19. Mischief of Mice
NINETEEN
MISCHIEF OF MICE
True nobility is revealed in one’s unwavering poise, regardless of the circumstance.
To lose composure is to expose a crack in the armor of one’s heritage, a failing unworthy of those chosen to carry forward our sacred legacy.
A pure-blooded witch or wizard must always uphold decorum—keep your wand steady and your potions well-stocked, for readiness breeds restraint.
Even in moments of great provocation, it is far more powerful to maintain grace than to descend into vulgar displays of emotion. A measured response speaks to the strength of character and superior breeding that define the pure-blooded line.
–EXCERPT FROM THE ARCANE ELITE: UPHOLDING THE SANCTITY OF WITCH BLOODLINES
Minerva had always enjoyed an excellent sense of direction, but now that she was navigating within the walls, she was all turned around. It was as if she’d lost her inner compass.
“You’re such a good house,” Minerva said. “Can I trust you’ll show me the way to the clock?”
The lights flashed twice in response and Minerva continued to follow them through the maze of corridors within the walls.
Great care had gone into creating these spaces for someone.
Minerva marveled at the fine workmanship and clever details.
Lilliputian brass and crystal sconces were mounted on the wall beside each of the closed doors, and each door had a brass plaque engraved with a number, like an apartment or a fancy, old world hotel room.
Minerva had always loved miniatures. But no dollhouse she’d ever seen could hold a candle to this minuscule enclave.
Everything was perfectly sized for a mouse.
How had the house kept this a secret for so long?
She never would have guessed this tiny world existed right under her nose.
These carefully crafted spaces were not just for show.
Someone had obviously lived here. But she did not know who, or when.
Judging by the way the dust piled like snowdrifts in some areas, it must have been a very long time ago. Cobwebs formed lacy curtains in every corner. Minerva sneezed seven times in quick succession. A good omen. She must be on the right path.
When she turned the corner, the hallway grew wider.
The celestial lights guided her into a shrunken yet luxurious ballroom, with stunning parquet floors and ornate crystal chandeliers.
Even with all the dust, Minerva caught the ghost of a sparkle glinting from the fine, faceted venetian glass.
This room was like something from a palace. No detail had been spared.
The trail of lights led her up a Persian carpet lined staircase to the second level.
Minerva paused to look down at the view from the balcony, imagining the room packed full with a mischief of mice.
What a scene that must have been! She could image all the mouse does and bucks, dressed in their best finery and dancing a quadrille.
There was no time to dawdle, though. The lights raced on down another hallway without her.
“Slow down!” Minerva huffed. “I’m coming!” The lights reversed, coming back to meet her, but there was no question that they were getting impatient with her. They sped her along at a jog. She dared not linger anywhere to have a look around, lest she get stranded in the dark again.
Oh, what torture it was, not to be able to pause and have a poke around the library!
She could see there were rows and rows of shelves lined with books.
But her mouse vision was too poor to read any of the titles without getting closer.
As she passed, she pocketed a small handwritten volume left out on one of the tables.
It would be so nice to have something to read later on. Perhaps it would ease her loneliness.
Beyond the library, there was a family gallery.
Minerva recognized several of the portraits hanging there as she trotted past. They were exact replicas of the full-sized ones hanging in the stairwell of the Mudpuddle.
At the center of the gallery was a portrait of a sweet-faced, silvery gray mouse, wearing a shiny silver locket engraved with the letter “L”. Minerva thought she looked familiar.
A moment later, as she whizzed by a large silver urn and caught her own reflection, she was startled to learn why. The portrait looked almost exactly like Minerva now did. All that was missing was the locket.
She was getting winded, but she kept going—up two more floors and down another hall. When she reached the end, she stood in front of a steep, simple wooden staircase that appeared to go nowhere. A dead end.
But she could hear the clock tick-tock ticking away on the other side of the wall, much louder than before. She knew she must be close.
Resolutely, Minerva climbed up the staircase. Much to her relief, when she reached the top and peeked over the crown molding, she discovered she was directly above Papa Lathrop’s clock.
She almost jumped for joy at the sight of it. How spry and limber she felt in mouse form with four legs to climb and a tail to steady her! Minerva took a moment to acknowledge these blessings as she scampered down onto the top of the clock.
From there she easily hopped down the clock’s cleverly stepped sides, onto the mantel itself.
How many times had Minerva looked at that clock, never once noticing the carved details that made it so convenient to climb down now?
One more thing to be grateful for. That and the fact that the numbers on the clock face were large enough for her to read, even with her terrible eyesight.
Finally, she knew how much time had passed.
Two days! It had been two full days since she’d woken up in her bed, full of hope for the future.
Two days since that putrid mage had destroyed that hope forever.
Oh, how Minerva hated that her last encounter with Zephyr had been so contentious.
She never would have dropped him on the street like that, had she known she’d never see him alive again!
She and Zephyr had weathered their share of missed connections and false starts over the years. But they had finally been in a place where their relationship could work. He’d said he still wanted that. She’d never stopped wanting it, either. Why hadn’t she said as much?
A fresh wave of grief washed over her again, followed by the predictable ebb tide of loneliness.
They would have buried Zephyr by now, she knew.
He’d be nothing but dust. And she hadn’t even been able to attend his celebration of life.
He was the last of his family line. He’d dedicated his life to the Society and had no descendants.
So who would be there for him? Who would say the proper incantations for him and observe the month of mourning?
She ought to be covering her mirrors, at the very least.
Minerva’s stomach growled, reminding her she needed to eat again. Mouse metabolisms were so swift. She would have to collect more food. Minerva lay flat on her belly on the mantel, facing the coffee shop in the room next door. So close, and yet so very far away.
“I don’t suppose you know the way from here to the coffee shop?” Minerva asked the house, hopefully.
At once, the lights began to gather and pool on the left side of the mantel behind another bit of familiar woodwork.
She adored the oversized pine cone finials that topped off the barley twist carved columns on either side of the fireplace surround.
She especially appreciated that they were the perfect size to display festive hats when she decorated for the holidays.
But now they looked absolutely monolithic to her.
They were more than twice her height. Imposing. She edged towards them.
The light was guiding her to the narrow crack behind the finials.
It was a snug fit. Minerva had to flatten her back against the wall, suck in her tummy and wiggle sideways.
It was a good thing she wasn’t claustrophobic!
Thankfully, as she got closer to the center point of the finial, she noticed she had a smidge more whisker room.
Someone had carved out a shallow depression in the back of the wooden ornament, forming a niche.
And at the center of this niche, was a perfectly round, mouse sized hole.
The lights flashed in a spiral around and into the hole, briefly forming an instructive arrow.
“You want me to go in there?” Staring into the darkness, Minerva was quite dubious.
Once again, the lights twinkled and gathered into the arrow symbol. This time, they flashed twice.
Minerva attempted to peer into the hole, but she couldn’t see a thing. She could feel with her paws and sense with her whiskers that it sloped off at a steep angle. There were no stairs. The walls were slick, and she couldn’t find anything to grab onto.
“I don’t understand! How do you propose I navigate through there?” Minerva argued with the house’s insistent flashing arrows. “It’s pitch dark and slippery!”
“Bong! Bong! Bong! Bong!”
The clock’s chime was shockingly loud at such close range. It startled Minerva, making her jump. With nothing to hold on to, she lost her footing and fell, head first, into the hole.
Suddenly she was tumbling, falling, slipping and sliding in circles through what could only be the interior of the barley twist column.
She slid so fast that her hat came off her head. It landed at the bottom, several seconds after she did, resuming its usual place, but with a much more jaunty angle.
Minerva’s heart was pumping and her cheeks, had they been able to flush, would certainly have turned pink. She hadn’t done anything as exhilarating as that for years! It was almost as thrilling as the first time she rode her broom.
She’d gone so fast, she must have shed sparks! She could see them floating in the fireplace now, winking warmly like fireflies.
Minerva stood and brushed herself off. “Next time,” she addressed the house, “I think I’d prefer to try that on my bottom!”