Nigel studied the remains of his own tea. Just a drop left. Luna had strained it carefully, so there were only a few flecks of leaves at the bottom, not enough to glimpse any future in. Somehow, he suspected, if hecouldglimpse anything, he’d see an image of his shop filled to bursting with tea-drinkers and tables. He wasn’t certain he liked it.
“I’ll have to check with Mrs. Goddard,” he said at last. “I’m not certain my lease covers . . . food service. There might be licensing involved and . . . applications . . .”
“Don’t worry about it then.” Luna shrugged dismissively. “It was just a silly thought.”
But it wasn’t a silly thought. Not really. Because Nigel could count on one hand the number of customers who’d entered the shopnotin pursuit of teas and fortunes. And, while he wasn’t convinced it was a good idea to set up direct competition with Mystic Infusions justaround the corner, was it anyone’s fault if discerning tea drinkers preferred Miss Talbot’s blends and the futures she divined?
The rest of the day passed busily. A steady stream of Silly Young Things came and went, all buying bundles of flowers while they waited for their tea to steep. When closing time arrived at last, Nigel felt ready to drop. Luna bade him sit and drink another cup of purple echinacea tea, while she closed down. It made him feel strangely warm and fuzzy. Perhaps he was on his way to finding his forever tea-match after all.
Luna was outside on the step, fetching in her display, when she uttered a startled exclamation. She sprang to the door and shouted inside: “Mr. Grimm!He’s back!”
Warm and fuzzy feelings banished, Nigel set his teacup down rather hard. Whathedid she mean exactly? Surely not Officer Ward! Exchanging a glance with Debbie, he hastened from the counter and across the shop. By the time he stood on the doorstep, Luna was several paces down the sidewalk, kneeling.
The yellow houndsnose was before her. Sniffing avidly at something in the sidewalk.
Nigel’s stomach dropped.
Luna lifted a perplexed gaze. “He won’t let me pick him up! He seems very concerned about whatever he’s found here.”
Nigel hurried down the sidewalk. “It’s probably something nasty,” he said. “One has to be stern with wildflowers. Down!” he barked, pointing at the houndsnose. “Leave it. Come.”
The houndsnose cast him a look—a unique achievement, considering it had no eyes—then turned back to snuffling away at the sidewalk.
Luna, frowning, reached under its petals and plucked up a button. A tiny, innocuous, mother-of-pearl button, such as might be sewn on a shirt collar. A button she shouldnothave been able to pry from that sidewalk, anchored by sorcery as it was, but which she, with a single tug, yanked out of place. Nigel saw the moment of resistance, followed by the little tail of anti-glitter, gleaming with purplish aura. Dire Matter.
Luna saw it too. Which was odd—most people could not perceive Dire Matter, not without sorcery sensors. Her face lost all traces of either pleasure or concern, replaced by something hard. Angry.
“Mr. Grimm,” she said. “What is this?”
Nigel didn’t want to answer. “Erm, a . . . button.”
She looked down at the object in her palm, then flashed him another glare, sharper than before. “This is magic.NotGreen Magic. This issorcery.”
Nigel stuck his hands in his pockets and glanced nervously up and down the street. A messenger boy zoomed by on his bike, bell ringing, and Luna was just fast enough to scoop up the houndsnose before it was crushed. Otherwise, she didn’t budge. She remained where she knelt, gaze fixed on Nigel.
“This is not the place to have this conversation, Miss Talbot,” Nigel said at last. “Come back to the shop.”
Silently, Luna rose to her feet, her expression positively ferocious. She walked before him into the building, set the houndsnose down on one of the display tables, then crossedher arms. Nigel flipped the sign to CLOSED and shut the door, before turning to face her accusing stare.
“Mr. Grimm,” she said, holding up the button once more. Little puffs of anti-glitter wafted from it and scattered into the aether. “If you don’t tell me what this isat once,I will have to turn in my notice.”
Nigel felt as though a fist had planted in his gut. “What?” he gasped.
“I’ve told you already,” she persisted, “I can’t be associated with any business that utilizes sorcery. Not with this dratted heptagram.”
For a moment, Nigel fought for words. “No one will ever find them,” he blurted at last. “The spells, I mean. They’re much too subtle.”
She pointed to the wildflower on the table. “The houndsnose didn’t seem to have any trouble.”
“All right, yes.” Nigel nodded, sticking his hands back in his pockets, fists firmly clenched. “But it’s not as though the wardsmen employ houndsnose blossoms, do they?”
“Are there others?”
Nigel flicked a glance into her flaming eyes and away again. He nodded.
“Where?”
He swallowed.
