She cut him off with a sharp shake of the head. “If you’re going to ward off wardsmen with sorcerous wards”—she snorted even as she spoke the words—“it’s more risk than I’m willing to take. Green Mother knows, I’ve had to move so many times the last two years! And, while you’ve been very generous, the truth is, I can’t afford to leave Ballycastle right now.”
“No! You can’t leave Ballycastle.”
“That’s what I said.” She straightened her shoulders and schooled her face into more serious lines. “Which is why I quit.Effective immediately. I’ll just have to hope someone else will give me a chance like you did. One of the Silly Young Things said something about a position as her social secretary. She might have meant it; I suppose I’ll have to call around and find out. She gave me her card . . .”
She went on murmuring, more to herself than to Nigel, as she moved to the counter, fetched her copy of the shop key from her purse, and set it down next to Debbie’s skull-pot. Then she gathered her hat and coat, and Nigel watched her don them both, doing up the front buttons with quick fingers.
His mind scrambled. He should stand his ground, shouldn’t he? Somehow convince her these wards were here for her own good? Because that was the truth. He wanted to keep her safe. Her and Garden, of course. They couldn’t operate their business if wardsmen kept sniffing around and . . . and . . .
This wasn’t about petty jealousy at all. Was it?
Luna turned to him one last time, the laughter quite banished from her face. Her cheeks were pale, her eyes very dark. “Goodbye, Mr. Grimm,” she said, a slight catch in her voice. “I won’t forget your kindness, and I wish you all the best.” With that she turned and moved toward the door, pausing only to murmur a few words to the tiger lilies and the double-delight rose as she passed.
She was just reaching for the latch when Nigel called out, “Miss Talbot!”
She paused. Looked back over her shoulder.
“There are three of them left,” he said. “Three wards. Two more on the front street, one in the back alley.”
She blinked slowly.
“They’ll be gone by the time you arrive tomorrow morning.”
She took a little ragged breath. Her face cracked, just for a moment, revealing a flash of strong emotion: relief and gratitudemingled. But she pulled her expression back together quickly and offered only a somber nod. “Very well, Mr. Grimm.”
He fetched her key from the counter, crossed the shop, and pressed it into her hands. Her fingers were cold and trembling, and he wished he could hold them a little longer, squeeze some reassurance back into them. But he retracted his own hands quickly and stuffed them into his pockets once more. “Eight-thirty,” he said. “Sharp, do you hear?”
Luna looked down at the key, swallowed hard. And nodded. Closing her fist tight, she cast him a speaking look from under her lashes. “Good night,” she said softly.
“Good night, Miss Talbot,” he replied.
Then she was gone. Out into the evening street, vanishing into the bustle and busyness. Leaving behind only her scent. And the hope that she would, indeed, return on the morrow.
Nigel stood for some while in the doorway, gazing after her. Praying to whatever gods cared to listen that he had not, in his idiocy, made an irredeemable hash of things.
“Never mind!”Debbie croaked from the counter.
Nigel swallowed through the tension in his throat. “No, I’m sure you’re wrong. She’ll come back. She will.”
The raven fluttered her wings and shook her head quickly, then fixed him with a single-eyed stare.
He glared back. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and help me pull up these damn wards?”
Luna woke to a knot in her stomach.
She opened her eyes slowly, staring up at the too-close, peeling plaster of the sloped ceiling overhead. Her skin prickled . . . or rather, hersoulpricked, like goose-pimple skin. An unpleasant sensation, particularly first thing on a cold, beginning-of-autumn morning. She let out a breath, which frosted the air before her lips, then squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.
The feeling wouldn’t go away.
She’d stayed up much too late into the night, going back and forth and back and forth again. Finally she cast herself into bed with the promise not to decide anything until morning.
But morning was here. And decide she must.
“Am I going back?” she whispered, issuing another little white puff from her lips.
She shouldn’t.
She should catch the first train out of Ballycastle, put as much distance between herself and Mr. Grimm as she possibly could. After that sinister vision she’d glimpsed under the Bruxley gate arch . . . Green Mother save her! If she’d had any sense in herhead, she would have made tracks that very night! The last thing she needed was to get mixed up with sorcerers. Again.
