Thornwood apparently felt the same, as he was already pacing back and forth at the bottom of the stairs when Mouse started down them. He’d opted not to slick his hair back in his usual style, instead letting it curl on the top of his head. Mouse noted that he had not thrown up his blindingly handsome glamour. She smiled.
He paused when he saw her, his eyes widening. Mouse’s hands flew to her hair.
“What? Did a hairpin fall out?”
“You look lovely,” he said. Mouse flushed, recalling the feel of his lips on hers again.
“Thank you,” she said. “You look almost as nervous as I am.”
Thornwood smirked, holding his hand out. Relief flooded her that they could still be comfortable together. She took his hand, and he tucked her arm in his. She shook her head.
“What?” he asked.
“I was just thinking. I feel I’ve known you all my life, yet it’s only been a month.”
“It has been a strange month, hasn’t it? For me, over the last century my years were only marked by the phases of the moon and the thickening of forest paths.”
“Well, I think we should bask in our achievement and take a final look at the grounds before Beckett arrives. Then, after he leaves, we can treat ourselves to a bottle of fine wine in the garden. Celebrate our hard work and our victory.”
“Yes, that sounds delightful.” His words were light, but there was a darkness to his gaze that made Mouse feel slightly sick. Was he doubting the effects of his magic? Or her work in the garden? She did not want to ask, too afraid of his answer to contemplate it.
As they walked, Mouse scanned the great hall for a furry face. “Where is Smudge?”
“Mickelwaithe took her to your vicar’s cottage. I did not want traces of her magic affecting anything.”
“You brought her over so early in the day? Hopefully, she doesn’t terrorize him too much.”
“He told Mickelwaithe that he planned to take her around for the Spring Festival on a lead with a crown of flowers, so I don’t know who will be more of a terror.”
Mouse giggled as they wove their way through Thistlemarsh’s rooms, all restored beyond their original beauty. Although she noted that the eyes in the portrait hall moved, following Thornwood and her with disapproving stares, he insisted that the overflow of the spell would go unnoticed by Beckett’s untrained eyes.
“What’s this?” Thornwood asked, his fingers hovering at the side of her head. It took Mouse a moment to remember the flowers.
“The painting in my bedroom is escaping its frame,” she said as they slipped into the study. Book spines gleamed on the shelves. Thornwood missed a step, but he recovered quickly.
“It must be another place where the magic is spreading unevenly. But, like the portraits, Beckett will not notice it.”
“Are you sure it’s nothing to worry about?”
He took both her hands, pressing them tight between his fingers. “I’m sure.”
She hummed. In her anxiety, she was reading too much into his behavior, she thought. “I am sorry. I know I am being ridiculous. It’s just that we have worked so hard, and it’s all culminating today.”
“I know,” he said. “There is nothing to worry about now. If anything goes awry, I can curse him after the fact.”
Mouse laughed. “Tragically, I have to put my foot down at cursing.”
“Damn, my plans for tomorrow are foiled,” he quipped.
Thornwood stepped out into the gardens, leaving Mouse to follow him. It struck her again that this was the last day of their partnership.
She felt as though she was standing on a cliff and the doorway out to the gardens was the spiked precipice. The task had so consumed her that she had not even considered what she would do next, but now the uncertainty gaped in front of her. She would return to Le Temple des Fées to collect Roger, of course…And she would say goodbye to Thornwood and the world of Faerie.
“Mouse, did you get lost?” Thornwood shouted back at her, breaking through her spiral of anxiety.
“Coming,” she called. She shook herself. These were questions for tomorrow. She needed to focus. After receiving Beckett’s approval, she could worry about the rest of her life. Including the Thornwood question.
A leaf fluttered in front of her face, landing at her feet. She looked up to find a branch shooting out from the corner of the doorframe. A budding rose nestled between the wood and the window, sprouting directly out of the wall.