She did not think her statement would hit home—after all, what did he care?—but his face went white. Before he could speak, the dragon rumbled beneath them. A growl echoed from the fire, but the dragon’s form rose to meet it. Thornwood jerked Mouse back close to the scales just as the dragon took off, racing straight at the flames. It extended its wings, flapping awkwardly but effectively until it was in the air.
The fire’s fingers scratched at them, and one caught Mouse’s leg. She cried out as heat stung just below her knee. The dragon cried out, too, but continued its flight. It pulled in on itself, its limbs shrinking. Large shards of glass still hung on to the edges of the window, like teeth standing out against the night sky.
They flew straight for the middle, but the closer they got, theclearer Mouse could see there was no way that the dragon would fit, not in time. The shards glinted, menacing.
“Wait!” she cried. “You’ll tear.”
“We don’t have a choice now,” Thornwood said, the distinct twist of panic in his voice.
Mouse looked over her shoulder to see that the pillars of flame grasping after them from the fireplace had shifted into enormous fully formed fingers that consumed the entire room. The hand of fire closed around them, latching on to the dragon’s tail. The dragon screeched, twisting in the air. Mouse’s neck cracked back from the force, and for a moment, she could make out a face in the flames, mouth open in an enraged scream.
There was a snap, a shriek, a crash, and they careened through the window into the night sky above.
13
When Mouse looked down, she expected to see a vortex of flame, but there was only Thistlemarsh’s roof, as dilapidated as always. A trail of smoke floated around them, but she could not determine its source. It seemed to start a few feet above where the roof ended.
The dragon was still there. It hovered, flapping its wings heavily until they were just above the gardens. Mouse could make out the wall they worked on the day before, the newly overturned earth a scar in the landscape.
“That was close,” Thornwood said.
With a weak groan, the dragon’s eyes rolled back in its head, and they all plummeted to the ground. Mouse threw her hands up to protect her skull and curled around her belly, ready to take the impact on her side. It would hurt, she knew, but it was better than breaking her back. She jerked to a halt a foot above the grass. From there, the air cushioned her fall, depositing her gently onto her knees. The dragon crashed next to her, its head lolling to the side.
Thornwood landed on his feet, gold flowing from his fingertips down to his shoes and into the grass. He stretched his fingers and smiled.
Mouse hefted herself up, the pain in her burned leg radiating up through her thigh into her torso. She lurched sideways, and Thornwood’s smile faded.
“You’re hurt.”
Mouse brushed him away. The foul smell of burning fibers permeated the garden. Her fingers flew to the dragon’s side. In the cover of night, the creature was only a shadow on the grass. Suddenly, Mouse was back in France, tending to a burned boy who’d been caught in a firebombing. “Light. Give us some light.”
Without question, Thornwood summoned an orb, flooding the patch of grass. Mouse gasped.
The dragon was missing its tail, singed off in a jagged line. Smoke rose from the outline of its wings, embers flickering out along the edges. Most glaring was the black soot, smearing out all color except for its front paws and nose.
In her mind, she could hear planes overhead and the steady rhythm of artillery.
“We need water,” Mouse said.
“Water and silk do not mix.”
“They mix better than silk and fire!” Mouse snapped. She pulled back, wincing as she moved toward the house. “If you won’t summon it, I can bring it myself.”
“That is unnecessary,” the Faerie said. He lifted his hands, and a bucket of water sloshed next to her foot.
Mouse ignored him, emptying the bucket over the dragon’s head down to its torso. It was about the size of a horse now.
“Another,” she said, holding the bucket out to Thornwood. He refilled the bucket.
“So demanding,” he grumbled.
Mouse emptied the rest over the dragon, focusing mainly on the wound on its tail. It whined and shrank further.
“We will need to get it inside,” Thornwood said. “Otherwise, it will blow away. It is not strong enough to stay intact on its own.”
“I’ll need your help to carry it.”
“No, you will do no such thing. If you plan to be any good to anyone tomorrow, you need to rest your leg. I will return in a moment. Keep the creature calm.”