“You have my word I will not hurt the gardener,” Thornwood said.
“Thank you,” Mouse said curtly before hurrying off to the Matchbox for the rest of the night.
10
Mouse woke the following day to the patter of rain against her window. Thornwood’s new heating spell had survived the night. For a few minutes she allowed herself the luxury of watching the raindrops flow down the pane in cozy contentment.
But the day beckoned, no matter how unappealing the trek to the garden seemed in a drizzle. She rolled out from under the covers before scooping them up and over her head in a makeshift robe.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when her foot brushed against a silver tray on the floor. It was laid out with tea, sugar, lemon, and a mound of vibrant berries. The colorful display drew her in, and instead of pulling the tray onto the bed beside her, she slunk down to the floor. A single lush strawberry balanced at the top of the tower, shiny and speckled with golden seeds.
Mortals were not meant to eat Faerie food, but this was in her own house. She pinched the berry between her fingers, half expecting it to melt away as soon as she touched it.
Gingerly, she placed the fruit on the tip of her tongue. It was still a strawberry, even though it was ripe at the tail end of winter.
Juice burst when her teeth punctured the skin, the taste like a star dancing on her tongue. Lemon and sugar disappeared quickly into the brown depths of her teacup. As she lifted it to her lips, she could smell every ingredient, individually and together. The scent filled her senses, sparkling from her mouth down her throat. She sighed as the taste of hospital coffee faded from her memory. The lemon lingered behind her teeth.
“Magic,” she said in awe, taking another greedy sip.
At the hospital, the only thing Roger could remember from day to day was what time coffee was served. Early on, Mouse had smuggled in treats from outside the ward like peppermint and the rare shortbread, but nothing delighted Roger as much as the bitter, burned coffee from the canteen.
“It is the routine,” a doctor told her when she asked him. “The coffee gives him something to look forward to every day—a kind of structure.”
She knew she was fortunate to nurse at the hospital where her brother was located; she did not know any other nurses who were so lucky. However, the blank look on Roger’s face when she offered him the little things he had once loved broke her heart.
When Mouse said goodbye to Roger on her final day in the hospital, all he knew to associate her with was that daily cup of coffee.
Despite her grim ruminations, by the time she’d polished off her cup of tea, Mouse felt renewed energy radiating from her like sunlight.
She shuffled into her gardening clothes and thick rubber boots. Standing in front of her small mirror, she laced her hair into a braid and tied it with two dark green ribbons.
When she turned back to collect the tray, it had vanished, leaving only a rectangular outline in the carpet.
Thornwood was waiting for her when she walked into the entrance hall. He had opted for a simple brown wool coat with matching trousers. The lines of his clothes were crisp, as though they were ironed while he wore them. His boots ended just past his knee, and his white-blond hair contrasted vividly with a green woven tie secured around his neck. If he noticed Mouse’s ribbons were the same color, he had the grace not to mention it.
The stinging pain Mouse felt looking at him before had lessened. She supposed she was getting used to looking at Faeries, as one might get used to seeing in the dark. He could even be called handsome now, if not a bit unnerving in his perfection. Not that Mouse would ever tell him that, of course.
“Thank you for breakfast,” she said.
He shrugged. “You made sandwiches. Consider us even.”
“It’s always an exchange for you. Do you ever do anything just because you want to help someone, with nothing in return?”
Thornwood tilted his head. “I don’t understand the question.”
Mouse groaned.
The gardens were cold, despite Mouse’s wool coat. “Let’s hope we aren’t hit with any storms.”
“It will hardly matter what the hedgerows look like if my magic doesn’t stick to the walls inside,” the Faerie grumbled.
“Mr.Hobb and I aren’t even working on hedgerows. He’s already trimmed them back.”
Thornwood waved his hand in dismissal. “The mortal custom of attempting to tame nature for their delight is a mystery to me. Why trap flowers somewhere unnatural when you could go to the woods to observe them where they are happiest?”
“It’s natural to want to take care of something and to help it to grow.”
“It is natural for a mortal, I suppose. Faeries delight in cutting down other living creatures with both words and steel. But we do not transplant flowers.” He cut off when he saw Mouse’s frown. “What have I said now?”