For a moment, John looked as though he might try to stop her, hisjaw tight and twitching. Mouse met his gaze, and her chin tilted up. They stared at each other that way for what Mouse felt was an eternity until John’s anger collapsed. “Do you have a plan, at least?”
“No, not really,” she admitted. “But I don’t think Thornwood stands a chance without the source of his power. If I can get it to him, maybe he can do something to stop the Faerie King. It is a long shot, but it is our best option.”
She showed John the ring.
“I promised Bertie I would look after you,” he groaned, sliding down onto the stairs. He pressed his face into his hands.
The bag, which had paused its knocking when they spoke, took up its cause again, throwing itself toward the door with increased precision.
Mouse knelt before John, and he looked up at her. Tears trailed down his cheeks.
“Bertie was a cheeky thing. He made me promise to look after you, too,” Mouse said.
John sobbed, and he turned his face into his shoulder. She clambered up to the stairs to hug him.
“I know I can’t stop you,” he said. “I just had to try.”
It turned out that while Mouse was worrying about John trying to stop her, she should have been more concerned about the bag. It must have sensed her plan because it stopped trying to coerce her outside. When she tried to brush past it into the garden, it tangled around her legs and looped over her arms, pulling her back. It managed to drag her a quarter of the way up the stairs before she was able to pry it off.
With John’s reluctant help, she wrangled it into a closet.
“If it breaks my door, I’m holding you responsible,” John said,smoothing down his hair and adjusting his collar. A streak of white dust stained the black cloth of his suit where the bag had fought him.
“Fair enough,” Mouse panted. “Could have done without that extra strain right before I take on a magical creature, but what can you do? Thornwood is almost as stubborn as you.”
“Please, don’t flatter me. Based on his magic, he is much more stubborn. Stay here for a moment,” John said, then dashed back upstairs before Mouse could respond. When he returned, he held a thin military sword and scabbard, the handle glittering between a knot of blue and gold ribbons.
“Take it. It was my father’s.”
Mouse tried to brush it away, remembering her last encounter with the weapon by the pond with Thornwood. “I have recent experience with swords, and it was not promising. I’m more likely to stab myself.”
“Better than going in with your bare hands,” John insisted.
Mouse relented and looped the hilt through her belt. Her hand brushed against her pocket, and she nearly shot out of her skin when she felt a small hard bump beneath her palm. She pulled out Mickelwaithe’s acorn.
“What is it?” John asked.
“It was a gift from Mickelwaithe,” she said. “I’d forgotten it.”
Mouse held it out to him, and John reared back as though it would bite him.
“Take it. If I’m not back by nightfall, rub the cap.”
John took it gingerly between his fingers. “What will it do?”
“Summon Mickelwaithe.”
“It would be better for you to have it, then,” John said, trying to push it back on her.
“No, I want you to keep an eye on the time for me. Who knows if I will fall prey to another enchantment? Use it if the time comes.”
He closed his hands around it and nodded. “Fine, yes, fine.”
“Are you furious with me?” Mouse asked.
“No more than usual,” he said, pulling her in for a tight hug.
“Good,” she whispered into his shoulder.