Mouse was grateful that it was the middle of the night. The path was familiar enough that she could walk it in the dark, and she did not want to explain to Mr.Hobb any magic he might see if he was awake.
Mouse led the Faerie men past the rose garden to the back of the house. She pointed to a door in the center of the wall.
Brow knitted, Thornwood walked along the wall, brushing his fingers against the stone. He stopped at the door and frowned.
“There is no door here inside the house,” he finally said, turning back to Mouse.
“No.”
“Then why would…” His voice drifted off. He pressed his finger to the raised crest in the door’s center. Sparks crackled between his skin and the stone. “This is a Faerie-ruse.”
“Correct. Faerie-blessed houses often have them. It’s almost like our ancestors did not trust each other,” Mouse said, reopening the book to the illustration. “There were many of these Faerie-ruses installed at Thistlemarsh just after the Dewhursts fell out with the Faerie King, when mortals still knew some magic. The intention was to trick Faeries into focusing on the wrong entrance, since they need invitations to enter a dwelling. This is the last one left at Thistlemarsh, as far as I know.”
“You didn’t think to tell me this earlier?” he demanded, and Mouse realized that he was genuinely angry.
“Why would I? I have not thought about it in years.”
“As it explains there is already nullifying magic baked into thewalls of your precious Hall, I would have thought you would share the information. The enchantment is in the damn brickwork!”
“I did not know it might nullify your magic until just this moment.”
Thornwood ignored her, turning back toward the entrance. Mouse trotted after him.
“We wasted so much time. In the future, spare no details. Ghost sightings, secret passageways, scandals. I must know it all.” He barked at Mickelwaithe in a language Mouse assumed was Faerie. The servant disappeared as though he’d stepped into a crack in the air. She gasped at the casual display of magic. Thornwood rounded back into the Hall.
Inside, he went straight to where the door should have opened into the building. The freshly redone carpet was already peeling, and the fibers came apart under their feet, so Mouse did not feel guilty as she dragged a crumbling chair from a nearby room to watch Thornwood at work. The Faerie’s lips tightened when he caught sight of her.
“You can’t make me leave,” Mouse said before he could speak. “I want to see the magic that cost me my finger.”
“If you insist on staying, do not distract me,” Thornwood snapped. “I do not want to hear any complaints if some spellwork burns your clothes, or something else frivolous.”
Mouse leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. Thornwood glared at her again before turning his focus back to his task.
He lifted his finger to the wall and placed it squarely on the wallpaper. Frizzling sparks danced around his fingertip. The flash of light caught on a ring around his right fourth finger. Mouse was surprised she’d never noticed it before, as the pale green stone in its center was cracked with a ragged black line. His magic twisted around the ring, and he smirked, pushing his entire hand down. The flames grew, licking at his wrist.
A green disk formed around his hand. As it expanded, so did the circle of fire until it was big enough to halo his head in green. The lush scent of magic wafted through the hallway, filling Mouse’s senses with the same giddy power that charged over her when he took her pinky. It was both earthy and electric.
She rose from her seat, drawn in by the magic as though under a spell herself. The power grew like an incoming thunderstorm, charging the air. Sparks skittered off the furniture in lightning bolts of green and gold. Mirrors rattled in their casing as though thunder flowed behind their surfaces.
A boom splintered the room. Thornwood flinched. An errant bolt of light bounced off the leg of the chair and collided with Mouse’s ear. She cried out, the force toppling her to the ground. In the same instant, the opposing power released and swung back like a tree branch. It knocked Thornwood backward. He missed Mouse by inches, hurtling into the chair beside her. Mirrors shattered on the wall, the glass cascading across the floor.
The pressure lifted, and a headache Mouse did not know she had evaporated with the green aura of Thornwood’s magic. The side of her face ached as though she’d been slapped.
With a final, exhausted creak, the chair collapsed under Thornwood. He landed on its remnants.
“Are you all right?” Mouse asked tentatively.
The question hung in the air, and Mouse thought that if he had any magic left to spare, he would have shot lightning at her himself.
“Do I look all right?” he growled.
His face and coat were covered in purple soot, and his hair was blown out into unruly spikes. Small splinters of wood decorated his sleeves. Radiating fury, he hoisted himself out of the remains of the chair and stormed out of the room.
Mouse heard a door slam far away. She sank back onto the floor. The carpet smelled musty, and a current of electricity still buzzed in the room, leaving a distinct burned smell. She closed her eyes.
Thistlemarsh was fighting back against Thornwood’s magic. It made sense, in the way Mouse understood all magic to make sense. If she squinted, Mouse could understand how the original wards used to keep out unwanted Faerie intruders might morph over time into a spell that rejected any Faerie magic. Of course, it was just a theory, but it was the best she had.
What did that mean for her? If Thornwood could not fix Thistlemarsh with magic, she would have to go back to Roger empty-handed, wondering where the next payment for his treatment would come from. She straightened at the thought, brushing the dust off her clothes.