Before he could finish, the double-delight rose gave an abrupt, all-over shudder, and dropped a great mound of leaves on the table. Mr. Grimm turned to the plant, his face a mask of agony. “Oh no!” he groaned. “No, no, no, no, no.” He reached out gently, drew one of the thorny canes out, and turned a leaf over. “Mottle-spot,” he said despairingly. “She’s come down with a case of mottle-spot. And I don’t know what to do!”
Luna blinked several times. Then, sensing that a true crisis was at hand, she darted back to the shop and hastily turned off all the lights. Something told her they would not be opening at the usual time.
When she returned to the kitchen, Mr. Grimm had sunk into one of the chairs, his face buried in one palm, the other still holding onto the rose cane like the hand of an invalid. He lookedterrible. As though he’d been up all night. Which Luna rather suspected he had.
“Tell me everything,” she said, stepping to the table.
He looked up dully, his brow puckered, the lines on his forehead deeper than usual. Gently, he turned over the cane he held, and Luna leaned in for closer inspection. There were spots—dark, rather furry-looking spots, which completely covered the underside of the leaves and seemed to be creeping down the stems. Her lip curled, and her nose wrinkled as an awful stink filled her nostrils.
“This is mottle-spot?” she hazarded.
Mr. Grimm nodded. “It’s a contagion among roses. My father spent a lot of energy protecting his roses against it. Once it takes hold, it spreads fast, and few recover. I didn’t think I had to worry, though, because the double-delight is the only potted rose in the shop! I thought, as long as it wasn’t exposed to any potential carriers, then . . .” He slumped heavily onto his elbows. “I was a fool.”
Luna shot him a sideways look. The intensity of his feeling took her by surprise. She’d expect a man to react like this over a favorite dog perhaps. Not a rose. Not even a sort-of sentient rose. Especially not one he’d once described to her as “difficult.”
But there was no denying the despair on his haggard, sleep-deprived face.
She turned to the rose again. It did not look good. Most of the blooms were rather brown and wilted, and there was hardly an un-mottled leaf to be found. “Is there . . .” She hesitated and dropped her voice, as though afraid of being overheard. “Is there somesorceryyou might try?”
“Never mind!”Debbie croaked, even as Mr. Grimm shook his head. “Ididtry. I only made it worse. Green Magic reacts so badly to sorcery most of the time. They’re naturally at odds with each other in essence.”
Luna took a step back, folding her arms. So, what they needed was a Green Magic cure. Well, she was a practitioner of Green Magic, wasn’t she? Sure, she wasn’t skilled like the aunties, never had that knack for it, that way they had of making everything look so easy-breezy. But she knew a thing or two. She simply must lean into her own strengths.
“Did Old Mister Grimm use anything in particular to protect his roses from mottle-spot?” she asked.
Her employer shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Try to remember.”
The lines of his brow deepened in concentration. The poor man really looked quite done-in. Then his brow cleared slightly, and he sat up a bit straighter. “My father always made a point to plant Noxious Windwort around the rose beds. Almost like a protective hedge.”
Luna’s eyebrows rose. “Noxious Windwort is highly toxic, Mr. Grimm.”
He didn’t seem to know what to say to that. His blue eyes simply gazed at her with silent entreaty through locks of tumbled blond hair.
“But perhaps,” Luna added, “not toxic to roses?” She pursed her lips. Then: “Have you the key to Garden on you?”
Mr. Grimm plunged a hand into his trouser pocket, found the key, and deposited it into her palm. Then he, with Debbie clinging to his shoulder, followed her from the kitchen, down the passage, to the boiler room door. Luna stepped into Garden, smiling with relief to find that its atmosphere was as pleasant and balmy as ever, despite the gloom overcasting Ballycastle.
“Garden,” she called out brightly, “will you kindly take me to your best crop of Noxious Windwort?”
If a vast and rolling stretch of ground can be said to be confused, such was Garden for a moment. The wind picked upoddly, and the flowering trees seemed to shrug their branches and exchange glances of bafflement.
But when Luna stepped through the door, the path at her feet immediately straightened out and led her through a dense forsythia hedge. On the other side, she found a patch of thorny ground where a tangle of old rose canes lay. Mostly dead, unfortunately, and so very spiky and unpleasant. Quite a gothic sight. But here and there, she spied small, fleshy purple flowers with spear-like yellow stamen and fat, juicy-looking leaves, protruding through the snarl.
“Never mind,”Debbie croaked warningly.
Luna looked back over her shoulder to see Mr. Grimm and the raven watching her—Mr. Grimm, anxiously; the raven with a distinct superciliousness.
Luna set her jaw. “Have you any gloves I might use, Mr. Grimm? I don’t want to handle these things directly.”
He nodded, then opened his mouth and called out: “Wheelbarrow.”
Luna yelped as a rusty wheelbarrow creaked out of nowhere, like a summoned spirit, and nudged her hip. Pressing a hand to her beating heart, she laughed and stroked one of the wooden handles. She and this old rust-bucket had met before, when it appeared to help her harvest her teas. Peering into the barrel, she beheld a treasure trove of gardening equipment. Trowels and hand rakes, weed-pullers, even little cushioned kneelers to protect one’s knees. And, right at the top, a pair of positively primeval leather gloves. They were so huge, Luna feared they wouldn’t stay on at all, but when she slipped her hands into their butter-smooth depths, she was pleased to find them extremely comfortable, as though made for her.
Green Magic,she thought with a smile. Her aunties would most definitely approve.
In short order, she’d gathered a small harvest of both fleshy leaves and plump petals. Turning to Mr. Grimm, she met his concerned gaze with a smile. “Not to worry,” she said. “Let’s get back quickly, and you put the kettle on, all right?”
