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.
26
The scent of clove and pine stunned her, overpowering the air as soon as she entered the Hall. The smell threw her so much off her footing that it took a moment before she registered that it was not the only thing that had changed since she left for John’s house.
Candles filled the room, branching from candelabras that sprouted all along the walls. The flames were the only beacons in the dim light, and their fire produced jewel-like glimmers in the darkness. Mouse could make out the outline of the tapestry. The great elk antlers were larger than they’d been before, spreading wide and thick with candles, like a mockery of Saint Lucia’s crown.
The doors swung open behind her. Thornwood was there, windswept. His pale hair also picked up the firelight, and he looked like a candle himself, his face illuminated by a white-gold flame.
“Where is the vicar?” he asked. His expression was wild, his eyes ferocious.
“He won’t come.”
Thornwood scoffed. “No matter, we can be married in the traditional Faerie way. The vicar was for you, my dear.”
The endearment was strange, although Mouse could not think why.