Chapter 25
The inside of Thornwood’s motorcar showed all the seams of the spell that held it together on the outside now. Mouse could see the strings of magic clearly, as though she was looking at the reverse side of the spell’s embroidered design.
Branches crossed to create the seats, with worn pillows thrown over them in heaps.
Another pillow lay on the floor where Mouse’s feet rested.
The windshield was composed of a net of spiderweb, strung tight between the remains of an old carriage front, torn from its previous frame.
She could see that the driver was part man, part owl, with bright gold eyes shining like headlights.
Mouse wondered how much of the driver was magic and how much was a living being, as the only time it acknowledged her was when the door opened on its own and she ducked into the car.
Vaguely, she remembered Thornwood telling her that it was a willing servant. The owl crooked its head at her, and Mouse was glad she thought to put on a light coat and a pair of gloves that covered her skin.
Owls eat mice, she thought. The owl man looked away, and the car pulled out onto the drive.
They sped through the village, and she could feel the wide eyes of everyone they passed in the dark. Thornwood’s car was instantly recognizable. Surely the villagers did not see the spellwork as she did now. To them, it was just a beautiful motorcar.
Mouse wondered if her emotions showed on her face—she was afraid, desperate, and oddly elated all at once.
There were worse ways to start a marriage. It was not a love story as grand as her mother and father’s, but it was something.
He is a Faerie, a voice shouted from somewhere deep in her mind. What does it mean to marry a Faerie? You should be asking yourself these questions, not daydreaming about weddings. What is happening to you?
Mouse jolted, but as soon as the thought occurred to her, it started to fizzle away. She reached for it, trying to hold on, but it was gone, leaving her wondering what had startled her so much.
It was her wedding day, after all.
But that thought felt foreign, as though someone else had dropped it into her mind.
Honeyed light dripped out of John’s cottage windows. The building stood out like a beacon against the ever-darkening woods. Mouse reached for the car door, and the owl driver shrieked. She pulled back. The creature clicked menacingly at her before the door opened of its own accord.
The owl driver turned its gaze back to the road.
When it made no move, Mouse sprang out and flew to the garden gate, careful not to touch anything else in the car as she left it, just as Thornwood warned.
The gate swung wide, and Smudge was at her ankles, jumping up to paw at her knees before pressing firmly against her shin.
The cottage door banged open, revealing John, his expression as dark as a rain cloud.
“Where have you been? I called hours ago from the village, but the operator said no one answered, and Beckett was at the pub, saying you’d done all that work for nothing. How is that possible?”
“It doesn’t matter now,” Mouse said and held up her hand when he started to talk over her. “It doesn’t. Thornwood had an idea, and I think it is the only way to save Thistlemarsh from Carlyle.”
John scoffed. “Thornwood? What does he know about anything?”
“Please, John, he is trying to help. I can’t explain now, but I will in time. I promise.” Her voice was breathless. Smudge pressed deeper into her leg, whining. “I came to you because we need an officiant.”
He went still. “An officiant for what?”
“What does anyone need an officiant for?” Mouse said, tugging on her sleeve impatiently. Thornwood told her to be back by eleven thirty. How long did she have left?
“You are marrying him?”
“Obviously, yes.”
“And it hasn’t crossed your mind that it is suspicious he’s here at all? Suddenly appearing within days of your arrival and offering to help you with the house?”
“What are you trying to say?” Mouse asked. Her mind was so fuzzy that it was as though his words were traveling through treacle, and by the time she processed them, they had warped into nonsense. She could not understand him, although she knew he was speaking English.
“He’s a fortune hunter, Mouse. That is clear enough to everyone else.”
Mouse laughed, although it did not really feel like her making the noise. The sound was brittle as glass.
John’s eyes narrowed. “This is no laughing matter. You are not acting like yourself.”
“I told you before: Thornwood is no fortune hunter.”
“How would you know? They can be very charming. Thornwood is exactly the type of danger Bertie told me to look out for—someone coming to prey on you while you are vulnerable.”
“Please, John, we do not have time for this tonight.” She reached for his hand, but he jerked it away. The movement stung.
“No. You can do what you like, you always do anyway, but I will not stand by as you make a foolish decision in the heat of the moment. Come and talk to me tomorrow. Do things properly.”
“It has to be tonight.”
“Then it will be without me.”
Without another word, he was through the cottage door, pulling it shut behind him.
Mouse leaned back until her legs met with the garden wall. She could hardly breathe. What would she and Thornwood do now?
Listen to John, the voice in her mind said, but it was even quieter this time, and Mouse forgot the words in a moment.
She sank down the wall. Flowers tilted their heads away from her to rest for the night. Mouse wished that she could join them—she was so tired. Smudge lay across her knees.
“Thank you,” she said softly, scratching the dragon-dog’s ears, “but the law does not allow dogs to be officiants at weddings. Please, stay here. I am not sure what is happening right now.”
Beams of bright light flashed across the front of John’s cottage. Mouse lifted herself onto her feet with the help of the wall. The owl driver stuck its head out the window and clicked. Its headlight eyes nearly blinded her as she picked her way back to the car.
The wind bundled her into her seat, and the car returned to Thistlemarsh. She could hear Smudge’s whining bark as they drove away.
Mouse did not look out at the world beyond this time. Instead, she focused on the pillow at her feet. She had dirt on her shoes. She wondered if it would matter to Thornwood.
At some point, she fell asleep, her dreams a swirl of grotesque colors and faces, with Thornwood at the center, smiling cruelly.
Something hard dug into her shoulder, and she woke with a gasp. The owl driver had pecked her with its beak. It peered in close, and it took all her power not to shriek or shrink away.
“We’re at Thistlemarsh?” she asked.
The creature cooed, then shifted back into its seat.
The door opened, and Mouse tumbled out. She glanced at the car on her way to the steps.
It looked like a Rolls from the outside again, but the light played against the black paint, and for a moment, Mouse could see the spiderwebs that formed the glass windshield and the light from the owl driver’s eyes bleeding into the headlights.
Have you become so much a part of Faerie that these things don’t shock you? You just hurt John. Why aren’t you doing anything about it?
Her steps faltered as she reached the entrance.
“Miss Mouse?” Mr. Hobb crossed the gardens to her from behind the hall. He took hold of her elbow. Mouse did not know how long she had been standing there, staring at the door. “I’ve been looking for you. I heard that Mr. Beckett’s visit did not go well and I—”
“I am getting married,” Mouse said. “It is all very sudden.”
Mr. Hobb’s eyebrows disappeared beneath the brim of his hat. “Married?”
“Yes, in a few minutes.” She turned to him. “You should come. I’ve never seen you in the house, isn’t that funny? Please come.”
“Miss Mouse, you aren’t making sense. If you were getting married, you would have told me by now. You would have bought flowers and sent out invitations. I for one did not get an invitation. Has something happened? Are you hurt?”
Mouse frowned, flicking through hazy memories. “Do you need a paper invitation? I invite you, isn’t that enough?”
Mr. Hobb went very still beside her.
“Yes,” he said at last. “It is.”
The entry doors opened at the top of the stairs. She patted Mr. Hobb’s hand. “I will see you soon, then.”
He did not stop her as she walked into the Hall.