“Why?” Nigel asked, uncertainly.
“I thought I might collect some leaves and flower heads to dry in the kitchen,” she replied. “It seems a shame for you to go on buying expensive Twiglings teas when Garden boasts such variety.”
Nigel balked at the prospect of losing her company. But he couldn’t very wellsaythat and, as he had no other excuses to offer, no tasks to appoint, he nodded his approval. “Only be sure to take Debbie with you,” he added.
It was Luna’s turn to utter an uncertain, “Why?”
“Garden likes to play games sometimes. The paths aren’t altogether trustworthy, but Debbie can navigate them from a bird’s eye view.”
Luna merely laughed at this. “Oh, Garden wouldn’t be so rude tome, Mr. Grimm!”
Nigel didn’t necessarily approve of the confidence with which this was spoken. He’d known Garden his entire life, after all; the two of them had endured a rather contentious relationship. “For my peace of mind, Miss Talbot,” he persisted.
She shrugged and turned to the skull-pot on the desk. “Care to join me, Debbie?”
The raven, torn between a distaste for ever being agreeable and a desire to stretch her wings under an open sky, muttered unpleasantly. In the end, the lure of the sky won out, and she fluttered to perch on Luna’s shoulder as the two of them slipped down the passage.
Nigel found himself suddenly alone in the shop with only flowers for company. His gaze lingered possibly a little longer than necessary on the empty doorway through which she’d disappeared. With a sigh, he turned—and caught a glance from the double-delight rose. “What?” he demanded rather sourly. “She’s been good for business. Evenyoumust admit that.”
The rose offered no opinion. But its whole demeanor was rather too knowing for comfort. Nigel gave it an extra prune to express his displeasure, and it responded by smacking the back of his hand with tiny thorns.“Touché,”Nigel muttered.
It was strange how very lonely the shop felt, deprived of . . . Debbie’s presence. And, yes, all right, Miss Talbot’s as well, fine. How could it be that, within a mere three days, she’d somehow become the beating heart of The Arcane Bouquet? Nigel knew no customers would come until she returned from her Garden ramble—she and her magnetic spirit, which somehow drew people off the street.
He was grateful. Yes. That’s what he was. Luna’s arrival had already proven transformative, and he’d halfway begun to hope the shop might prove a success after all. Though, he reminded himself firmly, that was probably a bit presumptive. In his experience, life always could find a way of taking a disastrous turn.
In this thoughtful frame of mind, Nigel passed the next hour and a half, busying himself with small tasks and trying not to fret. Just as the clock behind the counter struck 3:30, however, he heard Garden’s door opening, and Debbie’s pronouncementof, “Never mind!”The bird appeared moments later, fluttering back to her skull-pot and settling in for a nice preen.
“Miss Talbot?” Nigel called, peering into the passage. To his great surprise, he found the door propped open by Old Mister Grimm’s dilapidated wheelbarrow, brimming with floral bounty.
“In here!” Luna called, and peeked her head out of the kitchen. “I’ve gathered my harvest and am trying to put it all in some sort of order.”
“Do you need . . . help?” Nigel peered at the wheelbarrow uncertainly. He did not recognize a single cutting. Not a daisy or daffodil to be had in the mix.
“Not at all, Mr. Grimm! I’ve got it well in hand. Let me know if you need me up front.”
Thus dismissed, Nigel drifted back to the counter, where Debbie cast him a longsuffering glance. “Have a nice flight?” he asked.
She fluffed her wings at him.
He propped himself over the account books, pretending to be busy, but all the while listening to Luna’s footsteps venturing back and forth and back and forth. By the time he’d closed up the shop—carrying in the front doorstep displays and turning the sign around—she had pushed the wheelbarrow back outside and shut Garden’s door again. But she remained busy in the kitchen for another quarter of an hour.
Nigel had just finished feeding the double-delight rose its evening snack when Luna emerged from the passage once more. She looked all fresh-faced and wind-swept, with tiny leaves stuck in her hair and a smear of dirt on her cheek. Nigel felt an overwhelming urge to reach out and wipe that smear away with the pad of his thumb. An urge he hastily quashed by shoving both hands into his trouser pockets.
“Well!” she declared. “It’s been a day’s work, but I think I’m through at last. Would you like to see the mess I’ve made of your kitchen?”
“Erm . . . yes?” he quavered.
She laughed and said, “Don’t look so frightened, Mr. Grimm! It’s not as bad as all that. Only have a care Mrs. Goddard doesn’t turn on the oven for any reason. I’ve got some young orange llarmi in there, and I don’t want it roasted.”
With these enigmatic words, she caught Nigel by the elbow and pulled him—hands still firmly in pockets—into the kitchen after her. Here Nigel’s wondering eyes were met with an awesome sight. His neat, stainless steel kitchen, barely used and sterile, had been transformed into a witch’s laboratory. Bundles of flowers of all varieties hung from the ceiling, strung up on a network of floral string and wire. Other large flower heads and sprigs of needles were set out on trays, some near the window, some in shade, depending on the needs of the flora in question. There were sealed jars (where had she even come by them?) full of petals and leaves, soaking in some liquid. These were all arranged neatly in the kitchen window.
“And here,” Luna said, popping open the oven to reveal trays of small, green leaves covered in white, downy fuzz, “is that orange llarmi I mentioned.”
“Why isn’t it orange?” Nigel asked, raising an eyebrow.
Luna giggled and gave his shoulder a light smack, by which Nigel determined the question was simplytooridiculous to merit an answer. He forced a smile, pretending he had, indeed, meant it as a joke, and she went on with her presentation.
“Now I’ve got the oven at averylow temperature,” she said, “but you can turn it off before you go up to bed; the heat should remain trapped overnight, and the leaves will be ready by morning. Orange llarmi is best after a long, slow drying period,of course, but a quick dry works in a pinch, and the Silly Young Things certainly won’t notice any difference.”
