Mouse felt the creature’s presence underneath her, stalking her like a shark, but she could not see its shadow below.
Now she could see Thornwood. He was floating just under the surface. The look of utter peace on his upturned face struck her.
Was he already dead?A feeling settled in her stomach, hot as coal and radiating up to her throat. Her eyes stung.
She took another gulp of air, then started toward him. In the time it took to reach him he had sunk further, his body suspended aboutfive feet below the surface. She allowed the weight of her legs to carry her down until she could reach out and touch his face.
When her fingers met his skin, a parade of images overwhelmed her. A silver-blond child dashed through the halls of a castle, pursued by a woman in a delicate golden gown and a man in green velvet. The man had Thornwood’s angular face, and the woman had his crooked smile. Mouse drifted between them, a ghost inside the memory, and she was the only one to notice the mist as it rose to obscure the couple.
Anxiety crawled in Mouse’s belly.
The boy turned around a corner, and she was compelled to follow.
As he ran, the child aged until a fully grown Thornwood stopped and ducked into a low door that appeared in the mist. The smell of coffee filled the air, paired with woodsmoke and perfume. Thornwood stood at the center of a group of delicately featured Faeries. His cheek was unscarred.
The Faeries wore silk and powdered wigs, and their cups glowed in their hands with a vast spectrum of faceted light. Thornwood’s cutting smile was sharp as he spoke.
“The Faerie King best be careful. He makes more enemies than friends with his obsession with old houses and his contempt for humans. Look what happened to his daughter.”
“Brave words,” one of the other Faeries cut in. The Faerie man had a pipe made of something that looked eerily like bone. “But your father was summoned to meet with the King today and has yet to return.”
Thornwood snorted, but Mouse saw his hand tighten around his cup. On his finger was his jeweled ring. The gem glinted in the light, unbroken. “They often speak late into the night.”
One of the Faerie women tittered, rolling her cup in her hands. “The King is displeased with him. We all know it. Your mother won’t fare much better than he will.”
“Nor will you,” the Faerie with the pipe interjected. “With all your talk of mortals and treason against the King.”
“Treason?” Thornwood said icily. “The King has always listened to my father’s advice. I say only what my father says. It is hardly treason.”
“Things change,” another Faerie woman said. “As you said, the King has lost his daughter. That alters a man.”
“We have been loyal subjects and friends. The King knows that.”
The group fractured, breaking into pairs and leaving Thornwood alone.
His companions faded, replaced by twisted trees. Thornwood was running, his clothes catching on the outstretched branches. Mouse followed.
His gaze darted behind him. Mouse looked back and saw a fan of shadows following. Bolts of colorful magic whizzed by, and she gasped. A lightning bolt dashed across Thornwood’s face, leaving a bleeding streak that Mouse recognized as his white scar. He turned toward his assailants, his hands outstretched. A bolt hit him, ricocheting through his body, and the world flashed red.
When the color faded, Thornwood stood frozen in stone, his arms still held out in front of him and the ring on his finger splintered. Despite her horror, Mouse took in Thornwood’s form in fascination. She’d never seen Dante’s full form as a statue, but here he was whole and uncovered by moss. She reached out to him, pressing her fingers against the crack in his chest.
His eyes snapped open and met hers. The images around them shattered, and they were in the well beneath the water.
As soonas the vision cleared, Mouse grabbed Thornwood by the shoulder, and he clutched at her, taking in her urgent expression before his gaze drifted downward.
Mouse squeezed his hand thrice. The signal cut through his daze, and he pulled them both up to the surface. She was dazed as well, and her heart hammered in her chest, both from holding her breath so long and from the stress of his vision. Although she was not the one attacked by the Faeries, she felt like a hare running from a fox.
“What happened?” he asked, and Mouse glared at him as she panted.
“I believe the spell caught you, although that’s your area of expertise. While you’ve been trapped, I have been turning to stone as I try to save our lives.”
“A mermaid statue, I presume?” he said.
Mouse followed his gaze, but the mermaid statue was not there. “How did you know?” she asked.
“You have a tail,” Thornwood said.
Mouse gasped, looking down at herself. From the waist up, she was still flesh, but at her hips her legs had morphed together, and her feet had fused into a stone fin.