“No. And I’m glad of it. Can you imagine what the war would have been like with magical weapons on top of the guns and the gas?”
Mouse shuddered. “No. I can’t.”
“We’re lucky that they left. We can move forward based on our merit rather than relying on magic and being bound to the creatures who control it.”
“Yes,” she said, her gaze straying to the window again.
“Why are you talking about Faeries suddenly?” John asked.
“Oh, you know how prevalent the imagery is at Thistlemarsh.”
John nodded and swallowed the rest of his stew as easily as he swallowed her lie.
Mouse commandeered John’s sofa after he insisted she stay for the night.
“You keep nodding off, and I do not want to find you sleeping in the bushes on my way into the village tomorrow.”
She griped, but she had to concede that she was exhausted, and she did not relish the idea of walking back through the woods and encountering the Faerie again.
Mouse woke with a splitting headache that even four cups of strong black tea and a breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast could not fix.
A thick tome lay open next to John on the table. Mouse could see it was his copy of theBook of Common Prayer, sprawled out for inspection. Worn leather curled in at the edges, and inky scribbles stained the pages.
“Are you studying God’s word or your own?” Mouse asked around a mouthful of eggs.
The corner of his mouth quirked, but he did not look away from his book. “If you must know, I am writing the sermon for this Sunday. Although I assume you will not be there.”
“Too busy.”
“Heathen,” he said warmly, his eyes still glued to the words. Hetook out a thin fountain pen, underlined a sentence in blue ink, and tucked it back in his pocket, but not before Mouse caught a glimpse of the gold engraving.
“I didn’t know Bertie left you his pen.”
Roses bloomed in his cheeks, and he coughed. “Yes, it was a parting gift.”
Mouse kicked him gently under the table, and at last, he looked up at her. “I’m glad he did.”
John’s mouth tightened, and he blinked before rubbing his hand over his eyes. Mouse pretended not to notice that his fingers came away wet.
“I’ve been considering your questions from last night,” he said. “I remembered that my gran kept a horseshoe above her doorway and would leave milk out for Faeries every night, a payment to keep her house safe from thieves or disaster. In the morning, the milk was always gone.”
Mouse leaned in, despite herself. “And what did you think?”
“I stayed up one night to see what happened. I bundled myself into the hayloft with a duvet and an iron key that I dug up from my grandfather’s room for protection against Faerie magic. I was there all night, frozen with cold and fear. How would my gran react when she found out I frightened away the Faeries? Would she ever forgive me? Then, I heard a noise.”
“What was it?”
“The fattest barn cat that I’d ever seen in my life. It went straight to the bowl and licked it clean in a minute flat.”
Mouse laughed in shock. “And your grandmother?”
“I never told her. That was my first lesson in the power of faith. It eased my gran’s worry to put that milk out there, and what harm did it do anyone? Faith, true faith, is more about comfort than it is about any religious doctrine.”
“There’s your Sunday sermon right there,” Mouse quipped.
“Somehow, I doubt the archdiocese would approve of a story about Faeries in the church.”
“Did you stop believing when you saw the cat that night?” she asked.