Thornwood threw his hand toward her, a warning as much as a demand for silence. Mouse held her breath, watching the magic unfold. The drops thickened until a steady trickle of fire pooled at Mickelwaithe’s feet. It spread slowly, blue and molten, until it touched the edge of the Faerie-ruse. Two lines of blue flame climbed the wall in a perfect rectangle, meeting at the top.
“Hold it steady,” Thornwood said. He pressed his finger into the middle of the rectangle. Instead of sparks, a bubble of gold light grew under his finger, like a blister against the wallpaper. The green disk reappeared. It stretched around the bubble, then rippled out to the edges of the makeshift door, faster and faster, until waves of magic crashed against the sides and splashed onto Mickelwaithe’s coat.
Even before Thornwood’s brow crinkled, Mouse knew his magic would fail. Despite its cage, the gold bubble continued to grow, casting flickers of gold light through the room every few seconds. More fire flooded from the candle.
“Blow it out!” Mouse cried. Both their heads turned toward her, andtheir eyes were animal. She shouted again, hoping her words cut through the magic thrall. “Blow the candle out, or you’ll burn the house down!”
Thornwood’s eyes snapped toward the candle. The golden bubble burst.
Mouse saw Mickelwaithe douse the flame before the room flooded with light. The air scorched her, pricking at her skin and hair even from her seat by the door.
We must not look at goblin men…
The same voice echoed around her. Mouse noted how the bubble of light pulled back to the center of the scorched square in the wall. It left tendrils in its wake, which weaved through the air. They all ended at the same place but stretched to different corners of the room as though the house was trying to hold the Faerie-ruse in place. She watched as one of the tendrils twisted through the mirror closest to the door. They faded with the light until they were shadows that she would blink away the instant she closed her eyes.
She got up and traced the lines with the tips of her fingers as she strained to keep her eyes open. The lines did not harm her, but they thrummed under her touch. Her pinky tingled as she followed the vine to the mirror.
“Fascinating,” she whispered.
“What are you muttering?” Thornwood groaned.
“You’re trying to kill a weed by cutting off its head.”
“And what does that mean, exactly?”
Mouse sighed, turning away from her inspection. “The enchantment on the Faerie-ruse is just an extension of the magic, not the core.”
Her words had a physical effect on them both. Mickelwaithe’s gaze shot to Mouse’s face. Thornwood’s mouth slackened, and he was beside her in seconds. The smell of magic clung to him like cigar smoke.
“Go on,” he said.
“During that last blast of light, I saw the links between the Faerie-ruse and whatever other magic is holding it in place.”
“Do you remember where these links were in the room?”
“One, at least,” Mouse said, lifting her pinky to the mirror. Thornwood followed her fingertips as though he was attached by a string. Her hand met the cool glass. Rings of fog formed against her fingertips. “The line ends here.”
Thornwood tilted his head. He was practically under Mouse’s arm. Then, on her tiptoes behind him, she started to move out of the way.
“Don’t move,” he said. Then, at Mouse’s sigh, he added, “Please.”
She obliged, and he shifted around her arm. She slipped back onto her heels, her fingers still pinned in place.
He pressed his ear to the wall and closed his eyes. Eventually, he spoke. “You can move away from the mirror now.”
Mouse stumbled back. The tips of her fingers glowed bright red with cold. Thornwood’s eyebrows rose when his gaze landed on the reflection of her missing pinky.
“Did you hear a voice?” Thornwood asked.
For a moment, she hesitated. Could she truly trust a Faerie? Would he turn this information around somehow to trick her? After all, the other magic was trying to warn her away from him.
But if Thornwood’s magic did not stick to Thistlemarsh, she would lose the Hall to Carlyle. Mouse already gave Thornwood her finger. It was time to admit that she was committed.
She nodded. “When the bubble burst, and again just now.”
He hummed, moving so close to the mirror’s surface that his breath misted on the silver.
“Mickelwaithe, your assistance is required.”