Mouse jerked, the fear of certain stony doom fueling her. She kicked, and her free foot landed squarely on the mermaid’s face. Its nose cracked down the middle, and thick black blood seeped out into the water.
Mouse swam desperately back to the light. As soon as she was through the tunnel, hands hooked under her arms and lifted her bodily from the pool.
“Breathe,” Thornwood insisted as she sputtered. He dragged her several feet onto the lawn before she found her footing. They leaned into each other, eyes glued to the water’s edge.
After a few tense moments, the mermaid raised its head from under a lily pad.
“My replacement,” it croaked. It raised its hands above its head. A web of cracks flowed from its fingers to its shoulders. “Come back.”
“There is no need for us to stay for this,” Thornwood said. He turned toward Thistlemarsh.
“Wait.”
Thornwood tilted his head. “You don’t want to adopt this one, too, do you?”
“Of course not!” Mouse snapped. She looked back to the crumbling statue and called out to it. “Your job is done. You don’t need a replacement.”
“Free me,” it gasped.
“You are already free. We escaped from your trap, I’m not turning to stone, and the spell you cast on Thornwood is broken.”
“Whatever magic was here is gone. There is nothing left for you to guard,” Thornwood said.
The words reached the statue like a hammerblow. It fractured, the pieces whizzing into the air in starbursts that guttered as soon as they hit the water. The pond fizzed like champagne where the chips fell. At the center, an enormous toad looked up at them from beneath the lily pad.
It croaked once before it dove into the vines below and disappeared into the dark.
“I am offended,” Thornwood said as they crossed Thistlemarsh’s threshold. “A toad? At least a dragon has some menace, but a toad?”
Mouse did not respond, stunned and exhausted, but Thornwood did not notice. Near the water, they’d thrown their dry clothes over their sodden underthings. She realized that she had not even used the dagger.
Mouse was desperate for hot water of any kind: a cup of tea, a hot-water bottle, a bath. But any thoughts she had of relaxation froze when she caught sight of the room.
“It feels like the caster is intentionally taunting the future spell-breaker. They surely had an advanced knowledge of not only mortal magic but Faerie magic as well.”
He finally noticed she was no longer keeping pace with him as he marched through the entry hall toward the kitchen. He turned to face her, his brow furrowed.
A deep gash zigzagged from the front door frame, along the floor, below the great elk antlers, and up into the wall behind the tapestry.
“There’s a crack,” Mouse said, the statement foolish to her ears.
He followed the crack to the wall. Then, with academic precision, he lifted the tapestry hem where the line vanished.
An onyx door sprouted from the stone. Mouse knew it had not been there before. She, Bertie, and Roger often hid behind the tapestries while playing. They certainly would have noticed a mysterious black door.
Nonetheless, the door was there now, begging to be opened. Mouse crept closer. The door had no handles, just two gleaming silver keyholes. Thornwood pressed against it as though to test the lock. The door did not budge.
“It has the same signature as the other two hidden rooms, only stronger,” Thornwood said. “We will have to find a way in.”
Mouse groaned, and Thornwood leaned against the wall, his frantic energy flagging.
After changing out of their wet things, they slumped into the study, melting into the chairs. Mickelwaithe appeared in the blink of an eye, as did a fire, heating the room in a matter of seconds. Mouse dug her toes into the carpet, relishing the softness against her skin.
“Any new thoughts about the cause of Thistlemarsh’s enchantment after our latest adventure?” she asked.
Thornwood’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “None whatsoever.”
Mouse sighed, huddling into the chair. She clutched her shaking fingers together.