“I told you she’d come back,” Nigel murmured.
Debbie clacked her beak and turned pointedly away from him. She began to preen.
A moment later, the sound of a key in the back door heralded the arrival of Mrs. Goddard. The good woman bustled into the kitchen, covered dinner tray in hand. She stopped, blinking her little eyes in horrified surprise. “Ye gods!” she exclaimed. “What is that dreadful smell?”
“Windwort tea,” Nigel replied.
Mrs. Goddard set down her tray on the counter and waddled over to the kitchen table. She peered around the potted rose to find Nigel sitting on the other side. Her gaze fastened on the teacup in his hand. “You sure that stuff is good for you, Mr. Grimm?”
Nigel’s lips curled in a thin smile as he took another sip.
Mrs. Goddard threw up her hands. “Mother love you, I suppose it’s your own business what you do with your innards! And speaking of . . . I made you my Chicken Special for supper tonight. Extraspecial,”she added with a wink.
Luna reappeared in the kitchen just then. “Hullo, Mrs. Goddard,” she said cheerfully.
“Well, and hullo to you too, luvie.” Mrs. Goddard’s eyes narrowed, flicking from Luna to Nigel and back again. “You’re here rather late, ain’t you? It’s well past closing time.”
“I’m helping Mr. Grimm sit vigil.”
“Oh? Isthatwhat they’re callin’ it these days?” A faded eyebrow lifted so far, it nearly disappeared behind the fringe of her lace cap. “Mind you hurry on home at a respectable hour now, you hear? Take it from an old woman, who means well by you, just like a mother.”
Luna’s grin went a little lopsided. “Good night, Mrs. Goddard,” she called as the old lady hustled back out of the kitchen and into the evening gloom. Then she turned to Nigel, brow puckered, a disbelieving look on her face. “I declare, she seems to think we’re sweethearts!” The thought tickled her so that she laughed outright.
Nigel managed a low, “Ridiculous,” and took an over-large gulp of tea. It went down the wrong tube, and he smothered a choking fit in his arm, setting the teacup down with a clatter.
Luna didn’t seem to notice. She was busy inspecting the covered platter. “Do you want your supper now, Mr. Grimm?” she asked, lifting the lid. “You must be famished.”
He wasn’t. In fact he’d lost his appetite rather abruptly. Luna’s laugh still echoed in his ears. “Help yourself,” he said.
She bit her lip, looking rather tempted. “We’ll split, shall we?” So saying, she fetched a set of dishes from the cupboard, served up a portion for herself, and slid the rest across the table to Nigel. “I’m not entirely certain what it is,” she admitted.
“Chicken Special,” Nigel answered.
She poked at a gelatinous substance which smothered the lumps of meat. “And this?”
“Extraspecial.”
She snorted, broke a warm biscuit in half, dipped it tentatively in the stuff, and sampled it. “Gravy,” she declared. “Not half-bad, either! Best eat up while it’s still hot.”
Nigel tried a bite. It was difficult to make himself swallow, but he managed. He was just going for a second, when his head came up sharply. “What about your curfew, Miss Talbot?”
Luna shrugged. “Bryony is off tonight.”
“Bryony?”
“My roommate. She can let me in through the fire escape if necessary. It’s all right, Mr. Grimm! I can sit with you a while longer.”
“You don’t . . .needto stay, you know,” he said, moving Chicken Special around on his plate with his fork. “I can manage. Whatever happens.”
Luna chewed and swallowed. Then she sat up a little straighter and said, “I had a rat once.”
Nigel frowned, unprepared for this sudden turn of the conversation. “A . . . cat?”
“Nope. A rat.” She laughed at the look he shot her. “I found it as a baby, half-drowned in the milk jug. Had to throw out the milk, of course, but I somehow convinced Auntie Apolonia to let me keep the rat. I wanted to make certain it was all right before I turned it loose. The aunties were horrified, as you can imagine! But tea witches, as a rule, are sacred preservers of life, so they couldn’t very well make me abandon it, could they? I raised it up, made a pet of it.”
She took another thoughtful bite, her expression faraway in a memory. “Nasty, meanspirited blighter,” she said in tones of great fondness. “Hated everyone but me. But oh, how I loved that little rodent! And I think it kind of couldn’t help feeling a bit of something for me in return. Like it didn’t have much choice in the matter.” She set down her fork and picked up her tea,swirling it to watch little flecks of leaves dance. “One day, I was taking it for a walk on the lead.”
“You were . . .” Nigel stopped. Somehow it wasn’t difficult to imagine a young Luna Talbot out in her garden, strolling along with a pet rat. He could easily picture the poor, scurrying, plaguy beast, wearing a pink bow around its neck. It was such a clear image, he half-wondered if he was picking up some psychic picture from Luna herself. “Go on,” he said.
