John did not see her when he first emerged from the cottage to tend the bees and the flowers. She watched him with detached curiosity. To Mouse, he seemed to exist in an entirely different world than she did. She had more in common with the snail on her hand than she did with John.
Her train of thought broke when Smudge’s head rounded the door, followed by the rest of her. She careened straight for Mouse, barking.
“Jesus Christ,” John said, dropping his watering can.
“Language, John. What would God say?” Mouse whispered as Smudge licked her face.
John did not laugh. He did not even seem to hear her. Perhaps she just said it in her head.
He pulled off his coat and dropped it over her. She wondered if he did it out of panic. She could not remember if she was cold. He glanced at the roses and winced. “Can you stand?”
“I’m not sure if snails can stand,” she said.
John wrinkled his nose. Part of her, a part that was slowly coming back to life, recognized that her words made no sense. She was not a snail. She was a human being. Or at least, she was mostly a human being. She shivered. Well, then, she was cold as well. John was right, as usual.
She wiggled her toes and whispered, “I think I can stand.”
John helped her up, his grip around her shoulders firm. The few feet into the cottage felt like miles. Smudge kept pace with them, licking at Mouse’s ankles.
The change in temperature between the garden and John’s kitchen cut into her, and it took all her effort to fall back into a chair before huddling further down into herself. She studied the lines on his kitchen table, tracing them with her enchanted pinky before John pressed a hot cup of tea into her hands. The smell was pungent, and the plumes of steam rising from it scalded her face, but she leaned into it. Mouse tipped the cup up to her lips, drank it down, and had another full cup in hand before the warmth inside her began to match the heat of the room. And even then, it took another two cups before she stopped shivering. When John stretched toward her to pour a fifth cup, she pulled it away.
“Any more and I’ll drown.”
He deflated, and his hands shook as he deposited the kettle to its place on the stovetop.
“Thank Christ, you sound like yourself again,” he said.
Mouse kept the teacup between her palms, soaking in the last warmth from the porcelain.
“Well, you can tell me I am an idiot,” she said. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring the kitchen. She dashed them away desperately. She could not lose sight of John. He was her anchor in a storm, and unmooring would be dangerous. John reached across the table and took hold of her wrist.
“Mouse, you must tell me. What did Thornwood do?”
She sighed. “It’s all so strange, complicated, and frankly, mad. I can barely understand any of it.”
“I will go into town and call the police.”
Mouse laughed bitterly. “What could they do?”
“What could they do? They could arrest the bastard! He drugged you, or took advantage of you, or something, Mouse! You cannot possibly defend him now.”
“I’m not defending him. There is just so much you don’t understand, or cannot believe, and I don’t know where to begin.”
“Why not when you met him?”
“When he was a statue?” John’s brow knit. Mouse could tell she was not making sense again. She held her cup out to him. “Never mind what I said earlier. More tea for me and pour a cup for yourself. I will try to explain everything, but I need you to be patient with me as I try to get everything out. I may not make sense at times, but by the end, you’ll have everything you need to understand. And you must believe me, or this is pointless. Can we try that?”
John dragged his hand over his eyes. “We can try.”
It tookMouse a good part of the morning to fully explain how she came to his rosebushes the night before.
“I knew there was something wrong with Thornwood,” he said. He’d made them toast and laid out a spread of raspberry lavender jam, marmalade, and butter. “And all this time, I thought you were cutting me out with all your talk of Faeries.”
“To my credit, I did try to tell you.”
“After I caught you in a lie,” he snapped.
Mouse took a bite of toast, melting into the taste of butter and fruit.