Page 20 of A Spot of Tea and Sorcery: Vol. 6

A gown spread across his bed. Frilly layers of yellow and pink in the absolute softest, most delicate fabric imaginable. A structured bodice, intricately worked, with a daring neckline,trimmed in innumerable rosebuds which, at first glance, looked real, at second, looked silk, and at third, looked real again. Glinting jewels studded the bodice and the edges of the skirt ruffles, like drops of dew caught on morning petals.

It was glorious. More glorious even than she’d remembered from that briefly-glimpsed vision in Ward’s teacup all those months ago. But she recognized it immediately.

Luna turned, her staring eyes catching Mr. Grimm’s. He smiled softly, though it did not reach his sad eyes. “I thought you might like to wear it,” he said, lingering in the doorway, not crossing the threshold. “To the ball tonight.”

Luna blinked once. Otherwise, she did not break his gaze.

“I felt bad,” he continued. “About what Debbie did, I mean. Thought the least I could do was make it up to you. Wouldn’t want you to miss your night out, after all.”

She finally managed to draw breath, exhaling in a gust. “Did you use sorcery?”

He shook his head. Then followed it up immediately with a guilty nod. “It didn’t take much,” he added quickly. “I used blossoms from the double-delight as the base, and she has so much magic of her own, I needed only the barest drop of Dire Matter to twist the essential modalities . . .” His voice trailed off, his brow wrinkling with concern. “What I’m trying to say,” he continued, “is no one will be able to tell. That sorcery was used in its creation, I mean. You may simply wear it. And enjoy it.”

Unable to bear looking at him a second longer, Luna turned her head sharply, staring at the gown again. The dream-come-true, beautiful-beyond-reason gown, every young girl’s fantasy miraculously realized. Emotion welled in her throat, lodging painfully. She couldn’t tell if it was gratitude or sorrow or happiness or relief or longing. There were too many emotions, all piled up too quickly, before she had a chance to put them in some sort of reasonable order.

Finally, she forced herself to face Mr. Grimm again, noting this time how pinched he was, how gray his skin. He looked nearly as bad as he had earlier that morning, when she’d found him in the nook. “Did . . .” Luna hesitated, wetting her dry lips. “Did making the dress . . . did it hurt you? Because of the poison?”

“Oh, no.” He shrugged and pulled a face, stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets. “It wasn’t a problem.” Then his eyebrows rose, and he removed something from his pocket. “By the way, as this gown is without sleeves, you might want to make use of this.”

He held out a little white tube of cream. Luna accepted it, her fingertips just brushing his as she did so. She turned the tube over and read the label:Mystic Veils.A brand she’d seen Bryony use many times to disappear her freckles.

“It’s potent stuff,” Mr. Grimm said. “Just rub it on your wrists. It’ll hide any, erm, anything you might wish to conceal.”

Like her heptagram tattoo. And the nasty abrasions left behind by those binding cords last night.

Luna nodded, turning the tube around in her fingers. Then her lashes flashed, and her eyes shot up to catch Mr. Grimm’s gaze. Suddenly she knew for certain: she did not want to wear this gown. She did not want to put it on and take Ward’s arm and dance with him under glittering chandeliers, smiling and pretending to be happy while her heart slowly broke in two. She had only one night left. Right now, all she wanted to do was take advantage of those short hours. To grab hold of this man right in front of her, pull him down onto that creaky bed of his, and let him wrap her up in his arms and hide her from all the rest of this big, scary world.

Instead, she heard her own voice whispering, “Th-thank you.”

He nodded. “I’ll fetch your bag up for you,” he said, taking a step back down the stairs. “You can use my bathroom for . . . well, for whatever you need. To get ready, I mean.”

Luna nodded. When she didn’t say anything more, he offered her an awkward sort of half-smile, turned, and began to descend. Luna lunged two steps after and called out, “Mr. Grimm!”

He paused. Looked back. The dim light coming from his apartment only partially illuminated his face, but his eyes gleamed. “Yes?”

The look in those eyes was nearly enough to melt her to the floor. Luna gripped the doorframe, desperately trying to find the words she needed. Any words. Anything.

But all that came was a murmured, “Never mind.”

She felt Mr. Grimm’s gaze searching her face. All was very still between them.

Then he nodded, turned, and continued down the stairs, leaving Luna lingering in his doorway, watching his retreating back.

Having delivered Miss Talbot’s carpetbag to the top of the stairs, Nigel returned to the shop intending to begin the close-up routine for the day. While it wasn’t officially closing time, he simply didn’t have the energy to deal with any last-minute customers, so he turned the sign to CLOSED, pulled down the front window shade, and reached for the lock to deadbolt it.

Before he’d managed the lock, however, his knees suddenly gave out.

Nigel sank to the ground, breathing hard, one hand still gripping the doorknob for support. Then, achingly, he pulled himself up, turned, staggered, crawled, and staggered again. Finally making it back to the chair in the nook, he collapsed there, breathing hard.

Gods. Creating that dress should have been nothing. Absolutely nothing to a sorcerer of his magnitude. The tiniest drop of Dire Matter to influence the already ripe and roiling Green Magic inherent in the double-delight’s lovely blossoms, a little twist of energies, and hey, presto!

But the instant he’d tried even the faintest sorcerous manipulation, the severmist in his blood reared up again, combating his efforts.

It wasn’t as severe as last night—it didn’t knock him clean out. He was just able to fight his way through and finish the spell, to see the dress brought into existence, before he’d collapsed in a pile of limbs on the floor. And there he’d remained. For a good two hours, it would seem. Neither conscious nor unconscious. Simply inert.

Was it worth it? Nigel grimaced a little as he sprawled, panting, in the cane chair. He wanted to think so. Luna had looked . . . well, more shocked than pleased, truth be told. But there had been some pleasure in her gaze as she took in that glorious creation spread across his bed. She certainly couldn’t doubt her fitness to be presented at the Governor’s mansion tonight, not in a gown like that. She would look very well on the arm of her handsome wardsman. Dancing the night away.

A little growl in his throat, Nigel pushed himself up from the cane chair. His hands shook, his knees knocked, but he set to work gathering floral tape, wire, crystals, flowers, ribbon. First asking permission, he borrowed another bloom or two from the double-delight, along with some baby’s breath and a handful of other flowers which struck his fancy. Determined to focus his mind on something other than the image of Luna in Ward’s arms, he set to work putting together a corsage. Then another one. Then another. None were good enough, none were right. But it was better to have something todo. At least until she was safely gone off with Ward for the night. Then . . . somehow, he’d figure out how he was supposed to go sorcerer-hunting when even the tiniest bit of sorcery left him collapsed in on himself.