Page 3 of A Spot of Tea and Sorcery: Vol. 6

Slicing.

Stabbing.

Constricting horror, squeezing each cell of his physical frame tighter and tighter.

An explosion of cataclysmic pain, cascading through every facet of body and soul.

Oh gods.

Oh gods, he’d thought he’d purged out all the severmist! He’d thought he was over it! But no. It was still there, still lurking inhis blood, in his veins. And the instant he called upon the Dire, the instant he sought to perform the channeling of soul and darkness, the poison did what it was meant to do. It canceled out everything in a single, shut-down burst.

A strangled cry gagging on his lips, Nigel sank to his knees. His head thrown back, his jaw clenched tight, and every muscle in his body tensed and locked. He could not voice a second cry. Nothing would come out of his straining throat but a pathetic, gurgling noise. A little bubbling of purple foam trickled from the corner of his mouth.

Then he collapsed to his side, smearing the sigil he’d taken such pains to draw. He felt the Dire Matter droplets evaporating slowly, uselessly, and his tunnel vision closed down on the image of the houndsnose leaping toward him, petals fluttering with concern.

Wow,he thought almost idly.What a stupid way to die.

Then everything went black.

Luna carefully poured steaming water from the kettle into the squat red teapot. Then, setting aside the kettle, she picked up the pot and carefully swirled the liquid to warm the porcelain on the inside. This accomplished, she picked up the little tin of slow-dried orange llarmi tea and carefully measured out two level spoonfuls (plus the dibble-dab, of course) into the measure of hot water. She swirled the contents again, three gentle rotations, and watched how the leaves dispersed inside. Then she poured more hot water, filling the pot up to the appropriate line for two cups of tea. Finally, she popped the lid on the pot (it was shaped like a mushroom cap; very whimsical), snugged on an elaborately-embroidered tea cozy, and checked the kitchen clock, taking note of the time for a five-minute brew.

It was all so methodical. Almost a meditation, in its way. The humble magic of a tea witch, ingrained in her blood and bones. She felt steadier. Though she could not deny the way her hand had quivered as she spooned the dry tea leaves. Shock was still pulsing in her veins, but surely all she needed was a little hot beverage to reclaim her equilibrium.

Then she would somehow find the strength to face . . . everything.

“You don’t need to sit up with me, luv,” a tired voice spoke from the kitchen table behind her. Luna looked back over her shoulder at the round figure of Mrs. Goddard, seated beneath a tassel-trimmed lampshade, which softened the harsh glow of the thaumatic bulb overhead. Even so, the light made the lines of her face seem deeper and more careworn than Luna ever remembered seeing before. Her small, cheerful, wrinkle-framed eyes were strangely haunted tonight as they gazed up at Luna. “You must be tired. A young thing like you needs her sleep, and there ain’t no use waiting through the small hours with an old woman.”

Picking up the teapot, Luna carried it from the counter to the table, where two mushroom-shaped teacups sat on green leaf saucers. The whimsicality of Mrs. Goddard’s kitchen was working its darndest to counteract the feeling of impending doom in the atmosphere. One had to give credit for effort.

“I’m happy to be here with you, Mrs. Goddard,” Luna said gently as she took her seat across from the good woman. “I don’t think you should be alone while you . . . wait.”

Wait to find out if her nincompoop of a youngest son was picked up by wardsmen, caught in sorcerous crossfire, or somehow escaped to make it home to his mother’s arms. Luna wasn’t holding her breath.

Truth be told, her motives for staying weren’t altogether altruistic. Luna simply didn’t know where else she could possibly go tonight. It was well past curfew at Mrs. Boggs’s Boardinghouse for Young Women of Good Character, and Bryony was working at the Rowdy House, so there would be no one to let her in through the fire escape. She’d been foolish to stay out so late, foolish to . . . well, to do a lot of things this evening.

To convince Mr. Grimm to sneak up the Lover’s Tower.

To take his hand when he offered it, to let her fingers twine with his.

To let himlookat her the way he did, until she felt she might drown in the star-filled depths of his sad, blue gaze.

To close her eyes, to part her lips, to let him lean in and kiss her . . .

Luna squeezed her fists tight in her lap. No, she definitely shouldn’t have done any of those things. And she really,reallyshouldn’t have taken Mr. Grimm up on his offer to come home with him, back to The Arcane Bouquet. Because, seriously, what did shethinkwas going to happen between them tonight? What did shewantto happen between them tonight? She couldn’t articulate it. If she did, she might end up spilling confessions that would make poor Auntie Arabella blush and Auntie Aurora dive to her knees to utter earnest prayers for her niece’s wayward soul and tarnished character.

But—and here was the dangerous truth—she didn’t really regret any of those things. Not the hand-holding. Not the kisses. Not even the unstated but possibly not-altogether-chaste intentions which had driven her to take that taxi ride home with her boss and had ultimately seen her wrapped tightly in his arms, losing all sense of reason and decorum to the delicious onslaught of his passion.

No. Her only big regret was that she’d let her concern for Tobias Goddard drive her down to the warehouse district tonight. She should have let the fool boy flounder in the mire of his own bad choices. This thought brought with it a pang of guilt, however. After all, it wasn’t Tobias for whom she’d been primarily concerned, but his poor, desperate mother. Luna sent a gentle look across the table. She hoped her presence was comforting, though she suspected it wasn’t really.

“And did you say you saw my sweet boy?” Mrs. Goddard asked as Luna poured tea through a strainer, filling the two cups, one after the other.

Luna nodded. She didn’t think it prudent to share the true circumstances of her misadventure, but she owed the kindly old lady something at least. “I did see him, Mrs. Goddard. And I urged him to come back to you. I . . . I don’t know that he meant to listen. He was with rather a rough crowd at the time. But I hope something I said may have gotten through.”

Even as she spoke the words, her lip curled. Tobias had been right there with the rest of them when she was bound to that chair, and Lancelot Mortimer had limped out of the shadows to leer down at her from his Dire-warped face. No one lifted a finger to help her when Mortimer had drawn lifeforce from her body to power a sleeping spell, which he’d subsequently used to knock her out. Green Mother above! It had been quite the night, hadn’t it?

Luna took a sip of her tea, hands trembling so much, she struggled to keep her cup steady.

“You look pale, dearie,” Mrs. Goddard observed from over the lip of her own cup.