a simple thing? Yes. That was it. She should accept the gesture for exactly what it was. No more, no less. And make the requested tea, of course.
Resolved to this course of action, Luna stepped out into the shop in pursuit of the missing kettle. Mr. Grimm was across the floor, feeding hydrangeas from a bag of Mama Morgana’s. Taking care that her voice was nothing but cool and professional, Luna began, “I must compliment you, Mr. Grimm, on your excellent choice of teas—”
