Page 59 of A Spot of Tea and Sorcery: Vol. 6

Swallowing hard, she looked around her little room. Everything was exactly as she remembered it and yet, somehow, not. The sloping ceiling seemed lower than it had in childhood, the whitewashed walls closer together. Her narrow iron bedstead stood beneath the window, its familiar brass knobs catching the starlight. Across from it sat the little oak wardrobe that had once seemed enormous to her. Now it looked almost toy-like, squat and worn, its doors scarred by decades of use. A small washstand occupied one corner, its porcelain basin gleaming faintly in the dark. Beside it stood the spindle-backed chair where she had draped countless dresses as a girl.

Her gaze drifted to the walls. The magazine clippings were still there. A few had curled at the edges over the years, but she could still make out the smiling black-and-white faces of film stars she had once adored. One featured a glamorous actress in a fur-trimmed hat. Another showed a handsome leading man gazing heroically into the distance. They seemed oddly childish now, relics of dreams she had long since outgrown.

It was all so familiar. The faded patchwork quilt folded at the foot of the bed. The faint scent of lavender lingering in the linens. And yet, the room felt strange as well. As though it belonged to another person entirely.

Almost to convince herself that she still really was herself, Luna looked down. She half-expected to see her undeveloped adolescent body. But no—she was a woman. Wearing a nightgown of soft blue with a low neckline and flutter sleeves. She’d not packed this one when preparing to flee home nearly three years ago. It had struck her as impractical, being rather too thin and too frilly. She hadn’t seen this nightgown in a long time.

Luna swallowed hard. Then she swung her legs out from under the covers and onto the cold floor. Her feet were bare, but she didn’t bother looking for slippers. She needed to find . . . someone. The aunties. Let them know she was here, let them know she was alive. Let them know the Brotherhood was probably not far behind, and they were all in grave danger. Let them know she needed a cup of tea in the worst way.

Standing up, she dropped Gruffles on the bed, then shuffled to the door, her feet very soft. Opening it carefully, she listened. There was no sound below save the faintcreak-creak-creakof Extremely Great Aunt Amelia’s old rocking chair. Auntie Arabella was probably still up, darning by firelight. Luna’s mouth quirked in a little smile at the thought. She crept softly down the stairs, remembering exactly which treads squeaked loudest and taking care to skip them. Her arms and legs were shaky still, but with that new influx of green-light in her veins, she felt stronger than she remembered feeling in a very long time.

Reaching the bottom of the stairwell, she peered out into the kitchen, expecting to see Auntie Arabella’s pale-golden head, bent over her work by the fire. Luna even opened her mouthto speak a greeting. But nothing came out. Nothing but a silent exhale.

Because it wasn’t Auntie Arabella who sat in the rocking chair.

It was Mr. Grimm.

Mr. Grimm with no jacket, tie, or waistcoat. Mr. Grimm with his shirt rather indecently unbuttoned. One ankle resting on the opposite knee, no sign of shoes or socks to be seen, he held a paperback novel rather close to his face. His brow was stern, his eyes squinting as he struggled to make out the words by firelight.

Mr. Grimm.

HerMr. Grimm.

Here in Tealeaf Cottage.

Suddenly Luna knew: he’d come for her. She didn’t know how, didn’t fully understand. But he’d done it. Somehow, impossibly. He’d come for her, ventured into the very depths of darkness and evil. Fought his way through terrors and foes, plucked her out of the dungeon’s depths. And while she knew he could not actually thwart her coming fate, she didn’t care anymore. She didn’t care about anything: not propriety. Not social rules. Not standards of behavior or politeness or the expectations placed upon a lady. Certainly not fate. None of it.

Because, looking at that man, seated there in her extremely great aunt’s rocker, she knew exactly what she wanted. And she was going to have it.

Luna stepped out of the stairwell, her toes shivering against the cold flagstone floor. Though he faced her direction, Mr. Grimm did not see her in the shadows. He seemed quite engrossed by whatever was happening on the page. Luna glided across the kitchen until she stood just outside the circle of warm light cast across the hearth.

Then she took another step.

Mr. Grimm’s head popped up from the page. His squinting eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open. “Miss Talbot!” he exclaimed, springing to his feet so quickly, the rocking chair tilted wildly back then rocked forward again, hitting him behind the knees. He stumbled forward a step.

“Hullo, Mr. Grimm,” Luna said, stifling a little giggle behind her hand. “What are you . . . what are you reading?”

He stood before her, opening and closing his mouth several times. His gaze, she noted, trailed very briefly down the length of her thin nightgown before shooting back to her face and focusing there with great intensity. “I, erm, I hardly know. I found it. In your auntie’s darning basket.”

Luna held out her hand. Mr. Grimm blinked a few times before handing the volume over. She turned the cover around and nodded. “Oh,The Rake’s Redemption.That’s a good one. Do you like it?” She flicked her gaze up to him, catching his burning eyes with hers.

“It is, erm, illuminating. Having never been a rake, I cannot vouch for the plausibility of the storyline, but—”

With a flick of her wrist, Luna tossed the paperback over her shoulder, stepped forward, and placed her hands upon his chest. “Sit down,” she said.

His black pupils dilated, obscuring the blue irises. “What?”

“I said, sit down.”

At the least bit of pressure from her palms, his legs seemed to fold up. He sank back into the rocker, his legs braced, his hands gripping the age-polished arms. His head tilted back, his eyes staring up at her with abject hunger.

Luna stepped forward, between his knees. Then, hiking up her nightie, she straddled his lap, slipped her hands around his neck, and pressed her mouth hard against his.

The rocking chair very nearly went over backwards.

Nigel just managed to save them from disaster by wrapping his arms tightly around her body, activating his core, and somehow, valiantly, surging forward enough to counter the pull of gravity. This, in turn, nearly sent them tumbling to the flagstones, but he braced his legs, bent over her, his mouth still caught hard against hers, his heart thudding with the thrill of a plunge that didn’t quite happen. And not altogether certain he wasn’t dreaming.

Still holding her tight, still feeling the overwhelming sensation of her arms around his neck, he drew his head back a little, gasping for air as the suction between their lips broke. Luna’s dark eyes stared up into his.