That night, she visited John with Bertie’s box tucked safely under her arm.
John glared at her as she came up the path, undoubtedly still upset with her over their last conversation. But Mouse could not feel angry anymore, not with the shreds of Bertie’s life held in her hands. She offered the box to John. He eyed it, dubious, until he lifted the lid to see Bertie’s cigarettes, the medals, and his poetry journal, which Mouse had placed inside as soon as she returned from London. Grief washed over him, followed by a wavering smile as he touched Bertie’sthings. He lifted a star-shaped medal from the box, tracing his fingers over the blue, red, and white ribbon.
“He wrote to me when they gave him this one,” John said. “Would you mind terribly if I kept it?”
Mouse could see his eyes were wet.
“Of course I do not mind,” she said. “I brought them for you.”
He slipped the medal into his pocket and retrieved the journal, but he did not take anything else before he closed the lid again. Mouse extracted the photograph of them all out fromBlakeney’s, but he pressed it back into her hands when she offered it to him.
Then, they dug a small grave in his garden between the beehives and the nearest flowers. Neither of them spoke as they buried the box, but when it was over, Mouse leaned into John, and he leaned back.
It was easier to speak to him afterward. They did not talk about Thistlemarsh or Thornwood. Although it tugged at Mouse’s heart that John still did not believe her, she did not press him. She was too happy to be back with him to touch on anything that might break the peace.
Instead, they spoke of the Spring Festival and of village rumors. Silly things, really, but the topics were familiar and warm and easy.
The next morning, Mouse was working in the garden with Mr.Hobb when Thornwood materialized beside her. She jumped, then glanced at Mr.Hobb, but he was hard at work on an unruly bush. She pulled Thornwood behind a bend in a hedge.
“That was a little bold, don’t you think? Mr.Hobb could have seen you using magic.”
“As bold as poisoning me?” he snarled.
“Poisoning?” she said. “I did not poison you.”
“Ah, so I have been under the influence of a sleeping draft for an entire day, and you were not at all suspicious?”
Mouse frowned. “Mickelwaithe said you were resting. I did not realize you were still affected by the draft.”
“Stillaffected by it?” he repeated.
“He told me that he used it on you after we brought you to bed,” Mouse said.
“You did not think to come looking for me? Do you realize how much time we have lost?”
“You needed rest for this enchantment!” she said. “And the magic has not deteriorated while you’ve been asleep.”
“By pure luck, as far as we know.” He marched away, pausing only when he reached Thistlemarsh’s side door. “Come on, then.”
Mouse rolled her eyes and followed behind, waving with a half smile to Mr.Hobb. Once inside, Thornwood cast out a ripple of magic. A few thin golden threads crossed the hallway leading to the entryway. They followed them to the tapestry, where Thornwood lifted the corner to reveal the two locks.
Mouse pulled the necklace from under her collar. The two keys rattled against each other. She unhooked the clasp, pulling Bertie’s key from the chain and handing it to Thornwood.
“Shall we?” she asked.
They pressed both keys into place simultaneously. The locks clicked, the movement vibrating through the door. But it did not open. Instead, a mark ran along the surface of the wood.
“Ah, I see.” Thornwood sighed.
“What is it?”
“This is the sign of a Faerie toll.”
“A Faerie toll?”
“Yes, and we will have to pay it to get past the doors.”
“Always a price. What will we have to pay?”