“How will I recognize the source? Thornwood’s is jewelry; should I look for that?”
“I’m sure Father has changed its form many times since I last saw him. It must always be near him. He does not trust anyone to look after it, but jewelry is considered to be quite an obvious place to hide power. He would want to be more subtle, especially when he is just regaining his footing. He likely disguised it as something mundane,as a precaution. Luckily for you, in a room of Faeries, the mundane will stick out.”
“Did you know the King was outside Thistlemarsh all this time?”
“Yes. He was not very subtle about testing the limits of my magic on the house, although he did not recognize it as mine. That is why I interlaced so many precautions against Faerie magic throughout Thistlemarsh. I did not want him hurting the things that I fought for.” She sighed. “But now, I think it might be time to let go. For some time, I believe the magic has been hurting rather than helping my Dewhurst descendants. And it is my intention to help. I loved my husband dearly, and so I love anyone who came from that union.”
Mouse was not quite sure how to respond. She squared her shoulders, readying herself to take the first step. Viola laughed beside her.
“What?” Mouse asked.
“Do you relish the idea of being trapped between worlds forever, or would you prefer a guide?”
“Aren’t you coming with me?”
“Did that spell of Thornwood’s completely addle your brain? The benefit of having a path that a Faerie cannot follow is that a Faerie cannot follow it.”
Mouse flushed. “Right. Of course.”
“I could have sent my silk dragon with you if you hadn’t turned it into adog.” Viola glared at Mouse, leaning heavily on her final word. Mouse didn’t speak—she wouldn’t apologize for Smudge again, no matter how hard Viola angled for it. “No matter. We’ll make do.”
The Faerie shook her hands, and a thick strip of the wallpaper peeled away from the far wall toward them. Any hint of the Faerie King’s or Thornwood’s magic leaked out of it the moment it came away, leaving only a dusty powder blue and lines of adhesive on the reverse side.
It drifted to them, then hovered just before Viola’s eyes. Her handsmoved around it, and the strip rotated. She squinted, and her eyes moved left to right as though she was reading invisible words on the paper.
There was another champagne pop. The paper folded faster than Mouse’s eyes could track. When it settled, a small blue bird nestled in Viola’s palm. It glowed, pulsing with blue magic.
“It will not win any prizes, but it is the best I can do at the moment,” Viola said with a sniff, although there was a brightness to her eyes that was not there before.
Mouse managed a thin smile. “Thank you for your help.”
“Do not thank me yet. For all we know, this bird might lead you straight into the viper’s jaws.”
The bird flittered above Viola’s hand, jolting every few wingbeats toward the doorway as though pulled by an invisible string.
“Regardless, thank you.”
“Very well.” Viola flexed her fingers, and the bird swooped away. It plunged into the spell, light crossing its body in different hues as it passed through the doorway. Mouse dove into the opening after it, barely catching sight of its glowing wings as it turned down the first fork.
30
Running in the spell was difficult, as the candelabras only illuminated circles of light beneath them.
Her shoes clicked against cobblestones. The sound resonated in the darkness. As she came closer to the candelabras, she saw that they were crafted into wings, arms, claws, and fins, each limb balancing its torch in any way possible. One boasted a tentacle that twisted so its tip pressed just below the candlewick. Out of the corner of her eye, Mouse saw a clawed hand move, readjusting its grip. She shuddered, wondering if the arms were just part of an enchantment, or if they were once attached to living things.
The glow of the bird remained just in sight, swooping around corners and then back when Mouse was not fast enough. Finally, the hallway lightened, and Mouse could see a doorway ahead. The bird chirped back at her, speeding her on.
Beyond the door, Mouse could see more detail. There was swirled wood and a flash of patched cloth. She was nearly at the threshold before she realized she was looking at her own bed in the Matchbox.
She darted through the opening and paused, shocked that anunseen force did not rise around her and throw her back into the magical hallway. No Faerie warriors or twisted Fae hounds jumped out from the shadows. It was just the Matchbox, with its radiator, quilted bed, and worn floor.Blakeney’sstill sat on the bookshelf. A teacup perched on her bedside table from the night before Beckett and Carlyle arrived, serene and unchanged by Faerie enchantments. The magic blossoms were gone.
She swallowed before turning back toward the magic hallway. The other end of the path was closer, practically right on top of the painting itself, like an accordion pushed back together. The final candelabra faded from view, and darkness swallowed the cobblestones. The bird hovered at the edge of the hallway.
There was a click, like an electric light flicking off. Then, the bird doubled in on itself, folding into a square of paper again.
As soon as the two frames touched, the oblivion of the hallway vanished, leaving only the image of the tree stretching out of the painting toward her.
She sank onto the side of the bed. One hand flew to her throat. When she found the keys, she pressed them hard between her fingers. The metal bit into her skin. Somehow, this painting had been connected to Viola. Perhaps the fondness she felt radiating from it all these years was not just touches of her mother, but of Viola as well. That feeling of acceptance from this single room, this frame, was perhaps the remnant of an ancestor’s love, trapped there all along.