Thornwood grinned at her from over his shoulder. “This shows that the enchantment is sewn into the fabric of the house itself.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“Neither good nor bad—but it does mean that the spell was cast intentionally by a powerful magician.”
“How are you sure? Can’t magic grow on its own?”
“No, not at this level,” Thornwood said, flicking the goldenremnants of magic from his hands. “At least, it cannot grow without fuel from a caster.”
“So, it needs additional magic, or it will sputter out?”
“To grow, yes, but spells can be stagnant for years. This caster must have started work at least a hundred years ago. This kind of magic was lost to humans long before Faeries left England.”
Mouse blinked in confusion at the ribbons of light threading through the boiler and nesting in its pipes.
“But why would the vines attach to the boiler? Everything in this room was installed less than fifty years ago, not a hundred.”
He ignored her question, but Mouse saw his eye twitch as he leaned closer to the boiler. There was nothing special about the machine other than that it was old and did not work.
There was a dent on the side about the size of a foot, and Mouse wondered which unlucky servant tried his hand at fixing it when it first broke. She could not picture Dawson, consistently smooth and removed, driving his toe into the machine. Still, Mouse smiled at the thought.
Thornwood also saw the dent and crouched to bring it to eye level. Mouse followed suit, searching for anything unusual. From her vantage point behind Thornwood’s shoulder, a flicker of silver caught her eye, sharp against the dull gray of the worn metal.
He also saw it, and they moved forward to get a closer look. Something glimmered, uncovered by a crescent-shaped scar in the dust.
He whispered something in Faerie, and Mouse strained to hear, leaning into Thornwood’s back.
At the same time, the world shifted around them, all at once hot and close and bright. They both tumbled forward. Thornwood’s arms came around her, too tight for comfort. Mouse could not see anything clearly as white light flooded the room.
When it faded, spots dotted Mouse’s vision.
Thornwood still held her to him. She was suddenly aware of the line where their bodies met, her hip pressed against his leg. Her skin tingled, despite the layers between them. Thornwood pulled away.
The boiler and its cupboard were gone. The brief flash of magic had transported them somewhere entirely new.
Above them, long swaths of fabric looped around high beams, dripping down the walls in waterfalls of gold, red, and orange. The floor was cobbled together from giant glimmering white stones. The domed room stretched back, framing a massive fireplace that crackled with heat, even from ten feet away. The scent of cinnamon and clove hung thick in the air, its heaviness bolstered by the heat of the fire.
She opened her mouth, then closed it again, unsure what to say first.
“I am at a loss myself,” Thornwood said. “The kind of magic required for this enchantment is extraordinary.”
“What is it?”
“My theory, and please forgive me if it is not completely accurate as I’ve only had a minute to develop it, is that the caster created these hidden rooms to store the bulky spellwork that has been fighting my magic, then tucked those rooms into tiny places throughout the house. The intricate spellwork then generates enough energy to fuel the little strings that have been eating away at my work.”
“So, we are inside a magic hidden room attached to the dent?” Mouse asked.
Thornwood nodded.
“And is that normal magic? I mean, for mortal magicians?”
“I’ve never seen anything like it.”
There were no doors in the circular room, as far as Mouse could see, although the overlapping cloth hid much of the wall. Thick black scorch marks marred the floor in front of the fire, arching around the hearth in a crescent.
“I don’t understand why the caster would hide this room in a boiler.”
“Do you know what was kept in the room before they installed the boiler?”