Dr. Rowan had left an hour ago, and Catherine dozed, trying to regain some measure of her strength. As she slept, she dreamed that Mr. Thorn came to her window and knocked on it as if it were a door. She opened the window and he floated outside it like an angel. His long hair was loose and billowing. He wore a white shirt with a few of the top buttons undone. His olive skin glowed with a golden light. She fell into his arms and he wrapped her in his embrace. He caught her beneath her knees and carried her, with her head pressed against his chest. She could hear the beating of his heart like a drum. They flew to the forest without need for wings. It should have been terrifying, but in the dream she felt safe. She saw the forest stretch out in front of her, a green carpet that went on past the horizon. I did not know the forest was quite so massive, she mused.
He dipped down and they dove beneath the canopy of trees. In the forest everything was alive with color. The trees were a luminescent green. She had to shade her eyes from their brilliance. Small animals scurried about between roots; their pelts looked silken and soft. They had large liquid eyes that they watched Mr. Thorn and her with as they flew overhead. A flock of multicolored birds burst from within the foliage. Mr. Thorn plucked a flower from a bush nearby and presented it to Catherine. The bloom had an intoxicating aroma, like springtime and warm bread rolled together. The petals were the size of her hands.
She turned to Mr. Thorn and said, "What is this place?"
He threw back his head and laughed. "This is your kingdom."
Then he led her into a clearing where creatures with wooden limbs, joints made of knots, and hair made of ivy danced about. Their limbs twisted and contorted in positions she could never hope to manage. The sound of their footsteps clattered on the ground like the pitter patter of rainfall. The tempo of their dance increased, and the sound was more like a storm blowing through trees or wind buffeting a windowpane.
Catherine woke with a start when she realized the tapping was coming from her window. She could see between the curtains an owl was pecking at the glass pane with its beak. No, that cannot be real. I will close my eyes, and when I open them, the owl will be gone. She closed her eyes but the tapping continued. Owls do not talk, nor do they go knocking on people's windows.
Despite Catherine's insistence to ignore her hallucination, it would not let her, and the tapping became more fevered. It was loud enough that if she were not positive it was a figment of her imagination, she would have been concerned someone might hear. After several minutes, Catherine went and drew the curtains on the owl, effectively shutting out her madness from herself.
The tapping, of course, persisted. Catherine paced back and forth with her hands pressed over her ears trying to drown out the sound. The glass rattled as something collided with it, followed by an alarmed squawk as if the owl was throwing itself against the window. She could stand it no longer. She ran over to the window, yanked back the curtains, and then threw open the window.
The owl flew in with a gust of wind, which brought with it a chill. The owl swooped across the room and landed on a chair by the fire. She ruffled her feathers and fidgeted on the back of the chair as if warming herself by the fire.
"Why did you keep me waiting?" the owl accused.
"Because birds do not knock at windows!" Catherine snapped. "Or talk..." she added as an afterthought. She pressed her hand against her mouth. That was rude, even if this is just my own imaginings.
"You say that, yet here I am." The bird spread her wings. Her underside was white, but her head and back were crested with amber, framing her eyes and beak in a heart shape.
This must be a dream. I am still asleep in my bed, and this is a continuation of my dreaming. "Why are you here?" It seemed the next logical thing to say.
"I've brought an invitation from the court of the Thorn Dwellers." The owl puffed up her chest, and Catherine suspected she was proud of her errand. Strange she would give a dream bird pride.
She would not have done so in real life, but in her dreams she felt free to act on her impulses. She snorted derisively. If she were awake, she would have been terrified after everything she had heard about the Thorn Dwellers. "How regal, am I to have tea with a princess of the Thorn Dwellers, or maybe you're here to invite me to court to be wooed by a prince?" She imagined a fairy prince would look like Mr. Thorn. He had a wild beauty about him with his sharp angular face and long hair. She blushed to think he had carried her into the manor. How embarrassing!
It was Tabitha's turn to scoff, but hers sounded more like a screech. "Hardly. We no longer have a prince or princess, not that I am allowed to speak about that." She tilted her head away as if she had said too much and dared not look at Catherine for fear she would ask more.
I never knew my dreams could be so complex, Catherine thought. I cannot recall one ever being so vivid either.
"What is the invitation, then, a ball?" Hysterical laughter was threatening to bubble up. This was all strange beyond belief, even for a dream.
The owl had her head cocked to one side, her golden eyes trained on the door. "I best hurry. The parlor maid will be here with your tea shortly."
"I am certain she will. Perhaps you should leave?" Why can I not speak like this all the time? How wonderful it would be to speak my mind freely.
"I'll be brief, then. The court is extending a special invitation to you to join the forest dance, in a week hence. The gateway to the Otherworld will open at dusk. Follow the music to the dance."
The word music hung on the air. Catherine's throat grew tight and her heart pounded. Colonel Hawthorn warned me never to follow the music into the forest. I did not listen once and I revealed everything to Mr. Thorn. What if the colonel is right and there is something sinister living in those woods? She shook her head. None of that mattered; this was all a dream. "A forest dance? I will be sure to wear my best gown and ribbons," Catherine replied, hoping ridicule would reinstate some of her confidence; it did not. She was ready to wake up. This dream was too realistic and too distressing.
"That won't be necessary. Come as you are; we do not put on airs in the Thorn Dwellers' Court," the owl said. It would appear the owl was not affected by Catherine's bluntness.
Catherine's laughter burst from her; she could hold it back no longer. This was utterly absurd. Even in her wildest fantasies she would never have imagined something this strange, being invited to a dance in the forest by an owl? "Shall I wear my nightgown, then? Is that to suit?" She giggled, amused by her own vapid commentary.
The owl's large golden eyes raked Catherine up and down. "I have no eye for human garb, but I am sure that would be fine." She hooted as if amused at her own joke. "Now I must be off. Make sure to come once you hear the music playing a week from now, and remember to shut the window after me."
Without so much as a by your leave, the owl spread her wings and flew out the open window from whence she came. Catherine wanted to go back to bed, and she hoped to wake in a saner place. Not before closing the window--it seemed rude to ignore a direct request, even if she had dreamed it. As she was walking towards the window, she heard footsteps on the landing. By the time she had closed the window and climbed back in bed, the maid had entered with a tray.
"Lunch, my lady," Miss Brown said. She was pretty with a small oval face, almond-shaped eyes and glossy chestnut hair topped with a white cap. She had a petite waist with a white frilled apron tied around it.
Catherine watched, her mouth agape, as she set the platter down on a nearby table. This is all a part of the dream. That's how the owl knew.
Miss Brown poured Catherine's tea. Catherine picked it up out of habit and tipped it to take a drink. Her hands were shaking and the tea sloshed over the side of the cup, and the scalding water burnt her hand. Catherine hissed at the pain and sucked the injured finger.
"My lady, are you hurt?" the maid said without enthusiasm.
Catherine nodded absently. She knew she was no favorite among the staff, especially Miss Brown, who she had overheard go
ssiping about her when she first arrived at Thornwood. "I am fine. It's just a small burn, nothing serious." She did worry about her tone, or how the servant would react to her burning her hand. She felt pain, which meant she was not dreaming. And that meant an owl had come and invited her to dance in the forest. Her hands were trembling worse than before. I tried to discount the colonel's stories, but they're true. The Thorn Dwellers are trying to lure me into the woods to steal my heart! I must talk to Colonel Hawthorn and get his advice; he alone will understand.
The maid finished setting the lunch things on a tray and set it over Catherine's knees. The scent of tea was intoxicating. Catherine took it in shaking hands, using it as an anchor in her unsteady world.
"If you would be so kind, I would like to have my writing things brought to me; I have a letter to write. And if you could have it sent to Colonel Hawthorn, it would be greatly appreciated."
Miss Brown stopped what she was doing and looked at her mistress for the first time. "You have not heard?" she said. She did not expend much effort to hide the ridicule in her tone.
"Heard what?" The tightness was beginning to close around Catherine's throat again.
"The colonel passed last night. They say it was from a weak heart." She looked around to the door, perhaps making sure no one was going to come through it. Then she leaned in close to Catherine. "I heard a rumor from the boy who worked for him that last night he saw a monster break into the window of his study. The boy told me he was so terrified he ran home and dared not look back. The colonel was always going on about Those Who Dwell in the Thorns." She rolled her eyes. "Maybe they finally silenced him for good."
Catherine grasped at her throat, more terrified than she had been before. "That's enough, Miss Brown." Her words came out harsher than she had intended, but she could not stand to hear another word. This all had to be a nightmare. How can I doubt the truth? The colonel tried to warn me and he died for it. I have been trying to discount it, calling it madness, and now a man is dead.
Miss Brown straightened up and sniffed. Any brief comradery they shared had evaporated. "Is there anything else I could do for you, my lady?" She drew out Catherine's title.
"No, thank you," Catherine said in a small voice.
The parlor maid turned and left Catherine alone. She wanted to rationalize the entire thing away. She knew the villagers were superstitious. Of course they would want a more fantastic story than a simple heart attack. She had seen for herself that Col. Hawthorn was of ill health. She could not forget her conversation with Mr. Thorn. He insisted she open her eyes to see what was in front of her. What if the colonel's death was murder? Then there was a monster on the loose in Thornwood, which meant the Thorn Dwellers were real. Catherine's gaze swept across the room to where she had conversed with the owl. Lying on the floor beneath the chair the owl had perched upon was one lone white feather. She could deny all she wanted but the truth was right there in front of her, just as Mr. Thorn said. They are real, and they want my heart.
Chapter Thirteen
It was early afternoon. In the forest, light would be filtering through the trees. He should be resting in the crook of his favorite tree, dozing in the sun of the Otherworld. Instead, he was walking down a damp gray road in the human world on his way to put out yet another fire. This time of day, he had learned, was favored by the humans. They spent endless hours visiting one another, babbling on about their menial lives. They live such finite lives you would think they would find better ways to use their time. It was one of many curious things the humans did that Ray could make no sense of, and since he could make no sense of it, he gave it little thought. Ray whistled softly to himself. The echoes of the notes bounced around the fog and back at him. Even the sun could not break through the cloud cover, and the world was a washed-out monotone. In general he found the human world flat and boring, but lately it had been even more depressing.
He arrived at his destination, but something in the air did not feel right. He hesitated at the garden gate of a moderately sized human dwelling. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Someone has been here. He opened up his senses that he normally kept closed around humans. He shut his eyes and reached for the magic locked tight inside him. He liked to imagine a small chest buried at the back of his head. He pulled out his imaginary key and unlocked the box. The magic flooded his body like lightning shooting into his fingertips and rippled through his abdomen like a wave down to his toes. He gasped as the power flooded him. It was a burning but welcome sensation. He had forgotten how empty he felt without the constant buzz of magic. When he opened his eyes, they were a luminescent green. He glanced about. He could see the green veins of life tracing through the inside of the trees bordering the house. Beneath the garden he could see the network of roots, bright as sunshine, pulling from the current of magic that pulsed beneath the ground like a river.
He glanced across the garden. It was thick with fog, but with his enhanced sight he could see beyond the mundane. He saw dark magic clinging to the cobblestones like a black slug. There were massive paw prints left on the ground, polluting the location. The nearby plants were wilting from the poison left by the touch of black magic. That's why the fog was so thick around the house; the plants were trying to protect themselves from the taint. It hung about the roof like a woman's shawl. Ray searched the building from top to bottom, and then his eyes came to rest on the broken window. Glass lay scattered on the roof and on the ground beneath some rose bushes. The black magic clung to the opening in the window, and the paw prints were so numerous on the roof he could not pick out a single print among the mass.
"Damn," he swore.
He clamped down on the magic; he did not lock it up but left it just beneath the surface within easy reach, if need be. He waited until his eyes switched back to their more human brown. He could taste the magic at the back of his throat like sweet memories. Soon I will be free to use my magic and I will no longer have to wear this human skin. He did not have time to be bitter about his plight. There was a mess to be cleaned up, and on his head be it if someone else discovered what had happened here.
He rapped on the front door though he did not put much hope in an answer. Much to his surprise, a frazzled servant came to the door. From the looks of her she appeared to be a maid. She was wearing a faded blue gown with a white apron over it. There were dark stains on the apron, which smelled like soot. She had mousy brown hair that frizzed and haloed her head. Her eyes were large and terrified.
"Oh please, sir, you must call for a constable. My master, he's been murdered!"
"What?" Ray feigned surprise. It is as I feared.
"It's true, sir. I went in to change out the fireplace and found him--" She was pale as new milk as she pressed her knuckles to her lips to stifle her tears.
"Where was the body found? In what state was it?" Ray asked.
She shook her head. She will be of no more use. I have to see the body myself. He grabbed the girl by her shoulders. She lifted her eyes, wide with alarm, to him.
"You must call for Dr. Rowan. Your master collapsed in his study. It seems it was his heart," Ray said in a steady voice. He made sure to maintain eye contact or the suggestion would not stick.
Her eyes glazed over and her lips fell slack. "Yes, the doctor told him his heart was weak."
"Yes. Now be a good girl and go fetch the doctor." Ray patted her on the head.
She shook herself a bit, coming back to the present. "The master is up the stairs. I shall be back shortly; I must fetch Dr. Rowan." She did not wait for Ray's response and instead hurried out the front door and through the garden before she was absorbed by the mist.
Ray turned to the stairs and climbed to the second floor. He could smell the black magic thick as perfume in the air. Even without unlocking his second sight, he could see a faint veil of black hovering over the room in which the colonel had died. He drew nearer, and the stench of it turned his stomach. Luckily the door was left open by the maid, and he did not ne
ed to touch the steel knob. He gritted his teeth and stepped into the room.
The body was lying on the ground in front of the fireplace. The carpet was stained red with blood. He could see the hint of a floral pattern at the edges of the carpet. There were paw prints on nearly every surface. Blood was smeared on the mantel of the fireplace where the colonel had struggled with his attacker.
Ray swallowed past the rising bile and crouched down beside the body. The colonel's eyes were open and wide with terror. The whites of his eyes were stark against the blood splatter on his face. His mouth was open in a scream, and his white hair was sprinkled with blood. His throat had been torn out and the layers of skin and flesh had been folded back like a grotesque Christmas present. His stomach had been torn into, and it appeared whatever had attacked had made a feast of him. Though Ray did not want to, he ran a testing hand across the man's chest. His heart remained. He exhaled. Maybe it was an unrelated attack.
Ray stood up and walked over to the window. He could not stand to look at the gruesome sight another moment. He wiped his hands on a nearby curtain. The window looked out onto the lane. He could see nothing but a wall of fog for miles. I did not realize it had gotten so bad. If I do not bring Lady Thornton to the forest soon, it may be too late. A monster is loose and killing with abandon, the fog grows thicker daily, and the forest grows weaker.
There was a chair nearby; he swept the glass off it and sat down. He leaned his head forward and cradled it in his hands. How much longer can I wait? I cannot afford another failure. They will not allow me another. Lady Thornton has to be the one, but is she ready? She believes herself to be mad. I cannot have another Evelyn Smith. He tilted his head back and heaved a sigh. These dark thoughts did not serve him. Time to get to business. I suppose putting off this grizzly work will not make it any easier.
He snapped his fingers together and a green flame burst there. He blew onto it and the flame flickered and stretched into an orb. The orb rolled about in his hand and then a wing broke forth from the mass, followed by a head with a beak, a second wing and a pair of three-pronged feet. A small bird made of green flame regarded him with black eyes.
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