Heart of Thorns
Author: Nicolette Andrews
Date: 2016-04-26 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Fae; Romance; Fantasy Romance; Historical Fiction; Adult; Fiction; Historical Romance; Fairies
Description: A girl is dead. But no one remembers her, except Catherine. In a town full of secrets, asking questions can cost your life. But when neighbors start dying one by one, no one seems to remember the murders but her. Now, Catherine has to stop the killer, before she becomes his next victim. Heart of Thorns is a fantasy mystery novel with a hint of magic and romance. This book is perfect for fans of gothic mysteries. Author Nicolette Andrews draws from her love of gothic novels, fantasy and mystery weaving them all together in this series starter.
Rights: All rights reserved (#1380545355216411)

Contents

Copyright

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Epilogue

About the Author

Copyright © 2016 Nicolette Andrews

Cover Art by Nadica Borshivka

Cover Design by Imogenary Design

Edited by Katrina Crane

All rights reserved.

***

I must first tip my hat to my husband for his support and love. I thank my readers for their feedback and encouragement. I also must thank Nadica for her beautiful cover. This is one of my favorites. And last but not least thank you, Pauline for your insight and knowledge. I have a fabulous team and I would be lost without them.

Prologue

It was not advisable to be out at this time of night. Any respectable woman would be tucked away in bed. She just could not stand going back there and let Miss Brown humiliate her. I never thought country folk could be so cruel, she thought as she wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Her auburn braid swung back and forth as she hurried down the road. The night pressed in around her. It was darker here in the country and too quiet. Each step on the gravel crunched and echoed through the night. The air was thick with moisture. As the dark grew deeper, she wondered if she should turn around and face the music. She'll be waiting for me in our room with that smug look on her face, knowing I was too afraid to do it.

Something scuffled up ahead on the road and gave her pause. She stopped, heart hammering in her chest. Maybe being too afraid is better than dying at the hand of some monster.

"Who's there?" A shiver ran up her spine. Silence followed her question, and she began to wonder if she had been hearing things. I'm letting her get into my head; it's all just village superstition.

In the distance she heard the howl of some dog, but it was much too feral and wild sounding to be a real dog. Don't be ridiculous. There haven't been wolves in these parts in centuries. You're letting the night scare you. You're better than this, Evelyn, she chided herself.

She continued on her way, a warm cider at the inn and pub, The Fairy Bride, was sounding better all the time. I'll have a drink and sit by the fire and let Miss Brown worry about explaining my absence to Mrs. Morgan. Just the thought of Miss Brown sputtering a flimsy excuse when the housekeeper came around to do her nightly check brought a smile to Evelyn's face. She kept her shawl clutched close and rubbed her arms with the flat of her hands. There was a definite chill in the air. The night was silent after that mournful howl. Gravel clattered together, signaling footsteps behind her. Evelyn quickened her pace. She could see the distant light of The Fairy Bride just past the grouping of trees at the end of the road. Yellow light spilled from behind opaque diamond-shaped glass. The door swung open, and local patrons tumbled out, the sound of laughter drifting on the air. I am nearly safe, she thought. A hand fell hard on her shoulder. She screamed. She tried to fight against her assailant, but he spun her around, grabbing her by both shoulders, forcing her to face him.

"Please let me go. I never did no harm to no one," she sobbed. Her chin wobbled as she shook all over.

He laughed. A mocking sort of sound that brought her back from her terror quicker than anything else could. She looked up through her tear-clustered lashes into a handsome face.

"Miss Smith, it's a bit late for you to be out and about," he said with a crooked smile that made her heart skip a few beats.

She exhaled with relief. "Mr. Thorn, I thought you were one of those terrible creatures, the one the villagers are always talking about."

He grinned and patted her on the top of her head. It was an oddly familiar gesture that set her heart to pounding for a different reason entirely. She had noticed Mr. Thorn before; how could she not? He was tall with wide shoulders and long wavy hair that bordered on obscene. He was almost pretty with neat angular features and full lips. His hands were large with long tapered fingers. He had almond eyes and olive skin. He was exotic enough that she wondered if he was English at all. She'd heard a story passed around that his mother had been a Spanish dancer who had fallen in love with an Englishman. He had the skin for it, and his hair was a glistening chestnut.

Evelyn had worked in many a household in her twenty-one years and she had never seen a gentleman half as beautiful as Mr. Thorn, and he was only a gardener. It seemed ludicrous that someone this gorgeous spent his days toiling in the earth. He was the reason she had snuck out, at Miss Brown's insistence; it was not just Evelyn's eye Mr. Thorn had caught, but every able-bodied woman who worked and lived at Thornwood Abbey. Miss Brown had pressured Evelyn into sneaking out to have a drink with the gardener. Had Evelyn refused, Miss Brown would have told Mrs. Morgan who had stolen the silver. In truth it was Miss Brown who was the thief, but Evelyn had no way of proving it. Evelyn was new. She had only been on the job two weeks, and Miss Brown's family had worked for the manor for generations. Mrs. Morgan was not likely to believe Evelyn over Miss Brown. So here she was, out past curfew, caught on the roadside by a dangerously handsome man. Not that she thought anything would come of this rendezvous. Mr. Thorn was beyond what she could hope for even in her wildest dreams.

"There's no need to fear. It is only me," he said, bringing her back to the here and now. "Since we have happened to meet, perhaps you would like to go with me to The Fairy Bride for a drink?"

She was too shocked to even voice her assent. She pressed her hands to her lips to stifle her surprised 'oh' that was threatening to spill out. She had no real intention of actually asking Mr. Thorn to get a drink with her. She was just going to pretend. Her heart beat faster; this was too perfect for words.

He offered her his crooked arm, and she took it delicately. She pressed the barest tips of her fingers to his arm and felt the soft velvet of his coat. It was dark out still, but she hardly noticed now that she was with Mr. Thorn. It was as if he were a beacon in the night, lighting their way.

Together they went into the pub, where he ordered her a drink. They sat at a table by the fire, and the night went by in a happy blur. She felt many a jealous eye on her from the women patrons. She had no doubt that Miss Brown would hear about this, and she could only imagine the nasty things she would say, but for once, Evelyn did not care. When it got late, Mr. Thorn got up to settle the check.

When he was at the bar speaking with Mr. Humphry, the owner of The Fairy Bride, settling their tab, she felt the weight of the villagers' stares upon her. She squirmed for a moment before she could take it no longer. She slid out the front door, intent on waiting for Mr. Thorn outside. She caught his eye on the way out. He inclined his head and smiled to her. Her heart filled with that warm glow all over again. Even the cold outside did little to staunch her good cheer.

She rocked on the balls of her feet back and forth for a few minutes as she waited. Mr. Thorn is taking quite a while. She looked back at the door, wondering if she should go in and check. She hesitated. It was no secret that the residents of Thornwood were not welcoming to outsiders. Many of their families had built Thornwood hundreds of years ago. The family of Lord Thornton, her employer, had established the village, if local legend could be believed. It was said the village came into existence sometime during the reign of the legendary King Arthur.

A song drifted on the night air. It wrapped around Evelyn, and she snapped her head up. It seemed to be coming from the woods across from the inn. The Fairy Bride was set along the main road that led to the village proper. Like much of the village, the woods crept in to press against the buildings and other manmade structures. Though Evelyn did not miss the smoke and gray of London, she did find the ominous dark forests frightening, especially at night. They were full of unfamiliar noises, the occasional hoot of an owl or the crunch of leaves as a deer took flight through the underbrush.

The song dominated all those other sounds; it pulled at Evelyn, calling her forward. Come to us, it seemed to be saying. Dance, my child. Let your fears go. She stood in the light coming from the few remaining lit windows in the inn. Mr. Thorn would want to walk back with her, she shouldn't stray or he might think she headed back on her own, but she could not deny the pull of the song. She moved, her feet hesitant at first, then more assured.

She stumbled over a few rocks and fell to her knees. The pain that shot up her leg brought her back to the present. The song died away, and in its wake the darkness was more complete. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light of night, with nothing but the stars and a sliver of the moon to guide her. Why have the lights in the inn gone out? She did not have much time to puzzle the reason because a figure approached. The stars outlined his figure in a thin string of light. His features were left in shadow.

"Mr. Thorn, I am so embarrassed. I thought I heard something in the woods, and then I fell. Please don't laugh. My mother used to say I would trip over my own breath if I could." She tried to stand, but before she could regain her feet, he slammed her back against the ground. He pinned her body by the shoulders against the hard cold ground, and her hips were straddled by his powerful thighs. "Mr. Thorn, what are you doing?" She struggled to break free, kicking her legs and wriggling her torso, to no avail.

"Hush," he said, his voice was husky, his breath warm against her face.

I am a fool! What else will a man think of a woman sneaking out after dark? I have done this to myself. This is why Miss Brown forced me to go. I knew she wanted the lady's maid position. How could I have been so stupid? They must have planned this together. I'll be ruined!

She tried to scream for help, but he covered her mouth with his hand. He ripped her bodice with ease; the ripping sound echoed back at her, compounding her shame. She sobbed as she felt the cool knife brush her skin as her petticoat was cut as well. Her flesh pimpled as it was exposed to the evening's chill.

He leaned in to whisper in her ear, "Don't worry, my pet, I don't want your body. I'm only after your heart."

She screamed as the knife he had used to tear her clothes was thrust hilt deep into her chest.

Chapter One

Catherine sat before her vanity, and her pale reflection stared back at her. The maid shuffled about the room, stoking the fire and carrying away a bucket of ashes. Rain pattered on the window outside, and Catherine sighed. I hate this place. I wish I could return home to Momma and Poppa. She shook her head. With thoughts like that, you do sound selfish. You are very fortunate and should be happy with your lot.

The truth was Catherine could not shake the eerie feeling her new home gave her. Thornwood Abbey was a dark and brooding place. The stone façades were gray and limed with white from age and the elements. The high turrets looked reminiscent of something out of the dark ages, and if Mrs. Morgan, the housekeeper, was to be believed, this house had at one time been a castle. Catherine was inclined to believe her. The halls were narrow in places and covered in dark wood. The ancient portraits she had surveyed with the housekeeper the previous day had felt as if they were staring at Catherine, assessing her and finding her wanting. If only I could see Edward; perhaps seeing his smiling face would put me at ease. It had been most peculiar; she had seen little of her husband since their arrival at her new home.

There was an explanation for his absence. A memory that was tugging at the back of her mind came to the forefront. She stared into the mirror. Her reflection melted into a dark night. A flash of light drew her eyes, and she watched a lumbering figure move through the mist. The gait of it was humanoid, but it hunched forward, its hands almost dragging upon the ground. The thick arms were covered in fur, and the torso was bare. The head was wolflike with a large muzzle dripping with cords of saliva. Its red eyes gleamed as it looked out at Catherine from the mirror, its jaw opened in a cruel parody of a smile. The clouds moved in front of the moon, blocking out the light, and the creature was plunged into darkness once more. Not before it let out a guttural howl.

Catherine screamed and jumped up, knocking over the vanity chair in the process. She scrambled backwards and pressed herself against the far wall. She shut her eyes to close off the terrifying image, the monstrous creature of nightmares.

"Lady Thornton?" The maid shook Catherine by the shoulders.

Please go away. Leave me alone. She would not voice these commands but continued to tremble. It was not real; none of it is real. Open your eyes or she'll think you're mad.

Catherine took a deep shuddering breath. "I apologize, Miss...?" Mrs. Morgan, the housekeeper, had introduced her to the staff the day prior, and Catherine had been determined to remember all their names, but she could not recall the maid's name. Catherine opened her eyes. The maid was looking up at Catherine and had large brown eyes and a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Catherine saw a few strands of auburn hair poking out from beneath her white cap.

"It is Miss Smith, my lady." The maid took a step back and bowed.

Catherine smiled, but it felt forced. She hoped Miss Smith did not notice. She desperately wanted the people of her husband's household to like her. She had been very close with Miss Hudson, her parents' housemaid and sometimes lady's maid. She took a tentative look into the mirror; no image remained but her own reflection. Oh no, I am seeing things again. Catherine forced her smile wider so her distress would not show on her face. "Thank you for your concern, Miss Smith. I thought I saw a mouse."

Miss Smith frowned as if she found that hard to believe. It was a flimsy excuse; in a house as grand as this, it seemed unlikely they would be plagued by something as pedestrian as mice. Catherine turned away. Her shame was burning on her cheeks.

"I think I will head down to breakfast," Catherine said to change the subject.

"Before you go, there's something I need to say to you," Miss Smith said.

Catherine hesitated and turned around to face the maid, afraid she would threaten to tell someone about her episode. "What is it you wish to tell me?"

The maid fixed her with her gaze, holding Catherine with anticipation. "You see, I know I should not have, but I overheard some of the men talking when they carried you in last night and, well..."

What is she talking about? I arrived the night before last and in perfect health. I spent the entire day yesterday touring the manor with Mrs. Morgan. She did not want to speak out against Miss Smith. The words caught in her throat; she hated to be contrary--even if she knew she was right. She felt compelled to correct the miscommunication in this instance, since there seemed to be some confusion. "You mean when we arrived the other night," Catherine said.

Miss Smith glanced around as if expecting interruption. "No, my lady, last night when you and his lordship arrived, you were carried in. You were both unconscious."

Catherine shook her head, trying to disengage the thought. She's lying. I remember our arrival clearly. It was raining, and Mr. Hobbs brought out an umbrella and ushered us inside. There were no problems whatsoever with our journey. It suddenly felt difficult to breathe, as if her corset was too tight.

Miss Smith seemed unaware of her mistress' distress because she continued. "I know what you saw; I have seen it too. Folks around here try to pretend it doesn't exist, but I refuse to ignore it." She pressed her hand against her chest just over her heart.

Catherine spun around, her rigid back turned to Miss Smith. "I do not know what you're talking about, and I wish you would stop. I am of delicate health..." She clamped a hand over her mouth, wishing she could recall those last simple words. She had planned to keep her health a secret. I know how servants like to gossip. Catherine turned back around and prepared to beg Miss Smith to keep her silence.

A sharp knock at the door drew both of their attentions. Miss Smith's eyes were large as saucers.

"Come in," Catherine said in a strangled voice.

The door creaked open, and Mrs. Morgan strode in. She was a tall woman, taller by a head than Catherine, and plump. She wore a black gown with a ring of keys at her hip. She had curly black hair that she wore in a bun at the top of her head. A few strands had been curled and framed her face. She had lined features with deep creases around her mouth.

"My lady, I came to bring you down to the breakfast room," Mrs. Morgan said with a hand placed on her hip.

She thinks I cannot find my own way, so she has come to fetch me. Though Thornwood Abbey was enormous, Catherine felt capable enough of finding her own way about. She could not begrudge the housekeeper, however, because her arrival had interrupted her conversation with Miss Smith.

Catherine glanced over to the maid but found she had slipped out of the room when she was not looking. It is for the best, I suppose, she told herself.

"I see you are dressed. Shall we?" Mrs. Morgan pointed a thick arm out into the hall, motioning for Catherine to exit.

Catherine nodded mutely and followed her out of her room and down the stairs.

Breakfast entailed a long table draped in white linen, three footmen and the butler, Mr. Hobbs, standing over her as she ate. Mr. Hobbs, in contrast to Mrs. Morgan, was tiny. He hardly came up to Catherine's chin. He had gray wingtips in his brown hair, which was balding on top near his crown. He had a large bulbous nose, which was red and bumpy. He wore a coat and white gloves as he served her from the banquet at the far end of the room. The footmen stood sentry, prepared to jump up and attend to her slightest whim.

Catherine stared down at her platter, the eggs and toast she had selected had appeared much more appetizing when Mr. Hobbs had first served them. However, when she picked up her fork, preparing to skewer her food, a funny notion came over her.

She set down her fork and turned to look at the servants. The first footman, Mr. Fox she believed was his name, rushed forward. He had flaming red hair and skin so pale she wondered if he made it outdoors. He was lean and his coat fit him tight at his slender waist before tapering out, accentuating his long legs. When he leaned over to speak, she could see his dark eyes that were just a bit too close together.

"Is there anything you need, my lady?" he said with a disinterested tone.

Catherine glanced down at her platter. The soft-boiled egg had a broken yoke. Bright yellow bled over the blue pattern upon the china. I had a thought just now as if I was supposed to be somewhere else just before, but I cannot recall clearly.

"My lady?" Mr. Fox prompted once more with a hint of agitation in his voice.

"Will Lord Thornton be coming down to breakfast?" Catherine said after a long pause.

Mr. Fox furrowed his bright orange brows and said, "The master never takes breakfast in the morning room."

Catherine blushed, feeling a fool for asking something the servant considered obvious. There was still much to learn about her husband, she realized. Again, that funny sensation would not leave her. I should know this. It is my second day here. The footman had taken a step back as she said, "Is my husband well?"

"Is he well, my lady?" Mr. Fox said with an arched brow.

An image of Edward lying unconscious on the ground beside her flashed through her mind. Catherine shook the thought away, perhaps a lingering nightmare, nothing more. "I meant to say, it is not good for him to skip meals."

"He does not, my lady," Mrs. Morgan said as she swept into the morning room.

Catherine sank down in her chair as the woman surveyed her. There was something about the high-collared black gown and her severe expression that reminded Catherine of a governess that had terrified her as a child. "Pardon?" Catherine squeaked.

"The master eats his morning meal in the study; he does not skip meals. In fact, the former Lady Thornton took her breakfast in bed."

The statement was meant to shame her. The late Lady Thornton, Edward's mother, was most likely a true lady. Unlike Catherine, who knew nothing about the grand life her husband seemed to lead.

The housekeeper continued seemingly without noticing Catherine's silent reproach of herself. "His lordship will be busy tending to his affairs today and wishes that you be at your leisure." Her lip curled as if the very idea of relaxation was repulsive to her. "He asked that I send you his love, and he says he will see you tonight at the dinner party."

The dinner party, she had been dreading this evening. Edward insisted on having some friends from the neighborhood over to make introductions. I only hope I do not embarrass him tonight. "That would be pleasing," she said, hoping that would be an appropriate response. What did the wife of a gentleman of Edward's stature do with her day? She peered at her eggs once more. She had no stomach for them after all.

She pushed back her chair, or attempted to, as a footman, Mr. Byrd she recalled his name, ran forward and scooted it back for her. She was pleased with remembering the footman's name when she caught her foot on the leg of the chair and tumbled forward. Mr. Byrd, short and stocky, caught her easily. He rested his gloved hand in the small of her back as he helped her stand. She smiled at him in thanks, but he did not return the gesture. His lips were pressed in a thin line.

"Thank you," she murmured as a flush burned her skin along her cheeks and neck. He nodded his head and stepped back in line with the other two footmen. It would take some getting used to the servants; back home they had only the cook and one housemaid, and Catherine still helped with a good amount of the light house chores--sewing and mending, meal planning and the like. She wondered how Mother and Father were getting along without her.

"If you are finished eating, my lady, why not take a walk in the gardens?" Mrs. Morgan said, her arms folded over her chest.

"I thought we might speak about the household management; what is expected of me?"

Mrs. Morgan's expression gave nothing away, but her pause indicated she had not expected the inquiry. "Do not trouble yourself, my lady. I have always managed things here at Thornwood Abbey. If there is an important decision on décor or china, I shall consult you."

I suspect she thinks little of my intellect. Only in her thoughts could Catherine dare to be so tart. She longed for the ability to speak her mind, but the moment passed, and Mrs. Morgan, presumably, had better things to do and headed to the door.

The rain had ceased, and pale gray light was filtering in through the windows of the morning room. "Very well, I shall take a walk, then," Catherine said to her retreating back.

Mrs. Morgan stopped at the door leading out into the hall and said, "Be careful. The lawns can be hazardous when wet. Take care to stick to the marked paths." She took a few steps, hesitated, then turned around and added, "And stay clear of the woods by the south end. They are wild, and there's no pathways."

"Thank you for your kind advice." Catherine made a note to stay clear of that area. She had never like wooded areas; they never set well with her.

After donning an outdoor coat and a pair of boots, provided and draped upon her shoulders by a parlor maid named Miss Larson, Catherine was exalting in remembrance of another staff member's name. After blundering with Miss Smith that morning, she was determined to get to know the staff and have them like her. Mrs. Morgan and the others seemed cold, but she was certain once she got to know them they would be delightful people.

Catherine strolled along the well-maintained garden path. A lingering fog clung close to the ground, swirling about her ankles. The gravel path crunched beneath her boots. Gray dominated the scenery but for the green of the lawn and the shrubbery that fought the encroaching fog. Ash and oak trees loomed above everything, seemingly threatening the cultured spaces. The gardeners must be in a constant battle to keep these hedges from going wild and from the natural flora from encroaching upon the flower beds, Catherine mused. Maybe I can speak with the head gardener. I would love to plant irises. Perhaps I can be of some assistance there, at least. She turned a corner, contemplating the notion, when the chatter of two women stopped her in her tracks.

"I cannot understand it, Miss White. Why would someone of the master's status marry such a girl?"

"I have not the slightest, Miss Brown. The way I heard it, he got this funny idea in his head one day to visit his mother's cousin. Then not a week later, he was off. Next we heard, he's married some girl!"

"Have you seen her yet?" Miss Brown whispered.

"Yes, a pale little thing, dark hair and huge eyes. Utterly average, really, I cannot imagine a gentleman like him settling for someone like her."

"Maybe she has a bit of personality?" Miss Brown offered, though she sounded skeptical.

"Not that I have seen. She's silent as death, and when she speaks, you should hear the airs she puts on, you would think she is Queen Victoria herself!"

"Maybe Lord Thornton is enchanted, growing up next to that forest. I have heard some awful tales."

"Don't be daft. Those are just stories mothers tell their children to keep them minding."

"I would like to see you going for a stroll during a Thorn Dwellers' Moon."

Miss White laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Let's take this washing in. It won't dry out here in this wet."

The sounds of the gravel crunching beneath their feet pulled Catherine from her reverie. How disgraceful, to eavesdrop on the housemaids! Tears pricked her eyes, and even trying to blame herself did not take away the sting their words left. She backtracked the way she came, hoping to avoid an uncomfortable run-in with the gossiping maids. If she had been a braver woman, or even a brasher one, she would have confronted the two of them. However, her deeply ingrained manners kept her from doing so.

She hurried along the path, blinded by her tears. The fog seemed to be growing rather than dissipating, and before too long she did not know where she was. She looked up and the house loomed in the distance. A two-story manor, ivy clung to its sides, the turrets erupted through the fog like spears and the shutters were closed. In the swirling fog, one would think no one resided there. Trees lined the path she had stumbled upon. Judging from the overgrown beds, she suspected few came this way. A bench beneath an oak tree promised a good spot to rest and recollect herself.

The sun struggled to break through the haze of the earlier rainfall, and she shivered in her coat. The bench was practically ice as she sat down upon it. The cold seeped through her skirts, but she did not move, too afraid she would be seen tearstained and sniveling. Less than a week married and she was already longing for home. What would Mama think if she saw me now?

A breeze prickled the hairs on the back of her neck. Catherine looked up as the fog shifted and revealed a copse of tangled dark trees. They lay thirty paces from where she sat beyond the line of oaks, and swirled with mist. The branches seemed to reach out for one another, grasping and twisting until she could not decipher where one tree started and the other ended.

It struck her as odd to see such an untamed place among the manicured lawns and well-cared-for hedges and flower beds, well, except for these at her feet. It occurred to her: this must be the place of which Mrs. Morgan had spoken. A fine mess she had gotten into; she could not even follow a simple command. No wonder the servants had thought her unworthy of Edward; she was a simple girl, unfit for a gentleman of his status.

Tears were threatening the back of her lids once more when a faint song drifted on the wind. Catherine lifted her head to listen, straining to catch the tune. It beckoned to her. She stood and edged towards the end of the gravel path where the manicured lawns sloped down towards and crashed against the wild forest. The song grew clearer; if she just stepped a few feet closer, she could hear it better.

"I would not do that," an amused male voice said.

Catherine tensed and then twirled on the ball of her foot. A man with wavy dark hair tied into a knot at the base of his neck regarded her. He had a rake slung over his shoulder, and his white teeth flashed against his olive skin as he smiled at her. He seemed familiar though she was certain they had never met before. His smile was almost lewd, but that could have been her imagination. She ducked her head when she realized she had been staring.

"Haven't you heard the stories?" he asked, perhaps choosing to ignore her stare and failure to greet him.

The sensible thing to do would be to politely excuse herself, but her mouth moved without her consent. "What stories?"

"Those are the Thorn Dwellers' Woods. The locals say there are creatures who live in these woods, and at night they lure the unsuspecting in with their song before they take their heart."

She shivered and pulled her arms close to her. There was a reason she hated the untamed places; they were full of dark strange things. She thought of the vision from the mirror this morning. Her heart raced just thinking about it. Put it from your mind, she thought.

"What an awful tale," she said and hated the haughty contempt of her voice. He smiled again and she squirmed. "I should be heading back. It was a pleasure speaking with you..." She did not know his name and she was not certain she wanted to. A gentleman would never tell a lady such a ghastly tale. She attempted to move past him. It had been anything but a pleasure. Good manners, however, had been ingrained in her like breathing.

"How are you feeling, my lady?" he asked before she could get two steps.

She turned to face him. She had a feeling he meant something more than her state of being. "What do you mean?" She searched his face. He had full lips, high cheekbones, and eyes dancing with mirth. He was handsome. Even she could not deny that.

"You and his lordship had a long journey. I thought you would be tired." He grinned again, and she had the sneaking suspicion that there was more to his question than a friendly inquiry. Her cheeks burned when she realized this must be some sort of joke.

"I know what everyone here thinks of me, and perhaps they are right, but I am not stupid, and if you wish to laugh at my expense at least give me the decency of telling me what is so amusing." She clamped her hand over her mouth. How could she speak like that to a total stranger! What would Mother think if she saw her now?

"My apologies, my lady. There is no trick. I am genuinely concerned for your health." He bowed and extended his arms as he did so. His movements were as fluid as water and as elegant as a dancer.

His canniness should have been alarming. Instead, he intrigued her. "What is your name? We have yet to be introduced properly."

"My name is Ray, my lady."

"You have no surname?"

"It's Thorn, Ray Thorn." He smirked as if he were indulging in his own private amusement. Catherine felt the immediate urge to leave. Despite his assurances, she still felt she were the butt of some joke.

"It is a pleasure, Mr. Thorn. I should be going back now."

"The pleasure is all mine," he replied with a bow from the waist.

Uncertainty hurried her feet up the path, but at the top of the hill, she slid in the wet grass. She came crashing down to the ground, landing on her knees. As she climbed ungraciously back to her feet, she looked over her shoulder, expecting to see Mr. Thorn laughing at her expense, but found the spot vacated as if he had disappeared.

Chapter Two

The brush ran over the fabric of his dinner jacket with a scratch, scratch. Edward lost himself in the ministrations of long practice. Griffin had been in the family employ for the better part of two decades and had served his father before he had served Edward. Griffin's hair was grayer than black nowadays, and he had gone rather thick in the middle, but he still worked hard and had an eye for detail that was not easy to replicate.

Griffin put down the brush with a gentle clack. Edward opened his eyes and looked at the rain-streaked window. The weather had given them only a short reprieve. Once that afternoon, he had looked out his window to see the dim light pushing through the clouds. A glimpse of the sun was a welcome distraction from the tedium of estate management. The wheat was suffering from an overabundance of rain; the roots were rotting in the ground. A dozen sheep on another tenant farm had been killed by some kind of animal. Wolves, the tenant insisted. He swore he had heard howling the night it happened. Of course, that was not possible. It had to be wild dogs. Perhaps I should send out Mr. Wolfe to deal with this problem.

"What cufflinks tonight, my lord?" Griffin asked, bringing Edward back from matters of estate.

Edward was thoughtful for a moment. "I think the pearl." He pointed to the pair in the case that Griffin was standing beside.

"Good choice, my lord," Griffin said in his rumbling baritone. There was something reassuring about the older man that Edward attributed to Griffin's longtime employ in his household. While Griffin worked to dress him, Edward let the day's worries slip away.

Griffin pulled out the cufflinks from their velvet-lined case and was preparing to attach them to Edward's dinner jacket when thunder rumbled through the sky and Edward startled. He knocked the older man's hand aside, and the cufflink went flying. It hit the wall and fell behind a bureau.

"My apologies, Griffin. I don't know why I am so jumpy," Edward said somewhat sheepishly.

"Think nothing of it, my lord. It is normal for a young man to be excited about introducing his bride to his loved ones."

Edward smiled. I suppose I have a right to be excited. I am presenting my bride to my friends and family. I imagine they will all fall in love with her in an instant, just as I did.

Griffin sank down on his knees and was hard-pressed to hide the groan as he did so.

"Griffin, is it your knees again? Let me fetch the cufflink."

Griffin's wide face was awash with shock. "My lord, it would be an insult to me and my profession if I allowed you to get down on your knees and reach beneath this bureau. It is no great pain, just the natural ailments of time."

Edward squatted down beside his valet, watching for signs of pain, prepared to offer assistance if there need be any. Griffin gave pretty speeches, but in truth he was getting on in years. Service was a difficult occupation even for the most stout of men. Perhaps it's time I consider a pension and retirement for Griffin. It would be a shame to lose him; Griffin had been a faithful servant not easily replaced.

"Ah-ha, there you are," Griffin said as he retrieved the cufflink. He pulled his hand out, and though he tried to push away Edward's hand of assistance in getting him back to his feet, they managed it with little incident.

Griffin opened his hand to reveal his prize, and sitting beside the missing cufflink was a silver locket. "My lord, I found this alongside the cufflink."

He held it out for Edward, who was hesitant to take the trinket. It was a pretty item, engraved silver of a tree with bare branches that wrapped around the curved edges. The trunk of the tree had been carved into, and there was a heart with tiny initials there: MLA.

"Let me see that, Griffin." Edward held out his hand, and Griffin dumped it into his master's awaiting grip. The metal was warm to the touch, which seemed strange. Edward ran his finger along the raised metalwork.

There was a small button on one side that, when pressed, opened the locket. Inside was a silhouette of a woman. She had curly hair, a petite nose, and a long elegant neck. She was beautiful. I wonder who this belonged to. It had to be some long-lost heirloom, because he had never seen it before.

"Shall I take it, my lord?" Griffin held out his hand to take it from Edward.

Edward closed his hand around it, feeling oddly possessive of the trinket. "That won't be necessary, Griffin. I rather like it." Edward placed the locket into his inner jacket pocket and held out his arm for Griffin to put on the remaining cufflink. "Best get to dinner. I'm sure Mrs. Thornton is waiting for me."

Having finished dressing, he headed out and down the hall. Catherine emerged at the same time.

"Oh, Catherine, I beg your pardon for having kept you waiting." Edward swept over to her and gathered her hand in his. She was wearing long ivory evening gloves, and her dark hair had been curled and piled on top of her head. She wore a lightweight gown in ivory with a shawl in a warm brown.

Catherine took a step back as he drew in to plant a kiss on her lips. He took her resistance as a show of propriety. She was a timid creature, and that was what drew him to her. From the moment he had spotted her at the dinner party where they met, he had wanted to draw her out of herself. He wanted to get to know the Catherine who hid behind those lowered lashes.

"Lord Thornton, I hope you are well."

Her formal address cooled his ardor. His mother used to call his father Lord Thornton, and it always seemed cold and distant. "Catherine, darling, we are married now; you must call me Edward."

She blushed. It added delicate color to her pale skin. "Edward," she whispered.

He tugged her close and brought her so they were pressed against one another. He could smell the jasmine that had been used to scent her bath on her skin. She kept her gaze lowered, and he saw the blue veins along her eyelids and her dark lashes against her pale skin.

"We should prepare to greet our guests; they will be arriving soon," Catherine said.

She was not pushing him away, but she was stiff in his arms. I should not have waited to bring her to my bed; now she fears me. Well, I plan to remedy that this evening. Damn the estate and damn this party, I would take her back now if I could. The locket in his pocket seemed to blaze, burning against his flesh and exciting his carnal appetite.

"They shall be here too soon for my liking," he murmured before he captured her lips with his. Her lips were cold and hesitant at first, but after a moment she opened up to him. Her hands, uncertain where to rest, ended up on his arms. This kiss was so much different from their previous kisses: the brief peck at the altar and the goodnight kiss they shared upon their wedding night, whereupon they had both collapsed on their shared bed, leaving her a maiden for another day. I waited much too long; I cannot imagine what I was thinking. They had been married less than a week, and it seemed a blur. He had rushed home to deal with some matters of estate, not even taking time to take a honeymoon journey. Why did we rush? We are young, and these petty farm concerns, they can wait. This is my wife, flesh of my flesh. I have not seen her since we arrived at Thornwood Abbey. I have been too busy to see to her well-being; she must think herself neglected. I must remedy this.

They broke apart. Catherine was panting, and a few hairs had come loose and fell forward to frame her face. "Edward," she said breathlessly.

He tucked her hair behind her ear before tracing her cheek with his knuckles. "I have only just realized I have neglected you since we have come home. I am sorry for that."

Catherine inhaled sharply and looked about as if she did not know how to respond.

He tugged on one of her curls and drew her eyes back to him. "There's no need to be shy, Catherine. We are husband and wife now."

He saw the conflicted expression as her eyes darted this way and that as she tried to form a reply. He did not want to subject her to further torture and said, "Come to dinner, darling." He offered her his bended arm. She smiled a flash of brilliance that made him want to kiss her again, but he refrained, there would be time after dinner. They strode down the swirling staircase together and down into the entryway, where they were to greet their guests.

When he had sent out the invitations, he had thought to keep the gathering small. Just his closest companions and family, but as he made his list, it grew beyond a small gathering into a dinner party the size he had not seen since his father had passed three years ago.

"Darling, this is Dr. Rowan and his wife, Mrs. Rowan," Edward said, introducing their first guests.

The middle-aged couple shed their coats and handed them to Mr. Fox. Dr. Rowan had thinning red hair plastered to his head and spectacles on his round nose, and Mrs. Rowan had black hair liberally streaked with gray and a long thin face. Dr. Rowan took Edward's hand and gave it a firm shake. His wife gave Catherine a half smile, which stretched her thin face.

She took both of Catherine's hands in hers and said, "What a sweet creature you are, Lady Thornton." Then to Edward she exclaimed, "You have not done her beauty justice."

Edward beamed. "How does one describe the sun to someone who has lived their entire life in the dark?"

Catherine colored at the compliment. Edward took pleasure in bringing out that reaction in her. Perhaps I am not blundering as a husband after all.

More guests streamed in after; Col. Hawthorn, an aged former navy commander, shuffled in, leaning heavily on his cane.

"My lady." He bowed at the waist in greeting to Catherine. She looked at the man as if she were petrified. He had a white mustache, which drooped on either side of his face and made him appear as if he were perpetually frowning, which he was. Edward gave his wife's hand a squeeze. She looked up at him, and her terrified expression faded when she saw Edward smiling at her.

His sister Lydia and her husband, Patrick, came next along with his aunt, Isobel Rosewood. Lydia was all blonde exuberance. She had golden locks that she had curled and coifed up high in what he was sure was the latest fashion. She wore a rose-colored gown, which accentuated her trim waist. It was hard to believe she had her second son only a year ago. In contrast, Patrick was tall and thick in the shoulder and waist, with dark hair, which he kept short.

"Edward, I am so deliriously happy for you and Catherine!" Lydia said as she embraced Edward. She turned her attention on Catherine and kissed her on both cheeks in a familiar way. Lydia complimented Catherine's dress and asked her a string of questions without waiting for an answer. Patrick tugged on Lydia's arm and drew them into the parlor, saving Catherine from further attention.

Catherine's eyes followed them into the parlor, her mouth agape. She did not ask, but Edward answered anyway. "Yes, she's always that way."

Catherine flushed and looked at her feet. Edward only shook his head. She'll get used to her. I'm sure they'll be close as sisters soon enough. I just wish Edith could have come from London to meet her as well. We'll have to go see her and the children soon.

Aunt Isobel lingered to give Edward a quick hug that was featherlight. Aunt Isobel, a small woman with dark hair and a heart-shaped face, looked up at her nephew. "How was your journey?"

"Good, Aunt, but it is better to be home. I want you to meet my wife, Catherine."

Catherine looked even paler beside his aunt, who wore a gown in a deep burgundy color that complemented the golden color of her skin.

"I am pleased to meet you," Catherine said, not meeting the older woman's gaze.

Isobel grabbed Catherine by the chin and forced her to look up. "Don't fear looking your peers in the eye, child. You are Lady Thornton now; be proud of that," Aunt Isobel said in her soft voice.

Catherine gulped visibly and nodded her head. Isobel shared a stunning smile with Catherine before disappearing into the parlor. When the remainder of the guests came through, Catherine kept her chin up and smiled, greeting them in a warm way. It was a proud moment. I should have Aunt Isobel come around; Catherine will need help learning how to be Lady Thornton.

A few more groups came in: Reverend Alder, his wife and his oldest daughter, Miss Alder, came at the same time as Mr. and Mrs. Mapleton. Mr. Cedars and his son, Mr. Nathaniel Cedars, arrived amidst quarreling about seating in which Miss Lilac's name came up. They greeted Catherine and Edward before heading into the parlor to continue their argument. After them came Mrs. Lilac and her spinster daughter, Miss Lilac.

Edward thought the Lilacs were the final guests to arrive. He turned to escort Catherine into the parlor to speak with their guests when Mr. Hobbs made a last minute announcement.

"Mr. and Mrs. Ashton, my lord."

Edward stopped. Catherine had loosened up at last and was linking arms with him, at ease. He stiffened and turned to greet their late guests. Mr. Ashton was a wiry man with short blond hair that was predominately gray. Mrs. Ashton was a strawberry blonde with an artful streak of gray that ran through her hair. They stood in the entryway, looking at Edward before their gazes rested on Catherine. Mrs. Ashton's gaze was almost hostile in its assessment.

"Mr. Ashton, I thought you were in London for the season?" Edward said. He peered over their shoulder, looking for who he could not imagine. He felt Catherine watching him; perhaps she sensed his surprise. He discarded the feeling that someone was missing from their party.

"We came home early, and we were just in time to get your invitation," Mr. Ashton said with a broad smile. "I am sorry we're late. The storm delayed our departure somewhat."

"Think nothing of it, my old friend. We were just about to announce dinner." Edward motioned towards the parlor.

"Are you going to introduce us to your wife, Lord Thornton?" Mrs. Ashton's voice was cool.

Catherine peered up at Edward, waiting for him to take the lead. "Where are my manners? Mr. Ashton, Mrs. Ashton, this is my bride, Catherine Thornton."

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance," Catherine curtsied.

Mrs. Ashton pursed her lips but covered it with a smile when Edward took a second look. "You are a pretty thing. I can see why you stole Edward's heart."

Catherine blanched, and Edward decided the entire affair needed some smoothing over. He could not imagine why the Ashtons would be displeased with his bride. "I'm glad you both could come; I'd be honored if you would sit beside us at dinner."

"It would be an honor." Mr. Ashton beamed.

Edward gestured once more to the parlor. "Well, shall we, then?"

Edward, Catherine and their guests mingled in the parlor. When dinner was ready, Mr. Hobbs came in and made the announcement. The guests drifted out of the parlor and into the dining room. The footmen were waiting along the wall, in white gloves and tails, backs straight.

Catherine seemed apprehensive as they took their seats. She stared down at her place setting, the multitude of silverware, with a look of complete panic.

Edward leaned over to whisper in her ear, "Start from the outside and work your way in with each course."

She glanced at him with her large brown eyes and mouthed, 'Thank you.'

The first course was served, and Edward focused on entertaining the Ashtons. Mr. Ashton gave him a drawn out recounting of their time in London. He spoke at length about mutual acquaintances and the string of parties he had attended while in town. Next to Catherine was Mrs. Rowan, and she was attempting to draw Catherine into conversation. Catherine seemed incapable of answering in more than single syllables. She's nervous; I wish there was some way I could put her at ease.

As they were serving the dessert course, Col. Hawthorn spoke up. "Lord Thornton, I have something I must say, and forgive me for being blunt, but what madness drove you to travel during a Thorn Dwellers' Moon?"

The room fell silent but for the clatter of silverware. Dr. Rowan dropped his fork into his wineglass, and the cup tipped over, spilling wine onto the white linen. Mr. Solomon rushed forward to clean up the mess. The only sound for a few moments was Dr. Rowan's muttered complaints about a stain on his cravat.

Lydia laughed as if it were all a big joke. Everyone else remained silent. Lydia's laughter died away as Patrick hushed her. Every eye turned to Edward. They all seemed to be holding their breath, waiting for his response. Only Catherine kept her eyes transfixed upon the colonel.

"Forgive me, Colonel, but those are just old superstitions," Edward said as if to brush the matter away. He could not hide his displeasure from his tone, and he noticed a few of his guests fidgeting uncomfortably in their seats. Damn you, Colonel! Do not drag the past out into the open, not tonight.

"That's not what your father thought. He believed, as I do, that the woods behind your house are full of dreadful things. To take a young woman out on their night is to court disaster."

Someone cleared their throat, perhaps Dr. Rowan. Catherine continued to stare at the colonel as if he held the answers to all of life's mysteries. Edward was pricked by jealousy. It was childish, and he knew it. He could not get Catherine to look at him for more than a moment, and here the colonel had captured her attention with his mad ravings. Catherine sat poised on the edge of her chair, her eyes boring into the colonel.

"Colonel, you will scare the poor girl." Lydia laughed again. "Those are just stories nurses tell children to keep them from misbehaving."

The colonel glared at Lydia, and she shrank back in her chair.

"Enough," Edward said, slamming his hand down on the table. Catherine jumped and flicked her gaze towards Edward before staring back at her plate. "I will have no more talk about fairy tales this evening. We are here to celebrate my marriage to Catherine." He gave the colonel a pointed look. The colonel may have been his father's close friend, but that did not give him the freedom to terrify his guests with his superstitions.

"Speaking of celebrations," Aunt Isobel said in a low voice from the end of the table. Everyone looked in her direction, and a few leaned in to hear her better. "Why not hold a ball in your wife's honor?"

"A splendid idea, Aunt Isobel," Edward said. At last someone had a good idea.

"We haven't had a ball in ages," Lydia opined.

"Would you like that, dearest?" Edward leaned in to ask Catherine.

She nodded feebly.

"It's settled, then." Lydia clapped her hands together. "Catherine, I will help you with every detail. I helped Papa plan my ball when I came out. It will be splendid," Lydia said. Her cheeks were flushed with pleasure at the thought. Catherine gave her a weak smile in return.

After dinner the ladies went to the salon and the men hung back to smoke and drink. Edward caught Catherine's hand as she motioned to leave. "I won't be long, darling."

"I will miss you," she said in a small voice.

It warmed him to hear her say it. Tonight is the night I will visit her bed. I really have waited too long.

Aunt Isobel swept up and joined Catherine on her way out. She spoke with his wife, and he saw a tentative smile on Catherine's face. Edward met his aunt's gaze and gave her a silent thank you for her tactfully timed intervention during the colonel's outburst. It was no surprise that the colonel did not linger and left after dinner had ended. Edward tried to put aside the colonel's words, but he found himself ruminating on the past. I will not have these superstitions polluting our evening. I will have these rumors squashed. What's past is past; there's no need to let it ruin the present.

Chapter Three

He could feel eyes on the back of his neck. He had been doing his best to ignore them, but he could do it no longer. Ray sat back on his heels. He peered over his shoulder and met the glower of Mr. Rockwell. He was a large man, arms as thick as tree trunks, with a barrel chest and a thick black beard. A large nose dominated his features, and his eyes were beady black. His face was red from working out in the sun, and his hands were covered in callouses from working in the earth. Said hands were tapping on beefy forearms as the owner stared down at Ray. I wonder if there's giant in his bloodline or maybe troll. Regular humans don't get this big and mean without a bit of that.

"Why, Mr. Rockwell, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Ray said with an easy smile. He knew better than to jab at the head gardener, but humans were just too easy to provoke, and his job had so few perks.

"Mr. Thorn." Mr. Rockwell said his name like a curse, and maybe to him it was. "I expected you to be done with these plantings hours ago. You were supposed to be trimming the hedges on the west end."

Ray stood up. He came perhaps to Mr. Rockwell's chin, which was impressive because Ray was not a small man. He looked the taller man in the eye and said, "Was I?"

Mr. Rockwell's red face turned an alarming shade of violet. He sputtered some expletives that were not meant for polite company and opened and closed his fists a few times. A thread of patience was holding him back from taking a swing at Ray. It would only end badly for Mr. Rockwell, not that Ray would be the one to tell the brawny gardener that. I best stop before he has heart failure.

Ray sighed. "You humans are too fragile."

"What nonsense are you talking about now?" Mr. Rockwell seethed. He spat as he spoke. Spittle sprayed Ray's face. He wiped it away with a frown. Maybe I should let him throw a punch just so I have the justification to fight him.

If he were not in enough hot water already, he would have. He shook his head, despairing his lot in life. He locked his gaze on Mr. Rockwell's. "You said I could have the afternoon off. I've been working hard lately, and you thought I deserved a bit of relaxation." Few powers remained to Ray, and those that did were meant to keep him safe. That was not to say he did not use every chance he could to abuse said powers when it amused him.

The color drained from Mr. Rockwell's face, and his jaw went slack. "I did?" he said in a dreamy way.

"You did. Now why don't you go have a lie-down in the shed?" Ray suggested with a smile. He patted the large man on the shoulder. It felt like hitting a rock. Maybe he's part rock creature.

"Yeah, I need a bit of a rest." Mr. Rockwell yawned and stretched his arms overhead. He turned, glazed eyed, and trudged towards the shed a few feet away.

Ray watched him go with an indulgent smile like a parent might give their child. They really are too easy. He bent back down to return to his iris bed when he saw something run past. He stood up once more and surveyed the landscape. The gardens were large; the humans had cut into the forest hundreds of years ago, replacing the oak and ash that had made their homes here since the dawn of time with green lawns and rounded garden beds with domesticated flowers lined in color-coordinated rows. Though pretty, they lacked any real spark of life. They may as well have been clipped and arrange in the crystal jars that the humans seemed to enjoy so much.

Ray's eyes roamed over the flower beds, the curving garden paths that twisted around square hedges and meandered through gates, then over to the vegetable garden, where rows of snap peas and tomatoes grew on vines. The white tomato flowers were bright against the rolling fog that limited his sight like a curtain cutting across the garden. Even his advanced sight could not see past it. Something was hiding from him in that fog, he knew. He intended to investigate when he felt someone approaching from behind.

"Excuse me," a timid voice spoke up.

Ray spun on his heel and looked down to see Lady Thornton regarding the ground. He could not repress the smile that stretched his features. I thought she would stay away; she looked so afraid the last time we met.

"Lady Thornton, to what do I owe the pleasure?" He hid his excitement by leaning against a nearby rake.

She looked up at him. She had brown eyes, large as a doe's, with thick, dark lashes. Her bow-shaped mouth was small and pink and currently open in an 'o' shape. "What are you doing in my husband's garden?" Her reply shocked them both, it seemed, because she clamped her hand over her mouth.

She has more fire than I initially thought. That's a good sign; maybe I've gotten it right at last.

"I'm working..." He fumbled with the right address for her. Human language was so difficult to understand. They were all his inferiors, but he had learned they were particular about their own hierarchy. He opted to gloss over the formalities. She furrowed her brows. So he added a hasty, "This is my job." He made a sweeping gesture to indicate the garden at large.

She looked around them, at the cypress that flanked a walkway leading to a rose garden, then over to the vegetable garden, where he could still sense someone lurking. He ignored the watcher. For the time being, they seemed content to stay in the shadows. He had been trying to think of an excuse to talk with Lady Thornton again, and here she had come to him. She seemed determined to avoid meeting his gaze and instead fixed her attention on the flower bed he had been working on before Mr. Rockwell had interrupted him.

"Oh," she gasped. At first he thought she had come to the conclusion that he did indeed work for the estate, though in a manner of speaking, he wasn't a real employee. But that was neither here nor there. Then he saw what had caught her interest. Her rapt attention was upon the irises. Much of his time among the humans was spent on this flower bed. He figured if he must pose as a gardener, he may as well do some gardening.

Mrs. Thornton kneeled down in the dirt beside the irises. Her hands hovered over the long narrow leaves. They had yet to bloom, but spring was coming soon, and they would rival every flower in the expansive gardens at Thornwood Abbey. She's not afraid to get dirty; interesting. He knelt down beside her and took in her profile. She had a petite nose, almost upturned, and skin so pale it was near translucent. He saw the faint color of the veins beneath her skin. She was as delicate as a rose petal, with thick brown hair that strained against the pins and curls that tried to tame it. A few hairs at the base of her neck curled over the collar of her gown.

"What color are they?" She looked at him with a gleam in her eyes that he had not had the pleasure to see before. For a moment she had forgotten her fear of him.

"They'll be violet once they bloom. I planted the bulbs myself this winter." He smiled at her, but the spell the flowers had cast was broken.

She looked down at her knees; dirt clung to her skirt, a light dusting of earth. She planted her hands on the ground, preparing to climb to her feet. He sprang to his feet before she could and offered her a hand. She looked at his offered hand as if it were a wild creature. He held his smile though he felt like a fool for doing so. She is not making this easy. Most women fall over themselves to please me when I smile like that. She took his hand delicately, only the tips of her fingers brushing against his. He wrapped his hand tight around hers and pulled her to her feet. She squawked in surprise.

They stood for a moment, hands locked, as he tried to access her mind. But before he could so much as scratch the surface of her thoughts, she ripped her hand from his.

"I came to ask Mr. Rockwell about planting a few iris beds, but it seems you've already begun." She paused; her eyes flickered from the left to the right before she said, "I suppose I will see to my other errands, then." She turned her back to him as she said this.

It was infuriating. Never before had a woman so adamantly avoided meeting his gaze. Lady Thornton was different in a way that he could not quite put his finger on. While he contemplated this, she strode down the path away from him. Not so fast.

He followed her down the path for a few feet. Judging by the tense set of her shoulders, she knew he was following her. She stopped at last where the garden path ended at a gate leading out onto the road. She turned to face him with a determined set to her features. "Can I be of some assistance to you, Mr. Thorn?"

He shrugged. "Not at all, I was on my way into the village; Mr. Rockwell generously gave me the afternoon off. I am not bothering you, am I?"

He could see it written on her face that she was uncomfortable around him. On the other hand, she dared not protest. Which suited him fine; he wanted a chance to study her without interruption.

"No... it's no trouble at all," she replied in a squeak.

"Are you headed to the village as well, mistress? Might I accompany you?"

Whatever it was that had run by in the garden was hanging back behind him, watching their conversation. He felt its eyes on them as he had back in the garden. He dared not look over his shoulder in its direction, but he saw Mrs. Thornton's eyes grow wide before she turned and marched down the road without troubling to reply to Ray.

When her back was turned, Ray looked over his shoulder but found no one behind him. The fog was growing thick, closing in and reducing visibility. There was a smoky scent in the air. He inhaled deeply. I should have known. He ran after Lady Thornton.

He caught up with her easily enough. She was swinging her arms as she walked, eyes focused forward.

"Mrs. Thornton, are you late for an appointment?" he asked.

Lady Thornton struggled to keep her pace. She was not a robust woman. Ray, with longer legs, had no trouble matching her stride.

"I am not sure our walking together would be appropriate," she huffed as she tried to get ahead of him.

"Because I am your servant, or because I am a man?"

She stopped; her hands were fisted at her sides. He could see her fighting with the right thing to say. Maybe if I push a little more, I'll see a flash of that temper again.

Their invisible companion slid past him. He felt a cold chill roll up his back, and he surveyed the road. Whoever was watching him was done watching and was ready for action. The road ended a short distance from them in a wall of fog. A cottage nearby sat nestled between the trees. A low stone wall covered in gray-green moss ringed the property. The open gate clacked in a faint breeze. A woman in white stepped out from beyond the gate. Ray stared at her for a moment and took in the long auburn hair hanging over her freckled face. A crimson bloodstain ran down the left side of her breast, a gaping hole where her heart should have been. He turned his back to her and whistled an old tune. Ghosts hated to be ignored, and he was certain this one was no different.

Mrs. Thornton stared at the woman in white. If they had any hope of dispelling the spirit, he would need to distract it. He stepped in front of Mrs. Thornton, blocking her sight of the ghost. She made no comment about the apparition though she looked a bit green. He hummed a few bars of an old song he had learned from the villagers lifetimes ago. She lifted her brown eyes to Ray for the first time, searching his face. It was a start, at least, if not under ideal conditions. The woman in white approached, making slow deliberate steps in their direction. It looks like we have one determined spirit on our hands.

He came to the last notes of the song he was humming and the end left a heavy silence. The road was too quiet, even the birds had stopped singing, and the wind had died down. "Are you going to answer the question, Lady Thornton?" The woman in white was at Lady Thornton's shoulder now. She glared at Ray; her eyes were black, almost devoid of whites, only the barest sliver of white remained at the edges.

"What is that tune you were humming?" Mrs. Thornton asked, her voice shaking. She felt the spirit at her back, though she pretended not to.

"It's an old one, native to this village." He smiled and she shivered.

The woman in white placed a pale hand on Lady Thornton's shoulder. Ray stepped towards her, closing the distance between him and Mrs. Thornton. Mrs. Thornton's breath was frigid as a winter breeze.

She took a step back, and the woman in white wrapped her arm around Mrs. Thornton's throat.

"Oh?" Mrs. Thornton gasped.

Ignoring our guest is not enough; I had hoped I would not have to do this.

"Do not touch her, Ray Thorn. I know what you are," the woman in white hissed.

"Yes, it's a song about Those Who Dwell in the Thorns. Would you like me to sing it to you?" He addressed Lady Thornton while keeping his gaze fixed on the ghost, who had wrapped herself around Lady Thornton like a blanket.

Lady Thornton trembled, and her breath came out in white puffs. "Are those the same creatures that take the heart of unsuspecting victims? I think I would rather not," Mrs. Thornton said, gasping for breath. She was struggling to breathe; the specter was drawing energy from her, forcing her manifestation.

The time for games was over. If he did not break them apart, Lady Thornton would perish. "Lady Thornton, please take my hand. I cannot help you unless you come to me."

She shook her head, a helpless gesture that spoke much of her fear. It was enough of an invitation to act. He grabbed Lady Thornton by the arm and wrenched her free of the specter. The woman in white fell forward and landed on her knees. She remained on all fours on the ground before tilting her head up to glare at Ray with eyes glowing red. The specter screeched and lunged for Ray. He whirled out of her way. He opened his palm and a green flame erupted there. The flame shot up, twisting and writhing, taking on the shape of a blade. He brandished the glowing blade at the specter. She bared her teeth at him in a gruesome smile. He danced back a few feet, drawing the specter away from Lady Thornton. The spirit clawed at him with hands of ice. The icy touch of her flesh burned where it touched his skin. He kicked out and swung the blade, landing a blow on her abdomen; it cut through and white smoke poured from the wound. The force of the blow sent the specter flying across the road, where she collided with the stone wall. She lay stunned, crumpled like a rag doll on the ground.

Hooves clopped on the lane and wooden wheels creaked. The woman in white looked up as the Lord of Darkness rode up in his carriage. The supernatural undertaker wore a black cloak over his face. His carriage was pulled by two massive black stallions with jet-black manes and eyes. He stopped beside the woman in white and pointed a skeletal hand at her where she had fallen on the ground.

"No, you cannot take me. My business here is not complete. I have to protect Lady Thornton; he'll take her heart next. I can see it in his eyes," she pleaded with the Lord of Darkness.

Ray stood with his back to the sad sight. Humans even in death were pitiful, pleading for their lives, their existence, a mere speck in the expanse of time. She could make her accusations; the Lord of Darkness would not be moved. He shook his head and crooked his finger once more to the woman in white. The woman in white rose to her feet as if she were attached by strings. She hovered over to the carriage and climbed on the driver's seat alongside the dark coachman. She looked down at her hands, pale and translucent. She looked back to Ray, hate glowing from her eyes. She tried to say something, but nothing came out.

Ray looked away as the carriage creaked down the road before disappearing into the mist. Lady Thornton was clutching the front of her dress, staring after the carriage though it had already disappeared, not leaving a trace of it or the woman in white.

"Thank you," she swallowed. "If you had not pulled me out of the way of that carriage, I would likely have been trampled."

He gaped at her for a moment. She had seen, he was certain of it. Normal human eyes would have seen a hearse nothing more, but Lady Thornton had felt that vengeful spirit. He had seen the terror in her eyes. She heard what the shade said; perhaps Lady Thornton fears me even more now. It would have been better to have sent her away before I dealt with the ghost. Then again, had I not, she might have continued to haunt her, and all my planning would be for naught.

"Do you know who it was... that passed?" She wrung her hands.

He hesitated, uncertain how much to reveal. "Her name was Evelyn Smith," Mr. Thorn replied.

Lady Thornton nodded to herself, rationalizing what she had seen, disregarding what was inconvenient like so many humans did when they brushed up against anything that did not fit their narrow view of the world. Perhaps I overestimated her.

"Was the deceased any relation to Miss Smith who works at Thornwood Abbey?" Lady Thornton asked.

Now this is interesting. "There has only been one Miss Smith to work at Thornwood Abbey in recent years, and that was Miss Evelyn Smith, the deceased." Miss Smith had more power than I thought if she approached Lady Thornton in corporeal form. She used her one chance, I fear. She could not maintain the illusion, and because of it the Lord of Darkness caught up with her.

"I... I did not know she had... I had thought when she did not show up to help me dress this morning that she was ill..." Mrs. Thornton looked around her, searching for the answers in the scenery.

"Perhaps you are mistaken. Miss Smith passed a few nights before you arrived at Thornwood Abbey. There's no way you could have met."

Her breathing was erratic and she was looking about her and clawing at her gown, hard enough to rip. "How can that be? I am certain I met Miss Smith yesterday morning."

"That's not possible."

She stared wide eyed at Ray. He could see the cracks in her carefully crafted rationale. The questions squirmed in her mind, begging to be answered, and then like a candle being snuffed out, the light died in her eyes and she gave him a dazed smile.

"I must have been mistaken, then, pardon me." She bowed her head an inch before walking away.

I was so close! She wobbled as she walked like a drunkard. She threw out her hands and leaned against a nearby ash tree. She pressed her forehead against the bark and took in a deep breath. He approached her as he would a wounded animal. "Lady Thornton, are you well? You are unsteady on your feet; should I call for the carriage?" That is what a human servant would do, isn't it? I should have paid more attention. Mr. Thorn reached out a long-fingered hand to steady Catherine. She stepped out of his grasp. His fingers brushed against the silk of her sash before she was out of his reach.

She would not look him in the eye as she said, "I'm fine, just a bit light-headed is all. Perhaps I should return home and lie down. Thank you for your concern." She turned about and ran in the other direction before he could make an attempt to stop her.

Ray watched her go, a smirk dancing over his lips. This has been a productive afternoon indeed. She will not be as easy as the others, but they're all the same in the end. The bushes on the side of the road rustled, and a casual observer would not have noticed beyond the slowly growing fog. Ray, however, was no mere observer. He tilted his head towards the sound but did not take his eyes off of Lady Thornton's retreating form.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" a figure crouched in the bush gurgled.

Ray chuckled. "Perhaps a bit. She is nothing as I imagined she would be. She's very--human," he said with contempt. They all are, but I keep hoping one won't be.

"What did you expect?" A humanoid figure poked its head out from within the bushes, his mouth wide and curled at the corners, and his bulbous eyes were reminiscent of a toad's.

"I don't know, really, just more, I suppose." Ray shrugged. That was always the hope, but he often found his hopes crushed by reality. He turned his full attention to his visitor.

"Well, do not dally. The shadows are growing, and they fear time is running short. We cannot afford another mistake. You must lead her to the forest before it's too late."

"I know what I am supposed to do. I don't need a little toad reminding me."

The figure croaked. "I resent that."

"I expect you would. Run along back and tell them that I will have the girl in the woods before the next dance."

The creature croaked something akin to a scoff. "Very well, see to it that you fulfill your grandiose promises. This is your last chance, remember."

"Is that a cat I hear?" Ray tilted his head as if listening for said feline.

The creature shrieked and ducked under the cover of the bushes. "Do not delay!" the creature called out.

The bushes along the road rustled, indicating the creature's passing. Ray laughed to himself once again. The fog grew denser around him, swirling about him like a cloak. "Just wait, Lady Thornton, just wait."

Chapter Four

A gray drizzle fell onto the carriage roof. The tapping of the rain did nothing to drown out Mary's sighs. This village does not change. The carriage rolled down the village square. There was the apothecary, with its opaque glass and round letters in gold paint on the door that read Goldenrod Cures and Elixirs. Next to that was a book seller, Wilson and Sons, with piles of dusty books in the window. Across the street was Lady Margaret's Linens and Ribbons, which sold ladies' accessories. It was a favorite among the simple-minded country folk.

Mary rolled her eyes and closed the curtain. She flopped back onto the hard cushion of the carriage seat and gave another sigh. She was fortunate to have the carriage alone; it would not be appropriate for a lady to be seen carrying on as she was. It just was not fair. All her carefully laid plans to escape this village were dashed. A few more days and Mr. Jones would have asked for my hand, I am certain of it.

She looked at her hands, turning them over. They were dainty hands and practiced in all the genteel arts. She was an accomplished pianist and sang just as prettily as any other girl. She painted and had been told by many a gentleman that she was an exceptional wit. She had all the right recommendations a woman could have, except for a dowry. She balled her hands into fists and struck the cushion with all her might. Her only consolation was a sore hand.

It does not matter, Mr. Jones was a fool, and I could not stand his mother. To think he wanted us to live in the same house as her! I don't care if he has twenty thousand pounds a year; I would have told him no.

The lies she told herself removed a small measure of the sting. She pushed back the curtain to look out the window once more. Everything was awash in gray. Rain fell steadily, streaking the window. They passed the local inn and pub, The Fairy Bride. It marked the halfway point between the village and home. Before she arrived, however, she would have to pass by Thornwood Abbey. The fog was thick, and with the rain it was difficult to see clearly, but she needed to see it, to remind herself why she had come back to Thornwood rather than try her luck in London. Mary pressed her nose against the glass in hopes of getting a glimpse of it from the road. As if in answer to her unspoken request, the fog parted and the rain lessened for a moment. The manor house emerged from the mist like a gray monolith. It dominated the scenery; great stone turrets topped with black shingles blurred against the gray sky. The shutters were closed and ivy clung to the mortar, overgrown in places. The forest surrounded it, pressing in at all edges. No matter her feelings about the rest of the village, she had always loved Thornwood Abbey. That is where I shall be residing before the end of the fortnight.

The forest grew thicker and blocked her view of the manor. She leaned back, content. It was not so bad to be back in Thornwood; she had missed her friends. Country life was not without its benefits, she supposed. The carriage came to a rumbling stop. The horses pawed the ground, their hooves clattering against the gravel on the drive. The door swung open, and a blast of icy air filled the small compartment.

Mr. Bernard, her family butler, was waiting outside the carriage, with umbrella in hand. The rain was sputtering against the fabric of the umbrella and dripping off in rivulets.

"Miss Ashton, I hope you had an agreeable journey?" he said in a monotone. No matter the occasion, Mr. Bernard always sounded as if he was not the least bit interested.

Mary smiled, flashing her white teeth. "It was quite comfortable, thank you. I was just thinking how lovely it is to be near the familiar once again, yourself included, Mr. Bernard."

He nodded his head. His jowls wobbled with loose skin. She suppressed a shudder. In London the household staff of her friends and acquaintances had all been pleasant to look upon. No one would dare hire a servant that resembled a basset hound like Mr. Bernard. He held out a hand for her, unaware of her critical thoughts. She took his hand only briefly to steady herself on the way out of the carriage. She preferred to not stay in prolonged contact with the servants, especially those that had been born in Thornwood. In her travels she had learned that there were no people quite like the denizens of Thornwood. They hurried out of the rain and into the entryway of the house. Her mother and father were waiting to greet her as she came in.

Mary slid off her gloves and coat. She handed them to Mr. Bernard, who took them with a small bow of his head and toddled off.

Her mother came up first and gave her a quick stiff embrace and a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. "Mary dear, I wish you would have waited for Charles to return. It is not seemly for you to ride in the post carriage alone."

If you had spared the carriage, it would not have been an issue. She would not speak out against her mother, so instead she said, "Mama, I could not stay another minute in London with my shame! You read my letter; you must understand why I had to return with haste."

Her mother shook her head, lips pursed.

Her father came up and kissed Mary on the forehead. "It's good to have you home safe, dear. Mr. Johnson was not the right sort of man for you, anyway."

"His name is Mr. Jones, Papa," Mary said, and she pulled out a handkerchief to dab invisible tears. The man himself had been no great loss. He was a bore and had nothing of interest other than his income.

"Gideon, honestly, do you care nothing of our daughter's well-being?" Mrs. Ashton scolded her husband.

Mr. Ashton crinkled his brow in confusion. He looked from his wife to his daughter. "I care quite a deal. I was only--"

"Tut on your only. Go back to your study; you've seen her and know she's well. Leave me to pick up the pieces."

Mary sniffled and hid her smile behind her kerchief. This is the sort of marriage I want. No man will be the ruler of me. I need only a healthy annual income and a house and husband to manage; is that so much to ask for? Once Mrs. Ashton chased her husband away, she and her daughter retired in the parlor together. Mrs. Ashton rang for tea, and Mrs. Kelton, their maid, brought in the tea things.

As Mrs. Kelton hurried about the room, setting out the saucers, the sugar dish and the jug of cream, Mrs. Ashton and Mary spoke of London. Mrs. Ashton, having just left London a week before Mary, was up to date on most of the relevant gossip, and it did not take long to get her abreast of changes in the week following her departure. With that business finished, Mrs. Ashton sipped her tea and watched Mary over the rim.

Mary squirmed in her seat. Her mother's shrewd gaze was the one thing that struck fear into Mary's heart. She blames me for losing Mr. Jones. It was not my fault. How was I to know he was so resistant to the glamour and how much of my ability it would take to win even the smallest favor. Not to mention that dreadful Miss Wyland.

Her mother set down her tea things, and the clank of china rang through Mary with a small jolt.

"I understand from your letter that the glamour proved ineffective to win over Mr. Jones. I must say, I am disappointed. I thought I had taught you better." Mrs. Ashton had a thin mouth, and it was pinched with disapproval.

Mary lowered her lashes and looked down at her hands folded in her lap. "I am sorry, Mama."

"Is that all you have to say for yourself? You have wasted a golden opportunity. When I left London, it was in full confidence that you would settle matters."

Mary looked up to argue. "Mama, I tried. It's just he was in love with Miss Wyland--"

"Mrs. Jones, you mean, their marriage was announced in the papers." Mrs. Ashton nodded to a paper that was folded on the table next to her.

The shame slid like a bitter pill down her throat. "Don't worry. Mr. Jones may have had twenty thousand pounds a year, but he had no title. I've decided to resume my pursuit of Lord Thornton."

Her mother glared at her. "Again you are too late."

"What do you mean? When I left he was a lovesick fool for me; the charm could not have worn off." I know I had that maid hide it in his room. Unless it was disturbed, it should not have worn off. What could have gone wrong?

"Well, it did. A few days after we left for London, Mr. Thornton left as well, and he's returned with a wife."

Mary stood up. "That is not possible. The spell I wove into that charm could not be broken." She shook her head. "No!" She clawed at her face. All her plans were crumbling like ash.

"Yes," Mrs. Ashton confirmed. "You were overconfident in your abilities; as I have told you before, never put too much faith in charms."

Mary paced the parlor floor. The fire crackled. The embers spitting and hissing were the only sounds for a few moments as she tried to collect her thoughts. Edward was her insurance. Her fallback if all else failed. He had been half in love with her their entire lives, and though she knew he had a large estate and a healthy annual income, he was insistent on living in the country. He did not even maintain a London home. What gentleman of his means did not have a London home? It was madness, and she could not be subjected to the life of a country wife. Now even her last choice had been taken from her.

"Edward loves me," she said as if saying it aloud would change the truth.

Her mother laughed, and it was cruel and mocking. "You are a stupid fool if you think that is true."

Mary growled in frustration. She would cast a spell on her mother if she thought it would make a difference. Her mother, unfortunately, was much too powerful for that. Anything she tried to send at her would be flung back without hesitation. "What am I to do now? Grow old and alone like Miss Lilac? I cannot be a spinster."

"Well, your options run few in this village. Unless you wish to marry Mr. Nathaniel Cedars--"

"Have you gone mad? Nathaniel Cedars is set to inherit five hundred pounds a year. We would be fortunate to have a butler and cook if I were able to squeeze pennies together. And where would we live? In Thornwood or in his tiny house in London? I have visited with you there, and you know it has only a few bedrooms and no room for entertaining. I would rather die!" Mary flung herself onto the chaise beside the fire. She threw her arm over her eyes and let the warmth from the fireplace seep into her bones.

"Then you'll have to return to London," her mother said with a gloating air.

"I cannot; that is why I returned. My power is... less... in London. The air there is polluted; there's hardly a green space to be had. It took all my energy just to convince Mr. Jones to invite me to the ball at the Williams'. Then I lost control at the ball, and he asked Miss Wyland to dance." She did not look at her mother as she made her confession, but she could feel her mother's judgmental stare nonetheless.

Mrs. Ashton frowned. "I had noticed a decrease in my own powers, but I had thought... well, it does not matter what I thought. This cannot be good. If our powers are depleting, then we are in trouble. We must visit Mathilde."

Mary crinkled her nose. "I do not know if that is strictly necessary."

"It is very necessary," Mrs. Ashton said as she stood and brushed off her gown. "We shall leave at once." She rang a bell that was sitting on the table with the tea things.

Mrs. Kelton came in a few moments later. Mrs. Ashton gave her clipped instructions to have the carriage brought around that they might go out. The maid did not argue with her mistress, though the rain outside had not let up. In fact, it only seemed to be coming down harder. Sheets of water painted the window and turned the garden outside into a green-gray blur.

Once the carriage was brought around, Mr. Bernard escorted the ladies to the carriage, carrying the umbrella over them. They climbed into the carriage and took seats across from one another. Their personal carriage was not much better than the post carriage. The cushions were stiff and the velvet faded. Some of the painted details had begun to peel. What will we do when we run out of money at last? How will we survive? Mary looked out the window at the gray sky and the thin stream of rain. It was a miserable wet afternoon, and the village was deserted. For this sort of errand it was ideal conditions. Though Mary almost always loathed visiting Mathilde, she was feeling especially gloomy about her shameful return and the news of Edward's marriage.

The carriage went out past the village down a narrow dirt road that ended at the edge of the forest. The carriage came to a creaking halt, and the coachman hopped down to let the two women out. He was soaked through. His coat clung to his skin as he held up an umbrella for them. Through the pouring rain Mary saw a squat stone cottage tucked in a copse of trees. A large willow was bent over and gave shade to the yard. A dilapidated stone wall surrounded the cottage. Boulders that had fallen out of place years ago remained where they fell beside the garden wall. Moss had started to grow upon them. There was no gate but a gap in the wall and a crowded pathway that was overgrown with tall grass.

The coachman led them to the front door of the one-room cottage, and they huddled under the overhang that was created by the thatched roof. The door was wooden with large steel fastenings and a rusted knocker. Mrs. Ashton knocked three times as was customary.

The door creaked open and revealed a pitch-black interior. Mrs. Ashton nodded for the coachman to go back and wait, and plunged into the darkness. Mary hesitated for a moment, considering going back to the carriage, but the coachman was already halfway there, and she did not want to get her new gown any more soaked than it already was. She stepped inside.

The room was square and lined with baskets full of odds and ends, bits of fabric, a bunch of apples and a few loaves of moldy-looking bread. Herbs and dried animal skins hung from the eaves, which were exposed. There was a fire in the middle of the room, which had burned down to a few embers and gave a feeble light. A pot was suspended over the coals, but its contents did not seem to be any warmer than the chilly interior of the cottage. A woman sat at the far left of the room, on the edge of a bed stuffed with hay. She had thin gray hair. Mary could see the woman's speckled scalp beneath it. She had a crooked nose and a large mouth with thin lips. Her eyes were rheumy as she looked up towards the two women. Mrs. Ashton had already taken a seat in the one free chair by the bedside. Mary was forced to stand. She would have pouted if she were not terrified of Mathilde.

"Mathilde," Mrs. Ashton said in a coaxing tone, "we've come for your guidance."

The old woman cackled. When she smiled, she revealed a mouth full of yellow crooked teeth. "You've noticed, then. Your powers are failing."

"How did you know?" Mary said without thinking.

Mrs. Ashton gave her daughter a glare, but Mathilde only laughed harder. "Those with the faintest strain of Fae blood are always affected first by the troubles of the forest. Because your connection to the Otherworld is least, your powers will go first."

"What does this mean? Will we lose our glamour?" Mary asked.

Mrs. Ashton was frowning at her daughter, but the old witch seemed obliged to answer Mary's questions. "Depends, if the Thorn King gets another heart, if so, then you need not worry."

They all knew the stories; everyone who grew up in Thornwood had heard them. Few enough believed them until someone would go missing. Then the rumors would start again about the mysterious invisible residents of Thornwood who required blood.

"That's just children's stories," Mrs. Ashton said, but she did not sound certain.

Mathilde snorted. "Just like witches?"

Mrs. Ashton compressed her lips. She could not argue with Mathilde. She was the most powerful witch they knew. She was the only one that Mary knew could best her mother, which was part of what made her so terrifying. They did not know where their powers came from exactly, but the small magic her mother and she had been given had been passed down among the women of their family for generations. Those who lived in Thornwood tended to turn a blind eye to anything that had to do with the Thorn Dwellers. There was an unspoken understanding between the villagers to ignore any sign of the fair folk and magic. I can think of one person I wouldn't mind sacrificing to the Thorn King, if it meant getting her out of my way. She did not voice these thoughts, however.

"What can we do, then? How can we stop our powers from slipping away?" Mrs. Ashton asked.

"Hope that the Thorn King finds a heart and that he doesn't choose you to join in the forest dance." Mathilde laughed at her own dark joke.

Chapter Five

Mrs. Oakheart, Edward's sister, made good on her promise to help with preparations for the ball and came calling a few days after the dinner party. Catherine was returning from a walk in the garden. She had made certain to avoid Mr. Thorn. He gave her an uneasy feeling. There was a secret behind his smiles. He looked at her in a way as if to say he knew something about her, but he wanted her to guess. Had she been more assured in her own authority here at Thornwood Abbey, she would have insisted on his dismissal. She was desperate to please, and she dared not make any such declarations to Mrs. Morgan or Mr. Hobbs. She certainly would not presume to tell her husband how to manage his staff. "It is much better to avoid than to confront," her mother had always said.

Mrs. Morgan was waiting in the entrance hall. Mr. Fox was waiting by the door, and he took her coat and gloves. She gave him a smile, and he returned it with a thin-lipped nod. It stung, but Catherine held her smile, ignoring the insult.

"Mrs. Oakheart has come to call, my lady. I showed her to the parlor to wait. I sent Miss Brown out to look for you, but now I shall have to send Mr. Fox to bring her back since you have returned on your own." This was said with a tone that indicated Mrs. Morgan was quite put out by Catherine.

"I'm sorry," Catherine said without thinking.

Mrs. Morgan raised an eyebrow in response. "There is no need to apologize, my lady."

Catherine stared at the polished parquet floor. "You're right. I do not know what I was thinking." She muttered at her feet. I am miserable at being a lady. I wish there was someone who could teach me all the rules that I am constantly breaking.

Mrs. Morgan sighed. "Will you want to change before greeting your guest? I can call Miss Larson to dress you." Mrs. Morgan raked an assessing eye over Catherine.

"Oh!" Catherine checked her reflection in a mirror hung above a table set with flowers and a dish of candies. She wore a brown gown made of thick cotton. Her hair was tied back in a bun at the top of her head with no artifice. A lady would be expected to be dressed to entertain guests. Mrs. Morgan hovered, waiting for Catherine to ready herself. Catherine straightened a curl that had come loose and tucked it behind her ear. I wonder what happened to Miss Smith. I liked the way she styled my hair. Catherine's hand fell slack at her side. The last she had seen of Miss Smith was the ghastly image along the road. She had been chalk white except for the red gash in her chest, where her heart should have been. Catherine closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to dispel the image. No, that's not possible. It's an overactive imagination. I never met Miss Smith; I must have misremembered the name of the maid who dressed me.

"My lady?" Mrs. Morgan interrupted Catherine's thoughts.

"Mrs. Morgan, pardon me for asking, who was the girl who helped me dress the other morning? I am having trouble recalling."

Mrs. Morgan frowned, her dark eyebrows pulled together in a most terrifying way. Catherine took a step back to avoid the accusing gaze of the housekeeper. She must think I am a petty simpleton.

"Miss Larson has been your lady's maid since you arrived at Thornwood Abbey; there has been no one else."

Catherine opened her mouth to object, but the firm gaze of the housekeeper held her tongue. She knew this could not be true; Miss Smith--or whatever her name had been--had auburn hair and was much younger. While Miss Larson was middle aged with gray-streaked blond hair and pronounced crow's feet at her eyes. Why would Mrs. Morgan lie to me? Could I have made some mistake?

"Catherine, there you are. I was beginning to wonder if you would ever come in," Mrs. Oakheart said as she strode across the entryway. Her shoes clicked on the hardwood, and she beamed at her sister-in-law in a would-be inviting way if Catherine were not terrified of her. Catherine had never been one that was at ease in the company of others, and Mrs. Oakheart, who seemed to exude life, overshadowed Catherine in more ways than one.

Catherine looked to Mrs. Morgan for direction, wondering if she should still go upstairs to change. Mrs. Morgan did not come to Catherine's assistance.

"Come, I've brought guests. I thought you would not mind." Mrs. Oakheart linked arms with Catherine and dragged her into the parlor. She would have preferred no company at all, but it was too late to tell them to leave now that they were here. A pair of women sat chatting as if at ease in their own home and not a guest in Catherine's. They were identical in almost every way. They were young and pretty with dark hair and full pouting lips. They had long oval faces with high cheekbones and thin brows over blue eyes. The only thing that distinguished them from one another was the woman on the right wore pink and the woman on the left wore purple. They turned in unison as Catherine and Mrs. Oakheart entered.

"Catherine, these are my dear friends Miss Camellia Bloom and her sister, Miss Delphine Bloom."

They stood together as one as if they were two halves of one whole. "What a delight to meet you at last," said Miss Camellia--the sister in pink.

"Lydia has spoken nothing but your praises," said Miss Delphine--the sister in purple.

Catherine flushed under their praises and wrung her hands together, not certain what to say.

Mrs. Oakheart took control from there. "Come, sit, let us all talk and get to know one another." She led Catherine over to the couch, without releasing their linked arms.

She was wedged onto a couch between Mrs. Oakheart and the Bloom sisters.

"I love your hair, such a charming style; is that how they wear their hair in your neighborhood? I heard you lived in London or not far from it? Are you acquainted with Miss Colton or Miss Williams?" Miss Camellia asked.

She hardly paused to take a breath before her sister chimed in as well with a litany of questions. Catherine sat dazed as their words washed over her. They did not wait for an answer. They seemed content to hear themselves speak. Without Catherine's input, the conversation naturally flowed into other topics. The three other women began discussing neighborhood gossip, past balls, and other social events they had attended. Catherine was out of her depth.

The sisters and Mrs. Oakheart seemed to have forgotten Catherine was there at all until Mrs. Oakheart addressed her directly. "Now, tell us, Catherine." She had assumed the use of Catherine's Christian name. Though Catherine could claim no real affection for the woman, she felt it would be rude to correct her. She was, after all, her husband's sister. "I must know your and my brother's torrid love story."

Catherine fidgeted uncomfortably beneath the combined scrutiny of her guests. She preferred it when they were speaking at her, but to be at center stage had never been something she was comfortable with.

"We met at a dinner party of one of my father's friends. The host, Mrs. Wells, asked if I would sit with him since he had no escort for the evening."

"And I am sure he was charmed by your exceptional conversational skills," Mrs. Oakheart said.

Catherine colored, unsure if it was an intentional dig at lacking social graces or an unwarranted compliment. She decided to give her husband's sister the benefit of the doubt.

"No, we actually spoke not a word that night. However, the next day we ran into one another while I was walking with Mother in the park. He strolled with us down the street and then took his leave."

"Just like Edward, always a gentleman," Mrs. Oakheart said to the Bloom sisters, who nodded their heads in unison.

Catherine continued her tale, not entirely certain if she should. Miss Camellia fidgeted with a loose string on the hem of her sleeve, and Miss Delphine was focused on stirring sugar into her cup. Only Mrs. Oakheart kept her gaze locked on Catherine, a half-smile pulled at the corner of her lips. "The day after that he came to call. We sat in my parlor, exchanged a few words, and then he left."

Catherine frowned at this next part; after this it became a bit muddled. Recounting their courtship sounded strange to her own ears. It had been a brief courtship, to say the least. It spanned a total of a month, including preparations for the wedding.

"Oh, go on!" Miss Delphine said with a shared look with her sister that made Catherine think they thought this all a joke.

"At the end of the following week, he asked Poppa for my hand and he agreed, and then he asked me and I agreed," Catherine said in a rush, hoping once the story was revealed Mrs. Oakheart or one of the sisters would take charge of the conversation.

"How romantic," Mrs. Oakheart said with a tilted smile. "I must say, it came as a bit of a shock to us all back at home. Why, before he left, Edward could talk of nothing but Miss Mary Ashton. I thought for sure he would marry her."

Catherine sat up a bit straighter. Edward never mentioned a previous lover. Is that not something married couples share with one another? Catherine scrutinized Mrs. Oakheart. This may well be some sort of jibe at Catherine's expense. It would not be the first time Catherine had been subject to such treatment. She wanted desperately to ask her more but dared not. She feared it would make her look jealous. If he had been taken with Miss Ashton before I met him, why ask me to marry him? I never even stopped to consider the rush of it all. We hardly knew one another; I still do not know much about him. A chill crept up her spine. Catherine tried to recall a glance or a gesture before his proposal that Edward had interest in her, but she could not think of a single one. What if he had chosen her because this woman had scorned him? Was her marriage a charade?

"A charming girl, Mary, we are quite close, since we grew up together. Her and her brother often came and played with us on the grounds. I would insist you include her and her parents on the guest list for the ball. Edward would be cross if you did not; they were almost family." Mrs. Oakheart smiled, and Catherine's heart constricted. She wishes Miss Ashton had married her brother instead of me; I can see that plainly.

"What other sort of entertainment will you have at the ball, aside from dancing?" Miss Delphine asked.

Catherine stared forward, her mind racing. She had not the slightest idea what sort of entertainment should be available at a ball, seeing as she had never been to one. Crowds caused her a panic, and just the thought of the ball filled her with dread.

"I..." She swallowed past her fear. "I was hoping Mrs. Oakheart might have some suggestions for me," Catherine said.

"Please, call me Lydia, if you would," she replied with another brilliant but insincere smile. She turned to the Bloom sisters and said, "What do you most enjoy at a ball?"

"Well, music is always a welcome addition," said Miss Camellia.

Lydia clapped her hands together and turned to face Catherine more fully. There was a glint in her eye that had Catherine wishing she could run away. "Catherine, you must play something."

Catherine shook her head with vehemence and threw up her hands, waving them back and forth as if the very action would ward away the unwanted notion. "No, I have no real talent. We had a pianoforte, but I was never very good at it." Catherine felt sick to her stomach. She wished she could excuse herself but feared she'd insult her guests.

"Certainly." Lydia's smile turned triumphant. "Perhaps Mary will agree to play for us, then. She is an accomplished pianist."

"Mary is a wit as well," Miss Delphine added. "I was out to dinner with her before she left for Town, and she told me the most delightful joke."

"Oh, do share!" Lydia enthused.

Lydia stood up so she could sit between the sisters, and the three of them leaned close together, their foreheads near pressed together as they whispered amongst themselves. Catherine was relegated to the fringes of their circle. The sisters laughed at the same time, even the sound of their laughter was in sync. Catherine stood and pretended she needed to stretch. She could see the three of them from the corner of her eye, smirking as they giggled at the joke.

"Yes, Mary is a delight. No party is really worth attending without her," said Lydia with a sigh.

Catherine had her back to them, but she was certain this was said for her benefit. She would not be able to get away with not inviting her husband's former lover to the ball.

"I look forward to making her acquaintance," Catherine said without any real feeling. She pressed her hand to the window. The cool outside helped to dissipate some of the heat that was burning her skin. She looked out across the lawn. For once the fog was thin, though not gone entirely. From this side of the house, she could see the woods. A mist clung to it still, and she almost thought she saw figures darting about between the tangled oaks, jumping from branch to branch. She shook her head. It must be my eyes playing tricks on me again.

"I was considering having some ladies over for tea," Lydia said. "Maybe we can arrange it so you can meet Mary." There was no arguing with Lydia, not that Catherine would have raised her voice in protest.

Catherine gripped the sill of the window to keep from swaying on her feet. She bit her tongue from shouting an emphatic "no!" The very idea of meeting her husband's former lover was the most distasteful thing in the world.

A large shadow walked through the mist that cloaked the forest and grabbed Catherine's attention. When it came to the forest edge, Catherine could see it was a tall man with long limbs. Lydia was speaking to the Bloom sisters, but their voices had faded to a dull buzz. Mr. Thorn stepped out from the forest and crossed the lawn towards the garden at an easy pace, as if he were on a leisurely stroll. The mist rose, and he was swallowed up by it, and she could no longer track his progress. Shouldn't he be working? I cannot say for certain he is not. Perhaps he is and they are planning on clearing out those wild woods. Whatever the reason, it was not her concern, though she waited a few moments to see if he did reappear. When he did not, she turned back to her guests and put on a brave face for the remainder of their visit.

Though Catherine tried to put it from her mind, she could not stop thinking about Lydia's veiled allusions about Miss Ashton. She thought it would be better to forget, but despite her own best judgment, she decided to ask Edward about it outright. She practiced a few different speeches, perfecting the least threatening way to approach the topic. When Edward slid into her room late that night in his nightclothes, she still had not found the courage to broach the subject. For the past three nights, Edward had shared her bed, and as he had promised, he had done his duty as a husband. Catherine was no longer a maiden. She had thought with a new carnal knowledge of her husband she would feel more at ease in his presence, but she continued to find herself tongue-tied around him.

He slid beneath the covers and wrapped his arm around her waist. He kissed her, and for a moment she lost herself in the feel of his breath mingling with hers and the taste of his mouth. He pulled back and gave her a heavy-lidded smile. All her practiced speeches flew out the window.

He leaned in and kissed the curve of her neck and down to the skin at the edge of her nightgown. A growing heat coiled in her belly and spread between her legs. She leaned back against the pillows, letting him caress her, his fingertips tracing the curve of her hip down to the space between her thighs. Then at the most inopportune time, Miss Ashton popped back into her head. The heat died, leaving behind only a bitter cold.

"Edward?" She gasped.

"Yes, darling?" he said between kisses.

"Lydia came by this afternoon to help me with planning the ball," she said, though her voice shook.

Edward slid his hand beneath her gown and grasped her breast. She inhaled sharply. "That's nice, dear," he murmured as he massaged her.

She took another shuddering breath. I have to say it now or I never will.

"Who is Miss Ashton?" she said in one breath.

His hand stilled and then slid out from beneath her gown. He sat back on the bed and looked at her for a moment, a puzzled expression on his face.

"What brought this about?" he asked.

Catherine looked down at her hands on the coverlet. They were small and pale. "Lydia mentioned Miss Ashton; she said you were close." She could not bring herself to admit that her husband may have had more than a casual affection for another woman.

He did not answer right away, and the silence only seemed to prove her worst fears. "We are neighbors, and she used to play with my sisters. I would not call our relationship intimate."

She should have been relieved, but there was a certainty to Lydia's words that afternoon, and Catherine could not let it go. "Lydia said that you were... well..."

"Spit it out!" Edward snapped.

Catherine jumped. Edward had never raised his voice with her before. She fumbled to get the words out. "She said that you were lovers. That she expected you to marry Miss Ashton before you left for London."

Once the words were spoken, Catherine realized they could not be unsaid. Edward threw back the covers and jumped out of the bed. Agitation was written across his back. His shoulders were tight as he laced up his nightshirt. She wanted to reach out for him to take him back into her bed and let him kiss her until she forgot everything but him. It was too late for that now.

"Honestly, Catherine, I thought you were above these petty things. Miss Ashton is a friend. That, I will admit. To say I..." He could not choke out the words. For a moment their eyes met, and she saw the truth in them. Edward loved Miss Ashton.

"You're right. I apologize for bringing it up."

He stood at the bedside, his arms folded over his chest. His shirt ties were undone, and she could see the sprinkling of blond hairs across his chest. She should ask him back to bed, soothe him with her body as a wife should, but she could not, knowing that she was second to another woman.

"I think I will sleep in my own room tonight. Goodnight, Catherine." He stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Catherine lay back down and wept.

Chapter Six

It was a rare bright and sunny day. Sunlight fell in beams upon the carpet like ribbons of gold. Edward stared out the window to the garden beyond, his mind wending its way through a labyrinth of emotions. He had been brooding over his fight with Catherine all morning. Perhaps I overreacted; Lydia was just making mischief as usual. I have not seen nor thought of Mary Ashton in... He could not complete the thought. His memories as a whole were a bit foggy. It was fatigue, he was certain of it. He had tossed and turned all night after his fight with Catherine; then he had woken to be informed another tenant farmer had gone missing. That was three now that had up and left without notice. Edward pinched his brows and then rubbed his eyes with his fingertips.

He pushed back his office chair and went down the hall. I need fresh air. I cannot stay locked up another moment longer. He contemplated finding Catherine and apologizing. However, just thinking about her accusation made his blood boil. He decided distance was needed to repair their sore feelings. He passed a window that faced towards the drive and paused. A slender woman walked down the lane, she wore a bonnet pulled forward, disguising her features. Her gown was practical if not a bit plain in a gray color. She disappeared around the corner, turning into the walk that led to the front door. The locket in his breast pocket burned against his chest. Edward touched it absentmindedly. I might as well go and see who has come to call; perhaps it will distract me from my worries for a moment. He headed for the foyer to greet his guest.

Mr. Hobbs was at the door taking his guest's coat. She slid out of her coat and untied the laces of her bonnet, letting it fall back to reveal her golden hair. Afternoon light coming from a high window above the front entry picked out platinum highlights in her hair. Her face was round with almond-shaped eyes and expressive pink lips that were turned up in a smile as she caught him staring.

"Mary," he whispered her name. How could he have forgotten how beautiful she was? Her very presence lit up the room. What am I thinking? I am a happily married man.

"Lord Thornton, I did not expect to see you about at this time of day." She swept across the floor towards him. Her very movements were liquid. The small sashay of her hips was entrancing.

He forced his eyes up to look into her eyes. They were bright blue, dancing with amusement.

"Miss Ashton, I had thought you were going to be in town for the remainder of the season," he said in way of greeting. "I am equally astonished to see you!" Edward's voice rang out too loud and echoed back at him. He sounded too pleased. If Catherine heard, she might draw the wrong conclusions. He glanced about as if expecting Catherine to burst into the room and accuse him of infidelity.

She tilted her head to regard him. "I read news of your marriage in the society papers and I knew I had to return home and meet your wife. Besides, the season can become such a bore; it is nothing but a string of endless parties and dancing, don't you agree?"

He laughed, not certain what he was laughing for. "Yes, I never liked going to town. Country life is so much more... simple," he said. The locket was burning hot and uncomfortable against his breast. He extracted it from his pocket. It looked no different from before, but it pulsed with growing warmth.

Mary touched her fingers to her lips. "Edward," she said in a hushed tone. The informal use of his Christian name startled him, and he met her wide blue eyes. "You kept my locket, even after all this time?"

The memory came back in a rush; the locket had been Mary's from when they were children. They had exchanged treasures when they were very small. He had given her his favorite bird's nest. How did it end up behind the dresser? I wonder.

"May I see it?" she asked. She pressed one hand to her chest, the other held out in front of her, fingers folded over into her palm as if she were holding back from reaching out for it.

He held it up to her in the palm of his hand. She plucked it from his hand and her fingers touched him. It was an innocent brush of skin, but his flesh tingled with sensation. Mary looked away, a blush coloring her cheeks; she had felt it too. It was coming back to him little by little. It had always been this way with Mary; there was a magnetic charm that drew people to her.

She traced the tree pattern on the locket with her finger as he had the night he found it. The night of Catherine's welcome dinner. You have not forgotten your wife, have you, Edward? What would she think if she saw you alone with Miss Ashton?

"I am pleased you came to call. I would like for you to meet my wife, Catherine. Let me see if she has returned from her morning exercise." He strode over to the pulley to summon Mrs. Morgan. He could feel Mary's eyes on him watching. He hesitated a moment before returning to Mary. The electric feeling had not left his body; indeed it seemed to be coursing through him looking for an escape.

He turned back around and joined Mary as they waited for the housekeeper. Mary had untied a ribbon from around her head and strung the locket on it. She held it out for him to take.

"I cannot accept this. It was yours and it should return to your possession," he said. It is not appropriate for me to keep a token of another woman's. It might give her the wrong impression about my intentions.

"Please, Lord Thornton, it has been in your possession far longer than mine. Items such as this, they absorb the spirit of the bearer, and it would be more comfortable in your company, I suspect."

He frowned at her odd wording. He held out his hand nonetheless since he seemed to have little choice in the matter. She does not seem to attach any special meaning to me keeping it, and it is a pretty trinket. He slid the ribbon and locket into his breast pocket once more. It was cool to the touch once again. I must have imagined the heat.

Mrs. Morgan came at his summons and informed them that Catherine was in the conservatory. They walked there together, reminiscing about their childhood. Mary pointed out a few of her favorite hiding places and recounted a tale in which she had broken a very expensive vase. Mrs. Morgan had scolded her severely for it, Mary would have him believe. He recalled a different tale in which Edward himself had broken the vase and Mary had taken the blame to spare him the lecture. He smiled to think of it. She is thoughtful and modest, she must remember what really happened, but she is sparing me my pride.

The conservatory on the southeast corner of the house boasted high arches with glass panes that took advantage of the best light of the day. Enormous ferns dominated the room. There were a few exotic plants from the Indies that his cousin Henry had brought back with him from his travels. Among them were a few pots of dahlias; their bright hues were splashes of color against a sea of green. Catherine was seated at a table in the center of the room, a book open on the table, a cup of tea adjacent to it.

When they entered, Catherine stood to greet them. She gave a tentative smile to Edward, and then her gaze fell on Mary and her smile visibly slid. Edward was unaware of his close proximity to Mary until his wife looked at him with hurt and accusation in her eyes. His shoulder nearly brushed against Mary's; they had drifted together as they walked and talked. He took a discreet step away from Mary and towards his wife.

Catherine held her hands at her side, but her hands were balled into fists. She is still cross with me after our fight. I was a fool to bring Mary here; it will only make me look more the villain. It was too late to turn back now, when the damage was done. He decided to introduce the two women. "Catherine, dearest, this is my friend Miss Ashton."

"How do you do," Catherine said in a hushed way.

"I apologize for coming unannounced. I was so eager to meet you, I forgot my manners," Mary said.

"Think nothing of it, I have made too many errors to count since arriving at Thornwood," Catherine said in a rare moment of candidness. She even seemed surprised by her forthright speech. Her eyes were as large as saucers.

Mary smiled. "I imagine it is difficult coming to a new place. You'll adjust in time, I am certain."

Catherine gave her a rueful smile. It was a strange expression upon her normally sweet face. She then turned back to Edward. "I am surprised you did not mention she was beautiful as well as charming." She nodded towards Miss Ashton, who blushed and looked at flowers nearby, pretending she could not hear them conversing.

Edward held back his sharp return. He had not thought Catherine was one for petty jabs, but he was learning more about his wife every day. "It is not my place to assess a woman's beauty but that of my own wife's, which is without equal."

Catherine rolled her eyes in a most unladylike fashion. Edward was abashed. Mary at least had the decency to pretend not to notice. Though she surely had seen, and he was embarrassed for Catherine.

He took a step towards Catherine, intent on correcting her behavior, when Mary interjected, "That is a sweet sentiment, Lord Thornton. Every woman hopes her husband would say such flattering things in front of another woman. Am I right, Lady Thornton?"

"Most assuredly," said Catherine with a sardonic smile that mismatched her normal persona.

He touched her on the shoulder and leaned in to whisper, "Are you feeling well? You are not acting yourself."

She shrugged off his touch. "I am familiarizing myself with your dear friend Miss Ashton. Nothing more."

Catherine crossed the floor, and Edward felt pinned to the spot as Catherine stood before Mary. They were of a height, but their coloring was night and day. Mary was so bright that the plants seemed to turn their faces toward her to soak in her radiance. Catherine, on the other hand, was slight with dark hair and shadows that seemed to cling to her, making even the well-lit conservatory dim.

"I wonder if I ought to be jealous of you, Miss Ashton," Catherine said. Her expression failed to match her words. She appeared mortified and in disbelief over the tone and character of her words.

"I am no threat to you, Lady Thornton. I can see Lord Thornton is madly in love with you. How could I hope to come between you?"

Catherine laughed. "Perhaps if you had a larger dowry to your name, I would need to be concerned."

Catherine's pale cheeks were flaming red as she pressed her hand over her mouth as if to prevent any more hateful things from falling out. This was a shocking side of Catherine he had not expected. Mary's cheeks in contrast were a delicate pink. She took the insult with grace.

"I would think Lord Thornton is looking for more than money in marriage," Mary said in response. Her eyes flickered in his direction. It was a shy glance, but it made his heart beat faster.

They held one another's gaze, and the conservatory and even Catherine seemed to fade away. Did I make the wrong choice in marrying Catherine? Everything was a mad rush, and I can no longer think of the reason why.

"Please excuse me, I am feeling a bit faint. I believe I've had too much sun," Catherine said. Her voice was hoarse.

He spared her a passing glance. Her skin was flushed a rosy color, but he doubted it was from the sun. He could see the horror as the full weight of her words settled upon her.

"I think that would be for the best," he said in a tone that insisted she depart.

"Perhaps I should leave as well," Mary said. Her eyes darted between Catherine and him. She's trying to spare us the embarrassment. She is uncommonly thoughtful.

Edward turned to her and showed his back to Catherine. "Don't go. We have so much catching up to do."

"I think it might be for the best." Mary nodded in Catherine's direction. Catherine flushed further and looked down at her feet. He wished she would leave so he could make his apologies to Mary, alone.

"Please do not trouble yourself on my account," Catherine said. "I am more fatigued than I imagined. It may be best if I go and lie down." Catherine headed for the door.

Neither of them moved to stop her, though her leaving seemed to take an eternity. When the door to the conservatory closed behind her, he felt the space between Mary and himself charged with tension.

"I must apologize for my wife's behavior; she has not been herself." Or she is not the woman I thought she was.

Mary shook her head and looked over to a nearby dahlia. It was indigo with full petals spread out like a starburst. "Please do not; she has a right to be angry with me."

"Her behavior is inexcusable; you are a guest in our house." He reached out to touch her. It was a careless gesture, he thought he might comfort her, but that would be inappropriate.

Mary looked at his hand reaching for her and she cupped it in her own. She folded his hand in hers and turned over to face the palm up. She pressed a kiss there and glanced up at him from behind her burnished gold lashes.

"She has every right to be angry with me because I am in love with her husband."

Chapter Seven

Catherine's limbs were leaden as she made her way down the stairs. She had refused to let Miss Larson style her hair that morning. She could not stand letting anyone touch her. She felt filthy. She was less than a worm for having said all those cruel things to Edward and Miss Ashton. How could I have said such a thing to them? It was as if I were not in control of my own body. No matter how hard I tried, I could not stop the hateful words from spilling out.

Mr. Hobbs and the three footmen were lined up against the far wall beside the banquet table as Catherine entered the morning room. They wore their usual uniforms of black coats with crisp white under shirts. The pleats in the shirts were perfect and symmetrical. Mrs. Morgan ran a strict household; not even a hair was out of place on any of the men's heads. Mr. Hobbs stepped forward, preparing to lift lids and ladle whatever she desired onto a plate for her. There were five different silver servers laid out on the banquet. A bright white lace runner lay beneath it. I do not deserve this splendor; the servants jump to the slightest twitch of my hand when I have shamed my husband in the most grievous way.

Catherine wandered over to the banquet, expecting the servants to judge her for her infractions. Mr. Hobb's expression was blank.

"My lady, how shall I serve you?" He motioned to the numerous platters.

Food sounded most unpalatable, but she settled on a piece of toast and a cup of tea. She sat down at the breakfast table. Mr. Solomon pulled out her chair for her, and she thanked him, to which he returned the sentiment with a stiff nod. Someone had set out the society pages. She glanced over it briefly, not much one for gossip. She shifted through it restlessly, nibbling at her toast and choking on it.

The door at the far end of the room opened and Catherine glanced up, startled. She expected Mrs. Morgan to arrive and scold her for insulting her master but found instead Edward strolling in with a bright smile gracing his lips. Her heart hammered in her chest.

"Lord Thornton, what are you doing here?" Catherine gasped.

He frowned for a moment as he stood over her. His sandy blond brows arched towards his hairline. "Darling, I told you to call me Edward."

She sputtered an apology. After the way she had behaved the day before, she did not think she should be so familiar with him. He waved away her apology. "Think nothing of it. I know we are still getting to know one another; mistakes are bound to be made."

He smiled and she relaxed back into her seat. He leaned in to kiss her forehead. Edward went over to the banquet and perused what was offered while Mr. Hobbs attended him with much more animation than he had with Catherine.

Edward sat down at the chair beside Catherine as Mr. Fox laid a plate overladen with three poached eggs, two pieces of toast, and a bit of ham.

"Thank you, my good man," Edward said to Mr. Fox.

The redhead gave his master a smile, revealing his crooked front teeth. "My pleasure, my lord."

Catherine watched Mr. Fox retreat to his spot beside the banquet table. When he caught her staring, his smile faded. I know I should not assume they hate me, but I cannot escape the feeling that I am an unwelcome addition to the household.

Catherine stared glumly at her plate. Edward squeezed her hand beneath the table. "Is everything right with you?" he inquired.

She gave him a smile and put the servants' dislike aside. She was more intent upon smoothing things over with her husband. She took a deep breath and then said, "I must apologize for my inappropriate behavior yesterday afternoon. I said things that I deeply regret. I do trust you, and I should not have made any insinuation about you and Miss Ashton. I plan to write to her and apologize this afternoon."

He frowned and tilted his head to regard Catherine. He laughed. "I am not sure I know to what you are referring. I was out visiting my tenant farms all afternoon. I saw neither you nor Miss Ashton. I thought Miss Ashton was visiting in London."

It was Catherine's turn to appear puzzled. Maybe he wants to pretend nothing happened? She stared down at her plate for a moment, considering how to respond, then settled on, "Now that I think on it, I realize that may have been a dream."

He patted her hand sympathetically. "That happens to me from time to time. I will wake certain something wretched has happened. Each time, upon further consideration, I come to the conclusion that it is not possible and I put it aside." He nodded his head in concluding his point.

Catherine stared at her husband for a moment. He seemed completely sincere, and just as she was certain she had said those awful things to Miss Ashton, she knew further discussion would be disregarded. It was a secret relief to learn her husband was willing to forgive and forget. She too was ready to move on from the topic and decided to let the subject lie. Whatever Edward's feelings for Miss Ashton might be, he had married Catherine, and that was all that mattered.

Edward noticed she had only picked up one piece of toast and insisted she eat more. Mr. Hobbs grudgingly brought her a platter of eggs and bacon. She found her appetite returned and she cleared her plate. When breakfast was finished, Edward escorted Catherine out of the morning room. They linked arms and Catherine inquired into his plans for the day. He told her about his plans for a new crop at one of the tenant farms and some new farm equipment he had invested in.

As they reached the doors to the study, he stopped and turned to face her. "Darling, I almost forgot. I have the most terrible news!" Her pulse jumped; had he changed his mind and he wanted to confront her about the previous day? "Our neighbors, the Smiths, have lost their daughter to pneumonia!"

She released the breath she had been holding, only to realize he was referring to the family of Evelyn Smith. She gasped and covered her mouth. It has to be a coincidence. I never met Evelyn Smith; she was dead long before I ever arrived here. Miss Smith's existence or nonexistence, whatever the case may be, in her life still vexed her, and she wanted to forget the whole thing.

"That's terrible," Catherine squeaked.

Edward nodded solemnly. "Such a shame, for a girl so young to die. Mrs. Morgan had recently interviewed her for a position at the manor too. What a waste; she would have made an excellent lady's maid for you."

Catherine swallowed a lump lodged in her throat. Smith is a common last name; it is logical that I would have thought Miss Larson's name was Smith. As for the wrong description, perhaps there was an error in my memory. From the corner of her eye, Catherine noticed Mrs. Morgan approaching them. She had emerged from the servants' stairwell as they were talking. Her mouth was pinched shut and the lines around it were white. She grasped her ring of keys at her belt. She lied to me. She knew of a Miss Smith. She shook her head. That was preposterous. She should not doubt her husband's staff.

"I'd like for you to take a basket of goods down to the Smiths on our behalf. It would be good for you to get to know the neighbors, especially those that are less fortunate than us," Edward continued, oblivious to Catherine's inner turmoil.

Catherine felt sick. A refusal dangled from the tip of her tongue, but Edward smiled before leaning to kiss her on the forehead, a clear dismissal. She did not have the heart to refuse him. "I would be happy to." She forced a smile, which she knew looked more like a grimace.

Edward did not notice, however, and replied, "You are such a dutiful wife, Catherine."

"I'll have the carriage pulled around for you, my lady," said Mrs. Morgan.

"No!" Catherine shouted. The two of them stared at her with expressions ranging from shock on Edward's face to disapproval from Mrs. Morgan.

Catherine did not see either of them. She was recalling a carriage ride; the details surrounding it were murky, but her empathic rejection stemmed from this event. She had been with someone, but she was not certain who, just as she was not sure where they were headed. Thinking about it, it replayed in her mind as if she were living it all over again.

The coach lurched, and Catherine grasped the edge of her seat, white knuckled. As the lurching motion subsided, it became readily apparent they had stopped. The horses screeched, and the thud of their hooves as they pawed the ground replaced the creak of the carriage wheels.

An animal howl echoed outside that sent gooseflesh rising along Catherine's arms. She squeaked in alarm before clamping a hand over her mouth to stop the offending noise. Another howl accompanied the first. Catherine's entire body trembled right down to her toes. A final howl, closer than the first two, ripped through the night air, this time accompanied by a scream of terror. Catherine's heart beat in her chest, and she pressed her knuckles to her mouth to suppress her startled cry.

Silence hung heavy on the air.

"Hello?" she called. The carriage door was open--someone had left her. Her companion had told her to wait. Outside, fog was swirling, obscuring her vision beyond a few feet.

Something sniffed around the door. She caught only the barest glimpse of coarse brown hair and a hunched figure as it raced through the mist just outside her door. Catherine scooted along the seat towards the door.

"Is anyone there?"

A moan echoed from within the mist. Catherine stood hunched over in the door to the carriage, squinting into the darkness, one ear cocked for the howling creature. The sensible thing to do would be to close the door and wait for rescue, but she feared for her companion more than her own safety.

The coach rocked and Catherine fumbled, losing her balance. She grasped the doorway for support and found it wet. She pulled her hand away and a thick dark liquid covered it. As if she had summoned it, the mist parted and a gibbous moon shone down on her hand, illuminating the red blood. Catherine screamed and fell backwards onto the floor of the carriage. She stared at the blood on her hand. Why is there blood? Oh, God please tell me this is a nightmare.

"Catherine!" Edward shook her as she thrashed about on the ground. "Mrs. Morgan, call Dr. Rowan. I think she is having some kind of fit."

Catherine arched her back and screamed. The sound grated against the walls. The servants rushed into the hallway, their footsteps clattering on the parquet in their rush. She stopped screaming and fell limp into her husband's arms.

He was coaxing her, asking her to speak. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked first to her hands to see they were clean of blood. It was just a dream; it wasn't real.

"Catherine, speak to me." Edward's voice was tight with worry.

Catherine tried to sit up, but he would not let her. He pushed her down gently, laying her head in his lap. He brushed his fingertips against her temple in a soothing gesture.

"I am fine, Edward. It is nothing to worry about," she said in a shaking voice that gave no confidence to her words.

"What happened?" he asked.

The servants were gathered around in a half circle. The white and black of their uniforms made them look pale and ghostly. Catherine thought once more of Miss Smith's ghost and shuddered.

"I thought..." She took a rattling breath. "It was nothing, just my overactive imagination."

Edward shook his head, concern painted clearly on his face. "You cannot expect me to believe that was a product of your overactive imagination," he said firmly but not unkindly.

Catherine would not meet his gaze. She stared instead at her own hands folded in her lap. Edward waited for her to answer.

When an explanation did not come, he sighed. "We will talk of this later. For now I think you should wait for Dr. Rowan to examine you."

She shook her head. "No, that won't be necessary. I am perfectly sound." Under normal circumstances she would not have held her ground, but she did not want her husband to question her about her illness. It's better he does not know or he will set me aside for Miss Ashton. "It will help if I can get a bit of exercise. Direct me to the Smiths', and I will walk there and deliver the basket."

"I think you should rest, your health--"

"Is fine," Catherine said, meeting him in the eye for the first time. He searched her face for a moment and nodded.

"At least take the carriage."

Catherine thought of the blood on her hands and shook her head again. "No. I would rather walk."

He raked his hands through his sandy hair. "Will you at least bring Mrs. Larson? I do not like the idea of you going so far alone." He left out the 'in your condition', but his meaning was clear.

Miss Larson was among the gawkers, and she took a step forward. Catherine looked her up and down and considered declining the offer. She could see from the set of Edward's jaw he would brook no further argument. The energy deflated out of her and she gave a weak nod of consent. Edward helped her to her feet. Though she was shaky at first, she regained her confidence and gave him what she intended to be an assuring smile.

Miss Larson helped Catherine into her coat and bonnet, and Mrs. Morgan returned with the goodwill basket for the Smiths. She motioned to hand it to Miss Larson, but Catherine insisted on carrying it. The two women headed out. Miss Larson walked a few paces behind her. Catherine was too tired to protest. It was another gray day. The air was moist and thick. The fog was thinner but still clung to the streets and trees like an opaque shawl. They were approaching the village when Catherine spotted someone coming towards them from the opposite direction. He had white hair and leaned heavily on a cane. She plastered a smile on her face upon recognizing her husband's friend Col. Hawthorn.

She stopped to greet him. "Col. Hawthorn, good afternoon."

"Lady Thornton, why are you walking with such a heavy load?" the colonel said bluntly.

She would have been surprised by his direct manner if she had not met him previously. From what she had seen at the dinner party, she concluded this was his way. He was an intimidating man, but she suspected his bark was greater than his bite.

"I am going to visit the Smiths. They have recently lost their daughter and I'm bringing them a few things. Their daughter had applied to work at Thornwood Abbey."

He scratched his chin as his bushy eyebrows pulled together. "I am not familiar with the Smiths. I thought Lord Thornton sent a girl from his aunt's house in London."

"Perhaps you are mistaken, Lord Thornton was clear the girl had family in the area. Their daughter was to be in service; perhaps you have not had the pleasure of their acquaintance?"

Miss Larson cleared her throat, and Catherine realized she must have insulted her inadvertently. She only meant to say a gentleman might not often be in the company of servants and farmers.

The colonel did not seem to notice the insult. "Let me carry that for you at the least; a lady should not be out alone without escort." He handed Miss Larson his cane and then gently took the basket from Catherine. He slung the basket into the crook of his arm and took the cane back from Miss Larson. "Where do these Smiths live? It is about time I made my acquaintance."

Miss Larson smiled and shook her head. Catherine could not help but smile at him as well.

"I am sure they will be glad of your company, as will I," Catherine said.

The trio continued on in amiable silence. The colonel huffed a bit, and Catherine tried to offer to take the load once more, but he would hear nothing of it. I will hurt his pride to ask again. Despite that, she kept her eye on him, just in case. The farther she was from Thornwood Abbey, the more she could relax and let the morning's events slip away.

Then as they turned down a road that was little more than wheel tracks in the grass, Col. Hawthorn spoke again. "Lady Thornton, I am going to be frank, and I hope you will forgive me."

"You may speak freely, Col. Hawthorn." She wondered why he felt the need to present himself in such a way when he never before seemed afraid to speak his mind.

"Your husband may very well disregard this as silly nonsense, but I have seen things in this village, and I think you, as an outsider, should be aware."

"Oh?" A tingling sensation raced up her spine once more.

"The woods, the Thorn Dwellers' Woods, they are dangerous." He was breathing heavily and his face was painted with a fine sheen of sweat. This walk and his burden are too taxing for a man of his health. I need to convince him to rest. Catherine noticed a shaded spot along the path.

"Might we take a rest for a moment? I fear I am growing a bit weak," she said to the colonel.

He huffed and nodded his head, and the three sat down on a grass hill alongside the road. She knew as a gentleman he would be inclined to accept a rest if it was for Catherine.

As the colonel caught his breath, Catherine clarified his previous statement. "I've noticed the woods are wild, and I would not dare go into them for fear of some dangerous animal."

He shook his head. "No, it is more than that. The forest is home to Those Who Dwell in the Thorns."

Miss Larson snorted in derision. Col. Hawthorn glared at her, and she looked at her hands, chastised. "The younger locals like to believe that the Thorn Dwellers are nothing but myth and superstition, your husband among them."

Miss Larson was well into middle age, but Catherine supposed anyone younger than the elderly colonel would be considered 'youthful' to him. As for Catherine, she found the idea of monstrous creatures living in the woods behind her house to be a bit far-fetched. If I believed that, then I would have to accept that I was attacked by a ghost. She shook her head to dispel the thought.

"You do not believe?" Col. Hawthorn accused her.

She considered her answer. She did not want to insult him, but the very notion seemed preposterous. "I have seen no evidence that something is living in those woods," she said at last. Though I thought I saw something moving about in the woods before Mr. Thorn came out the day before last. She did not voice this aloud for fear of sounding foolish.

He scoffed. "It will be too late once you have come face to face with one of their kind."

Catherine shivered.

"You seem very certain," said Miss Larson.

He swiveled to face the lady's maid. "I know they are real because they took my daughter from me."

Miss Larson looked skeptical, but Catherine felt compelled to ask. "In what way did they take her?"

"On clear nights, you can hear a song. It's like nothing you have heard before. It's the song of Those That Dwell in the Thorns. They lure the innocent into their forest with their wicked music, and those that enter never return. My daughter had been out late, returning from a ball, when she heard their evil tune. I had not warned her. I thought, as you do, that it was all superstition. She went missing for weeks, and when we found her by the side of the road, her heart had been cut out."

Catherine clamped her hand over her mouth. Miss Smith had a hole in her chest where her heart had been. Could it have been the Thorn Dwellers who killed her? That does not explain how I could have seen her ghost... Catherine shook her head again. It is all a coincidence and the fabrication of my mind. She knew that these things could not be real. It was just superstition. It seemed the colonel's daughter had been the victim of a heinous crime. Miss Larson's eyes were wide with shock as if she could not believe Col. Hawthorn would say something so shocking in the company of women.

"Those Who Dwell in the Thorns are not to be trifled with. If you hear their unearthly song late at night, do not go out. Close your windows, shut your ears, whatever you do, you must ignore it."

She nodded if only to placate him, she did not want to excite him further, but she could not reasonably believe there was anything in the woods behind her house.

Col. Hawthorn groaned as he regained his feet. "Shall we continue on?"

Catherine agreed, having no other reason to linger. They reached the cottage that Edward had described. It was a small building built out of stone with a thatched roof that looked in desperate need of repair. Broken shutters hung from the windows by their hinges. The gate was missing, and grass had grown high enough to be seen over the tops of the stone wall. The front door was ajar, and the inside was black and empty.

Catherine hesitated before stepping through where the gate should have been. She picked her way through the garden. The stone pathway that led to the door was overgrown with weeds and proved difficult to navigate through. She stepped into the cottage with some apprehension. The table was barren and covered in dust. The cupboards were open and only a single broken jar remained. No one has been here in a very long time. She turned to her companions. Col. Hawthorn set the basket on the table.

"I thought this house was vacant. The last tenant left over six months ago," Col. Hawthorn said as he looked about the room.

Miss Larson was standing outside the door, avoiding Catherine's gaze. On impulse Catherine asked, "Did you know the deceased? Perhaps we have the wrong cottage?"

Miss Larson's eyes flickered back and forth before she answered, "I never met her; maybe her family moved away after her death."

She's lying, Catherine thought. Did Edward know that the Smiths were not here? Did they ever even exist? She looked to her companions; neither of them would meet her gaze. Catherine feared the answer to that question, because the truth just might shatter her fragile reality. Who was Miss Smith?

Chapter Eight

Mary knew it would reflect poorly upon her character to visit Thornwood Abbey twice in a row unescorted, but she was too eager to see the progress of her spell to care. She lied to her mother, telling her that she was planning on calling on Mrs. Oakheart. Her mother, though in support of Mary's pursuit of Lord Thornton, would not have approved of her blatant intentions. The neighbors were sure to talk if they saw. Mary reasoned once her powers were returned it would not matter; she could silence the wagging tongues herself. Today was a rare opportunity not to be wasted. Mary knew Lady Thornton would be out; her magic may have been dwindling, but her power of persuasion was as strong as ever, she was delighted to learn.

She took the carriage, at her mother's insistence, and fidgeted all the while. I have to rely on my own natural beauty since the glamour is so weak. She wished she had a mirror in which she could check her appearance. She had taken special care in dressing. She wore a light blue gown made of soft chenille, which made her eyes glow vividly. The neckline was cut modestly while still complementing her figure. She had Mrs. Kelton curl her golden locks, and they were arranged on top of her head in a style that might be more suited for evening, instead of visiting. The carriage bumped along the road, and Mary had to steady herself with a hand on the seat to keep from toppling over and ruining her hair.

They arrived outside of Thornwood Abbey and the carriage crunched to a halt. Catherine waited for one of Edward's footmen to let her out of the carriage or for her coachman to step down and open the door. She petted her hair while she waited, but no one came to let her out. She frowned and slid over the seat and pushed back the curtain on the carriage window. The doors to the manor were closed and there was no sign of her coachman. She tapped on the roof of the carriage.

"Tom, please open the door."

There was no response but the rush of wind outside the carriage door. This will never happen once I am mistress of Thornwood Abbey. Why Mama hired Mr. Bernard's half-witted son to drive the carriage, I will never know. He's probably wandered off like the simpleton he is. Mary gave a resigned sigh and opened the carriage door. It was as she had feared; there was no one to greet her. They must have seen my arrival. Why has no one come out to help me out of the carriage? She hovered in the door of the carriage, bent over in a most unflattering position for a few moments before she gave up and climbed out on her own. It was difficult to do considering she had always had help before getting in and out of carriages. She stumbled, her feet catching on the step down.

She threw her hands out to catch herself before she collided with the gravel. A hand caught her around the waist and the air was expelled from her lungs as she made contact with her savior's arm. Her feet hit the ground hard, and pain shot up her leg.

"Ouch, you oaf. Where were you when I was calling for help?" she scolded who she thought was Tom, but when she looked up she was staring into startling dark eyes and a handsome face.

Her breath caught and she fumbled with the right words, something that had never been a problem for her in the past. "I am so sorry, Mr...?" she said, fishing for an introduction.

The stranger took a step back, letting Mary stand on her own two feet. She was given a glimpse of his lean physique, large hands and long limbs. He was handsome to be certain, but judging from his clothes--plain rough-spun slacks and a white shirt opened just beneath the collar--he was no gentleman. Such a pity, he looks to be a gardener. She let her eyes linger on the flesh at his throat, it was olive, and from what she could glimpse of his chest, it was well defined. She heaved a sigh of disappointment. Maybe he would be good as a bedmate. I know there are plenty of men willing to sleep with well-to-do ladies for a few bobbles and a promotion or two. I will remember him once I take my rightful place. Edward is sure to entertain me for a while, and we will need to have a child first, but later...

"Introductions will not be necessary. I am here to give you a warning," he said. His voice was a medium timber with a sensual undertone.

She did not understand him at first. She was too entranced by his looks and the velvet touch of his voice. He glared at her and the full brunt of his meaning struck her like a blow. She had never been spoken to that way before. "I beg your pardon?" She must have misheard him. A man of his station would never dare speak to me this way.

He crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a look that terrified her. There was something feral hidden behind those dark eyes. "I know what you are, and I know what you're doing here. And I am warning you to stay away from this place."

She was not sure if she should be amused or offended. It is too bad he lacks any respect for authority. To think someone of his station would presume to speak to me in such a way.

"What exactly do you think I am?"

"I know you think yourself as a child of the Fae, but you're nothing more than a common hedge witch. You have small magic and you use it to influence the other humans around you."

She pulled her lips back to reveal her teeth and hiss at him. "How dare you call me common! My family can trace its lineage back through generations of interbreeding with the Fae. My father was a Fae lord!"

He laughed; it was a mocking sound. "Your father is a fat lazy human who has gotten so with the benefit of living beside the Thorn Dwellers' Woods, just like all the other people living here."

"That's not true! My mother would never sire a child off of that man!"

He smiled and revealed his neat even teeth. "You are more a fool than I thought. I can tell by looking at you there is no less than three generations separating you from any form of the Fae, and then it was most likely some minor creature, something that had no true form other than a woodland creature. The Fae do not breed with humans, and even if they did, the offspring would be murdered in the cradle."

Mary clutched at her gown, her heart hammering against her chest. "Why are you telling me this?"

He leaned in to whisper in her ear. "Because I am the ruler here, and you have come onto my territory and poached on my hunting ground. I have undone your spell on Lord Thornton, and I will do so again if you try to put a spell upon him or anyone else in this household, and then I will find you and cut out your heart."

She stumbled backwards in a clumsy attempt to get away. He was smiling at her, revealing his even white teeth sharpened to dagger points. She flailed her arms in front of her to bat him away. Her attacks were easily dodged, and he grabbed her by the shoulder and leaned in to her neck. She sobbed and thrashed against hands that pinned her arms to her side.

He shook her violently. "Miss Ashton?"

She sobbed. Her eyes squeezed tight, she shouted, "Please do not kill me!"

"Miss Ashton, I wouldn't kill you. You're a nice lady," said a slow familiar voice.

Mary opened her eyes. She blinked a few times to confirm that the face looking back at her was that of the dim-witted Tom Bernard. He had wide-set eyes that were a flat gray and dark hair that flopped onto his forehead, in need of a haircut. His clothes were plain: slacks, a vest and a cap on his head.

She took a few deep breaths, recollecting herself before standing on her own two feet again. Tom was peering at her with a confused look on his simple face.

"Is anything wrong, Miss Ashton?" he asked.

"I am fine, thank you. I just slipped on my way out of the carriage. You should have been there to help me down." She said this with a push from her own dwindling powers to convince him and erase any memory he might have of her shrieking. His face went slack as the magic went to work. She glanced around and found the blond footman waiting at the entryway for her. The man who had threatened her was gone as if he had never been.

She hurried up the steps and the footman followed her inside. She slid out of her coat and gave her hat to the footman. Whoever he was, he has no real power. If he did, he would have proven it. He just wanted to scare me because he has designs for the Thorntons as I do. Most likely he thinks he can slip his way into Lady Thornton's bed.

Mr. Hobbs, Edward's butler, appeared at Mary's shoulder. He came hardly to Mary's chin. He reminded her of a toad with his bulbous nose and beady eyes. She just imagined him possessing a long tongue with which to snatch flies out of the air. She amused herself with the notion and soon forgot anything about the horrifying meeting outside.

"Miss Ashton, my mistress is out. Shall I take your card and let her know you came to call?" he said in a rumbling voice.

"That will not be necessary. I came to see the master of the house. Is Lord Thornton about?"

The butler's eyes flickered towards the study before nodding and saying, "Yes. He is working and asked not to be disturbed."

"Tell him Mary Ashton has come to call. I am certain he will see me." She gave him a wave of her hand as if to hurry him along.

He frowned but did not object. "Please wait in the parlor." He motioned to a nearby room.

The doors were opened and Mary wandered in and took a seat on one of the couches and scanned the decor. She had not had the chance upon her previous visit. These curtains are hideous. They will need to be changed. So will these couches, they remind me of something my grandmother had in her parlor in London.

"Miss Ashton, this is quite a surprise," Edward said as he swept into the room. He was dressed down, wearing his plain black trousers and a cream shirt that was buttoned to the collar, but he did not wear a vest or a cravat. He was handsome in his own way, but he paled in comparison to the stranger she had met.

"Edward, I could not stay away another minute. I have something I must say, and please listen to me."

He stopped mid-stride as he approached her and his expression faded. "I am sorry, Miss Ashton, but I would prefer if you address me as Lord Thornton. I know we are longtime companions, but I have seen little of you since we were children, and since I am now a married man..."

He continued on while Mary let his words brush past her. The stranger had not lied. He had broken her spell. Edward should be in her thrall, but he seemed to recall nothing of the day before. This is terrible! What am I to do? I will not settle for anything less than Lord Thornton. A thought occurred to her and she knew she had to make a quick departure.

"Pardon me, Lord Thornton," she pronounced his name most carefully. "I have only just returned to Thornwood, and I was caught up in a bit of nostalgia. I came only to give my regards on your recent nuptials. I am sorry I missed meeting your wife." She bowed. "I should be going."

She headed for the door, half-hoping he would try to stop her, but he made no move to chase after her. By the time she reached the front steps, she was fuming. She waited for Tom to bring the carriage back around as she tapped her foot impatiently, not caring who saw. When Tom arrived with the carriage, she rushed down the steps, and he hardly had enough time to open the door before she clambered inside and crossed her arms.

"Home, miss?" Tom asked.

"No, I want to go to the cottage at the edge of the village."

"The witch's?" Tom shivered.

"Yes, to the witch." She turned away from him to end the discussion.

Tom closed the door and she listened to the creak of wood as he climbed up onto the coachman's platform. He spoke to the horses, his voice low and coaxing. That was the thing with Tom; he had an uncanny knack with animals. He never used the whip and never had need of restraints. The two horses her family owned just followed the simple man around the yard like a pair of dogs. They ate from his hand, and Mary had more than once caught him asleep in their stall. Mary didn't want to think about Tom and his strange way with horses. She needed a plan to get Lady Thornton out of her way, and she needed to find out who the strange man was that threatened her.

They pulled up outside the witch's cottage. The old woman was in her garden feeding her chickens. The chickens were squabbling over a few morsels of corn as Tom helped Mary down from the carriage. He would never dare to let her climb down on her own again, she suspected. Mathilde stood up and gained little height as she was nearly bent over with age.

"I knew you would return," the witch said in her rasping voice.

"Here I am."

"Come in, I can see you have something on your mind." Mathilde turned and hobbled back inside. Her steps were tiny and she hardly lifted her feet off the ground. Mary bit back her impatience and followed the old woman into the house. "Put the kettle on," Mathilde said as she settled onto the edge of her bed with its threadbare quilt. Mary wrinkled her nose at being given such a menial task to perform. "You'll do it if you want my help."

Mary picked up a rusted kettle out of the washtub and cast around for the water.

"There's a pump out back," the witch said with a smile, revealing her rotten teeth.

"I am not going to pump water. I'll have Tom do it."

"No, you shall do it, if you want the power I can give you."

Mary scowled at the old woman. She stared back with her rheumy eyes and her wrinkled lips pursed. Mary sighed and headed out. She fought her way through the weeds, and the chickens fled at her approach as she tromped back towards the pump. She had never done anything physical and she struggled with the mechanisms for a moment. Tom, who had been watching from the carriage, came and offered his assistance.

"You cannot help," she said as she pushed the hair away from her eyes. All of Mrs. Kelton's work had gone to waste. The curls were falling and the strands of hair clung to her neck.

"Miss, you're doing it wrong; you're supposed to push down on this lever here." He pointed to the long end of the pump.

"I knew that," Mary spat. She pushed down on the pump with all her strength. Nothing happened. "It's broken," she lamented.

"Just keep at it." Tom smiled in his dim-witted way.

She wanted to shout obscenities at him and the hag inside the cottage, but she knew that she was no match for the stranger without her help, so she went to work. She pushed and pushed, the lever going up and down. Sweat was dripping down her face and rolling down her back by the time the first few spurts of water came pouring out of the faucet. She rushed forward with the rusty kettle and filled it with water from the pump. Once it was full, she waddled back to the house with the kettle between her legs and her fingers screaming from the unfamiliar weight. Thankfully, once inside there was a fire burning and Mary was saved from having to light the fire as well. She set the kettle over the flames, nearly singeing her fingers in the process.

Mathilde was smiling wide, her wrinkled face stretched out across her disgusting teeth. "You've got more mettle than I would have thought. More than your fool mother, at least. Take a seat." She pointed a crabbed hand at a wooden chair that looked likely to fall apart the moment Mary sat down. She did as she was told despite the untrustworthy nature of the chair.

"My mother is blinded by her ambition and her own confidence in her ability," Mary said, thinking the woman wanted to hear such a thing.

"You shouldn't insult your mother. She brought a wretch like you into this world, and she has the power to take you from it."

Mary clamped her mouth shut and looked down at her hands. This is not going how I expected. Somehow I thought it would be easy to get her assistance. I should have known.

"You've met Ray Thorn, I take it?" the old woman said.

Mary met the old woman's gaze. She should not have been surprised that the old woman had known. If she knows what he is, maybe she knows how to get him out of my way. "He did not give me his name but he threatened me; he said he would take out my heart if I interfered with the Thorntons."

The old woman cackled. "Yes, he is very possessive of them. He, as do many of the Fae, believes that the Thorntons belong to them."

"Why? What do the Fae want with them?"

The old woman waved her hand in front of her face. "That is a story for another time. Tell me what have you come to me seeking?"

"I should be the one who married Lord Thornton. I tried to interfere in his marriage, but the spell was removed by Mr. Thorn. I need something to get rid of Mr. Thorn."

The witch laughed again. "You ask for so little; are you sure you do not want the moon as well?"

Mary had the sense to look abashed. "Edward loves me, he asked me to marry him once, and I delayed in answering." The truth was she had not answered his proposal in favor of another man who had twice the yearly income and lived outside of Thornwood, but she was not going to tell Mathilde that. "This woman does not belong here. I can feel the forest rejecting her; the servants hate her. She is an abomination."

The witch sucked on her teeth in thought. Then she rose on shaking limbs and headed for a cupboard at the back of the room. She rummaged about in it for a few minutes, muttering as she did so. She exclaimed upon presumably finding what she was looking for. Mary craned her neck for a better look. Mathilde returned to her seat, groaning and complaining about her bones. She opened her hand, revealing a vial of bright green liquid.

"This is what you are looking for, I think." She held it up to the shaft of light spilling through the cracks in her shutters. There were flecks of gold floating about in the green liquid, and they sparkled in the light.

"What is it?" Mary said as she reached out to take the vial.

The witch snatched it back. "It is a potion I created. It will make Lady Thornton irresistible to the Fae, but it will also make her poisonous to them. She will need to be administered a few drops every day to increase potency. In time the Thorn Dwellers will be unable to resist taking her, they will want her heart for sacrifice, but when they do, they will die."

"That's perfect!" Mary cried. It was everything she wanted; she would only need to get Lady Thornton out of the way and she would become the new Lady Thornton.

"Be careful not to be seen; the Thorn Dwellers are a vicious and cunning lot. You'll need to have one of her maids perform the task lest Mr. Thorn suspect."

"Yes, yes, I will." Mary was itching to take the vial.

The witch held out the potion, and Mary grabbed it with undisguised glee. Just wait, Lady Thornton. Your time is coming; Edward will be mine.

Chapter Nine

Lady Thornton took her usual path for her morning exercise. She made a left out the front door of the manor and then passed by the small chapel that was on the west side of the property. From there she would head north towards the orchard, where she would walk for thirty minutes before returning to the manor. Ray knew this without seeing her because he had been watching her for days, memorizing her routine and marveling at her tenacity and her ability to avoid him. On a few occasions, he had put himself in her way, and she had made an abrupt turn and walked away. She even went so far as to cross over the lawns to make a beeline for the house. She never once looked at him or made any indication she had seen him. Stubborn woman, she is so different from the rest. She has to be the one.

He leaned back against the trunk of the tree he was resting in. He sat perched on a large limb. His leg hung down and he swung it back and forth as he brought his flute to his lips. He played a note. It rang out crisp and clear, reverberating across the still of the morning fog. His fingers glided across the flute as his lungs filled the instrument, and a song escaped from it and carried across the lawn, past orderly garden beds and around the chapel to the orchard where Lady Thornton was enjoying her exercise. Though he could not see her, he could imagine the look upon her face as his music reached her. She would hesitate and look about, expecting attack from some unknown quarter. She would pull her shawl tighter against her small shoulders and try to walk away, but she would find that quite impossible.

The music was like a beacon, none could resist, not even Lady Thornton. Ray swayed with the music and closed his eyes, preparing for the meeting. The forest around him stirred; the music had awoken more than he had intended. It did not matter, only the small folk would be roused from their hidey holes, and even then they would be silent watchers. Ray opened his eyes. A pair of foxes came out of their den and sat down at the base of the tree. They sat back on their hind legs, their bushy tails wrapped around them, clever eyes focused just beyond the forest. A deer ambled out from the forest and kept hidden in the brush. He spotted her ears flickering from side to side, large liquid eyes watching the rise as did the other birds, badgers, and other forest creatures that joined her.

The song reached its height and with it brought Lady Thornton over the rise. Her hair was braided down her back. A few wisps had come loose to frame her face. Her large dark eyes searched the horizon, looking for the source of the music. Knowing her fear of him, Ray remained hidden as he called her to him with the music. I'll wait, just for a moment longer. Once she enters the forest, she will not be able to run. Lady Thornton could not fight the pull, and she took small deliberate steps towards the forest, her gaze intent on the woods. She looked prepared to run like a startled rabbit.

She stopped at the pathway that marked the end of the walkway and the human domain. Her pink gown was a bright spot against the gray mist that swirled about her. She looked ethereal and haunting standing there watching the woods. She's stronger than I could have imagined. For her to resist at all is a wonder. He increased the tempo to end her hesitation. He could see her conflicted look as she fought the impulse and her better judgment. She has heard the stories the villagers tell. It is fueling her caution. She clutched her black shawl tighter just as he had seen in his imagination. She seemed to make up her mind as she came closer.

Catherine glanced over her shoulder. Is she being followed? He lowered the flute from his lips and focused on the gray mist behind her. The momentary lapse of the song weakened the spell, and she took a step back. The small folk he had summoned with his song whispered, excited and curious. The song lost effect on them and they were losing patience. I may lose control if I do not do something soon. He could not shake the feeling that she was being followed, and he dared not let anyone else cross over.

The wind blew around her hair, and the tassels at the edge of her shawl whipped about her waist. She did not move in one direction or the other. The small folk were hopping about the shadows. They dared not leave the protection of the trees, but they wanted her. Ray could taste their want. They were creatures of impulse and instinct. They could sense what she was, and they knew she had no defense. Patience or you will frighten her away. She saw them moving about, he knew from the widening of her eyes. He put the flute to his lips, prepared to begin the song anew, when something flew out from the forest. He cursed his lack of foresight. One of the small folk had taken matters in hand.

A bird shrieked and Lady Thornton twirled in place. She stumbled back as the shadow of the bird fell over her. She turned to run but stumbled and fell to her knees. Ray jumped down to give pursuit until he saw the owl settle upon the branch of a tree just above Lady Thornton. He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. This is better than I could have planned.

Lady Thornton laughed at herself upon seeing the owl that had perched itself upon a branch at the edge of the garden path. It blinked large liquid eyes and hooted softly.

She pressed her palms to her chest. "A bit late for you, is it not, Miss Owl?"

The owl hooted back, "Careful, missus."

Ray frowned and wondered who had sent the owl. He had assumed because she came from the forest she was an ally, but in times like these you could never be certain. He hesitated to interrupt and frighten Lady Thornton. He decided to instead wait and watch. Lady Thornton shook herself. She was visibly shocked to be conversing with an owl.

"She'll know you crossed the barrier. She's always watching," the owl elaborated.

"Owls cannot talk," Lady Thornton said.

"You are correct. They do not in the other realm." The bird ruffled her feathers and tilted her head to watch Lady Thornton

"What do you mean by other realm?"

The owl clicked her beak. "A creature like you should know, unless..."

"That's enough, Tabitha." Mr. Thorn stepped up. The owl had said too much. He was not prepared to reveal everything to Lady Thornton just yet. This woman needed a delicate hand, he had learned. She had not seen him approach and she squeaked in alarm.

She rounded to face him and snapped her jaw shut. The owl, Tabitha, gave him a pointed look, if owls could do such a thing, and clicked her beak at him as well. She shifted on the branch, rocking from one foot to the other as if she wanted to say more but dared not in front of Ray. She turned her dark eyes back to Lady Thornton. "It was nice to meet you, missus." Then with the flutter of wings she was gone.

Lady Thornton stared after the owl with her mouth hanging open. Though Ray as a rule found humans unattractive, he had to admit Lady Thornton's naiveté had a certain appeal.

"That bird talked," she sputtered.

"It did," Ray said. He did not want to overwhelm her with too much information at once.

"Birds do not talk."

"Well, apparently they do." He smiled, and she turned to look at him. Her eyes were wide and full of fear. She glanced over her shoulder, considering fleeing, most likely.

She shook her head as if to shake off the very notion of talking birds. "I am sorry I must be going--" she started to say, but Ray Thorn ran around her, blocking her exit.

"I closed the gate; it's time we talked." He folded his arms over his chest.

"What are you talking about, what gate?"

"One of the gateways between your world and the Otherworld. That's not important right now. You've been avoiding me, Lady Thornton."

A complicated series of emotions flashed across her face, but she settled on indignation. "I have no obligation to you, sir. Please let me by."

He was impressed she had made an attempt to assert her authority. From what he had seen and knew of her, she was not the type to do so. She must be truly terrified. She tried to walk around him, but he shot his arm out to stop her once again.

"You cannot go until I release my spell. I guard the gate, and none pass without my permission."

"Saying a spell is real does not make it so, Mr. Thorn." She sidestepped him. He did not try to stop her; she had to learn.

She made it a few feet before she collided with the invisible barrier. She was unprepared for the collision and she hit her head against it. Sparks of light flared where she had touched it, and rippled outward like a rock being thrown into a pond. She stared at the spot for a few moments, her hands clutched at her side in fists.

"This is highly improper, Mr. Thorn. Please let me go," she said in a small voice, with her back turned to him.

A curious reaction, most humans shout, scream, or beg for their life. She pretends to be calm though I can smell her fear. Her fear was like a thick perfume clogging the air between them.

"Not until you hear what you must."

"I demand you let me leave!" She spun around and rushed at him, fist raised. He caught her hand easily and spun her so that she had her back pressed against his chest. He felt her heart hammering against him, and she shook with pent-up anger.

"I will let you go if you promise to listen," he whispered in her ear, and gooseflesh rose along her arm.

She nodded mutely in response.

"The other day, do you remember what we saw?"

"Nothing, it was a hearse for that poor woman Miss Smith."

"That is not true and you know it."

"I do not know what you're talking about." She squirmed in his grip and tried to break free. He released her and she fell to the ground. She landed on her knees and stared up at him with her wide frightened eyes.

"You saw Miss Smith postmortem, and it was not the first time, was it?"

She shook her head. "No, it's not true." She whimpered.

"She was following you, wasn't she?"

Tears were running down her face. "I never met Miss Smith, I swear. I should have ignored that song when I heard it and headed back inside. Col. Hawthorn says the Thorn Dwellers are real, but I thought to believe it would be madness."

So that is who told her about us. I should have known. The human has been causing problems for a long time. I will need to pay him a visit.

He decided to change tactics. "Then tell me, Lady Thornton, what of your irises? It was said no one grew Irises half as beautiful as yours, and when others asked your secret, you dared not tell them that you sang to the buds and they grew better because of it."

"Why are you asking me these things?"

He waved a hand, urging her to continue.

"I--have a knack for growing things. There is nothing special about it."

"What about Archibald? You had a rabbit when you lived in the country. One day you left the cage door open and your father's hounds found him. They ripped him to shreds. You held him and cried, and then he jumped up back to life as if nothing had happened. Do you remember that, Lady Thornton?"

She shook her head, her braid swinging back and forth. "He was stunned; the dogs only scared him."

She does not even question how I know these things because she is starting to make the connection, to see what she has avoided seeing for years.

"I want to leave. Please, you cannot keep me here," she gasped.

"Tell me first, Lady Thornton, have you ever seen something from the corner of your eye, for just an instant, but when you look more closely, it's just a boulder or an oddly shaped shrub? Well, what you thought you saw was real. There are strange things that you pretend not to see even when they're staring you in the face. You know it's true, and it's time you admit it aloud."

"What do you want me to say, Mr. Thorn? How did you find out about my illness? How could you have known?" She buried her face in her hands and wept.

This puzzled him. If she is ill, then she may not be the one I have sought. He crouched down beside her and rested a hand on her shoulder. He opened up his second sight. He could see the current of life like hundreds of rivers running through her body; none were polluted with illness that he could see. "What illness?" he asked.

She laughed but it was half mad.

Did I choose wrong after all? It will be my head if she is not the one, he thought.

"Don't pretend you do not know, Mr. Thorn. You have been taunting it with me since the day we met. It is my madness. I have had hallucinations since I was a child, spoken to people who were not there. I spent time at the sanitarium, as a girl, and they cured me, or so I thought. Since I have come here, they've returned." She grabbed onto his shirt front and stared up at him with wild eyes. "Please, do not tell Edward. He will set me aside, I know it. I will do whatever you ask."

Ray sat back on his heels. She thinks she is mad. She will not be ready the way she is now. He swept his gaze over her tearstained face. There was a glimmer of light hidden deep beneath the tangled threads of her soul. The humans damaged her, but she can be repaired. She has to be the one. I have no other options left.

She cried as she rocked back and forth, her arms wrapped around her torso. Her shawl slipped down and revealed her pink flesh underneath. He was shocked by how fragile she seemed. She was not ready; his plans would need to be delayed.

"Lady Thornton, have you ever considered that you might not be mad, that these things might be real?"

She looked up at him with a tearstained face. There was so much hope and desperation in her expression he had to turn away. She is so very human.

"I wish that were true, Mr. Thorn, but these things are not real. How could they be?"

He wanted to laugh, but it might set her over the edge. He was getting too sentimental, time was running out, and he could not be bothered to spare her feelings.

"Humans lie, Lady Thornton, and they hate what they cannot understand. That is how you came to be what you are. Why you deny yourself."

"There is nothing special about me; I am just a woman." Her breathing took on a ragged quality, and she scuttled back away from him. He could see it painted on her face--she was reliving some horrid memory from her past.

She is nearly too damaged. If I press her any further, she will break. With a sigh, Ray stood and walked over to Lady Thornton. She threw her hands up to shield her face. He touched his fingers to her temple and blew a bit of his magic onto her. Her eyes drooped and fell closed. Sleep for now, Lady Thornton, but soon you will be put to the test, and I only hope for your sake that you pass.

Chapter Ten

Edward leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his neck. The grandfather clock, nestled in an alcove between shelves, ticked away. He found he could not focus lately. He was weary and his mind wanted to wander. I should take Catherine to London. The season is still in swing. Generally he did not like the city, with its thick polluted air and the press of people on all sides. However, he kept having this nagging feeling that he should leave Thornwood Abbey for a while, leave the farms' maintenance to his estate manager, Mr. Wolfe. We could journey to Wales, or the seaside. Wouldn't it be a marvel to ride on the train?

The study door flew open and Edward nearly toppled out of his chair in surprise. Mr. Hobbs was red faced and panting. He leaned heavily on the door frame.

Edward rushed over to the elderly butler. He could not imagine what would incite the man to burst in on him like that. Edward said, "Hobbs, what is it, man?"

Mr. Hobbs shook his head. He took a deep breath and said, "Lady Thornton... collapsed."

Edward waited not a moment longer and ran out into the foyer. Mr. Thorn, his gardener, was holding Catherine in his arms. She was limp as a doll, her dark hair streaming behind her, having come loose from the braid she was wearing. Her skin looked paler than usual to the point it was near translucent. Her skirt was stained with grass and dirt.

"Mr. Thorn, what has happened here?" He looked up at the taller man.

"She was out by the south woods, taking her walk, when she started to scream. She fell over and began thrashing about. I ran over to her, but by the time I reached her, she had lost consciousness," he said with a level head that should be commended.

How could I have let this happen? I should have called Dr. Rowan the last time she had a fit. I'm a fool.

"Where should I take her, my lord?" the gardener asked.

Edward shook himself to clear his thoughts. "Follow me upstairs. We should lay her down in her bed."

Mr. Thorn hurried up the stairs after him. Edward kicked open Catherine's bedroom door and then threw back the blankets on her bed. Mr. Thorn lowered her down gently and arranged her hands on her chest. He took a step back as Edward covered her up to the chin. She was breathing, but it hardly lifted the coverlet. He dared not leave her side, lest she wake and ask for him, but he needed to call for the doctor. Mr. Thorn had not made his exit, and Edward turned to face him.

"Thank you for bringing her in. I owe you a debt, Mr. Thorn."

"It is my honor to be of service to you, Guardian of the Thorns." Mr. Thorn bowed. Edward puzzled over his phrasing when Mr. Thorn added, "Shall I call for Dr. Rowan?"

"Yes, thank you." He dismissed the gardener with a wave and turned his focus back upon Catherine. He reached for her hand and pressed it between his own. He stood vigil over her, watching for any sign of her stirring. Her sleep was peaceful. She seemed so small in the large bed with cream covers and large bedposts looming on all sides. He wanted to climb in bed and hold her so he could feel her heart beating. It was a selfish notion; if she was in a fragile condition, that might do more hurt than help.

I do not know what I would do without you, darling; you are my heart. We have had such a brief time together. Please wake up and tell me that you are well. Catherine's eyes fluttered and then opened. Edward exhaled a sigh of relief.

She looked around the room in a daze. Her eyes were unfocused and her fingers trembled in his. She rolled her head to the side, and when she saw Edward, a half smile pulled at her delicate lips.

"Darling, you collapsed while exercising," he said in a soothing tone.

Catherine closed her eyes and frowned. She inhaled sharply.

"Are you in pain?" Edward asked.

She gave a small shake of her head and then did not stir for a long time. He wondered if she had slipped under once more. Then she said in a small thin voice, "I think perhaps I am a bit overfatigued. I believe I had too much sun."

He knew he should not press her. She was obviously of ill health. He said instead, "Dr. Rowan will be here shortly to examine you; just rest for now."

She rolled over and away from him. It stung that she would dismiss him in that way. He was worried for her health, but he did not want to intrude if she wished to have privacy. She is not herself; it is not for me to take offense. He was concerned her illness was more serious than she had previously revealed. She seemed so full of vitality when we first married. How could she be declining with such speed? He made his way down the steps in a daze. He would not be able to rest until Dr. Rowan examined her. He went to search out the doctor himself. He reached the bottom of the steps as Dr. Rowan was entering. His cheeks were rosy, indicating he had hurried over. He handed his coat and jacket to Mr. Hobbs, who, after the initial shock of Catherine's collapse, had returned to his usual stoic persona.

Edward rushed to greet the doctor. "Dr. Rowan, thank you for coming so quickly. Catherine collapsed in the shrubbery during her morning exercise!"

"I heard. Your man came around with the carriage and we flew here. Where is she now?" he said, getting straight to business.

"Up this way, please follow me." He led the doctor up the stairs as he had done with Mr. Thorn not long ago. They stopped on the landing outside Catherine's room, and he knocked upon the door. "Catherine, Dr. Rowan is here; may he come in?"

There was a muffled response from inside and the doctor let himself in. Edward followed him in. Catherine sat up in bed as they entered. She looked terrified as her eyes ricocheted between the two of them.

Edward sat on the edge of the bed and took Catherine's hand again. She was stiff to the touch. He felt the tension radiating off her like a fire. He rubbed her knuckles with his thumb to try to lend her some comfort. She curled her fingers in, grabbing the coverlet, making a fist.

"Lady Thornton, I hear you felt faint in the garden. I want to look you over, if you do not mind," Dr. Rowan said as he set his bag down at the edge of the bed and removed his stethoscope.

Catherine regarded the covers as she nodded.

"I'll need you to dress down to your underthings."

She looked up at him, frightened as a forest animal. Her large eyes were dominated by her pupils, which had dilated to nearly leave out the whites.

"Do not worry, darling, I will be right here," Edward said as he slid his hand up her arm to stroke her back.

She jerked her body away and turned her back to him. "I want to be alone with Dr. Rowan," Catherine whispered.

Edward retracted his hand, which he had momentarily left hanging in the air. Dr. Rowan pretended to be looking at his bag to give them privacy. "Catherine... what are you saying? I should be by your side, as your husband." He stood up and came around to the other side of the bed to face her.

"Please?" She looked up and tears were streaking her face.

He could not argue with her, not when she was in such a state. "Very well, but I shall not remove myself from the hall." He let himself out so the doctor could perform the examination.

Edward paced up and down the length of the halls and thought he would wear a hole in the carpet with his ceaseless movement. Mrs. Morgan came up and offered Edward tea, but he declined with a sharper tone than usual. She gave him a bow from the waist and scuttled away. A few housemaids came around the corner, chatting as they carried the linens from the beds. They saw Edward and turned the other way, perhaps having seen the anger written on his face.

At last the door opened and Dr. Rowan stepped out; he appeared troubled.

"Dr. Rowan, how is she? Is it serious?" He wrung his hands together, dreading the news that accompanied such an expression.

The doctor forced a smile. The lines around his mouth were stretched taut as he attempted to keep it in place. "She is going to be fine, my friend. It is just a mild case of fatigue. Lady Thornton has gone through many changes as of late. She should avoid any strenuous activity for a few days, but she will be fine."

Edward exhaled in relief. "I thought because it was her second fit, there might be something wrong with her." Again the concerned looked flashed across his features. "Is there something you're not telling me?" Edward grabbed onto the other man's shoulders.

Dr. Rowan looked at where Edward's fingers dug into his shirt fabric. "There's nothing," he said crisply and shook off Edward's grip. "I will send you my bill." He tipped his head and made his exit.

Edward watched him go. Dr. Rowan's bald head bobbed up and down as he walked away. He hated to doubt his longtime friend, but he knew there was something he was not telling him. Turning back to the door, he raised his hand to the doorknob and even went so far as to push his shoulder against the door to enter. In the end, he could not bring himself to turn the knob. He felt as if there were miles between them. Damn her secrets. I should be comforting her right now. He thought of her stiff dismissal and her insistence that he not be present for the examination and took a step back. He stared at the patterns on the wooden door, the mixing of dark lines whirling together beneath the stain. I'll give her time alone; she must be embarrassed after a second attack. She will tell me when she is ready.

He returned to his study but found he could concentrate no better than before. I need a bit of fresh air and distance, I think. He rang for Griffin. While he waited for Griffin, he summoned Mrs. Morgan. The dour housekeeper entered the study a few moments later.

"My lord?" she said.

"I want to go out visiting. Have Mr. Brooks bring around the carriage."

"Mr. Brooks has left Thornwood Abbey, my lord. Mr. Horn is filling in as coachman until a replacement can be found."

"Why did you not inform me of this sooner?" he snapped. He was on edge, and Mrs. Morgan was taking the brunt of his temper.

She did not seem upset by his harsh manner. "If you will excuse me, my lord, I thought it was beneath your concern. You do employee me to keep your household. I did not think one coachman would matter."

In truth it did not matter, but given his foul mood, everything seemed worse than it ought. "In the future, do not presume to make these sort of decisions without letting me know first. Mr. Brooks has been in my family's employ since I was a boy."

"It was not my decision. He disappeared shortly after you returned home." Any other servant would not have dared risk such a blunt speech with their master, but Mrs. Morgan had long been in his employ, and though he was cross with her at this moment, he trusted her judgment in most cases.

This revelation gave him pause. Another disappearance? This cannot be mere coincidence. It would bear investigation; I should inform Mr. Bellwood. He is much more capable of handling these sorts of matters. As he settled this in his mind, Mr. Griffin arrived. Edward informed him of his intentions to head out and to bring him his coat and hat. Mrs. Morgan slipped out to have Mr. Horn bring the carriage around.

Edward went out into the foyer to wait for both the carriage and Mr. Griffin. As he paced back and forth he could not help but glance up the stairs to where Catherine was sleeping. I should check on her, offer some comfort before I leave. Just then Mr. Griffin arrived. We will talk later, then. Mr. Griffin held up his coat and Edward shrugged it on, then crammed the hat tight on his head and walked out.

Mr. Horn had brought the carriage around. It was gray out, as usual, and the coachman had his coat pulled up, covering his stocky neck. His face was bright red with cold. He jumped down from the coachman seat to let Edward into the carriage. He nodded at the man and bundled inside. Edward gave clipped instructions and they headed out. Edward slumped down in his seat and watched the scenery go by in a rush of gray.

They arrived at their destination in short order. Mr. Horn opened the door, and Edward brushed by him and through the neat garden they had parked beside. The cottage was at the edge of the village. It was a modest-sized home, two stories with a steep pink roof and pale blue siding. The garden was a combination of vegetables, herbs, and flowers. A stone walkway led up to the front steps and veranda, which were both trimmed in white.

The garden smelled of lavender and rosemary. The familiar scent did well to calm his agitation. He knocked on the door and waited a few moments for an answer. His aunt Isobel opened the door, wearing an apron over a frilly pink day dress.

"Edward! What a surprise! I did not expect you." Her heart-shaped face was beaming. Seeing her smiling face was like a balm to his soul in these troubled times. He always ran to Aunt Isobel when there was trouble.

"Aunt, I have told you before it is not becoming of a lady of your status to answer the door." The admonishments came without thought. He often tried to correct his aunt's behavior, to little avail.

She flicked her hand at him. "Henrietta went to the village for a few things." As if it were excuse enough for a lady to answer her own door.

"That's another thing: you should hire a man to help about the house. I could help with the wages if you're having trouble."

Isobel just shook her head as she patted him on the cheek. "Take a seat in the parlor. I'll bring you some tea."

He opened his mouth to protest, but his aunt shot him a look that left no room for argument. He sighed and resigned himself to enduring his aunt's peculiarities. In the parlor, his aunt's dog, Johnathan, was snoozing in a chair beneath the window. He was a gift from her late husband by the same name. He was an old pug, his black, squashed muzzle had gone gray a few years ago, and he spent most of his days sleeping.

"Hello, Jo-jo," Edward said. He never could bring himself to call the dog by his deceased uncle's name. He used an old childhood nickname for the previous Johnathan the dog; there had been several over the years. He scratched the dog behind the ears. The dog raised his head to receive the attention before settling back in. Before long he began snoring, loudly.

Isobel came in carrying a tray with a teapot, two cups and saucers, and a plate of pastries. He stood up to help her with her burden. He set it down on the tea cart, shaking his head all the while. He could not understand why she insisted on living in this tiny cottage with one woman who did her cooking, dressing, and cleaning. Isobel had been like a mother to him since his own mother had died when he was young. He would do anything to make her comfortable since she never had children of her own to do so.

She served them tea, adding in just the right amount of sugar and cream without him asking. He took the cup and sipped. The temperature was ideal, not too hot or cold. He admired the flowered furnishings in her parlor. They were light and bright like most of her house. The wood was white and recently painted. In the center of the room was a small table with a vase with yellow flowers.

Isobel sat down across from him on the couch and spread out her skirt. She had shed her apron while preparing the tea, and she looked much more like a lady without it.

"To what do I owe the visit?" she said before taking a sip of her own tea.

Edward set his saucer and tea down on the table. "I realized it has been too long since we visited. Do I need a reason?"

She snorted and crinkled her nose. "Edward, dear, a young gentleman never visits a relative unless there is a reason. Have a pastry and tell me what is on your mind."

Edward selected a pastry from the platter and set it beside his teacup on the saucer. He did not have much of an appetite. "You know me so well, Aunt." He stirred his tea for minute, trying to find the words to explain his predicament. "Catherine collapsed today during her morning exercise."

Isobel gasped and placed her hand over her mouth. "Oh no, what happened?" she said from behind her fingers.

"Rest assured, she is well and relaxing, at the doctor's orders. Dr. Rowan believes she was fatigued and she fainted."

"You doubt the good doctor?"

"I do not doubt Dr. Rowan. He is a good friend and an honest man."

"Then you doubt Lady Thornton?"

"No!"

Isobel smiled and waited for him to correct his statement.

"The gardener found her out by the forest. Do you remember at the dinner party how Colonel Hawthorn brought up those ghastly stories about the Thorn Dwellers?" Edward asked.

"It was quite rude of him, to be certain. What does this have to do with Lady Thornton?"

Edward fidgeted. It was such a strange thing to put in words, but he had no other way to explain it. "I think Catherine has developed some sort of fear of the woods. Normally she stays away, but today she changed her usual route and walked near the woods. It is all superstition, but I think she believes the stories about the Thorn Dwellers."

Isobel laughed; the sound was husky and warm. "I apologize, Edward, it is not my place to judge. To someone who grew up beside that forest, I can attest there is nothing there to fear."

"I agree wholeheartedly. How can I make Catherine see that?"

"I can speak with her, if it would be of assistance?"

He shook his head. "No. I do not want her to think I have betrayed her by speaking with you about it. I will just have to show her there is nothing to be feared. I will show her the good things about Thornwood. We have not gone visiting with the neighbors. Perhaps that would be a good place to start."

"I think that is a wonderful idea, Edward. There are so many beautiful places in Thornwood. I am sure she will come to love it as you and I do, in time."

He took another draught of his tea and nibbled on the pastry. It had a flaky crust with lemon custard filling. These few common acts put him at ease. Once she sees the other side of Thornwood, she will forget all about these fanciful tales. Those Who Dwell in the Thorns are merely myth, and I plan to prove that to her.

Chapter Eleven

The night was alive with scent. It had been too long since he had been released, free to taste the night and howl at the moon. He hungered. He smelled the warm bodies, the furry creatures that scurried in the bushes he wanted to hunt, to tear, to kill. He loped down the road; the moon and stars were his only light. He could smell the humans asleep in their beds. He could hear the night sounds of crickets and owls as they snatched their prey with lightning-quick talons.

He reached the edge of the forest. He smelled them, a pair of rabbits that had come to the lawn to nibble upon the sweet grass out in the open. They were brown with white tails flashing against the dark of the night as they hopped about. One paused and sniffed the air; its long ears swiveled about in agitation. They sensed the threat too late. He launched into the air, pouncing upon the nearer of the two. He pressed it against the ground with his paw, and the rabbit squirmed and screamed. The fear was intoxicating. He bit into its neck, snapping it with one quick jerk of his jaws. The second rabbit had fled, but he paid it no mind as he indulged in his meal. The meat was warm with blood that dribbled down his jowls as he crunched tiny bones between sharp teeth. He groaned with pleasure.

Stop eating, a voice said inside his head.

He raised his muzzle and sniffed the air. He could smell only the scent of pines and the copper tang of blood from his kill. There were humans snoring in the large house behind him. There were fifty of them at least in the massive building. Orange light flickered in a few of the windows on the second floor. He tilted his head, regarding it. His own thoughts were primitive, focused upon animalistic need; the silent voice pricked at his instincts. This was not right.

You must find him, the one who filled the girl's head with lies.

Yes. He remembered his mission now. The hunt would have to wait. He took a final bite of the rabbit and left the remains for the carrion eaters to pick over. He loped over the grassy lawns and slipped past the house without anyone noticing. He ran down the road and stopped near an inn. He had to go slow here. The people here were awake but intoxicated. He could smell the spirits, a sharp scent that muddled the clean scent of flesh and blood.

A pair of drunkards stumbled out of the bar. He rolled his shoulders, preparing to attack if need be. The pair was sharing in a lively debate, their inebriated voices echoing across the silent night. They wobbled down the opposite direction he was heading. He watched them go, longing to chase and hunt. He turned grudgingly, intent once more on his task. He kept to the shadows but came across nothing more than a few night creatures, which gave him a wide berth. At last he reached his destination. A country house covered in the dark of night. The lights were all out but for one window on the second floor. He scented the air. His prey was awake and waiting for him. He ran to gain speed and then lunged into the air with powerful hind legs. He landed on the roof just beneath the second-floor window. He pressed his muzzle against the glass and saw the man in a chair, a book open in front of him.

He took a few steps back and then broke through the window. The breaking glass bit into his skin, and the pain was blinding. He roared. The man had jumped up and was running for a gun mounted above the fireplace. The beast shook off the bits of glass, which rained down on the carpet, and howled. It was a cry of exhalation, and desire.

The man was struggling to pull down the gun and turned his back to the creature for a moment too long. The beast charged the man and latched onto his shoulder. The man fell down and brought the musket with him. He was too close to aim it, and instead he beat the beast with it.

The blows were more nuisance than painful. He bit down on the musket and ripped it from the man's fumbling hands. The musket went flying across the room and landed behind a desk beneath the window. His mouth salivated; the man's fear was a tantalizing perfume, much more satisfying than the hare's. The beating of a human heart filled his ears; it was music to him. The song of his heartbeat and hot blood pumping in and out was driving him mad. His hunt had been interrupted, but now he would feast.

He howled again. The man thrashed about, kicking and hitting the beast. The beast suffered his blows to enjoy the struggle a few more moments before he administered the final kill.

The man collapsed backwards, sprawled on the ground, defenseless and heaving. "I've always been careful; why me? Why now! I want nothing to do with your blasted woods," Col. Hawthorn pleaded.

The beast opened his jaws in a mockery of a smile. The colonel seemed resigned as he closed his eyes. He would have preferred it if he had fought a little more, but meat was meat. He went for the throat and ended the colonel's life in a spray of blood across the fireplace, which filled the room with smoke.

Chapter Twelve

Someone knocked at the door. Catherine jumped at the noise and clutched her blanket closer to her chest. She stared at the door, considering sending whoever it was away. It had been days since she left her room. At some point you are going to have to face Edward, she told herself. He has questions that I should be answering.

"Lady Thornton, I have come to see if you are feeling any better," Dr. Rowan said, though his voice was muffled by the door he was standing behind.

She relaxed her grip on the blanket and let it slide down into her lap. There was no getting around this visit, no matter how much she would like to.

"Come in, Dr. Rowan," she said.

The door creaked open. The doctor filled the doorway. He was dressed for a social call, with coat and cravat. His vest was gray and smartly pressed, though it was stretched tight over his gut, which hung over the waistband of his pants. Catherine peered behind the doctor, half expecting Edward to try to rush in after him. A pang of regret rippled through her upon seeing the doctor alone. What did I expect when I keep pushing him away?

"I am alone," the doctor said, perhaps reading the distress on her face.

Catherine settled back against the pillows and turned her head to the window.

"How are you feeling today, Lady Thornton?" Dr. Rowan asked.

Catherine looked at her hands folded on the coverlet in front of her. She felt weak. Her limbs seemed too heavy and her legs might as well have been useless bits of twine. She felt it impolite to say this and said instead, "Fine, thank you, Doctor." This is the answer she gave him every time he visited.

He frowned at her. The wrinkles on his forehead rolled over his thin red eyebrows and made his balding head look like a mountain-scape. "Your husband has been asking after you; perhaps today you will let him in?"

"No!" Catherine shouted.

The doctor took her outburst with good grace. He knows I am mad, and he fears upsetting me. That is why he has been gentle thus far, but how much longer can I count on his goodwill?

"I am sorry I shouted," Catherine whispered. "You have not told Lord Thornton about my condition, have you?"

"No, I have not. He believes you are suffering from a severe case of fatigue."

He turned away from her, fiddled with his bag for a moment, and pulled out his stethoscope. Catherine sat up straighter in the bed, preparing to be examined. She braced herself for the cold touch of the metal stethoscope against her skin by gripping her covers in her fist. Though he insisted he warmed it, the device always felt as if it were cold enough to burn her skin. It was wrong of her to do so, but she suspected it was his way of punishing her for her silence. He stood behind her and rested his hand on her shoulder but did not apply the stethoscope.

"Dr. Rowan?" Catherine said. "Is anything the matter?"

He inhaled and she could sense he was preparing to tell her something she did not want to hear. "I think it's time you told Edward about your... attacks."

"I cannot." She twisted around to face the doctor. His expression was full of pity. Does he not realize that if I tell Edward the truth, he will set me aside for Miss Ashton? She is most likely waiting for such an occasion to take my position. She was embarrassed by her own thoughts. However, these ideas had been haunting her during her convalescence.

"I know it is difficult to admit..." He cleared his throat. "However, Lord Thornton is a reasonable man and he does love you. I think he will understand."

Catherine bit her lip to stop herself from shouting another emphatic no. "I will consider it," she said from behind pressed lips.

The doctor gave her a smile, seemingly convinced. He continued his examination. As usual he found no sign of illness or any way to explain her sudden lethargy.

"Just rest, Lady Thornton," he said in parting.

Catherine was glad to see him go. Though he was a kind man, his prying had grown tiresome. She had always been a private person. It was shameful enough to have her peculiarity exposed to one person, but the very thought of confessing her condition to Edward sent her into a panic. If she was being honest with herself, part of her hesitance stemmed from Mr. Thorn. His words circled through her thoughts whenever she considered telling Edward the truth. There are strange things that you pretend not to see even when they're staring you in the face. You know it's true, and it's time you admit it aloud.

She thought of the phenomena she had witnessed since she arrived at Thornwood, the neighbors' rumors and whispers about Those Who Dwell in the Thorns. Could it be that all those things were real? She had begun to doubt everything she believed. Her entire life she had been told the things she saw could not possibly be real, but what if they were?

Catherine closed her eyes. These kinds of thoughts only led down dangerous roads. As soon as she was feeling better, she would present herself to Edward and pretend none of this had ever happened. If Edward and the others could sweep whatever was inconvenient under the rug, then so could she. I managed to avoid these fits for six years, I can do it again. I have been under too much stress lately, is all.

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 gossiping 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 need 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.

"There's been a death in the human village," he said to the bird. "I will need someone to come and clean up while I handle the humans."

The bird fluttered out the window with his message. It burned through the fog like a beacon as it headed for the forest in search of backup. He headed down the stairs in search of the servants. A house of this size would have at least a cook in addition to a maid. He found the cook in the kitchen. He was fortunate to find her kneading a ball of dough on a floured table. She was a large woman with wide hips and black hair that was tucked into a white cap, though a few scraggly strands fell forward and clung to her scalp, which was wet with perspiration.

"Madame," he said to catch her attention.

"I ain't no madame. What are you doing in my kitchen?" she said gruffly. She did not look up from her kneading and continued to pummel the dough into submission.

"I work at Thornwood Manor; I came on an errand for my master. The girl who answered the door informed me that your master collapsed in his chamber."

At this she did look up at him. Her face had a squashed look to it. Her cheeks were red and rosy, most likely from working over a hot stove all day in this small cave-like room. The heat was sweltering, and there was too much iron. It took much of his self-control not to flee.

"I knew this day was coming. Have you checked him? Is he dead?" she said. She planted thick hands on her hips. Her hands were red and cracked.

"I'm afraid so." Ray nodded with a false solemn nod. "Can you tell me: is there anyone else in the colonel's employ that I should deliver the news to?"

"Just the boy, he tends to a few things around the yard. He lives with his parents down the way. He should be here, now that I think about it."

She paused for a moment to consider and looked to a door that presumably led out into the yard.

"Thank you for your assistance. I shall find him, no need to worry."

He slipped out of the hot cramped kitchen, away from the burning scent of iron and heat. It was bad enough to be inside human walls, but to be in a dungeon of heat and iron, that was hell. He headed back up the stairs that led back to the main floor. When he entered, Dr. Rowan had arrived with the frightened maid.

"Oh, Dr. Rowan, I am glad you're here. It's the colonel. He's collapsed in his study," Ray said. He had been fortunate enough not to have to glamour the cook, but if the doctor saw the body, he would know in an instant. He could not risk not calling the doctor; the more credibility the story had, the less likely the humans would question the death.

The doctor was carrying his medical bag and was dressed in his coat and a button-down shirt with buttons misaligned. He set down his bag and pulled out a handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed at his brow. He furrowed his brows when he saw Ray. "I thought you worked for Lord Thornton. You came and fetched me the day Lady Thornton collapsed."

Ray looked at the doctor closer. Part of his survival in the human realm relied on him being unrecognizable to most humans. Unless he wanted them to remember, they forgot his face a moment after they looked at him. The doctor was staring at him in a most peculiar way. Then a light went off in Ray's head. Ah, you've more Fae in you than most people in this village. I would wager at least half. I wonder if you even know what you are.

The doctor was of little concern to him at the moment, half-Fae or not. Ray had a cleanup to attend to, and the doctor was just another item on his checklist.

"I came on an errand for my master when I arrived, Miss--?" he prompted the maid.

"Miss Murine," she replied and gave him a tentative smile. His suggestion spell had left her a bit muddled. She would most likely feel that for the rest of the day; when she tried to recount today's events, they would be hazy at best.

Ray smiled back at her, amplifying his glamour to overlay both the maid and the doctor. "Miss Murine informed me when I arrived that the colonel had collapsed. She was kind enough to fetch the doctor, but by the time he arrived it was too late, the colonel had succumbed to a weak heart. You, Dr. Rowan, shall call the undertaker to collect the body and notify his remaining family."

Miss Murine was smiling and dazed as he gave instructions. Dr. Rowan was fighting against Ray's influence. He could see the doctor warring with himself. He opened his mouth to argue, but Ray's power was greater, and in the end he bent under the force of Ray's magic.

The doctor picked up his medical bag and said, "It is a pity; the colonel was a dear friend. I must write to his sister and tell her the sad news. Good day, Miss Murine, Mr...?" He looked at Ray before shaking his head and hurrying out the door.

If he was lucky, the doctor would forget seeing Ray here at all. He was too close to the Thorntons; if Catherine started hearing tales of him popping up near dead bodies, all his plans would be ruined. Ray headed back up to the second floor, leaving the maid, who it appeared was rushing downstairs to inform the cook about the day's events. In the study there was a blur of activity. Creatures the size of his pointer finger, about two dozen of them, were mopping up the blood and mending windows with tools fashioned out of stones and spiderwebs. They wore clothes sewn together from leaves, and acorns for hats. They worked with surprising speed, given their size. Tabitha the owl was sitting on the desk nearby, watching them as they worked. Her large yellow eyes seemed hungry to Ray. He took a seat in the chair beside her and crossed his legs.

"No one can clean like a brownie," Ray said conversationally.

"They are scrumptious little creatures," Tabitha said with longing.

A nearby brownie squeaked at her and then rattled off a series of insults in a high-pitched voice.

"I'm not going to eat you. I was just commenting on your bite-sized appearance."

Ray laughed. Though it was hard to tell, Ray suspected the tiny creature was scowling at the owl. Tabitha spread her wings and opened her beak and screeched in reply. The brownie hurried away to help his fellows.

"I am surprised they sent you along with them, given your penchant for eating small scurrying creatures," Ray said.

Tabitha rocked back and forth on her makeshift perch, which happened to be a stack of books. "There was no one else available. The forest is getting thinner each day. The other day I was talking to a screech owl who turned out to be an average screech owl. He had no second nature. What has the neighborhood come to?"

Ray crossed his arms and drummed his fingertips on his arm. "I need to bring her to the forest soon," Ray voiced the thought that had been nagging at him all afternoon.

"Are you sure she's the right one? You've been wrong before; remember that maid?"

"Do not remind me," he snapped.

Tabitha clicked her beak in reproof.

He frowned at the brownies that were scrubbing at the stained carpet. He could see the gold and green revealed beneath the blood. "I am lucky the council gave me another chance."

"Are the rumors true? This is your last chance?"

"Yes. If I do not produce, they will strip me of my powers and the gates of the Otherworld will be closed to me for good."

Tabitha hooted sympathetically. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I do not think that woman is the right one. She's too fragile. How will she survive the test?"

"It does not matter if she survives as long as she can release him. That's all that matters."

Tabitha turned her large golden eyes to him. He could sense she wanted to say more, but she was holding back. The brownies had finished their work, besides. The room looked as if no one had been here. All traces of blood and a struggle had been washed away. The colonel's body lay intact on the ground, one hand grasping at his chest as if surprised by a pain. That is how it would appear to the human eye. Anyone with the second sight would see the mangled flesh beneath. I hope the doctor does not have the second sight. I would hate to have to kill him to keep our secrets. It would be a real inconvenience.

Chapter Fourteen

She had rehearsed her speech half a dozen times. Catherine stood before her vanity in her housedress. Her hair was down and falling forward over her shoulders. The dark hair against her skin made it seem even paler and her eyes larger.

"Edward, I want to apologize for turning you away when I was ill. I did not want you to see me when I was so weak; I did not want you to worry..." Catherine recited. She knew it was a flimsy excuse, but she hoped Edward would overlook her behavior and not ask any other questions. It was a big hope.

The door at the back of the room opened, though Catherine did not realize it. She continued her speech oblivious to Miss Larson, who watched her mistress while holding an armful of mended clothing that she had brought up.

Miss Larson scrunched her nose before clearing her throat. "My lady, I've brought up your evening gown. I was able to repair the tear on the hem."

Catherine whirled around and realized she had been caught. Her face flushed crimson.

"Miss Larson, I did not hear you come in."

The maid gave her a blank stare. Catherine considered asking her how much she had heard but decided to pretend nothing had happened. It seemed to be the preferred method of navigating unwanted situations in Thornwood. There was nothing damning in her speech to Edward. I've come to accept the truth, but will Edward? He refuses to believe in the Thorn Dwellers. Maybe Mr. Thorn can shed some light on this situation. He can see them and he spoke to that owl. Maybe he is like I am and he is a human who can see these things... or maybe he is one of them. The very thought rippled through her and could not be dissuaded. She knew these things were real and dangerous, but was she willing to learn more than that?

Miss Larson put away the mended dress and collected Catherine's tea things as Catherine contemplated her situation. At the very least, I think it's time I faced Edward.

"Is Lord Thornton about?" Catherine asked Miss Larson.

Miss Larson's head popped up. "He is, my lady. Shall I call him for you?"

"I would rather have you help me dress. I want to surprise him." She smiled at her maid. Miss Larson returned it with a faint half-smile. It was a triumph in itself. It was the closest she'd come to a congenial response from any of the staff.

Catherine sat down before the vanity. Miss Larson picked up the curling rod and put it near the fire to warm it. "Do you have a request for how you would like your hairstyle, my lady?"

Catherine turned around in her chair to face the lady's maid. "I must admit, I do not consider myself very fashionable. I trust you to design my hair in a way that will look pleasing." As a part of this new chapter of her life, Catherine was determined to be more outspoken and congenial. The staff dislikes me because I have been terrified of them. Perhaps if I try to be better, they will warm up to me.

Miss Larson seemed hesitant; she frowned thoughtfully. Catherine turned back around to face the mirror but watched her lady's maid in the reflection. She removed the curling rod from the coals and brought it over. "There was something I saw in a lady's magazine that I wanted to try," Miss Larson said, but her face looked prepared for rebuke.

"I trust you," Catherine said, meeting her gaze in the mirror.

Miss Larson nodded and went to work. Catherine closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation of Miss Larson's fingers across her scalp. She felt better than she had in a long time. Miss Larson seemed more relaxed as well. In her continued effort to make herself more approachable, Catherine decided to ask Miss Larson about herself. She had read a lady's etiquette book once as a girl. It encouraged small talk as a means to put others at ease. I am Lady Thornton now. I should learn to be more genteel, like Miss Ashton. Thinking of the other woman only upset her, so she pushed thoughts of the other woman aside.

"Where did you learn to style hair?" Catherine said to Miss Larson to forget her concerns.

"I went to a school in London. My mother saved up from the time I was just a little girl to pay for it." She set down a comb on the vanity as she spoke.

"Are you from London, then?" She could not detect a London accent.

She shook her head. "No. I grew up here in Thornwood; my parents are farmers. They wanted a better life for me."

Catherine was not sure how to respond to that and instead asked, "Do you have any siblings?"

Miss Larson's lips pressed together. "I did. I had three brothers and two sisters. One boy and one girl didn't make it out of infancy. My second oldest brother joined the navy, but he was lost at sea. My oldest brother died in a farm accident."

"I am so sorry for your losses..." Catherine herself had never had any siblings. Her parents had trouble conceiving, and she was the only product of their union. But by Catherine's count, Miss Larson should have had one more sibling. "What happened to your other sister?"

She looked away for a moment, and Catherine wondered if she had asked too private a question. "We do not know. One day she was playing by the forest when she just disappeared. We thought maybe some animal ran off with her... but we never found a body."

A shiver ran up Catherine's spine. This was the true nature of the Thorn Dwellers, she was certain of it. How could she live with the constant fear, knowing they were so close? How could she raise a family in this place? Conversation dried up as Catherine brooded over the problem of the Thorn Dwellers. Miss Larson's mood was dark, and Catherine could not blame her for it. Their brief tête-à-tête did seem to turn the tide in their relationship, and Miss Larson was much warmer to Catherine afterward. She finished Catherine's hair, and Catherine complimented the style with much enthusiasm. Miss Larson picked out a gown for Catherine, a plum and velvet day gown with pearl buttons on the sleeves, and helped her dress.

She thanked Miss Larson for her help and swept down the stairs. She passed the parlor maid, Miss Brown, carrying the silver candlesticks, presumably for polishing. Catherine smiled at her as she passed. Miss Brown shoved the candlesticks behind her back and curtsied as Catherine went by.

She hurried down the stairs and almost ran past the parlor and dining room towards the study where Edward spent much of his day. She eased open the doors and held her breath. She was grinning. It felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders and a fog was slowly rolling away. I am not mad. Edward was sitting at his desk. His shirt was unbuttoned, his cravat was not tied, and his sandy blond hair was disheveled where he had run his hands through it.

"Just set the tea things over there," he said, waving his hand towards the edge of his desk, where there was already a tray with an untouched sandwich and teacup.

Catherine tiptoed over to him. He did not glance up. He was too absorbed in his work. She planted her hands over his eyes and said, "Guess who."

He twisted around in her gasp and broke free from the shield over his eyes. "Catherine?" he exhaled. She could see all the worry lining his face.

I was awful to push him away. How could I doubt his love for me? She cupped his cheeks and leaned in to kiss him. She never had dreamed of being so forward before, but that was the past. She was resolved to be better. She had minded her manners her entire life, walked a straight line, afraid that a wrong step would reveal her true nature. Now she knew that had all been a lie. Their kiss was a sweet pressing of lips. She was not ready to be more direct than that. This was a step in the right direction, though. When she pulled away, Edward grabbed her wrist and pulled her down onto his lap and kissed her with much more artifice and passion than she knew was possible. They parted after a few moments.

"Darling, I have been worried to death over you," he said as he stroked the side of her cheek with his fingers.

She pressed her forehead against his. It felt good to just be with him. To not worry that her every gesture was being watched and measured. "I am sorry. I should never have pushed you away as I did. I was so afraid..." She spoke from the heart unintentionally. She stiffened, realizing she had said too much.

Edward noticed the shift in mood and said, "What were you afraid of?"

"That if you found out I was ill, you would put me aside." She lowered her lashes, reverting once again to her reserved nature.

He grew very still and he looked away from her. His hand dropped down to the table. Catherine slid off his lap to stand at his elbow. She waited for him to respond. She had unwittingly insulted him. Why can I not guard my tongue better? This is why I have always been careful with my words. I cannot say the right things.

"Do you think me so petty?" he said.

"No--I was uncertain of myself. I should have known that you loved me, and that no matter what it was you would forgive me for it."

"Is there something you haven't been telling me?" he asked. He raised his eyes up to her, and they were firm but not unkind.

He deserved an explanation. Dr. Rowan's reassurances flitted through her mind. She opened her mouth, prepared to give him the full story, but she hesitated, remembering Edward's dismissal of Col. Hawthorn's concerns about the Thorn Dwellers. She said instead, "I have been ill since I was a child... but I am getting better." She paused and considered her next words. "All the excitement has brought about symptoms of a childhood illness, that's all." And then she added a hasty, "Dr. Rowan says I can expect a full recovery."

He regarded her for a few moments without speaking. Catherine fought the urge to say more; it would only make matters worse if she added to her lies--well, half-truths. She was going to get better because now she knew that everything she had been seeing since she was a child was real. She had the rest of her life to make sense of what that meant.

He reached out for her hand, and she offered it willingly. He covered her hand with his. "Never doubt my love for you, no matter what. I trust your judgment. You are my wife, and I love you."

She blushed and looked away. It was good to hear that after everything that had happened recently. It was good to know Edward's love was unfailing. Now she needed to learn to believe in herself. After years of self-loathing it would not be an easy task. Catherine was determined to continue her growth, and she broke one of her own rules and coaxed Edward into having afternoon tea with her. She was pleased to have time to speak with him naturally. Without the fear of revealing her insanity, she felt less need to hide or tailor her responses to not offend.

"I've been thinking," Edward said as Mr. Hobbs took away his plate. "You've seen so little of Thornwood; perhaps we should go on a tour of the village and farms."

"I would enjoy that," she replied and then her gaze fell to her plate. Edward was beaming at her, and though she wanted to appear confident and assured in their marriage, old habits were difficult to break.

Edward called for the coach to be brought around. Catherine had to stifle her panic. She had yet to resolve where this fear came from, but she wanted to appear strong for Edward's sake. To her great relief, the coachman brought around the two seat roadster. It was open and pulled by a single horse. It did not evoke any irrational fear in her, which would make their afternoon that much more enjoyable. The coachman stepped down. He was a short stocky man with thick arms and short legs.

"Where's Mr. Horn?" Edward asked the coachman.

"He's been missing for a few days, milord," the coachman said.

Edward frowned. Another coachman missing? Is that just coincidence? "That is strange. I hope everything is well with him. Has he been into the bottle again?" Edward inquired.

The coachman nodded sadly. "I think so, milord. He's bound to turn up sooner or later, though."

Edward nodded. "I'm sure he will."

Edward helped Catherine into the seat of the tiny carriage and took the coachman's seat for himself. It was strangely intimate being pressed together in the two-seat carriage. Edward flicked the whip and the horse shot off, kicking up gravel as they swooped around the circular driveway. They went down the country road, and Edward pointed out the different sights. He gestured to neighbors' homes, the local pub, The Fairy Bride, the shops in the village which she had visited. After a while the town fell away and the forest cleared up, and they were in a small stretch of farmland. Every so often there was a farmhouse with smoke curling up from the chimneys rising above the rolling fog. They pulled onto a road and Catherine wondered where they were headed. The cottage they stopped outside was pressed against the forest. The trees were dark and ominous here, and just being near them put Catherine ill at ease. Edward jumped out of the carriage and took Catherine's hand to help her down.

"This is the home of Mr. John Larson and his wife, Mrs. Henrietta Larson. They are the parents of your lady's maid," he said.

"Oh." Catherine was curious to meet her lady's maid's parents after hearing what they had done for their one surviving daughter. She wondered if there was something she could do to make their lives easier. She would have to ask Edward about that, she supposed.

Edward linked hands with Catherine and led her up to the door. He rapped upon it and then turned to her with a smile. Her stomach did a flip. This was a playful side of Edward that she found quite charming. They waited for an answer. Catherine glanced around. Everything was neat and orderly. The fences were well maintained, and a few pigs were wallowing in the mud nearby.

"I wonder if they are out in the field," Edward said. He peered about and squinted at the nearby field. It was so thick with fog it was impossible to see anything farther than a few meters ahead. "I'm going to take the roadster down and see. Wait here, darling."

Catherine hesitated. Though she could not see anything in the windows, she sensed someone watching her from the shadows. The Thorn Dwellers were never far away; it was from this spot they had snatched the Larsons' daughter. Before she could stop Edward, he had jumped in the coach and rode off down the road. Catherine wrapped her arms closer to her chest and waited. It seemed to have gotten colder all of the sudden, though she could not say why.

A twig snapped behind her, and Catherine spun in place. She expected to see one of the farmers coming towards her, but instead she saw Mr. Thorn.

"Lady Thornton, now this is a surprise." He smiled and hooked his fingers into the waistband of his pants. She had a feeling this was not a surprise for him at all.

Seeing him left her feeling conflicted. She knew he was quite possibly her only hope of getting answers about the Thorn Dwellers, while she also feared he might be one of them. She could not stand there staring at him mutely, so she asked, a bit breathless, "Mr. Thorn, what are you doing here?" Her fear had not abated now that he had arrived. It had not occurred to her until now, but he always seemed to show up whenever something out of the ordinary had happened. How much did she really want to know about Those Who Dwelled in the Thorns? Perhaps ignorance might be better in this case.

"I came to investigate a disappearance."

"Who has disappeared?"

"The Larsons, and they did not disappear, they're dead."

Catherine's world swayed back and forth. Mr. Thorn had such a direct way of speaking it was hard to comprehend. Surely she misheard him. What sort of man would say such an awful thing in front of a lady? Someone who is no man at all but one of those evil creatures.

"I beg your pardon?" She pressed her hands to her throat.

"Judging from your expression, I have said something I should not have. Forgive me. I am not well versed in proper etiquette. The Larsons have met an unfortunate end, I am afraid."

She shook her head as if the action would change the truth. Mr. Thorn was watching her, his head tilted to the side and his body inclined towards her. It may have been her imagination, but it seemed he was trying to get closer to her. She felt the need to make small talk just to fill the silence and fight the fear. She asked, "How?"

"That is not something a gentleman should say in front of a lady," he said with a more serious tone. He took a step closer to her.

She clutched at her collar and squeezed the fabric. She looked over her shoulder, expecting Edward to return any moment. He must have realized the Larsons were not in the fields. When she looked back to Mr. Thorn, he was very close to her. Near enough that she could see his smooth, clean-shaven face and smell the woodsy scent of his skin.

He lifted his hand and it hovered over her face. She watched him, in a trance, as he traced the contours of her features without touching her. She should step away and return to a proper distance, but her body would not respond to her commands. This is wildly inappropriate, but I cannot move. It is as if my body is glued to this very spot.

"Lady Thornton, why have I never before noticed..." He trailed off as he examined her face.

She wondered what he had meant to say. She tilted her head back to meet his dark eyes, but instead they were a bright green. "Mr. Thorn, my husband is nearby. If you do anything untoward, I will scream."

She had little time to make good on her threat because Mr. Thorn pressed his lips to hers.

Chapter Fifteen

The road was cloaked in fog, and Edward had to strain to see beyond the edge of the carriage. I cannot have another tenant leave. What will I do if they all disappear? I would be ruined. As soon as I find them, Catherine and I will return to Thornwood, and I will write Mr. Wolfe about this. We have to give the tenants some sort of incentive to stay in Thornwood. Can I afford a bonus perhaps? Edward harried his horse down the road and along the fields. He squinted into the mist, trying to find any sign of Mr. Larson. He drew up alongside a fenced-in field. There was something lying on the ground. It looked like nothing more than a smudge of gray in the wall of white. He pulled back on the reins and brought the roadster to a quick stop. He hopped down from the seat and jumped over the fence. Is he sleeping in the middle of the day?

"Mr. Larson, this is Lord Thornton. I came around to introduce you to my wife." He drew closer to the lump on the ground. He was certain it was a person now. He could see the hand clearly. The wheat had been pressed down around him. Did he collapse? Edward could not see his torso or his head; they were shielded from view by the wheat. "Mr. Larson, are you hurt?"

Edward drew closer and then stopped. There was a dark pool of liquid on the ground, just beneath Mr. Larson's hand. Edward took a few careful steps and then pushed the wheat aside. There lying on the ground was what he could only assume was the body of Mr. Larson. The victim was of the age, judging by the white hair splattered with blood, and the size of Mr. Larson. Edward could see few details because of the state of the corpse, but he was sure it had to be him. Something had attacked the elderly farmer, and he had been torn to shreds. His face was gone and his body had been ripped open, and his abdomen was nothing but an empty cavern. The wheat had been pressed around him in a lopsided circle; there had been a struggle. Edward could not stop the bile that came up and he ran a few feet away, where he evacuated the contents of his stomach. He was shaking all over as he tried to right his world. What could have done this to this man? He refused to believe this was anything other than an animal attack. There was no way a human could do that to his fellow man.

He sat back on his haunches, afraid to look at the corpse. Is this what has been happening to my tenants? He balled his hands into fists against his thighs. He stood up and tried again to look at what was left of Mr. Larson. He pulled out a handkerchief to cover his mouth as he surveyed the gruesome scene. There was blood everywhere, staining the ground and circling the body. He shook his head and looked away; he could not face it any longer.

Thornwood is such a peaceful place. I cannot imagine how something like this could happen here. He looked around. The fog had rolled back, and he saw a horse and plow a few meters away. It would appear Mr. Larson had been caught unawares while he was tilling his field. There were a hundred different things Edward knew he should be doing. However, the sight of the blood, the gruesome reality of this predicament, was clouding his judgment. What will I tell his wife? Then a wrecked thought occurred to him. What if this creature killed her as well? What if it is still nearby? Catherine may be in danger.

He ran back to the roadster. He jumped into the coachman's seat and whipped the horse harder than necessary. The beast screeched but took off like a shot. He leaned forward in the seat, willing the animal to move faster, his hand squeezing the whip hard enough to break. He held his breath, expecting Catherine to scream at any moment, but he heard nothing. What if she is too far away for me to hear her screams? He had not even considered her safety when he had gone searching for the Larsons. He had been so assured in the safety of Thornwood that the danger of leaving his wife alone had never crossed his mind. If anything happens to her, I will never forgive myself. The road was bumpy, and he rattled about in the carriage, gripping on the edge for dear life.

He pulled up in front of the Larson's cottage and saw no sign of Catherine. He jumped out of the carriage and made a mad search for her. He threw open the door to the cottage and found it empty. He went out by the pigpens where he had last seen Catherine; there was not a trace of her. Not even a sign of a struggle.

"Catherine!" he shouted into the mist.

There was no answer. He ran behind the cottage; there was a narrow track that was flanked by the line of trees. At the edge of the forest he saw a foot that was missing a shoe. He rushed over to it and found blood splatters on the leaves and against a nearby chicken coop. The ground was dusted with chicken feathers, and a bucket of feed had been overturned and feed was scattered across the ground. Edward fell onto the ground beside the body and hit his knees hard. He did not even feel the pain as he crawled over to the immobile form. To his combined relief and horror he discovered the body of Mrs. Larson. The elderly woman had fared better than her husband, in that she was recognizable, but her dress was torn and bloody, and in the space where her heart should have been there was a gaping bloody wound.

Edward retched, but nothing came out. He scrambled backwards and hit his back against the chicken coop. Inside there was silence. Whatever had killed the farmers had killed their chickens as well. Maybe that was what had begun the attack; some wild creature killed a few chickens. The farmer's wife tried to stop him and the animal turned on them. What do we have in our woods aside from a few fox and deer? Could it have been a wild dog? He had little enough time to consider it. He needed to find Catherine. He climbed to shaking feet. Where could she have gone? She may be lying somewhere too weak to call for help. He noticed the forest for the first time since his panicked search began, and he ran into it. The forest would be the most sensible place to run if Catherine had been under attack.

He called out her name, but his voice only echoed back at him. The forest was dense with undergrowth, and he found it difficult to navigate. The trees themselves seemed to press upon him, forcing him in different directions. Boulders sprang up and blocked his path; he tore his clothes on thorny bushes. He stumbled about, falling to his knees before climbing back up and continuing to shout Catherine's name. The forest was unnaturally silent. There was no sound but for Edward's labored breathing. He could not even hear the rustle of the wind in the trees or the scurrying of animals in the underbrush. There was no sign of a single living soul other than him. It was as if he were completely alone in the world.

He had been going around in circles for what felt like ages when he emerged at the edge of the forest back where he had begun. Somehow he had gotten turned around inside the forest. He growled with frustration and raked his hands through his sandy blond hair. Catherine, where are you? Give me a sign.

"It is a sad day when the forest rejects its guardian," said a thin and crackling voice.

Edward turned, his hands raised ready to strike who dared mock his pain. An old woman was standing beside the pigpens. She leaned on a cane as she grinned at him, showing her blacked gapped teeth. She had a sparse covering of white hair on her head. Her face was wrinkled to the point that her cheeks drooped and sagged, and even her eyes were hooded to the point she had to squint out from beneath them.

"Who are you, and what have you done with my wife?" he snarled and took a step towards her.

She rose up a crabbed hand to stop him.

"I am a friend, and it was not I who stole away your wife but Ray Thorn."

The name sounded vaguely familiar. "Is he the one who killed the Larsons?" When he had seen Mr. Larson, he could not imagine it as anything but an animal, but after seeing Mrs. Larson with her missing heart he had second thoughts. "What is he planning on doing with my wife?" Edward had to exercise all of his self-control to stop himself from shaking the woman for answers. If that monster of a man could butcher the Larsons, then what would he do to Catherine?

She shook her head, and the folds on her neck swayed back and forth. "I do not know what he plans for your wife for certain. However, I can tell you if you do not move quickly, she will share the same fate as her." She pointed toward where Mrs. Larson's body lay.

Edward was vibrating with anger and fear. His wife was in danger and he could do nothing to stop it. "He took her into the forest, did he? There's nowhere else it could be. I would have seen them had they come by the road."

He did not wait for her to answer and ran full speed into the forest. He ran a few feet before emerging once more on the opposite side of the old woman. He punched a nearby tree and swore. It was most ungentlemanly and a nasty habit from his schoolboy days. He could think of no better way to express his current situation.

The old woman waited for him to finish. He was panting and scowling at her once he was done. "There is one way to save your wife. You must kill Ray Thorn," the old woman said.

"What do you mean kill him? Madame, I am not some savage. I would ask him to a duel if it came down to it. That is a gentleman's way." What was he saying? This was not how he should be going about this. He needed to call for the constable. He needed to organize a search party. The man must be reasoned with. Perhaps he wanted money; Edward would give him whatever he wanted if it meant he would have Catherine returned safely to him.

She cackled. "You are blind for one of your position. He will never conform to human conventions, and it will be the death of you, Lord Thornton."

"If he is a gentleman, then he will do what is right." A gentleman would never commit these heinous crimes. Edward amended, "My fear is that he is not a gentleman at all. If he is as vile as you are leading me to believe, what can I do to save my wife? How do I find them?"

"You must wait for the forest to let you enter or wait for her to be returned to you; whether or not she is alive and when, remains to be seen."

Edward looked woefully to the forest. For reasons that defied explanation, he could not get beyond a few feet into the forest without it expelling him out from whence he came.

"How do I get inside?"

She laughed again. "If I knew that, I would have no need of you."

He looked at her, puzzled. This woman spoke in riddles. "Then what do you suggest?"

"I suggest you take this." She tossed him a sword. He had not seen her holding it. It was as if she had drawn it from thin air. He caught it with one hand. It was ancient. The handle was peeling and cracked. The blade was long and dull. It was red from rust, and it appeared too blunt to possibly do damage to anyone.

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

"That is an iron sword. Your ancestors used it against the Fae before the pact was made. The Fae cannot withstand the touch of iron. You need only to pierce Ray Thorn with that and he will die and your wife will be safe."

Edward looked down at the sword and wondered if perhaps this woman might be a bit mad. Fae? Like in the children's stories? Next she would have him believe this Ray Thorn was one of the mythical Thorn Dwellers. He would have scoffed if he were not worried sick over Catherine. He looked up to tell the old woman she should leave but found instead she had disappeared. It was for the best; the woman had wasted precious time. He had to find Catherine. He hurried back to the roadster. He looked once more at the sword before tossing it into the passenger side of the carriage. He brought the sword, just in case. If on the off chance the old woman was not insane, it might come in handy if he did meet this Ray Thorn.

Chapter Sixteen

Catherine put up her hands, intending to fight off Mr. Thorn. That was her intention until he tangled his hands in her hair. It should not have but kissing him felt very right. She rested her hands against his chest. The taste of him was earthy. He parted her lips with little resistance, and the pressure of his tongue against hers was exotic and exciting. He held her close, his body wrapping around hers. Every sensible part of her was telling her to stop, this was not right, she was a married woman; her body responded in kind despite the apparent immorality of the situation. Then the kiss changed, it was no longer pleasure but pain. Burning fire was swirling in her gut and up through her throat. It scorched her tongue and erupted in Mr. Thorn. He jerked back from the first touch of flame, but he could not dislodge himself from Catherine. They were tied together by invisible bonds. He tried to scream, but it came out as a muffled wail. He pressed on her shoulders in an attempt to push her away, but he could not seem to dislodge himself from her. They were locked together in a burning inferno. Her skin felt as if it was blistering and her flesh was melting away. Moving her limbs caused excruciating pain.

With a great effort, she pushed him off. She fell to her knees, panting. Ray crumpled onto the ground beside her. For her, the burning sensation ended when they broke apart. For Ray, the torture was increased. He writhed on the ground in agony, clutching at his face and raking his nails across his flesh.

"I am being burnt from inside out!" he screamed.

What have I done! I kissed him, and now he is burning alive. This must be a punishment for my sin. Ray was wailing, a gut-wrenching sound. She had to do something to help him. Catherine looked about for something to cool him off with. She found a slop bucket hanging from the fence post above the feed trough. She snatched it up and ran it over to a nearby watering trough. She filled it up and carried it back over to Mr. Thorn and dumped the water onto him directly. His skin was red and feverish. The water did not seem to improve his condition. What do I do? What is happening to him?

She rocked from foot to foot, looking around the farm, expecting someone to come and take charge. She needed guidance, she had never dealt with something like this before; then inspiration struck. "I should call for Dr. Rowan."

"No!" he snarled, and it was a sound that was almost inhuman. He twisted around in the mud, and he appeared like some feral creature.

Catherine wrung her hands. Edward would know what to do. Edward was nowhere to be seen, and she did not know what else to do. He was delusional with pain. "I am going to find Edward, and he will help us get the doctor."

Catherine headed for the road, but before she could get a few feet, Ray called after her. "Do not involve Lord Thornton or I will tell him about our kiss."

Catherine turned back to him, and Ray had climbed onto his knees. He was shaking with the pain. His skin was pink and streaked with red veins bulging along his flesh. She could see from the set of his jaw he was remaining calm with a great effort. She felt conflicted. Though she did not know how, she was certain Mr. Thorn's current condition was her doing. I have to find him help, but if I go to Edward, he will tell him everything. What do I do?

She had no time to think. She could not even process their kiss or what it meant. She had to do something to help Mr. Thorn or he might die. "I cannot let you stay here like this," she said at last. "There has to be something I can do."

"Bring me home." He climbed to his feet, using the fence to the pigpen as a support. "I can treat this there."

"Back to Thornwood Abbey? That is kilometers away. I would need the coach or we would never make it."

He shook his head. "Not the manor. In there." He pointed a trembling hand towards the forest.

"You must be mistaken..." He cannot mean that. He is not in his right mind. She trembled like a leaf. This might be a trick to get me into the forest so he can take my heart. She looked from Mr. Thorn to the forest. It was looming above her. She saw shadows shifting about in the undergrowth and heard the urgent whisper of something that was waiting and watching. What if I am wrong and he can only be healed by the forest? Can I live with his death on my conscience?

"There's no time. I have to get into the forest or I will die, Lady Thornton." He held his hand in a pleading gesture.

She was never strong willed, and despite her fears, her resistance crumbled. Maybe if I can get him into the trees, he will feel well enough to let me go for help. She went and offered him a shoulder to lean upon, and they made their way haltingly into the forest. He was heavy, and she struggled to keep her feet under her. Muscles in her back and arms protested against the unfamiliar weight. From a distance the forest seemed overgrown, but as they approached, a pathway materialized from beyond the mist. When they were on the path, Mr. Thorn leaned less on her, giving her some reprieve. His skin remained feverish enough to burn when she touched him.

"I will leave you here and go for help," Catherine said as she led him over to a nearby tree, which she intended to prop him up against.

"You cannot leave me. Do you see? They are watching."

Catherine glanced up, and the shadows in the brush she had been trying to avoid had circled them. Their eyes glowed yellow from under shrubs and in between roots. She squeaked with fear, and the creatures tittered and rustled the leaves on the bushes and trees. She saw tiny figures hopping from branch to branch and skittering about just out of sight.

"Leave me here and it will be the last you see of me."

Would I be safer if I left him here? There is still the potential that he might be trying to kill me; I cannot be sure he is not one of the Thorn Dwellers. I do believe he is ill, but do I have it in me to let him die? She cursed herself for letting him coax her into the forest. "Are those the Thorn Dwellers?" she said beyond a lump in her throat.

He laughed and it was thin and reedy. "Not even close. They are scavengers who pick on the weak. We call them the small folk. They are desperate for magic, and they would not hesitate to drain me of every last drop."

Catherine shuddered and looked back to the edge of the forest only to find the farmhouse and cottage had disappeared. Fear had an icy grip on her heart now. I was a fool to trust him even for a second. This may all have been a trap. If I were stronger, I would not have let this happen.

"They will not hurt you," Ray said. "It's me they want because I am weak right now. Please, Lady Thornton, bring me home."

She bit her lip and said, "Very well." She seemed to have little choice in the matter now.

They stumbled along, further into the forest. The pathway never faltered, and the small folk kept their distance. Catherine's brain buzzed with questions, but she had no time for answers. The pathway ended at an oak tree with a door mounted into the trunk. Mr. Thorn climbed out from under her arm and went to lean against the tree. He whispered something to the door in a language she did not understand. It swung open, and she rushed forward to help him inside.

The room beyond was larger than she would have expected given it was inside a tree. There was a bed nestled between giant roots. The blanket looked like it was sewn together with bits of discarded fabric. There was a hole in one of the patchwork seams, and blue and red feathers poke out from within. The walls were lined with shelves hewn into the earth. They were filled with jars, bundles of herbs, and odds and ends. Catherine helped Mr. Thorn to lie down on the bed. After everything she had witnessed, she was numb to the oddities of Mr. Thorn's dwelling. Before she would have blacked out everything that she had witnessed. Now she was in emotional shock, she was going through the motions until her mind could catch up with her body.

"What do you need? How can I help?" she said. She had resigned herself to the role of nursemaid. If she did cause this illness, then she would do her best to heal him.

"That jar on the middle shelf, it has the green liquid, bring it to me." A few of the veins had started turning black, and he was striped with them. His lips were swollen and his eyes were puffy. He was deteriorating before her eyes. Catherine could see the effort he was putting into appearing in control.

She grabbed the jar and handed it to him. It was topped with a cork. He popped it off with his thumb and drank the entirety of the contents. He grimaced and wiped his lips with his sleeve. His eyes were stark against his fevered skin, and his hair was clinging to his forehead from the sweat collecting along his brow.

He leaned back and closed his eyes. Catherine hovered, uncertain what to do next. She had so many questions. They were questions she had never before dared to ask, but now that she knew these things were real, she wanted to know. Now was not the time to ask them. Processing everything would take quiet reflection, and they were not out of the woods yet.

"What are you?" she asked, defaulting to chitchat to keep her brain occupied and away from more dangerous topics like their kiss.

He cracked open one eye. "Dying, if this poison is not taken from me. What did you give me?" he asked.

"I did not give you anything, not intentionally, anyway." She flushed just thinking about their kiss. What would Edward do if he found out? Was there a gesture or comment that may have led Mr. Thorn to believe I would accept his advances. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He was watching her with a furrowed brow. The swelling had yet to go down, and the action made his face look pinched and quite unlike himself. He reminded her of a cream puff. She bit down on a laugh and looked away. I did accept his advance. I kissed him back. What would my mother think of me if she were to see me? I never thought I could be so weak willed.

He leaned up on his elbow. "Here's the thing." He groaned and closed his eyes. The eyelids were bruised a purple color. The veins were across his forehead now as well. "I always have control, but just now I had no control over my actions. There is a powerful spell on you for it to override my self-control."

She looked at her feet, not sure of how to respond. She had no way of casting a spell that she knew of. "I did not even believe these things were real until recently. How could I have learned such a powerful spell in such a short time?"

"How indeed?" he groaned. "Whatever the reason, we will have to discover it later. This antidote is not working. I need you to go to the king's grove and retrieve one of the leaves from the king's oak." He lay back down and flung his arm over his face. "Be quick about it, please. I would rather not die."

Out there? What if those things attack me? How can I possibly go alone? What she said instead was, "I would not even know where to go."

"The pathway will lead you; just think of what you need and stay on the path. Nothing will touch or harm you while you are on it."

She doubted the truth of that, but she feared arguing would only worsen his condition. He seemed to fall asleep, and without the ability to question him further, Catherine realized she was on her own. She went to the door and hesitated on the threshold. The forest was more or less clear and bright. She thought of her destination, and as Ray had promised, the pathway appeared at the door. It led in a twisting pattern away from the direction she had come. At least it was away from the direction she thought she had come. She took a step, and when nothing leapt out to attack her, she kept going. The small folk were her shadows, whispering and singing to her but never revealing themselves. She found if she ignored them, it was easier to forget her fear.

The trees thinned out, and more golden light spilled through the sparse branches and left patterns on the ground. It was beautiful. She would have spent more time admiring the flowers that lined the path or the sweet scent in the air if she were not focused on her task. The trees ended at a clearing. Several massive trees of different varieties--ash, willow, rowan, maple and yew--all ringed an enormous oak tree. Its canopy made a ceiling over the clearing, it was darker here than the rest of the forest. The strange part was it did not feel dangerous; there was nothing lurking in the shadows. She felt safe here.

The clearing was silent as if the world was holding its breath. Even the small folk shrank back from the majesty of the tree. She took a tentative step up towards the tree. The branches were high up in the sky and impossible to reach. How can I get a leaf? There was nothing on the ground; it was as if the earth had been swept clean.

"Do you need something?"

Catherine looked up to see a man leaning against the tree. He was different than any man she had seen before. He had long hair that was loose and falling forward. He had thin lips and high arched brows. His skin was a golden color, and his features were sharp but beautiful. Is this a Thorn Dweller? She involuntarily covered her heart.

"Can you speak, child?" he said.

She could not imagine this beautiful man was the creature that the villagers feared. "A man has been poisoned. He said he needs a leaf from the king's tree; is this it?" She pointed at the branches overhead.

"It is," the man replied.

"How do I get one?"

"Who is it that you are trying to save?"

"Mr. Thorn."

The man quirked an eyebrow at her.

"His Christian name is Ray," Catherine elaborated.

The man laughed. "Oh, what trouble has he gotten himself into?"

Catherine was not sure how to respond, so she remained silent. She was not certain this man was friend or foe. For all she knew he was a Thorn Dweller and this was all part of his game before he cut out her heart.

"I will fetch the leaf for Mr. Thorn." He tilted his lips up in a smile. Then in a flash he scaled the side of the tree and plucked a single leaf from it. He landed beside Catherine and handed it to her. "Move quickly, daughter of the Thorns. I can smell the poison on you still. It is one that will kill him if you do not return soon."

"Thank you." Catherine nodded and ran off back the way she came. She spared one glance over her shoulder towards the mysterious man to make sure he was not trying to attack her from behind. Not that she could have done much if he did. He leaned against the tree with his arms folded over his chest, watching her, a smile pulling at his lips. She should have been afraid of him, but there was something about that place that made her feel as if nothing bad could happen there. She felt safe.

The path guided her back to Ray's home, and she ran with renewed vigor. The mysterious man's words added urgency to the situation. She opened the door with no trouble; whatever spell Ray had spoken when they first arrived allowed her to pass through a second time. She found Ray rolling in bed, wearing nothing but his breeches. His shirt had been cast off and was hanging from the edge of a root that broke through the ceiling of his home. He was glistening with sweat as he thrashed about in the bed.

"Mr. Thorn, I've brought the leaf," she said, holding up the leaf. It looked no different than any other oak leaf. It was a glossy green, with numerous prongs around the edges. How can this heal him?

He did not respond but for an inhuman growl.

What do I do? She had the cure but was uncertain of how to administer it. She could only assume it was meant to be ingested. He had drunk the previous antidote. She kneeled on the edge of the bed and touched his arm. It was hot. She imagined this was what touching a hot coal would feel like. She retracted her hand at once. I have to give this to him somehow. She tried shaking him, hoping he would regain some sense as he had before. He arched his back and moved away from her. I need to force this into him, but I do not know if I am strong enough to do so. She looked around for rope or even a bit of twine to bind his hands but found nothing of use. There was no other choice. The veins of black were circling his neck, and his cheeks were lined as well. He is dying; I have to do this. She took a deep breath and then climbed onto the bed. She knelt beside him. He struck her inadvertently with his flailing limbs.

She held his arm down with her free hand. She knew what she had to do next, but it went against everything she had been taught. I should not be alone with him here; would doing this next step to save his life damn me any further? She straddled him and pinned him with her knees. Under different circumstances she would not have considered doing such a thing, but she could not hold him still otherwise. He was writhing beneath her, bucking his hips forward trying to dislodge her. She steadied herself by resting a hand on his shoulder. Now. Do it now. She grabbed both sides of his face and forced his mouth open. Using one hand to keep his mouth open, she shoved the leaf in with the other. She clamped her hands around his chin to keep his mouth closed so he could not spit it up. She recalled seeing that done at the sanatorium.

He swallowed and then relaxed. His ceaseless movement stopped. She could see the black veins receding almost instantly. Catherine exhaled with relief. She eased off his torso, ready to put distance between them after being in such an intimate position. As she slid off the bed, he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her backwards. Her back was slammed against the blanket. He leaned over her, his long hair falling forward to curtain his face.

"Why, Lady Thornton, I did not know you would go to such lengths to save my life. I think thanks are in order." He grinned.

Catherine realized too late she had gotten into a far more dangerous situation by saving Mr. Thorn.

Chapter Seventeen

His desire burned out of him, evaporating off of his skin. It left his skin tingling with sensation. All his senses were heightened. He could smell the lilac of her perfume. He could feel her hair brushing against his skin, whisper soft. Lady Thornton stared up at him, wide eyed and shocked. He would give anything to kiss her again. He knew now that would be a fatal decision, but remembering the taste of her, the feel of her body against his and his fingers running through her silken hair, it was enough to drive him mad. He could not think of ever wanting a woman this bad before; was it the spell or Lady Thornton? He did not know, and at the moment he did not care.

She opened and closed her mouth. Her gaze flickered to his lips. She's thinking about it too. She felt that fire--the flame before the burn. He leaned close, enough to breathe the same air as her and brush his lips against hers. She turned away, and it was like a bucket of cold water. I think I've overestimated my own sexual appeal.

"Mr. Thorn," she said in a strangled voice, "please, I am a married woman. What happened before..."

Marriage! The very notion was laughable. Humans held it in no high esteem. Back when he used to take human lovers, they were almost exclusively married women. The unmarried ones were much less likely to indulge in a tryst. Except for the odd farmer's daughter, all his lovers had been so-called married women. They all balked, but in the end none could resist his charm. Now that he knew he wanted her, he was not willing to let Lady Thornton go. He'd learned one thing about Lady Thornton from their brief acquaintance: she could not be pushed--she required a gentle hand.

He eased back onto his heels, and once he was no longer on top of her, she slid back and rammed her back against the headboard. She was clutching his blanket to her chest as if it would be enough to shield her from him. If I wanted, I could tear that blanket and her gown beneath it and have her until she was screaming my name. It was a tempting thought.

He slid off the bed to give her space; the more freedom he gave her, the more likely she was to trust him. "I did not mean to scare you, Lady Thornton. I was overenthusiastic in my show of gratitude."

She was watching him warily. She had not let go of the blanket.

The effects of the poison were wearing off and with it some of his ardor. His uncontrolled desire was fading, and he saw her in a more neutral light. She was pretty, that much was true, but on a second glance he concluded his momentary madness was due to the poison and no real attraction to the woman. That is for the best; she is off limits to me. His head was pounding, the leaf of the King Oak purged the poison, but it left him feeling depleted and weak.

He turned his back on his guest to retrieve a remedy for the headache. As he moved about the room, he caught the sweet and sensual scent of the poison. It had been removed from his body, but it still clung to Lady Thornton, drawing him towards her with its maddening intensity. It was irresistible. Someone has gone to great lengths to try to kill me. I wonder if I should be flattered. He pulled a few jars down from the shelves and mixed them together, creating a sort of shield to limit the effectiveness of the poison's draw upon him. Of course, nothing would cure him until Lady Thornton was far away from him.

He turned around, prepared to tell her to leave, and found her instead asleep in his bed. He shook his head. Humans are so fragile. I forget sometimes though I have lived side by side with them for years. He sat down on the edge of the bed beside her. Her dark hair was fanned out across his pillow. During her adventures it had come undone. Her lips were parted slightly and her breathing was deep and even. A strand of hair had fallen across her cheek, and he pushed it aside. Just the faint brush of skin against hers twisted his gut and stirred his desire. This is dangerous; I am already on thin ice. Take what is not mine, and I will not be forgiven. Whatever spell was on her was powerful. Is someone using her to ruin my plans, or is she doing this and I am playing the unwitting fool?

The sensible part of his brain told him to get away from her now and fast. He had made too many mistakes to risk another. However, the deeper, more animal part of him wanted her. He wanted to tear open her bodice and see what lay beneath all the linen and lace. It has been a long time since I took a human lover. He pulled his hand back, remembering his last human lover. No, I will never lay with their kind again. The council was right to forbid unions with the humans. It always ends badly. His eyes traced over her face. She is not entirely human, though...

He shot to his feet. Thinking like that led to trouble. He paced the room, considering what to do next. He could not leave her to sleep in his bed. Though he was recovering from the poison and his remedies abated some of the effects of being near her, any further contact with her might be enough to kill him. I cannot present her for the test in this state. Though I am happy to see she was able to retrieve the leaf on her own. If she had not been able to... well, I would have been dead, so I suppose I would not have cared. He smiled sardonically at his own musings.

He walked back over to the bed and stared down at her for a moment before walking away again. I should call for someone to bring her back to the manor. But who can I trust? He had few enough allies in the Thorn Court, and if any of them realized who Lady Thornton was, they would take her for their own. I have no choice but to bring her back myself.

Ray pulled the cover out and wrapped her up in it. Then he slid his arms beneath her knees and rested her head on his shoulder. For a moment he inhaled her scent. Feeling her body close to his even through the blanket was enough to intoxicate, and it took all of his self-control to not set her down on the bed and wake her in a very ungentlemanly way. He managed to stumble out the door. The small folk were gathered outside his door, as he feared they would be.

"I am not dead yet, you scavengers!" He kicked at a few that were clinging to his door.

They scampered away, perching in the tree branches overhead. They had assumed disguises to appear less threatening. They pretended to be badgers, birds, and foxes. If you looked close, you would notice something off about the coloring of their coat or a bluebird might have sharp pointed teeth. The combined temptation of his weakened state and Lady Thornton had drawn them out from their hiding places. He had known for some time that they wanted Lady Thornton. They could sense the magic in her as he could. If she had been without magic, the forest would have been closed to her; only the gifted saw the path that led through the Otherworld. Lady Thornton's problem was she did not realize her power, which made her a target. The small folk were always looking for an easy meal and a way to rise up on the food chain.

"She smells divine," the creatures whispered.

"Don't you want just a taste?" another said. They came close enough to brush against his shirt.

He kept moving. Burdened as he was, he could not effectively fight them off. They knew he was weak, and it made them bold.

"A daughter of the Thorns..."

"How sweet..."

"How pretty..."

"Has the Thorn son found a mate?"

He straightened his shoulders and walked on the pathway that would guide him to the forest edge. If he stopped, the small folk would catch up and overpower them. Their taunts were meant to confuse and distract; one step off the pathway and he would be at their mercy.

"We can smell your desire, Ray. We know you want her. Why not have a taste?"

He gritted his teeth. He could smell her. His body responded as a man would when he was near a desirable woman. He peeked down at his cargo. Lady Thornton slept on unawares. He had to wonder if this was a part of the spell or was she always this trusting as she slept? Her long lashes brushed against her cheeks in a most enticing way. One kiss had not been enough. He could not fight his desire any longer. What would it hurt to just steal one more kiss?

He leaned in, prepared to press his lips to hers once more just to get a hint of that sweet ambrosia. As he did, one of the small folk sank its sharp teeth into his calf. He kicked under impulse and sent a goblin flying across the forest to land in the brush. The goblin chittered and screeched. He spun around, the path had disappeared, and he was standing in the center of the dark forest. Damn it. I should not have let my guard down for even a moment.

The small folk surrounded him in a circle. They had given up the pretense of disguise, and they appeared as he knew them. They were small creatures, no taller than his thigh. They varied in color from mossy green to stony gray. They had rows of sharp teeth, hands with sharp nails, muscled legs and clubbed feet. They dressed themselves in the animal skins they donned. Over here was a creature with a fox pelt tied over his shoulders. Another had a cape made of robin's wings, and still another wore the head of an owl on its head. Unlike the true animal shifters of the forest, the small folk were dastardly creatures who lived for mischief and were opportunist. Under normal circumstances they would be no match for him; now drained of energy and carrying Lady Thornton, he was worried.

He could not fight them off with her in his arms, so he had no choice but to set her down. He laid her down at his feet, making sure she was still cocooned in the blanket from his bed. It was a paltry protection, but it was better than leaving her exposed to the devious creatures who wanted to devour them both. He whistled as he turned slowly, assessing the threat. He stood over Catherine, ready to defend her if need be. The small folk were dashing around in circles fast enough that he could not lock on to any one in particular. He opened up his senses, letting the green rivers of magic flow into him. His power was stronger here in the forest, where the magic was not polluted by human influence. The river appeared clouded because of the poison, and he could not draw up his full potential, but it was enough for his purposes.

Ray pulled power from the earth, funneling the current of energy from the ground and into his body. He opened his palm, and a ball of light bubbled up like a spring. It shifted and stretched, forming into a short sword made of green flame. It burned bright in his hand, illuminating in green light the goblins that were watching him with rapt interest. A few of the creatures had crept up to Lady Thornton, and they were pulling at the blanket that covered her. Feathers were scattered on the ground from where they had torn into it.

Ray swung the sword at them and lopped off the head of one and gouged the other in the arm. The injured one hissed and scuttled backwards and hid in the bushes. The others were waiting and watching. They could sense his power was flagging. He could not maintain the fiery sword for long and they knew it.

He kneeled down and picked up Lady Thornton. He flung her over his shoulder. It was the best he could do. He pointed the sword at the creatures.

"Stay out of my way, or you will be meeting the dark one soon." He gave them a glimpse of his true face. It was all posturing; if they decided to attack en masse, he would be easily overwhelmed. Luckily for him they were stupid creatures.

They fled after his threats and left Ray and Lady Thornton alone. He sagged onto one knee once he knew they would not return. The sword flickered and faded. He set Lady Thornton onto the ground and took a moment to catch his breath. She slept on, and he wondered if this was something different than fatigue. Once he was feeling more composed, he picked her up and resumed on. He found the path again; it was full of golden light and lined with blooming flowers.

They made it out of the forest without further incident, and Ray was relieved for the first time to see Thornwood Abbey. The massive construct of stone and wood waited them like a patient sentinel. He remembered when they had built the castle, the home of the guardian, so many centuries ago. They did not call it a castle any longer, and over the years they had updated and amended it to suit current generations. He always thought it an eyesore. Hundreds of years I have watched them. I have seen them pull away from the forest and forget about us completely. He shook his head. Now was not the time for sentimentality.

It was night in the human realm. He could see only one or two lights flickering in a few of the windows. He crossed the lawn and entered through one of the back doors. The servants were asleep, and there were no more lights left on in the kitchen. He was thankful for the darkness; it was much easier to sneak in the dark. He crept up the stairs and entered the foyer. He thanked whatever god was listening that no one was about. He had no energy left to glamour any human he came across. He could only hope she would have the sense to come up with a plausible explanation.

He went up the stairs to her room and pushed open the door with his foot. He intended to set her down on the bed and slip out, but he found the room was not empty.

Lord Thornton stood up as Ray entered. "What are you doing here?" he said. His voice was cold.

Ray cursed silently. "My lord, I found Lady Thornton out in the garden. I thought I should bring her in before waking anyone else." He cringed as the words escaped his mouth.

"You lie."

Ray reeled back as if he had been slapped. "Pardon me?" His hackles were rising. It may have been a terrible lie, but he was at the limit of his patience. What right did this human have to speak to him that way?

"You killed the Larsons and then kidnapped my wife. We have been searching for her all afternoon. Did you think you could return her in the dead of night and we would not find out?" His eyes fell onto Lady Thornton, and he absorbed her unconscious state. "What have you done to her?"

Lord Thornton stormed over, and Ray willingly released his burden into the guardian's care. He felt the pressure of his own desire ebb as the lord examined his wife's face.

"She is perfectly fine," Ray said, though it took a great effort to remain civil. "As for the farmers, they were dead long before I arrived. Perhaps you should open your eyes to the dangers around you. It is your job as the guardian of the forest to protect these humans under your jurisdiction."

"Do not try to distract me with your nonsense. I will call the constable and see you behind bars."

Ray shuddered just to think of being locked behind iron bars. "That will not be necessary. If you think I have done something wrong, then face me yourself. Your ancestors were never afraid of meting out punishment when it was warranted."

"Are you asking for a duel? Then I will meet you on the field at dawn! I will take your life with my own hands if I must."

Ray had to resist the urge to laugh in the human's face. Lord Thornton could not hope to damage Ray. However, Ray knew he must obey a summons from the guardian.

"Very well, then we shall meet at dawn." He bowed in a mocking sort of way, and before Lord Thornton could say anymore, he disappeared out of the room. It took the last of his depleted magic to do so, but it was the only way he could think to avoid further confrontation until he was ready. He would teach the overreaching lord a lesson he would not soon forget.

Chapter Eighteen

Mist hung heavy on the lawn. Dawn had broken hours ago, but nothing seemed able to permeate the mist. Edward paced back and forth; Mr. Thorn was two hours late. Edward had hoped to end this horrid matter by now. For some unforeseeable reason, Mr. Thorn had brought Catherine back. For that reason alone was Edward willing to give him a sporting chance. But this must end, the murders, his wife's kidnapping; it was his responsibility. Edward had been thinking about his father. From the moment Catherine went missing his father's words had popped into his head. We are guardians of the forest, chosen to protect the people who call Thornwood home. When the time comes, you shall take up that sacred call. You must shield this village from the darkness even if it means your life. Edward clutched tighter at the iron sword. When he was a boy, he had ardently believed those words. He dreamed of himself as a knight riding on a white horse, swooping in to protect damsels in distress. When his mother died, his dreams died with her. Guardian of the forest was a fairy tale his father told him; none of it was true. If it was, then Edward would have been able to save her.

He slashed at the fog with his sword. He had buried these memories so long ago he thought they would never see the light of day again. Then Mr. Thorn had called him the guardian, and all the memories had come flooding back. Edward looked about, expecting Mr. Thorn to attack while he had lapsed into his own thoughts. A monster like him would think nothing of using dishonorable tactics. What kind of man kills the elderly and kidnaps a woman? Edward turned in a slow circle, waiting and watching. Someone who is no man at all, that's who, he answered his own question. His whole life he had heard the stories about Those Who Dwell in the Thorns, and since his mother's untimely death, he thought them fairy tales. For the first time in his adult life he was inclined to believe, if only to rationalize what was happening in the village.

The waiting was taking its toll. Edward was on edge. An owl flew by, screeching as it brushed by him. He flinched and tried to cover his head like a coward. He stood up straight and rolled his shoulders. Get it together, man. He's probably waiting out there in the mist, waiting for you to let down your guard. Edward's skin itched. He scratched at his arm. He felt as if his clothes were too tight; he tugged at his collar and pulled out his cravat. It did not lessen the feeling of tightness; it was if his skin was stretched too tight over his bones. The longer he waited, the more his rage grew. His agitation consumed his thoughts. He kicked a nearby bucket and growled with temper. I should not have let him go. It is obvious he has no honor. I gave him the benefit of the doubt, and he throws my generosity back in my face.

Flute music rolled over the fog. Edward looked up, every muscle in his body tense and prepared for action. The mist parted as Mr. Thorn strolled into the clearing. Mr. Thorn walked with the flute pressed to his lips. His uncivilized hair was down and blowing in the breeze. Even Edward had to admit seeing him emerge from the fog, flute in hand, Mr. Thorn looked like some creature from a picture book.

Mr. Thorn lowered the flute, and in the absence of music, the air was charged with tension. "I am sorry if I am late." Mr. Thorn smirked.

Edward fought the urge to strike him with a fist. He tightened his grip on the ragged handle of the iron blade. "Normally a man's duel is done at dawn, but perhaps since I am not dealing with a gentleman..." He flipped his hand backwards to excuse the matter with a gesture. "It matters not. You are here at last to receive your judgment."

Edward meant it as a slight, but Mr. Thorn laughed derisively. "You have no inclination as to what I really am."

"How dare you undermine me! I am your superior."

Mr. Thorn crossed his arms over his chest and raised a brow. "In what regards are you elevated above me?"

Edward opened his mouth and then clamped it shut again; never in his life had someone below his station spoken to him thusly. He is not your average man. He thinks himself above me; let his arrogance be his downfall. The thought helped to cool some of his temper.

Edward brandished his rusty blade. He felt ridiculous carrying it out here. Men fought with pistols, not antique swords, but when he saw the smirk wiped off Mr. Thorn's face, his confidence was bolstered. The old woman had not lied to him; he feared the iron blade.

"I see you have noticed my weapon," Edward said as he slashed it through the air. "It was a gift. And by my hand it will end your reign of terror on Thornwood." He finished with a smile.

There was a grim set to Mr. Thorn's mouth. "You are a fool and a puppet. Let's end this quickly."

"Where is your weapon? Or do you plan on facing your death without a fight?"

"I will not be dying here today." Mr. Thorn opened his hand, palm up, and a flaming sword materialized there. It glowed green and illuminated the fog with a green tint.

Edward felt less confident in his own rusted blade. He glanced down at it. I have the right on my side. God will see justice done.

"Are you ready?" Edward asked.

Mr. Thorn had spread his feet apart and led with the sword. "Come, guardian, prove to me your worth."

Despite Edward's attempts to remain calm and in control, he snapped and charged. They met in the middle. Edward swung his sword, which clashed with Mr. Thorn's. Sparks flew where the iron met the flaming blade. Edward pulled back and swept low and slashed at Mr. Thorn's abdomen. Mr. Thorn twirled away, avoiding the iron blade. Edward rushed forward, and Mr. Thorn dodged Edward again and came back swinging his flaming sword, which caught Edward on the shoulder. The pain was intense, the flames did not catch on his clothes, but it sliced deep into his skin. Blood poured down his arm in rivulets.

Edward slashed wildly and by chance caught Mr. Thorn across his chest. Mr. Thorn hissed with pain and bared his teeth at Edward. Mr. Thorn drove forward with his fiery blade. Edward countered the strike and pushed away his blade. They circled one another for a few moments. Mr. Thorn seemed prepared to tire Edward out, and Edward was afraid to make a daring attack.

Mr. Thorn grew bored, and he thrust at Edward. Edward in turn threw up his blade to deflect but lost his footing as he guarded as he stumbled backwards. He expected Mr. Thorn to come in for a kill shot, but he waited until he regained his feet.

"I am surprised you have any honor. I will remember that so I can make your death swift."

"You will need to hurry or I may die of boredom." Ray extenuated his point by covering a yawn with his hand.

Edward saw red. He charged again. This time he swung his sword back and forth with no artifice. His former fencing teacher would have been ashamed. In Edward's defense, this was not the same as practice; this was life or death. Mr. Thorn was surprised by the direct attack, and he took a few steps back. He blocked Edward's attack but made no attempts to return. Edward slashed back and forth at the other man. Ray frowned and concentrated on fending off Edward's lunges and thrusts. At last, Mr. Thorn faltered, and Edward took his chance to stab at him once more. He struck at his abdomen but was blocked by Mr. Thorn's sword. They battled for a few more minutes, meeting each other blow for blow.

They had reached a turning point in their battle. Mr. Thorn was taking Edward seriously now. The problem was, Edward's strength was flagging. He had been trained in fencing as a boy, but he had been long out of practice. When he tried to parry another blow, he took a hard jolt to his arm, his knee buckled beneath him, and he crumpled to the ground.

Mr. Thorn followed him down. He grabbed the sword from Edward's hand and flung it across the lawn. Edward could see where the metal had touched Mr. Thorn his skin had burned.

"What are you?" Edward spat.

"I am your nightmares, and the manifestation of all the stories your nurse told you before bed. Do not think to fight me or I will cut out your heart with my blade." He pressed the flaming blade against Edward's heart.

His breathing was ragged, and he labored to keep it shallow so the fiery blade would not pierce him. Edward lay still on the ground. He was at the monster's mercy. Mr. Thorn loomed above Edward and his features had changed; they were sharper, more feral. Alien. He gritted his teeth. His suspicions had been correct. Mr. Thorn was not a man at all but some nightmare creature.

"I told you, man." His voice whispered like the wind through the trees. "You do not know with whom you are dealing with. Lady Thornton was chosen for you, by us, and we can take her away from you at any time, if we so wish."

He refused to hear this. Catherine belonged to no one but him. This monster thought he could take Catherine, but he was mistaken. Edward broke an arm free and swung it at Mr. Thorn's face. Mr. Thorn dodged it with ease. He caught Edward's hand and twisted his wrist. Edward suppressed a howl of pain. He would not show weakness, not now.

"Face me like a man!" Edward snarled and bared his teeth. His body was burning up with anger; his skin felt like it would burst open.

Mr. Thorn leaped off him as if Edward had scalded him. He watched Edward from a few feet away. There was a faint trace of disgust in his expression. He held the sword still in his hand though it was limp at his side. He thinks he's defeated me. If I could reach my blade, I could end this. Mr. Thorn had calculated his moves, and he stood between Edward and the blade.

Edward tried to climb to his feet, but his limbs would not obey. He rolled onto his stomach, just as a sharp pain rippled through his body. He managed to hunch over on the ground. He felt as if every bone in his body were breaking one by one. The pain was immense and blinding. What have you done to me? He looked at Mr. Thorn through a haze.

He shook his head as if Edward were a grave disappointment. "You seem more beast than man to me." Mr. Thorn turned to walk away.

Edward tried to crawl after him. The only sound that came out of his throat was a feral snarl.

Mr. Thorn was out of sight, but his voice drifted over Edward from within the mist. "I will not kill you. Even if you are a fool, you are our guardian. However, heed my warning, stay out of our way, as your predecessors did, and you will live a much longer, happier life."

His words hardly registered as Edward arched his back and screamed. It felt as if someone had a grip upon his spine and they were trying to remove it forcibly from his body. The sounds escaping his throat were far from human. They were more akin to a growl. His mind roared and his body contorted. The bones broke and realigned. The hair on his head grew longer and raced down his back. His feet broke his shoes as they grew. Every inch of his body was covered in dark, coarse hair. His hands were tipped with claws. He felt and breathed anger. He was rage incarnate. And he hungered. He needed blood, to slake this thirst, this consuming rage, and hunger. He bounded across the lawn. He howled; the sound echoed over the landscape and vibrated through him.

The manor was full of bodies moving about, waiting to be caught like the prey they were. He would not enter that place. It was forbidden. He knew this even in his wild animalistic haze. He hunted around the perimeters, waiting and watching for his prey. Then he saw her. He recognized her by her scent because he had devoured her kin. They were delicious. He remembered that delightful meal. He had caught the old woman unawares as she fed her chickens. He devoured her and the chickens, but it was not enough, it was never enough. He went in search of more meat and found the elderly man tilling his field. He had struggled, oh, how he struggled. Edward loved the fight, enjoyed the chase and the satisfaction when he brought down his prey. He always loved the hunt. He launched onto Miss Larson before she even realized he was upon her. In the distant part of his human brain he recognized her and he rebelled at the thought of killing her. The animal part of him delighted in her flesh, the taste of her blood that flooded his mouth, the sweet taste of her organs. She beat at him even as he ripped out her throat. The hot blood filled his mouth and soothed his soul, if for a moment. The rage was banked for now, but it would return soon just as it always did, in the end.

Chapter Nineteen

The coach lurched, and Catherine grasped the edge of her seat, white knuckled. Across from her Edward startled awake and blinked at her, bleary eyed. He drew back the curtains on the coach door. Gray mist melted into the dark night outside the window.

"I cannot see a thing past this mist. Though, I am certain we are nearly there." He eased back in his seat and smiled at her.

"I am glad," she replied.

The coach continued to jostle and threw its occupants about the compartment. One particularly vigorous movement flung Catherine across the space and into her husband's lap. She blushed crimson before muttering an apology under her breath and quickly returning to her side of the compartment to study the closed curtain. She hoped he would not think her forward for falling into his lap in such an undignified fashion.

As the lurching motion subsided, it became readily apparent they had stopped. The horses screeched, and the thud of their hooves as they pawed the ground replaced the creak of the carriage wheels.

"Why have we stopped?" Edward mused aloud.

Catherine, thinking her added commentary would be unwanted, remained silent.

An animal howl echoed outside that sent gooseflesh rising along Catherine's arms. She squeaked in alarm before clamping a hand over her mouth to stop the offending noise. Another howl accompanied the first. Catherine shuddered. Growing up close to London had not prepared her for the wilds of country living.

"I am going to speak with the coachman." Edward reached for the door handle. He seemed unafraid of the baying creatures of the night.

Catherine reached for him, thinking to stop him; who knew what kind of terrible things could be lurking out in that mist. Propriety, however, dictated that she obey her husband and not try to command him on their second day of marriage. She let her husband step out of the coach. Her hand fell limply in her lap. The mist from outside blew into the coach, and a chill crept up her spine. I should call out to him, she thought. There is no need to speak with the coachman. I am certain everything is fine.

Yet another howl ripped through the night air, this time accompanied by a terrified scream. Catherine's heart beat in her chest, and she pressed her knuckles to her mouth to suppress her startled cry.

Silence hung heavy on the air.

"Edward?" she called.

Something sniffed around the door. She caught only the barest glimpse of a large furry creature as it glided past the opening. It disappeared from view before Catherine could get a good sense of what it was. Maybe it's a trick of my eyes, she thought. Catherine scooted along the seat towards the door.

"Edward, say something," she whispered, though she could not say what for.

Someone moaned nearby. That has to be Edward; he is hurt. Catherine stood hunched over in the door to the coach, squinting into the darkness, one ear cocked for the howling creature.

The coach rocked and Catherine fumbled, losing her balance. She grasped the doorway for support and found it wet. She pulled her hand away, and a thick dark liquid covered it. As if she had summoned it, the mist parted and a gibbous moon shone down on her, illuminating the red blood. Catherine screamed and fell backwards onto the floor of the coach. She stared at the blood on her hand. Why is there blood? Oh, God please tell me this is a nightmare. She hastily wiped the warm liquid onto the jacket Edward had left draped over the coach seat. Was that Edward's blood?

An accompanying howl greeted her shouts, and she backed further into the carriage, fearing the howling creature and the owner of the blood alike. The creature, however, had other plans, and the carriage began to rattle and shake. The creature's heavy breathing was just on the other side of the carriage wall. And Catherine's back was against said wall. Her heart pounded in a panic. In a rash and foolish decision, she fled the carriage, hoping the mist would hide her from the creature's attentions.

She managed only a few panicked feet before stumbling and falling. She rose to her knees, a giving substance met her grasping hands, and she prayed silently that it was not what she feared.

Despite great hesitance, she looked down at the profile of the coachman, his throat opened and skin peeled back.

Too terrified to scream, she scuttled away from the corpse. All sound seemed lodged in her throat.

A shadow rushed past her, drawing her eye. She watched a lumbering figure move through the mist. The gait of it was humanoid. It walked upright on hind legs that were haunches like a dog's, but it stooped forward, and its hands, tipped with claws, almost dragged upon the ground. It had a doglike muzzle covered in hair and rowed with sharp teeth. She saw a flash of a pink tongue against the white teeth before the clouds moved in front of the moon, blocking her view. Just then the creature let out a guttural howl.

I will be next! she thought.

Without seeing it, she could sense the creature pacing her, circling, waiting for the kill. Too late, she realized she should never have left the relative safety of the carriage. Dear god, help me, she prayed.

The crunch of footsteps on the gravel alerted her to its presence, and she twirled to face the creature. Like a rabbit before the fox, she stood entranced by the beast. The figure loomed closer, seemingly losing some of its grandeur before it stumbled forward out of the mist, and she raised her hands to protect herself.

It collapsed beside her, the gravel crunched beneath it, and Catherine opened her eyes to see Edward lying face down. He seemed whole but for a bloody gash on his arm.

"Edward." She shook him. "Wake up." It went against her every instinct to command her husband in such a way, but the will to survive superseded propriety in this case.

He mumbled something she could not make out because the creature howled again. Its stumbling gait thundered around them, crunching the gravel on the road. She whipped her head around, catching brief snatches of the creature, the gleam of a yellow eye and a humanlike hand covered entirely in fur.

Catherine tried to urge Edward to his feet. He moved as if he'd had too many spirits.

"The Thorn Dwellers," he moaned as he leaned on Catherine's shoulder. "Father warned me, but I never listened."

Catherine did not mind his ravings because the creature drew closer. She cast about for a place to escape. The carriage was not far, and if she could just get Edward inside, perhaps they could stave off the monster's attacks until someone came to their rescue. But who will save us? she thought desperately.

She tugged at her fumbling husband. He fell to his knees and collapsed to the ground, unconscious. The creature brushed past them in the mist, and she felt the bristled fur along her hand. The rattle of the creature's breath crept over her skin. She looked down at Edward, debating whether to abandon him or prepare to die together. The pale light coming from the right behind the clouds silhouetted the creature as it loped away before turning back and stalking closer to them.

It is playing with us, she realized. It tilted its head back, howling once more. If the monster had enough time to taunt them, then there was no way to escape. She closed her eyes and slumped to the ground in defeat. A sharp yelp of pain surprised her, however, and she opened her eyes.

A new figure stood between Catherine, Edward and the monster. He brandished a sword made entirely of green flame. He swung at the creature, forcing it back. The creature disappeared into the mist. He looked over his shoulder at Catherine and Edward, presumably to make sure they were well.

Mr. Thorn gave her a crooked smile and said, "Lady Thornton, I hope you will forgive me for not coming to your rescue in time."

Catherine woke with a gasp. After a moment of disorientation, she was pleased to find she was back in her own bed. She patted the sheets to reassure herself she was home. Her dream had been a vivid one, and upon reflection she realized it was her memories of the night she and Edward had arrived at Thornwood Abbey. Their journey had not gone as smoothly as she had been led to believe. That is why I have been having these terrible visions. It was a reassuring thought. All these memories and creatures she had seen were not a figment of her imagination. How did I get back to my bed? The last thing I remember is... She gasped and then colored to remember the scandalous situation with Mr. Thorn. At the time she had been so overwhelmed by exhaustion once she knew Mr. Thorn was not going to make any more untoward advances, she had fallen asleep.

To think she had kissed him and then slept in his bed. The shame was nearly too much to bear. She buried her face in her hands. It all felt like a bad dream, but she knew she could not continue to live in ignorance any longer. And the dream she had: Was the creature that attacked them a Thorn Dweller? Was that kin to those things that watched her and Mr. Thorn in the woods? And why had she forgotten about the attack until now? Mr. Thorn was there as well; he saved them. Why did she not remember it until now? He was tied up in this somehow, and she was not certain she wanted to know why.

She had two options. She could dwell on the past or continue on as if nothing had happened. She decided on the latter. She rang the bell for Miss Larson to come and help her dress. While she waited, she went about the room, looking for any sign of her adventures the day before. She would expect Mr. Thorn to leave some token to incriminate her, if that was his intent. Edward would also be wondering where she had been. She had no good explanation for him. She decided to put that aside until she was face to face with her husband. She paced the room back and forth, wringing her hands. Before, it had been easy to forget and move on, but now that she was faced with so many truths, she felt as if she were drowning beneath them all.

The door opened and Catherine stopped pacing. "Miss Larson--" She stopped when she saw Mrs. Morgan standing in the doorway. She scowled at Catherine.

Catherine shrank back from the imposing woman. "Mrs. Morgan, I had not expected you. Where is Miss Larson?"

"Miss Larson cannot be found at the moment." The housekeeper stepped into Catherine's room at last and shut the door behind her with a click.

Catherine's hand rested on her chest, clutching at her nightgown. She did not want to even think about who had undressed her. Please not Mr. Thorn, I cannot stand any more shame.

"Then are you here to help me dress in her stead?" Catherine said in a small voice.

Mrs. Morgan's lips were pressed so close together they nearly disappeared. "No, my lady."

Catherine swallowed past a lump in her throat. The housekeeper terrified her under normal circumstances; with the full weight of her glare upon her, Catherine had to fight the urge to squirm. "Then why did you come?"

"I came to tell you to leave Thornwood."

Catherine was too shocked for words.

Mrs. Morgan continued despite Catherine's apparent shock. "You are beneath his lordship's station. You are of inferior intelligence, and now you have caused trouble for not only Lord Thornton but the staff as well by flitting off only to return in the late hours as if nothing happened. His lordship was beside himself with worry. I have never seen him so distraught. I know girls of your type, social ladder climbers. You thought you had made a great catch, but Thornwood does not accept outsiders, ever. Leave before I force you to do so."

Catherine fell into a chair; there were tears pressing against her lids. Mrs. Morgan had spoken all of Catherine's worst fears. She never felt as if she belonged here, never felt appreciated or wanted. But I love Edward. I have my faults, but my love for him is not an illusion. A new feeling swept through Catherine; she felt as if a burning torch had been lit in her heart.

She looked up at Mrs. Morgan, who was glowering down at her. Catherine said, "No."

The small rebellion felt like a stone being dropped into a pool, the ripples were growing and expanding.

Mrs. Morgan's shock was apparent; her mouth hung open. She recomposed herself enough to say, "I beg your pardon."

Catherine stood up, her hands balled into tiny fists at her side. "I said no, Mrs. Morgan. I understand you have run this household for a very long time, but your time has passed. I am mistress of this house. You will either accept that fact, or I will have you removed from your position. Do I make myself clear?"

Mrs. Morgan stood for a moment, her mouth opening and closing with want of something to say.

"Since Miss Larson is indisposed, I would have you send up one of the parlor maids to help me dress."

Mrs. Morgan clutched her keys, glared, and then through gritted teeth said, "Yes, my lady." She turned crisply on her heel and stomped out.

When she was gone, Catherine slumped into her chair. I cannot believe I said those things. It's like I was possessed. It reminded her of that time she had said those awful things to Miss Ashton, but this time it was different. She knew what she was saying, and it felt good to speak her mind.

Miss White came up to dress Catherine. She was a plump girl with rosy cheeks and white-blonde hair. She kept her eyes lowered and made no comment as she helped Catherine dress. Catherine still remembered Miss White and Miss Brown's harsh assessment of her from when she had first arrived at Thornwood Abbey, and she could find no motivation to make small talk. Miss White worked in near silence, which suited Catherine fine. Since Miss Larson was missing, Catherine opted for a simple style for her hair. Miss White braided Catherine's hair and then curled it into a cornet on top of her head.

Catherine thanked Miss White for her help, and the parlor maid gave her a brief curtsy before scurrying out of the room. It will be spread through the whole house that I am demanding and overbearing. She felt the slightest twinge at being perceived as such, but she knew she had to stand her ground. Mrs. Morgan would not scare Catherine out of her own home and away from her marriage because she did not like her.

Catherine headed downstairs to breakfast. Mr. Hobbs and the footmen were stiff as usual. They gave no hint that they had heard about her discussion with Mrs. Morgan. For now, it seemed Mrs. Morgan was keeping their chat between them. When Catherine finished eating, she went to don her outdoor coat and boots to take her walk. Then she thought of the forest, the dangerous things she knew were lurking about, and thought twice about it. She instead went to the conservatory. She had avoided it since the day she had insulted Miss Ashton, but she was done being ashamed and fearing what others thought of her. She had played with the idea of writing an apology, but she could not think of the words to say, so she had put it off and pushed it to the back of her mind.

She brought a novel she had been reading and settled into one of the chairs beneath the bower of an exotic palm. Time moved around her as she was absorbed in her gothic mystery. Catherine did not even hear Mr. Hobbs when he came in.

"My lady, Mrs. Rosewood has come to call. Shall I show her in?"

Catherine set her book down on the table beside her chair. She considered refusing her guest. She was not sure if she would be good company. Edward's aunt had been kind to her during their brief acquaintance; she was one of the few people Catherine felt comfortable around at Thornwood. During that first dinner party, Mrs. Rosewood had given Catherine good advice and she seemed to have a kind heart.

"Yes, please send her in."

Mr. Hobbs disappeared to fetch Catherine's guest. When he returned with the petite Mrs. Rosewood in tow, Catherine stood to greet her.

"Lady Thornton, I apologize for not coming to see you sooner. Johnathan has been under the weather, and I have just been in dire straits over it."

"Oh. I am sorry to hear Mr. Rosewood is feeling under the weather," Catherine said, assuming Mrs. Rosewood was referring to her husband.

She laughed. It was a rich husky sound. "I am sorry, Lady Thornton. We have only just met and I forget you have not come visiting yet. Johnathan is my pug. He was a gift from the late Mr. Rosewood."

Catherine colored, embarrassed by her faux pas. Apparently I am not completely beyond caring what others think.

Mrs. Rosewood touched her on the shoulder. "Do not feel embarrassed. I am sure my darling nephew has not spared enough words to explain my situation to you."

"You are too gracious," Catherine replied. "I should have asked more about his family. I have spent time with Mrs. Oakheart, and I intended to call on you, but the timing never seemed right."

She waved off Catherine's apology. "Please think nothing of it. You've had a lot to do with the upcoming ball."

The ball! I have not even thought of it with everything that has happened.

Catherine's distress must have been written on her face because Mrs. Rosewood said, "Oh dear, is there something the matter?"

Catherine shook her head. She did not want to unload her burdens on the woman. They hardly knew one another.

"Lady Thornton, if there's something you need, please let me help. I consider myself like a mother to dear Edward, since his mother died when he was young. And now that you are his wife, I would have you think of me in the same way. Though I am sure I could never replace your mother."

The truth was Catherine's mother was never one for compassion or loving gestures. Mrs. Rosewood's offer was foreign to her but welcome. Her assistance was like a life preserver being thrown out to her.

"You are very kind. In truth, I have done almost no planning. I was ill, you see, and..."

"You disappeared yesterday afternoon," Mrs. Rosewood finished for her. Catherine had not been intending to say that, of course, she was actually trying to concoct an innocent lie. Mrs. Rosewood shrugged her shoulders. "Gossip travels fast in a small village. Let us sit down and talk a while."

Catherine motioned to a pair of chairs nearby. "I should call for tea; would you like some?"

"Yes, thank you," Mrs. Rosewood said with a smile. She was very pretty when she smiled. Catherine admired her. She had small slender hands and dainty feet. Though both she and Mrs. Rosewood were petite women, Mrs. Rosewood seemed to carry more weight to her presence. She looked important. She had a small hat tilted to one side on her head in a bruised plum color. It matched her gown, which had a full skirt and bustle.

Catherine rang for tea before sitting down to talk with Mrs. Rosewood. She felt small and insignificant in her green day gown and plain hair. Mr. Hobbs was there in short order. Catherine told him what they wanted, and he disappeared with a stiff bow. Catherine watched him go, wishing she could make the staff like her.

"The locals are slow to accept outsiders," Mrs. Rosewood said.

Catherine was shocked once again by the older woman's perceptiveness; it was almost as if she were reading her mind. Maybe Catherine was just easy to read.

"I think in my case, they believe I am some sort of ladder climber," she paraphrased Mrs. Morgan's words without naming her. The insult still stung.

Mrs. Rosewood nodded. "Yes, they called Grace the same."

"You mean, Edward's mother, the former Lady Thornton?"

She smiled. "The same."

Mr. Hobbs returned with the tea cart. He set out the saucers and the sugar server.

"Anything else, my lady?" he said in his rumbling baritone.

"Thank you, Mr. Hobbs, that will be all."

He gave her a bow and exited.

"Grace looked a bit like you," Mrs. Rosewood said before taking a sip of her tea. She set the cup and saucer down on the table between them. Catherine found herself enthralled by the elegance of her movements. She was so precise. This is what it means to be a lady. If I am to stay, then I need to learn to be like her.

"You said she passed when Edward was young?" It seemed an indelicate topic, but she was desperate to learn more about her husband.

"She died when Edward was ten years old. It was reported as a riding accident. She loved to ride, and she had no fear of the woods as all the villagers and old families do."

Catherine's heart constricted. They were skirting along a dangerous topic. In Catherine's experience the residents of Thornwood either ignored the possibility that there could be creatures living in the woods or were ridiculed for being insane for believing.

She took the plunge and said, "You do not believe that her death was an accident?"

Mrs. Rosewood turned to face Catherine fully. "Before I answer that, let me ask you a question in turn. When you went missing yesterday, where was it that you went?"

Catherine considered her answer before speaking. Say the wrong thing and she might tell Edward, who would have her committed. Catherine sighed. She had opened this Pandora's box, and it was up to her to deal with what lay inside.

"I was in the forest, a man was poisoned, and I was treating his ailment." It sounded ridiculous even to her.

"And you did not think to call for the doctor?" Mrs. Rosewood asked, not unkindly.

Catherine looked down, ashamed. "I did try, but he insisted that I did not fetch Dr. Rowan. He was adamant about that."

"Was this man Mr. Thorn?"

Catherine's head shot up. Perhaps she could read minds. "It was. How do you know these things?"

Mrs. Rosewood sighed. "Lady Thornton, I know because I was there when Grace was found. She was left at the edge of the forest with her heart cut out."

Catherine reeled back. It was a shocking proclamation and closely echoed the one Col. Hawthorn had made previously.

"What are you trying to say?"

"That what killed Grace was not being thrown from a horse but Those Who Dwell in the Thorns. They cut out women's hearts for sport. But first they seduce them. It would be simple for them to lure them into the woods once, but that is not enough for them. They trick women with their handsome looks and acts; then they bring them to their woodland dances. That's where they take out their hearts during a Thorn Dwellers' Moon--a full moon."

Catherine pressed her hand over her heart. Had Mr. Thorn deceived her? Was this all part of some elaborate charade?

"How do you know that is true? I've heard the rumors, but never had any proof." She felt compelled to defend herself for some strange reason. A part of her did not want to believe she had been tricked.

"Grace confided in me that she had taken a lover. She was restless here. She was used to the city, the string of parties and social calls. My brother, Edmund, was not enough for her. She never told me the man's name, but I spied on her once and saw her in the arms of one of the gardeners."

Catherine listened with rapt attention. This story echoed her life to the point that it could not be coincidence.

"I should have told Edmund about Grace, but I thought she would move on. It's my greatest regret."

Catherine reached over and patted Mrs. Rosewood's hand. She gave Catherine a half smile in return.

"I thought that was the last of him until I noticed Edward had gotten a new gardener. He looked just like Grace's lover. At first I thought it must be coincidence. And then the deaths started again, first your lady's maid and then the farmers."

"My lady's maid, Miss Larson?"

She shook her head. "The first one, Miss Smith, she was only here a short time. Edward had sent word ahead before you arrived; she was hired from London and was waiting for you to arrive. The night you came to Thornwood was the last we saw her; she was seen at the pub, The Fairy Bride, with Mr. Thorn."

Catherine covered her mouth with her hand. "What happened to her?"

"She was found without a heart, though they tried to cover it up, claiming she had pneumonia."

Catherine felt as if a rock had settled in her stomach.

"I knew I had to warn you. He has returned to steal more hearts, and I fear it's yours he's after next."

Chapter Twenty

Ray had been sequestered to the forest edge like some kind of chastised dog. He had tipped his hand too soon in fighting Lord Thornton, and he had ruined his disguise. Lord Thornton had seen his true face. Though this snag in his plans was inconvenient, he would still watch Lady Thornton. All his plans hinged on her. He waited in the forest, sitting on the bent branch of a tree he favored. Lady Thornton had deviated from her usual routine. She had not taken a walk today. Did her time in the forest scare her away? He hoped not. Time was running short. The full moon was only a few nights away. He had to get her to participate in the dance. It was the second-to-last test, before the final and crucial test. So many others had failed at that point or just thereafter. There have been so many of them I have nearly lost count.

He fiddled with his flute and worried about his future. He had not been summoned by the council to report, and that could be a good or bad thing. The small folk were nearby watching. They had been hounding him as of late. They would not approach, not while he maintained his full strength, but they were hovering like vultures waiting for the hammer to fall. She is not coming today, he thought. He jumped down from his perch. Then he saw a dark smudge against the white of the fog that shrouded the grounds.

He smiled to himself. I underestimated her. She could not stay away after all. He made his way to the gateway. Lady Thornton was dressed for the cold, bundled up in a coat and hat. She had gloves on her petite hands, which were crossed over her chest as she tried to keep warm.

She went to the edge of the pathway that came closest to the woods and stopped there. She looked back and forth, most likely waiting for him. It was a pleasant surprise indeed that she had come searching for him.

He slid behind her and removed the cloaking he had used to keep him from sight. "Why, Lady Thornton, to what do I owe the pleasure?" he drawled.

She did not jump as he expected but turned slowly to face him. "Don't tease me, Mr. Thorn. You know why I am here." She motioned towards the forest. It was a monumental thing for her to even acknowledge that something had happened between them. He was nearly knocked to the ground by surprise.

He looped his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and leaned back on his heels. He felt a faint pull of attraction to her still, but it was fading. Whatever spell she'd had on her had dissipated. He gave her his most charming smile as he said, "Lady Thornton, I haven't the slightest idea what you mean." It was cruel, but he wanted to hear it from her lips. He wanted her to acknowledge their kiss for his own perverse reasons.

"I know what you are, and I want you to stay away from me," she said directly.

His smile slipped, but he held it as to not give away his utter shock. This was not the conversation he had imagined.

"If you know, then tell me, unless you're running away from the real matter here," he said with a raised eyebrow. She was not making this easy. He enjoyed the chase, though, so this was more fun.

She met his gaze. He had never really studied her face before now. She had a small round face, bow lips and large dark eyes. I can see the mark of Fae in her eyes, but the rest is too human.

"I am not running," she said. "I am trying to protect what is mine. I know you are a Thorn Dweller. I also know you killed those women and took out their hearts."

Now this was news to him. The string of dead women who had followed in his wake, in his search for the right candidate, had been perplexing. Ultimately it did not matter. They had failed the tests and therefore were of no more use to him.

He raised a brow but made no further comment. He wanted to see where she went with this and if she could lead him to the real culprit.

"Do not pretend to deny it. I have witnesses," Lady Thornton said.

"Do you now?" He smiled. Surely the person who had fed her these lies was her 'witness'.

She kept looking at him with a defiant tilt of her head. "Yes. If you do not wish for me to expose you, then you will listen to my request."

"I would love to hear it."

She beckoned him to come closer with a waggle of her finger. He thought about it for a moment, decided there was no harm in it, and leaned in. She caressed his face, tracing her fingers over his cheekbones and down to his lips. Then she whispered into his ear, "I want you to remove the love spell on Edward."

"Pardon me?" Mr. Thorn said with a playful lilt. How does she know about that? Then it struck him. "You're not Lady Thornton."

She smiled a wicked smile, one that looked out of place on Lady Thornton's innocent face. "I thought you would never realize. You're getting slow, Mr. Thorn." She laughed.

She sauntered around him, swaying her hips back and forth. She kept Lady Thornton's form, just to taunt him. She knew the attraction spell still had a mild hold on him. Her power had grown substantially since last they had met. She had not had this transformation ability before.

"I thought we agreed to stay away from one another," he said to the witch.

"We did until you started meddling with what is mine." She ran her hand along his chest. He closed his eyes and suppressed the groan of pleasure. The slight pressure of her hand evoked so many memories.

"The Thorntons are guardians of the forest and therefore my jurisdiction. We've let you run wild in the village, isn't that enough?"

She smiled. "No, Ray, my dear. We both knew it was never going to be enough." She stopped in front of him, planted her hands on either side of his face, and stepped up on her tiptoes to press her lips to his.

He knew he should push her away, but while she maintained the form of Lady Thornton, he did not seem to be able to stop himself. He kissed her with all the fervor and passion he wished he could kiss Lady Thornton with, and that thought disturbed him.

He pushed the witch away. "What have you done to Lady Thornton? Why do I desire her to the point of madness?"

She laughed again, and the sound echoed and ricocheted back at him. "Do you like that? You were my inspiration, sending Lord Thornton out to find a bride with Fae blood, hoping beyond hope she was the right one. How many have you gone through now? Six, seven, eight?"

"Eleven in total," he said through ground teeth. "What's so special about Lady Thornton? Why the sudden interest?"

"Because she's the one, isn't she? The one you've been searching for?"

"What if she is? Why would you care?" It was a stupid question, he knew exactly what she was after, but he wanted to hear the words to confirm his fears.

She crossed Catherine's petite arms over her chest. "Come now, Ray, you know better than that. Why did you get locked out of the Otherworld, condemned to live at the border as gatekeeper? It's all for the Thorn Kingdom; that's all it's ever been about, for the both of us."

"Is that why you're here? Do you want to offer me an exchange to assist you in taking the throne?"

She shook her head and waggled her finger at him. Seeing Lady Thornton do these things was disorienting, every gesture was out of character for her. But that was why she used this form. She had placed the spell on her to draw Ray closer to her and then used that same attraction to keep him in her thrall.

"That ship has sailed, my old friend. I have simply come to give you the chance to walk away now. I have plans for the Thorntons, and you, unfortunately, do not fit in with them."

Her offer mirrored his to Miss Ashton. "You sent that girl to try to stir up trouble, didn't you?"

She threw her hands up. "Guilty. She was a delightful distraction and a means to an end but nothing more. Once you stepped in, I knew she would be of no use to me."

Typical of her, I should have seen her hand in this from the moment that so-called witch put the spell on Lord Thornton. He shook his head. Looking back, her hand was in it all. The disappearing girls, the monster, the fog, he had thought the entire time someone in the Thorn Kingdom was working against him, trying to prevent his return to his rightful place, when it had been her the entire time, his greatest mistake. He considered challenging her and ending it there for good, but a black bird swooped down and landed on a nearby tree.

She looked up at the bird with a thin smile. She had the sight and could see the messenger for what it was. There was no way to trick her.

Mr. Thorn walked past her and over to the messenger. The black bird watched them with black beady eyes. He would report every detail of this scene back to whoever was his master. His only consolation was the witch wore a disguise, so he might be able to save some face.

He bowed to the bird, and it tilted its head and screeched.

"An acquaintance of yours?" she asked. She was hoping to listen in on his conversation. He had given her enough information and taken too little in exchange. It was time for her to leave.

"I fear we shall have to continue this conversation later," he said to her.

He had no real power over her, but she bowed deeply to him nonetheless. He knew it was more in jest than anything. She slipped into the fog and disappeared from sight. I will need to take care of that problem soon. I never thought she would grow so powerful. I should have kept a closer eye on her.

"You have a message for me?" he said, turning back to the black bird.

"She is progressing?" the bird said in a raspy voice.

"She has come to accept the truth. She will be ready for the final test very soon."

The black bird screeched, and it was meant as a laugh. "You better hope, Ray. You know the council has made their decree this is your final chance. They are growing impatient as well. If this girl is not tested by the next full moon, you will have to face them for punishment."

"No pressure," Ray muttered to himself.

The black bird screeched-laughed again. "It will not be a problem for the great Ray," he said, mocking. It was a day of humbling egos.

"Is there more to this message, or are you planning to remain to ridicule me?"

The black bird tilted his head back and forth, regarding Ray. "I had not planned on it, but if you would like..."

Ray scowled. "Leave me."

The black bird gave an indignant squawk before it flapped its wings and shook the branch on which it was perched. Leaves rained down upon Ray. He stared up after the black bird, with a frown creasing his brow. I do not have much time. I will have to deal with the witch after I get Lady Thornton into the forest. I just hope she does not lose her heart before then.

Chapter Twenty-one

Catherine had spent the better part of the afternoon with Edward's aunt, Mrs. Rosewood, and together they had made plans for the upcoming ball. Catherine left their meeting feeling much more assured in her domestic affairs. Now if only she could find Edward and explain what had happened. She still feared the woods and most of all Mr. Thorn. She did not know how to go about solving the problem of the Thorn Dwellers. Mrs. Rosewood had said no more after her initial warning, and Catherine preferred it that way. She did not want to think any further about these ghastly things.

She mounted the steps to her room to prepare to dress for dinner. She had invited Mrs. Rosewood to come as well, but she had demurred and declined the invitation. I feel that with Mrs. Rosewood's tutelage I shall become a lady worthy of Edward. When Catherine reached the landing to her room, she found the door ajar. She hesitated at first. I swore I closed that after I left. She wanted to believe the simple explanation that Miss Larson had returned and was preparing her dinner clothes. The simple answer never seemed quite adequate as of late. She pushed the door, and it swung open into a dark room. The fire in the fireplace had burned down low, and a pale yellow light illuminated the furniture. The light outlined the polished wood on her vanity and the posts of her bed. She crept inside. I am being foolish. There is nothing to be afraid of in my own house. The Thorn Dwellers cannot hurt me here.

She heard a crunch and twirled around to see the owl sitting on the back of a chair, with a biscuit held in her talon. Catherine clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle her scream.

"I helped myself to some of your biscuits while you were out; I hope you do not mind," the owl said before she brought her talon up to her beak and took another bite of the biscuit. "Though I must confess, human food is terribly bland. I do not know how you can stand it."

"What are you doing here?" Catherine stammered.

The owl dropped the biscuit, which fell on the seat of the chair. Crumbs scattered across the patterned fabric. Catherine stared at it for a moment as if looking at the crumbs would anchor her spinning world.

"I have been chosen to help you prepare for the forest dance tonight." She puffed up her chest.

"I am not going with you. I know what you're after." She covered her heart as she said this.

The owl tilted her head to regard her. "You know about the test, then? I am surprised Ray told you so much. He never told the others anything."

The matter-of-fact nature of the owl's speech sent Catherine's thoughts tumbling. She did not even try to say she was not going to take her heart. She had to run, find someone to help her. She turned in place to run for the door, but the door slammed shut and Mr. Thorn was leaning against it. He did not look himself, and it took Catherine a moment to register why. His skin was dark before, but it was now brown, and his long hair was corded like vines woven together. His features were sharper and more angular but beautiful. His eyes were a blazing green set in his dark skin. It was overwhelming to look at him.

"You cannot run, Lady Thornton. This was bound to happen from the moment you arrived in Thornwood. Now, are you prepared to come quietly?" he asked with a crooked smile.

She had learned to accept that she was not mad. She was willing to push herself outside of her comfort zone and accept that the Thorn Dwellers were real. However, seeing Mr. Thorn transformed was more than she could handle after the stress of the past few days. She fainted.

A clarion song woke Catherine. She sat up, wide eyed as she peered around her into the darkness. She was cradled in a bed of vines, a blanket with feathers and tiny white flowers had been pulled up to her chin. It slid down into her lap as she sat up. She ran her hands along the soft down material. Ethereal light emanated from sconces on the wall. Blue-green light danced over the rough-hewn walls, which appeared to be carved from the earth. Roots and insect holes adorned the entire area. Natural niches made from curving roots made cubbyholes full of an assortment of odds and ends: glass bottles in a multitude of colors, books and bundles of herbs. This is Mr. Thorn's home. She panicked and touched her chest. Everything remained intact. If he meant to take my heart, why has he not done it already? She looked about the room; there was nowhere to hide. It appeared Mr. Thorn had left her alone. There has been ample time to take my heart if he meant to. What if Mrs. Rosewood was wrong and he does not intend to take it? Then why bring me here again?

The music that woke her washed over Catherine. She stood and padded across the moss that covered the ground. She curled her toes around it, marveling at the soft flooring beneath her bare feet. As she approached a wooden door at the far end of the chamber, the song seemed to pick up, as if the singers had been waiting for her to awaken. Intertwined in the ebb of the song, voices caressed her ears.

"Come to us, sister."

"You are not one of them."

"With us is where you belong."

"The time has come to leave them behind."

Entranced by the song and the coercing voices, she slipped through the door and out into the night. The same pathway that had guided her before appeared at her feet. In the long shadows made by moonlight, she could nearly see dozens of pairs of gleaming eyes peering at her. She stopped to stare at them and pressed her hand over her rapidly beating heart. They did not approach her, just continued to regard her without blinking. They cannot hurt you while you remain on the path, she reminded herself. She scurried past, giving the thickest groupings a wide berth. The eyes disappeared into the brush only to reemerge farther away. It is as if they are leading me deeper into the forest, Catherine mused. She was peculiarly unafraid. Her entire life she had been lied to. She was told the creatures she saw in her garden who danced and sang to her were not real. When she had insisted that she had some skill at helping plants grow, they called her insane. When her parents thought she could not control her oddities, they sent her to a sanitarium.

She had always done what she was told, listened to her elders, and ignored what she saw before her face. They could all be wrong, Col. Hawthorn, Mrs. Rosewood. They blamed the Thorn Dwellers, but how do I know they are the ones who have stolen these women's hearts? What if those women came too close to the forest and those creatures who have watched me attacked them? Mrs. Rosewood assumes it was Mr. Thorn, but he has not harmed me when he had every chance possible. These things she told herself voiced out loud would sound mad, but Catherine desperately wanted to believe them. She did not want to live in fear any longer; she was tired of looking over her shoulder. She was ready to face whatever waited for her in the forest. He will not rest until he has done what he must. I would rather see this through than keep wondering and waiting. She was ready to take a chance and make a decision for herself. Mr. Thorn had brought her here for a reason. Though she could not explain why, she thought he did not want to take her heart. She realized she wanted to trust him. It was strange, she had feared him from the moment they met, but in all their encounters he had been teasing but never cruel. The entire time he was leading her to find the truth about herself. This music also seemed to be guiding her to some greater revelation. There were still things she wanted to learn about who she was.

The path continued on, wending and turning under oak trees and thick brush bristling with thorns. Occasionally, a gnarled, spiny and knotted hand would emerge from behind a rock or from beneath a canopy of trees. Catherine turned her gaze away when they revealed themselves, fearing they were not benevolent forest creatures. Where is Mr. Thorn? Why did he bring me here?

She stopped as the path intersected with a creek. She paused as icy water lapped at her bare toes. A chill crept up her spine. There was an invisible barrier here, and she feared once she crossed it, there would be no turning back.

"You have been gone too long," the voices crooned, as if reading her thoughts. "It is time to return home."

Catherine looked over her shoulder, back into the darkness of the forest. She could not see the manor from here. Thornwood Abbey was her home though it had never felt welcoming. In the forest she felt stronger. Since she met Mr. Thorn, she had learned so much about herself, about the world around her. It was dangerous and beautiful. She loved Edward, but she could not escape the feeling that she did not deserve him. If she did cross and never returned, would he be happier without her? Is it not time for you to do something for yourself for once? Cross and find the answers you seek. The tempo of the song changed, growing more demanding and less coaxing. Catherine felt as if she were running short on time.

"Come before the gateway closes, hurry!" a voice whispered in her ear. She turned around, expecting Mr. Thorn, but found nothing but the empty forest, even the eyes had left her to her decision.

Catherine waffled for a second longer, feeling as if invisible tendrils were pulling at her and urging her to cross the riverbed and take that final step. She thought of all the strange things she had encountered since arriving at Thornwood Abbey and also her own childhood previously locked away at the back of her mind. As if a final bond had been broken within her, she waded into the creek, picked up her skirt, and crossed. It was time she took a risk.

She felt free and alive for the first time. Hands caked with mud, she climbed the rise of the bank. Over the edge she peered and saw faces in the trees. Not the same glowing eyes but real forms. She stood up and elegant women, hair coifed and the color of green leaves, awaited her. They took her by the hand, and one woman with long hair like the vines of a willow tree brought a basin in which she could wash.

They kneeled before her, washing her hands and feet. A girl with a small sharp nose, round black eyes, and an owl mask pushed back on her head brought a gown of white silk. Though Catherine tried to protest, they would hear none of it and disrobed her and put on the thin sheath. They adorned her hair with a garland of white flowers before leading her further into the forest.

A line of people awaited her, regal men with crowns of bird's nests upon their heads. And people with animal-like features. Men with hawk noses and cloaks like the sweep of wings, and women with clever fox eyes, tawny pelts hooded with empty-eyed masks pushed back on their heads, as if they merely need pull them down over their eyes and resume the forms of the animals they were, watched her pass by.

Opening their arms to her in welcome, they led her deeper into the forest. Occasionally, a clawed hand would reach out and caress her skin or soft padded fingers would catch her hair, which trailed after her like spiderwebs twinkling in moonlight. Though she shivered with excitement and fear at their unfamiliar touch, she continued on, eyes fixed on the distance from whence the song emanated.

Eventually, she reached a clearing, where dozens of humanoids gathered in a circle, dancing beneath fur and feather, silvery in the moonlight. Each moved to the song at their own speed and with their own dance, limbs akimbo, howling and screeching. Others hung back in the shadows, eyes glittering. A man, a head taller than the rest, his hair cabled like a myriad of vines, spun around as he dipped and twirled.

Suddenly, his eyes fell upon her, and he halted. His hand, thorny and the color of earth, held up to the sky silenced those gathered and the music died away, leaving only a void of silence that seemed to echo through Catherine's head. Mr. Thorn smiled a wild and feral smile.

He bowed to her, his cable hair fell into his eyes, parting like a curtain, and he rose again. "You have passed the test, Lady Thornton. Welcome home."

Words were not enough to encompass the love and acceptance she felt in that single word. She had never felt accepted, never felt welcome. She had always been an outsider, always just a bit different. If this was a dream, she hoped it never ended. Her hands trembling, she took his and he led her to the center of the clearing. The music resumed and the dance began anew. It was no dance one could learn, it came from the heart, from the most instinctual carnal part of her. The humanoids in the clearing soon joined in the dance, cawing, grunting and growling. Others emerged from the darkness; she presumed these were Those that Dwell in the Thorns. Some were wild and fierce looking, and others had a more human compassion in their eyes.

They danced in a ring beneath the light of the moon. Those that Dwell in the Thorns and others she could not name. The Thorn Dwellers, who were long legged and nimble, jumped and twirled, thorny hands and limbs flashing beneath the moonlight, and all the time their dark eyes watched her hungrily.

"You are home," they chanted.

"Our daughter has returned," they sang.

And she sang with them, her once quiet voice now uninhibited and free, full of previously unknown melody. "Home. Home. I am home!"

A chalice was passed about, and she drank deep and felt no weariness, no regret; she felt only joy, pure and complete.

As the music continued to flow around them, Mr. Thorn drew in close to Catherine and whispered in her ear, "That's right, Catherine, you are one of us. This is where you belong. Do you remember now?"

The music seemed to fade away, and she stared up into Mr. Thorn's green eyes.

"Is this what you were trying to tell me all along? That I am one of you, a Thorn Dweller or some sort of Fae creature?"

Mr. Thorn brushed her hair away from her face. It was an intimate gesture that normally would have set her ill at ease, but she was full of joy, and she ignored his inappropriate behavior. "Yes, my Lady Thornton, you are one of us. No human can cross into the inner forest, and you did. No human can join in the dance and see us for what we really are, but you did." He swept his arm in a circle to the gathered creatures watching with bated breath. "You are more than one of us. You are our princess, the promised daughter of the Thorns who will free our king from his eternal prison. You were sent to save our kingdom from destruction."

Chapter Twenty-two

All her plans were falling to pieces. Ever since that Mr. Thorn had stepped in, Mary could get no closer to Edward. She thought she had made progress when the maid she paid to feed her information informed her that Lady Thornton had gone missing. Then the wretched woman returned the next day unharmed. I am growing tired of these games. If I still had my magic, Edward would be mine by now. She bunched the fabric of her gown in her fists. She had called Tom to bring out the carriage, and she was rushing to confront the witch. The witch's spell had been a flop. It was supposed to kill Mr. Thorn and lead Lady Thornton to her demise; it had done neither. Mary needed to defeat Mr. Thorn before he came after her. She had heard about the untimely death of Colonel Hawthorn. Everyone in the village knew he was a strong proponent of the Thorn Dwellers. Dr. Rowan claimed his death was a weakness of the heart, but the boy who worked for him was spreading a much different rumor. A monster had broken into the colonel's home and torn him to pieces. There were other witnesses saying Mr. Thorn had been seen shortly after the death of the colonel. It did not take a fool to put two and two together.

The carriage came to a rumbling stop, and Mary let out the breath she had been holding. She waited for Tom to open the carriage door for her. Under normal circumstances, she would have plastered on a false sweet smile and rushed out. But she was too frustrated to even pretend. As soon as the door opened, she burst forward like a shot from a gun. She bustled past Tom, who was nearly bowled over by her speed. She hurried down the small garden path to the witch's front door. Tom hung back at the carriage, talking to the horses, while Mary rapped upon the splintered wood. There was no answer. She knocked again. I am in no mood for your tricks, old woman. Mary tapped her foot and crossed her hands over her chest. She did not even take time to pretend to be congenial, not today. As it was, her mother was already inviting over the Cedars. Mr. Nathaniel Cedars was well into his thirties with no prospects other than his father's estate, which took in a miniscule five hundred dollars a year. If I do not get rid of Lady Thornton soon, my mother will have me married off to that deplorable Nathaniel Cedars. I will not abide it.

She knocked on the door again with much more enthusiasm. The witch was either absent or dragging out Mary's misery for her own amusement. Mary believed the latter. When no answer was forthcoming, she decided to take matters in hand. She grabbed the knob and twisted. The door opened without a protest and swung open into the dark interior. She stepped inside.

"Old woman, your spell did not work. What do you have to say for yourself?" Mary shouted into the dark.

There was no answer. A chill crept up her spine. She looked back over to Tom. He was staring at the clouds overhead and did not notice her distress. She heaved a sigh and went inside. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. When they did, she could see the floors inside had been swept, and nothing remained but the ashes of a former fire in a pit in the middle of the room. The bed remained without a mattress. The cupboards hung open with nothing inside. Mary looked around, hoping this was a trick of the light. The truth was apparent. The old woman was gone. The cottage looked as if she had never been there at all. Mary cursed loud and long in a most unladylike fashion. It was her brother, Charles, who had taught her all the vulgar words she spewed now, and she was glad for every one of them. Tom came barreling in, having heard her shouting. He was brandishing a tree branch like a weapon.

"Miss Ashton, I heard shouting," he said. His wide flat face turned from one corner of the cottage to the other.

"Nothing is the matter," she snapped at the dim-witted coachman. "Take me home, Tom."

He lowered the branch and looked around the empty room. "Mathilde is gone," he said, stating the obvious. She knew he did not mean it as a jibe, but her temper was rubbed raw at this point.

"I know, Tom. That's why I am upset," she said through ground teeth.

"I wonder where she went."

"To hell, for all I care," she murmured.

Tom looked at her wide eyed as if he could not believe his mistress had sworn in front of him. It was true she was not acting her usual self, but the stress of her situation was bringing forth all her worst attributes. She rushed past him to avoid further dim-witted commentary. She waited impatiently for him to open the carriage door. She crossed her arms and scowled at the peeling paint sides of the carriage. Tom fell over his own feet in his haste to get it open for her. She climbed inside, declining Tom's offer of assistance. He slammed it shut and then with a gentle word to the horses from Tom, they were zooming back home. What do I do now? How can I possibly convince Edward to set aside his wife when he seems so disgustingly in love with the plain woman?

Mary tapped her fingers against her arm as she thought. No ideas had come to her by the time she arrived home. She rushed through the front door and let Mr. Bernard take her coat and hat. She stomped over to the parlor, where her mother was working on some cross-stitching. Mary flung herself into a chair across from her.

Mrs. Ashton did not look up but said, "What seems to be the problem, daughter?"

"I refuse to marry Nathaniel Cedars."

Her mother looked up with an arched brow. "Has he asked for your hand?"

She huffed and looked away from her mother. "No, though I know you have invited him and Mr. Cedars to dinner. So he might take that idea up in his head."

Her mother smirked. "Have I now?"

"You think you're so clever, but I have been working on my own schemes. I spoke with the witch, and she gave me a spell to make Lady Thornton irresistible to the Thorn Dwellers."

Her mother set aside her cross-stitch to look at her daughter fully. "This is news indeed. I did not think you clever enough to come up with such a plot."

She colored, embarrassed by her mother's harsh assessment of her. She would not admit it to herself, but Mary had always been more direct in her plots. She preferred the easy way in most cases. "It worked. Lady Thornton went missing, and word about town says the last she was seen was beside the forest."

"And she was found again. Mrs. Bloom was by earlier with her daughters. She heard from Mrs. Rosewood that Lady Thornton turned up unharmed."

Mary exhaled. She had hoped her mother would not be abreast of neighborhood gossip. It appeared her mother had not been idle. "Yes, I heard that as well." Mary traced the flower pattern on the couch with the tip of her finger.

"And now you're out of ideas and out of magic." Her mother summarized.

Mary dared not look her mother in the eye because she would see her shame, and Mary could not bear it. All her plans were unravelling. It was that Mr. Thorn's fault, but without the witch's assistance, what hope did she have of ending Edward's marriage?

"You are fortunate I have been keeping track of your progress," her mother continued. At this, Mary did look up. Her mother was sitting, back rigid, looking at her daughter.

"Do you have a plan, then?" Mary asked.

Her mother smiled, and it was not heartwarming. It was a conniving smile. "As a matter of fact, I do. I have been doing a bit of research on this Lady Thornton." She said her name like a curse. "She and Edward met at a party in London, and according to my source, it was love at first sight. To me it seemed strange, given Edward's pragmatic nature. Their romance was a whirlwind to say the least. Their entire courtship lasted two weeks. They took no honeymoon journey and arrived here shortly after."

Mary ground her teeth together as she listened. She did not want to hear the details of Edward's marriage. She needed a way to dissolve said marriage.

"You need to be patient, daughter. I am coming to a point," Mrs. Ashton said, drawing attention to Mary's anger.

Mary lowered her lashes, chastised.

"Since she has come to Thornwood, Lady Thornton has often been seen in the company of a Mr. Thorn. He is a gardener at Thornwood Abbey. I do not know much about him other than he has been working for the manor for a short time."

Mary gasped. Her mother raised a brow in question. "Do you know this man?"

"Yes, he's the gardener, or so he pretends to be. I suspect he is much more than what he seems. He threatened me and undid my love spell on Edward."

Mrs. Ashton nodded. "Ah. That explains much. He is a thorn in our side. We will need to deal with him, then. First we must get rid of Lady Thornton."

"Does this mean you're not planning on marrying me to Nathaniel Cedars?"

Her mother scoffed. "I would never waste such potential on such a low-hanging fruit. Nathaniel Cedars is just a means to an end. While we pretend to let him court you, you can pursue Lord Thornton without ridicule."

It was brilliant. There was a reason Mary feared her mother; she was a master of cunning. She must remind herself to never cross her mother. Her reputation would be ruined before she made it out the door.

Mary clapped her hands together with glee. "What do we do to discredit Lady Thornton, then?"

"We will expose her affair with Mr. Thorn."

"They are having an affair!" It explained Mr. Thorn's need to protect Lady Thornton and her disappearance. She must have been away with her lover in some sort of illicit rendezvous.

"Do not be a simpleton. Lady Thornton has had no affair that I know of. I believe the Fae want her for some other purpose or she is some sort of enchantress. Whatever the reason, Lord Thornton will not believe it. He puts no stock in magic or the Fae, but he is a man, and he will trust the word of his childhood friend."

She gave her daughter a pointed look. Mary laughed; it was the perfect plot. She would expose Lady Thornton as an adulterer, and Edward would be forced to put her aside. She could pretend to be courted by Nathaniel Cedars as Lord Thornton went through the process to annul his marriage, giving Mary time to pursue Edward without ruining either of their reputations. Even if her magic never returned, she did not care. It was enough to have the life she deserved.

"I should go straight away and tell Edward." Mary stood to check her appearance in the mirror. Should I change? No, it must look natural as if I heard the news and rushed over to tell him.

"Do not rush," her mother warned. "If you burst in, he may suspect what you're telling him. Or what if Lady Thornton is there? Will you make your accusations to her face?"

Mary smiled to think of it. She remembered the spell she had cast on the simple woman. Lady Thornton had no spine, and even if Mary made the accusations with her standing there, Mary suspected Lady Thornton would put up no defense. She would bow out like the coward she was.

"I am going, Mother. The sooner this matter is settled, the sooner our money troubles will be solved."

Mary called for Mr. Bernard, who brought back her coat and hat, and before long she was out of the house and on her way to Thornwood Abbey. She was giddy with excitement. She was not sure why she had not thought of such a simple tactic from the start. What woman could return from an accusation such as adultery? It was too perfect. She would ruin Lady Thornton's character and win her prize in one swoop.

The carriage came to a halt in the circular driveway of Thornwood Abbey. For a moment, Mary feared a repeat of her previous venture to Thornwood Abbey. Tom opened the door without delay, and the footman was waiting at the door to let her in. She mounted the steps to the house with a hardly suppressed smile. I can see Mr. Thorn's threats were empty ones. I should never have stayed away. She shed her coat, handing it to a redheaded footman.

Mr. Hobbs, Edward's butler, greeted her. "Miss Ashton, what a surprise. We did not know you were coming to call."

She smiled and it was dripping with sweetness. "I heard Lady Thornton had gone missing; I came to give his lordship my condolences."

She expected Mr. Hobbs to deny the statement and offer to show her to Lady Thornton's room. But he said instead, "Yes, it seems the lady has gone missing again. Mrs. Morgan saw her for a brief moment yesterday, but before dinner last night she disappeared once more. We have searched for her everywhere, but we fear she is gone for good." He did not seem too troubled by this news.

Mary exalted at the revelation. Did the spell work after all? If it did, I can make this work in my favor. It would make things that much easier. But to be certain, she decided to carry forward with her new plan.

"I am sorry to hear it. If you could show me to the parlor, I will wait for his lordship there," Mary said, displaying just the right amount of concern. Now that her plan was back on track, she could implement some of her more subtle techniques.

Mr. Hobbs bowed and then showed Mary to the parlor to wait. Mary was too excited to sit, and instead she paced the floor, waiting for Edward to arrive. It was not long before the double doors opened. When they did, Mary drew back in shock. She hardly recognized Edward. There were dark circles ringing his eyes, his clothes were not tucked in, and there was dirt smudged on his cravat.

"Edward, you look..." She could not choke out a false sentiment. He looked haggard and ten years older than the last time she had seen him. What has that woman done to you? she wondered.

"I look terrible, I know. I came to tell you to leave, Miss Ashton. Now is not a time I want to see guests."

She hesitated. Edward had never acted this way with her. He had always been kind and gentle.

"That is why I came; there's something I have to tell you, though I know it will cause you pain."

He looked up at her. His eyes were fever bright. Was he ill? Could it be fatal? She would have to work quickly if she hoped to marry him before the illness took him.

"Is it about Catherine? Have you seen her?" He grabbed Mary's shoulders and shook her.

For the first time since Mr. Thorn had threatened her, Mary was terrified.

"I have not seen her since she slipped off into the woods with Mr. Thorn," she said. His grip upon her shoulders grew painful, and his nails dug into her flesh. She made a noise of protest. "Edward, you are hurting me."

He shook Mary and flung her to the floor. She caught herself on her hands but jerked her shoulder. She crawled backward to get away from him. He had fallen to his knees and howled. It was a primal sound that rippled through her.

"What is wrong with you, Edward?"

He looked up at her with yellow eyes that were anything but human. "I am transforming; can you not see? I am no longer a man without her love. I am a beast." He threw his head back, and she watched in horror as his face elongated and hair spread from the top of his head to cover his face in a shaggy coat. He looked like a grotesque version of a wolf.

She got to her feet and thought to run before he took it into his head to attack her. She got to the door, but it was locked. She rattled the doorknobs and pounded on it. No one was coming to her rescue. She pressed her back flat against the door. She looked at Edward, who was no longer human but some sort of beast from a nightmare. He stood back on haunches that looked like a dog's. His arms had grown long and were covered in fur and ended with ivory claws. He opened his mouth rimmed with sharp teeth.

She cried, "Please do not hurt me. I only wanted you to love me. I would have been a good wife for you."

Then she heard a laugh, something akin to a cackle. She looked to her left and saw the witch standing there.

She crawled over to grab at the witch's feet. "Help me, please. The spell you gave me did not work. Lady Thornton still lives."

The witch laughed again. "Oh, my spells have worked. Just not in the way you thought they would. You've done your part, and I have only one use left for you."

"Please, I will do anything, just keep that thing from hurting me," Mary pleaded while keeping one eye on the monster in the room. It drew no closer, but she could see him trembling with suppressed energy, waiting to lunge at her.

The witched stroked Mary's blond hair. "You are a simple fool."

Mary had no time to respond. The witch pushed her back onto the ground. The beast that was Edward circled them, waiting but not attacking.

Mary wept. "Why are you doing this to me?"

The witch smiled and brought out a dagger from within the folds of her dress. She raised it high above her head and said, "I only need your heart to complete my spell," and then she drove the dagger into her chest.

Chapter Twenty-three

The dancers began to slip away into the dark, leaving behind Ray and Lady Thornton. She was staring at him, eyes wide. He knew it was the witch's influence that made him think so, but he could not help but think her beautiful. Her dark hair had fallen in a cascade over her shoulders. The little white flowers that the attendants had woven in her hair had petals falling from them that clung to her hair like snowflakes. Her small round face was flushed from the dance, and her bow lips were parted in a small 'o'. He would kiss her again if he was able, but as it was, time was short. Now that he was sure she was the one, there was no more time left to waste. He had to take her back to the grove for the final test.

"Your Majesty, the dance is at an end, but our night has just begun. Will you come with me?" He held out his hand to her. She stared at it for a moment as if she still doubted his motives. "I promise. I will not take your heart from you." He smiled.

She flushed. She had been thinking just what he would have expected of her. The villagers had convinced her that he was the one stealing the hearts of the women. That damn witch, what game is she playing?

She placed the tips of her fingers into his palm. He closed his larger hand around hers, marveling all the while at how small and fragile she was. They moved through the clearing. Only a few revelers remained, Tabitha, the owl, among them; she had maintained her human appearance. An owl mask rested on her brow, askew. Her gown was made of feathers sewn together, and she wore a cape that when stretched out appeared to be a span of wings. She smiled at Ray. He exalted in his triumph and gave the owl a smile in return. They all doubted me, but I have found her at last, our princess. Now I shall be redeemed.

The pathway emerged from the darkness of the night, illuminated by moonlight. He pulled Lady Thornton along after him. They hurried, and at times Lady Thornton struggled to keep up. He was eager to have the test finished.

"Where are we going?" Lady Thornton panted behind him.

"We are headed to the heart of the forest, where the Thorn King sleeps. You may remember it as the place where you retrieved my antidote." He glanced over his shoulder at her. Her white skirt was unfurling behind her like a banner, and her tiny bare feet glided over the ground. Focus. Now is not the time to lose sight of the ultimate prize.

The brush cleared away, and the tree line thinned back. The pathway ended at a circular clearing rimmed with trees. Ray let go of Lady Thornton's hand. The pair of them stood at the clearing's edge, side by side. Lady Thornton was shorter than him by a head, and he could see over her as she took a few tentative steps into the clearing. His heart swelled with joy. Everything was going as he had hoped. He too joined her in the clearing and walked towards the massive oak tree at the center. Lady Thornton walked around in circles, admiring the oak tree, whose huge canopy shaded the clearing, blocking out the moon and stars.

"Where does the king sleep?" Lady Thornton asked, looking about.

Ray kneeled down at the base of the oak tree and tipped his head back to look up at the gnarled bark of the tree. The leaves in the trees rustled as he approached as if they quivered with anticipation. Soon, Your Majesty, I will free you, I promise. "This is the king." He gestured to the tree.

She had come to stand beside him, and next to the massive tree she looked even smaller than before. "Oh," she gasped in awe and reverence. "Mr. Thorn?" Lady Thornton's voice warbled. "You said I was the princess of the Thorns. Does that mean this is..."

"Your father? Yes, you are the lost daughter of the king." He stood up and his long hair fell forward, shielding his face. "Lady Thornton, this is your father, the King of the Thorns."

Lady Thornton blinked a few times and stared at the gnarled oak tree. He could practically see the wheels turning as she processed the reality of her situation. "Do not tease me, Mr. Thorn. My father is a gentleman named Arnold Wells. He is not a tree."

The tree rustled and the wind blew, brushing Lady Thornton's hair away from her face. She shivered. It was exciting to see; he had not seen this much movement from the tree in a long time. The king was reaching out to his kin, stirring in his sleep and waiting to awake. Lady Thornton folded her arms over one another, rubbing the gooseflesh that had blossomed along her skin.

"The man you thought your father was merely a cover. Years ago, it was not uncommon for the Fae to take human lovers; many children were born of these unions, oblivious of their heritage. The king indulged in this practice and sired a daughter on his human lover. She disappeared shortly after the girl was born--I do not know why. Normally it would not matter. Everything changed with the War of the Thorns."

"What happened?" Lady Thornton pressed.

Ray closed his eyes, remembering the blood, the clang of swords and the cries of the dying. He opened his eyes to see Lady Thornton watching him. He gave her a faint smile. "All of the king's children perished. It left the throne vulnerable. By this time, we had noted the decrease in pregnancies in the Otherworld. There were fewer and fewer children, and we were having difficulty conceiving."

Lady Thornton colored. He smirked at her discomfort. "I will spare you the details of our attempts to increase our numbers. In the end we discovered our lines were dying. There has been much debate on how to proceed, but I will not bore you with the details. Without the ability to produce a true-born heir, the king began searching for his half-breed progeny. A difficult task because time moves differently in the Otherworld than it does in the human realm. Women he had lain with a month ago were now grandmothers, their children dead in the crib."

"Then you never found the heir?" Lady Thornton asked.

"Not until now," Ray replied.

She shook her head. He could see she did not want to believe, but believe or not, she was their princess. He only had to administer the final test to prove it.

"Mr. Thorn, it is getting late. I must be going, or my husband will worry."

He grabbed her hand and pulled her against his chest. Lady Thornton gasped. She looked up at him, and he locked her with his bright green gaze. He did not want to use his power of persuasion. Using it on another of the Fae was difficult even if she was not entirely Fae.

"This is not for my amusement. Believe me, I would not have brought you here now had our need not been great."

He felt her heart beating against his in a steady even rhythm. Her lips were parted slightly, and the smell of her sweet, fresh scent was intoxicating. He imagined his lips against hers and the feeling of her small hands running over his chest and arms.

"Mr. Thorn, this is grossly inappropriate," she said in a hushed voice. "What happen the other day, it was a mistake." She tried to look away again. He grabbed her chin and forced her to meet his gaze once more.

"You are the heir I have been searching for. You need to awaken the king. Press your hands against the trunk and say: Blood speaks to blood, by the lines of kinship we share, I ask that you awaken."

She was staring at him with a blank expression. The power was washing over her, removing everything but the commands he had given her. He let her go, but the feel of her skin against his lingered on his fingers.

"Touch the tree, and you will understand why I brought you here." He stepped aside and pointed to the tree.

She did not move, and for a moment he thought she was going to fight against his influence. She took a deep breath and approached the tree. She stepped up to the great tree and tilted her head back, taking in its imposing presence. Ray watched her every movement with rapt attention. Eleven woman had come before Lady Thornton, and none had come this far. She had to be the one. Her hands hovered over the bark of the tree. She was hesitating still, and though he was impatient, he had to appreciate her control even under such a strong spell. She drew her hand back. And Ray took a step forward, intent on forcing her to touch it if he had to.

"Lady Thornton, there isn't much time," Mr. Thorn urged from behind her. His voice had a sharper edge, but it seemed to be the final pushed needed to propel her to act.

She laid a flat palm upon the woody surface and said the words he had told her. They waited. Ray was never certain what was meant to happen other than the king would wake. He expected an explosion of magic, enlightenment, something. Nothing happened. After a few moments of polite waiting, she turned to look over her shoulder at Ray.

"Nothing is happening," she said.

Mr. Thorn frowned as a rock sank in his stomach. "If you are his daughter, you would have the closest bonds to him, you would be the only one who could break the spell."

She looked back up at the tree. The clearing had gone completely silent. The wind had stilled and no birds sang. "Does this mean I am not the princess of the Thorns?" she asked.

"You are Fae. I can sense it. Maybe you have lived too long among humans and your magic has gone dormant." He walked around the tree, examining her and it together. I cannot have failed, not when I have come this close. He was grasping at straws and he knew it.

"If you do not mind, could you not stare at me so; it makes me uncomfortable." She blushed and lowered her gaze.

He stopped his pacing and put a fist on his hip. He was trying to keep his tone light, but despair was creeping up to choke him. "I cannot understand it. I thought you were the one."

She let her hand fall to her side. "What happens now?"

He sighed and slumped onto the ground in defeat. "I wish I knew, Lady Thornton."

She looked around, and he suspected she was trying to find a graceful way to exit. He had lost his last chance, and now he would have to face the council and whatever punishment they chose to mete out. Lady Thornton surprised him by sitting down on the ground beside him. She tucked her knees to one side and folded her hands in her lap. She's very graceful. A gift from her Fae heritage, I suspect. It was not enough to save me. He considered kissing her again, just to get one last taste before his life ended. Surely the council would not let him live, not after his crimes.

He watched her while she avoided making eye contact by taking overlong to smooth a wrinkle in her skirt. "Please tell me, how can I help you?" she asked.

He chuckled. Let me kiss you until your lips are bruised. Let me take you to my bed and teach you what only a Fae lover can do. He knew his thoughts would be unwanted, so he said instead, "There is nothing you can do for me, Lady Thornton. I am a bit of a fool. I thought that I had found the king's lost daughter. That is, I thought you were she. You are not my first mistake, but you are my last. The council gave me numerous chances to erase the errors of my past, but I failed at every turn. Now I must face my judgment."

A flower petal from the garland in her hair fell into her lap. She stroked the petal for a few moments. He knew she wanted to ask him more, but she was struggling with the words. He had watched her this entire time thinking she was the one. He probably knew her better than she did herself. She used her insecurity to hide a banked fire that was waiting to blaze. She would have made a magnificent queen.

"How did he get to be this way?" she asked. She glanced over at the massive oak behind them.

He was in a sharing mood, no use keeping these things to himself any longer. He said, "It is my fault, in part. I made a grave mistake that changed the lives of the Thorn Kingdom. I let a human woman join the forest dance."

Lady Thornton turned to regard him with wide curious eyes. He looked away and at his hands. He had resumed a more human form, for her comfort; he hated the soft smooth skin of humans. He balled his hands into fists on his lap.

"I thought myself handsome and clever. As I mentioned, we have for many generations taken human lovers, and when the daughter of the forest guardian caught my eye, I brought her into the forest. She participated in the dance, which no human should do, and once she did, it changed her. Humans cannot sustain Fae magic, it warps them, and the more time they spend among us, the more it twists their minds. I thought she would be different, living alongside the forest her entire life and from the line of guardians as she was."

"Who are the guardians?" Catherine asked.

"They are a chosen few who keep the peace between our two worlds. They have been tied to the Thorn Kingdom since the first man walked across the earth. Your husband's family is the line of guardians, and your husband is the current guardian. We have for generations intermixed with them, and there is a strain of Fae blood in them.

"The strain was not strong in this guardian's daughter, and she grew hungry for power. She made a pact with a dark god and waged war on the Thorn Kingdom. She desired the throne and thought herself the Thorn Queen. I was blinded by my feelings for her and hesitated too long to stop her before it was too late. She used the dark god's magic and sealed the king into this tree. The only one who can save him is his daughter--who is lost."

Lady Thornton nodded her head. "So you have been searching for her to set things right?"

He grinned. "You give me too much credit. This is my punishment. It was my mistake that caused this, so the council banished me from the Otherworld, and I was relegated to live on the border between the worlds for my foolish choice of allowing her into the forest." He looked back to the tree. He wanted to warn Lady Thornton about the witch and her apparent designs for Lady Thornton, but there was more to the story that he was unable to share--even if he wanted to. "My only hope was to find the heir and win the council's forgiveness. I fear I have run out of favors."

"I am sorry I was not the one you were looking for."

He brushed her cheek with the tips of his fingers. She gasped as he leaned closer. He pressed his forehead against hers. I believe you, and I have no reason to. I have met many liars, but it is a rare thing to meet an honest person. "I apologize for the trouble I have put you through." He sighed and moved away from her.

She fidgeted with the hem of her dress. "I suppose I should thank you. Had you not approached me, I would never have accepted who I am--what I am. You opened my eyes, and for that I must be grateful, even if I am not your princess. Now all that remains is explaining this to Edward. I am sure he will want to help protect the forest as well."

He hesitated to say this next part, but he could not think of any other way to set her free of this village. She is in danger while she remains in the village; there is no other way. I did not do enough to protect the others, but she should live.

"Lady Thornton, I cannot take your compliments with a clear conscience without telling you the truth first. You came to Thornwood under my design. I put a spell on Lord Thornton. It was meant to attract him to a woman with Fae blood. I wanted him to bring you back so you could be tested."

Her hands went very still, but she did not look up at him. "Are you saying that my marriage is a fraud?"

He had never felt guilt for his actions. Everything he had done was for self-preservation. He felt a twinge of guilt now. Maybe it was because he had grown fond of Lady Thornton, or maybe it was just the fact that he was nearing the end of his life and he had nothing left to lose.

"Yes, my lady. I am saying that your marriage was instigated under false pretense."

She stood up suddenly. He tipped his head back to regard her. She had her petite hands balled at her sides. "You are a terrible person, Mr. Thorn. Why would you tell me this? I could have lived in ignorance." Tears were gathering along her lashes. He jumped to his feet as well. He tried to force her to face him, but she wrenched her shoulder out of his grip. "Do not touch me."

"You're right, I am a terrible person. I am selfish, but that is who I am. I do not deny it. You could go back to the life you had before, believing you were insane, in a place you were comfortable. All you would need to say to Edward would be: I release these ties that bind; no longer will I hold you in my thrall. You are free to love as you will."

Tears were running down her face, and he wanted nothing more than to brush them away and to hold her. He stared at her, waiting for a response. When she looked up, her eyes were blazing behind her tears. She slapped him hard across his face. He reeled back from the sting and pressed a hand to his cheek. When he looked up again, she was gone.

Well, that could have gone better, I suppose.

Chapter Twenty-four

After her time in the forest, Catherine returned to Thornwood manor and saw nothing more of Mr. Thorn for weeks. She resumed her place in the household, and her two brief disappearances were never remarked upon. She tried to speak with Edward about the incident, but he played the innocent and refused to believe anything she tried to tell him about the forest. As for the spell that Mr. Thorn claimed had initially drawn Catherine and Edward together, she feared testing the theory. Though she did not realize it, Catherine was keeping her distance from her husband. Weeks passed as they shared silent meals and passed occasionally in the halls. When he asked questions, she gave him quick one-word answers. She kept her head down and hardly left the house at all.

Her only solace was Lady Rosewood, Edward's aunt. The two women spent much time together preparing for the ball. Catherine confided in the older woman about her time in the forest, and Catherine was relieved that Lady Rosewood did not scold her for her actions.

She reached across to touch Catherine's hand. They were sitting in the parlor together with napkins and silverware spread out on the table.

"Catherine, many a good woman has been entranced by the charms of the Thorn Dwellers. You are fortunate enough to have escaped with your life, be glad for that." She smiled, and it helped ease Catherine's guilt.

The ball arrived on the night of the full moon. Miss Larson had withdrawn her post, which saddened Catherine. Among all the servants Catherine had hung her hopes that she might find an ally in Miss Larson. She had not even had the chance to say goodbye. As a temporary substitute, Miss Brown stood in until another maid could be hired. Miss Brown did not have the same talent for styling hair that Miss Larson did. Catherine turned her head from left to right, looking at the work her maid had done. The curls hanging down were too loose, and the ones pinned to her crown felt likely to come apart as soon as she started dancing. There were pearls scattered across her head tucked into the circle of a curl, which looked charming, if a bit crooked. I should ask her to change these. She pressed a fingertip to a pearl that was dangling and tucked it back in discreetly. She looked at Miss Brown, who was watching Catherine in the mirror with expectation. Catherine had never been a vain woman, and she hated the idea of hurting Miss Brown's feelings.

She smiled at Miss Brown and said, "It's very lovely. Thank you."

Miss Brown beamed. "I am glad you like it, my lady. I have been studying late at night. Miss Smith used to let me practice, but she's been gone a while, and I figured..."

"Miss Smith?" Catherine could not help but ask. A month ago she would have kept her lips sealed. Everyone insisted that a Miss Smith had never worked or lived at Thornwood Abbey, but Catherine suspected differently.

Miss Brown's smile faded. "Did I say Miss Smith? I meant Miss White. Miss Smith was a friend of mine from when I was a child. She passed away from pneumonia not too long ago."

Catherine eyed the maid thoughtfully through the mirror. It was a lie and she knew it. Why do they all continue the charade? I do not understand.

There was a knock at the door, and Miss Brown jumped to go and answer it. Catherine heard his voice before she saw him, and she stood to greet her husband. She was taut as a bowstring as he strode in, smiling. Every gesture and every smile was suspect now that she knew about the spell. She had replayed the words over and over, preparing to say the spell to release Edward or prove that it was all a lie from a spiteful Mr. Thorn. Could I go back to the way I was, not knowing the truth and believing I was insane? She shivered just to think of it. While on the other hand, was it fair to keep Edward bound to her if he did not love her?

"Catherine, you look a vision." He swooped over to her, bent her back, and kissed her.

Her breath caught in her throat. She had not kissed Edward since that forced kiss with Mr. Thorn. Edward was passionate and strong, but she found herself comparing the kiss to the one she had shared with Mr. Thorn. These were dangerous waters indeed. I love Edward. Mr. Thorn only kissed me because he was under a spell... Just like Edward. She could take the guilt no longer. She placed her hands on Edward's chest and pushed back gently. He stood her back up, grinning all the while.

"Edward, we need to talk about my time away. There are things you should hear," she said.

He frowned at her. "Darling, what are you talking about? You've never gone away."

She touched his shoulder. "Yes, remember I disappeared twice? I went into the forest, into the Thorn Kingdom. I danced with Those Who Dwell in the Thorns. You know this because I have told you before, but you did not listen." What she could not understand is why he would not listen. The entire village seemed content to look away even when there were people dying. Like poor Miss Smith. How many others are there that I do not know about?

He laughed. "You have the strangest sense of humor. There is nothing in those woods but tangled bushes of thorns, a few fox and badgers." He shook his head. "I am glad you brought up going away, however. I was thinking about it recently, and we never took a honeymoon journey. I think it's time we remedy that. What do you think, the seaside, Bath, or maybe to London for the end of the season?"

"Edward, please listen to me. This is important." She grabbed both of his hands and forced him to look at her. She had never tried to assert her authority over her husband before. She could no longer live with the guilt weighing down on her.

"Darling, I always listen. But these Thorn Dwellers are just myth and superstition."

"No, they're real; Mr. Thorn showed me. I have seen them with my own eyes."

Edward yanked his hand from Catherine's. "I would appreciate it if you did not mention that man's name."

Catherine shook her head in surprise and took a step back. "I know Mr. Thorn is somewhat of a rogue but--"

He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. "Did he touch you? Catherine, did he force himself upon you? Because if he did, I will go out and find him!"

Catherine trembled with fear. Edward's eyes had changed color from their usual blue to a feral yellow with slit-like pupils. The truth was right on the tip of her tongue. She knew she must confess to ease her own suffering, but she feared telling the truth might unleash whatever was lurking behind Edward's eyes. What happened to the man I married? You have changed and so have I. Once more she considered the words of the spell Mr. Thorn had given her. If she spoke them, everything would revert to as it was. It would be as if she had never met Edward at all. She knew what she must do, but she could not do it.

"He never touched me. We only spoke a few times. I heard from Miss Larson that he had a reputation. That is all."

The tension in Edward's arms relaxed. He pulled her close and buried her head against his chest. "I'm sorry, I overreacted. I love you and I want to protect you. I fear for your safety with that man at large. He is too dangerous to live." Edward's words shocked her. She never thought to hear her husband speak about killing another man. He did not notice her concern as he continued. "We'll take our honeymoon journey soon, and until then we have time to decide where to go." He pulled back and kissed Catherine on the forehead. "We've talked enough of unpleasant things this night. Let's enjoy ourselves and forget about all the rest."

She nodded in mute agreement, terrified of her husband and the apparent monster he was becoming. His eyes had turned back to blue, but she could not shake her fear of him. They headed downstairs to greet their guests, arm in arm. Edward would not let her go, though she did not try to break free. Mr. Hobbs and the footmen were in their finest, awaiting them at the bottom of the stairs. Each man looked impeccable with white gloves and starch-pressed shirts and coats.

Catherine could see out the double doors to the driveway out front. Lanterns had been hung and they glowed yellow in the twilight fog. The first carriage arrived, and Mr. Solomon ran out to greet their guest. The first to arrive was elderly Mr. Cedars and his son, Nathaniel Cedars. The elder Mr. Cedars had entirely white hair that thinly covered his splotched head. He leaned heavily on a cane, near bent over. He leaned also on his son, Nathaniel, who was of middle age, already balding and with a paunch that stretched tight his waistcoat. Catherine smiled and greeted them. Mr. Cedars was gracious to her but began haranguing his son about not finding a bride as they entered the ballroom.

The next to arrive was Mrs. Bloom and her daughters, Camellia and Delphine. The twins were wearing bright gowns, in fuchsia for Miss Camellia, and cerulean for Miss Delphine. Each gown had ample ruffles and lace to supply an entire ladies' accessories shop. Their mother wore black.

Edward leaned in after the ladies passed by. "Mrs. Bloom will wear nothing but black since her husband passed away nearly a decade ago."

Catherine knew Edward was trying to draw her out with gossip, but she was still in shock from his earlier transformation. Between the spell and his change in demeanor, she found it difficult to relax around him. Besides, given her current situation, she could not help but feel a pang of regret for Mrs. Bloom, who must have loved her husband dearly and still mourned his loss.

There were a string of other guests. Dr. Rowan and his wife brought their oldest son, who was back from Cambridge on holiday. Mr. Francis Rowan was a dashing young man who had bright red hair and an easy smile. He greeted Catherine by bowing with a flourish; when he looked up, he gave her a wicked smile. She saw a hint of his father as a young man when he smiled. Lydia and her husband arrived after them, and they arrived in style. Their carriage was painted white, and on the door was an oak tree with a heart carved into its trunk. The carriage had been hung with lanterns on the four corners, with paper covering them to change the color of the light. Their coachman was wearing a white suit and top hat. Mr. Byrd walked up to open the carriage door, and Lydia burst out wearing a baby pink gown, with a large skirt. Lydia also wore a decorative headdress that was made of lace. She kissed Catherine on both cheeks and spoke in a hurry before her husband dragged her away. After that came Mrs. Lilac and her spinster daughter, Miss Bernadette Lilac. They both wore huge headdresses piled with feathers that wobbled as they walked into the ballroom. The stream of guests began to trickle after that. Mr. Mapleton, a man well into his sixties, brought his very young wife, who could not be more than nineteen. The Alders came with their daughter, Miss Edna Alder, who was out in society. Her eyes were wide with wonder as she absorbed her surroundings. I wonder if I was ever that optimistic. She has her entire life before her. I envy her innocence.

Most of the guests had arrived, and it was time to open the dance. Catherine had not seen Mrs. Rosewood yet, but she suspected she would be along soon enough. Catherine was excited to share the fruits of their shared labor with Edward's aunt.

"Shall we go in and start the dance, darling?" Edward asked.

"I hope you were not going to start without us," said a familiar and unwanted voice.

Catherine's back stiffened. She turned to her guests. Miss Ashton and her parents were handing their coats to Mr. Fox.

"Mrs. Ashton, Mr. Ashton, Miss Ashton," Edward greeted them all warmly. "I am glad you made it."

Catherine stood still, expecting some snide remark. She had not come face to face with Miss Ashton since the day they had met. She knew an eventual meeting would occur, but she had hoped to be better prepared for it. Miss Ashton's eyes practically skimmed over Catherine as if not seeing her at all.

"We would not have missed the ball for the world," Miss Ashton said and placed her hand on Edward's elbow. He pulled his arm away.

"I hope you enjoy the ball," he said a little stiffly. Catherine had to wipe the smile off her face to keep from gloating. He chose me! This was followed by the crashing feeling of realizing it was all because of the spell. "Shall we?" he said to Catherine, offering his bent elbow.

She took his arm and followed him into the ballroom but not before taking one last look at Miss Ashton. She was smirking to herself, and Catherine feared what was to happen next.

Chapter Twenty-five

Ray sat in the crook of an old oak and watched the silhouettes inside the house move past the windows. I do not understand these human gatherings. How can they dance without moonlight? Without feeling the earth beneath their feet? He tilted his head back and gazed at the full moon. The fog had begun to roll back, and for the first time in a very long time he saw the stars twinkling against the night sky. The moon hung against the velvet curtain of night like a giant pearl. They will be expecting me to present Lady Thornton as the heir to the Thorns tonight. His gaze flickered once more back to the house. I failed for the final time. I may as well relish my last night of freedom.

Though there was no reason to do so any longer, he had been watching Lady Thornton. He had been so certain she was the one. Her failure to pass the last test had shocked him down to the core. He had waited for days, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Just one look and he would accept his fate and face the council. He would acknowledge he had been wrong. The opportunity to see her never arose. She had not left the house since they parted. Damn this spell she has over me. I have not had a human woman captivate my interest since... her. He turned to swing his legs down from the crook of the branch. I have not desired a woman since I spotted the guardian's daughter walking in the garden.

How ironic that he had first officially met Catherine in the garden. He would not count the night of Lady Thornton's arrival, when the witch had tried to intercept them by sending one of her hellhounds to stop Catherine. At the time, he thought the witch was just looking to cause trouble. He had wiped both Lord and Lady Thornton's memory of the terrible night. The less the villagers knew about the things that happened around them, the better. Keeping the Fae's secrets was part of his job. He had spent the better part of twenty years keeping the humans in ignorance in order to protect the Thorn Kingdom from another disaster--the one he had caused by inviting the guardian's daughter to the dance.

The witch had always been a thorn in his side. They were both locked to this place, and she was doing everything in her power to force him to release her. Since Lady Thornton arrived in Thornwood, the witch had met him at every turn, anticipating his moves and countering them. Was Lady Thornton planted to distract me? He shook his head. What benefit would the witch gain from his punishment? Unless they administer the ultimate punishment. My death could mean her freedom. I would never have thought her that clever, but that was the problem from the start; I underestimated her. He sensed something on the wind, which made him uneasy. This entire plot was marked by the witch's hand. If she could make me desire Lady Thornton, could she suppress that essential spark in Lady Thornton that was meant to awaken the king? He may well have been grasping at straws, but he had few options left. Tonight was the night. He must produce a true heir or face the council's wrath.

A flapping of wings and a gust of wind blew past. He turned as Tabitha settled herself upon a branch across from him. In her talons a gray field mouse squirmed. He had begun to resent the feathered messenger. She had an uncanny ability to show up when he was most vulnerable.

"I suppose you have come to remind me tonight is the final night," he said.

She ignored him and leaned forward to capture her meal with her beak. The morsel was small enough that she swallowed it in one bite.

She hooted softly with pleasure after she finished and said, "I am, though I assume you knew that already." She turned luminescent, round eyes towards him. "I was there when she joined the dance. You've made great strides. Have you administered the final test?"

He considered not answering, easier to evade than to lie. In this case a lie was necessary. His every word would be reported back to her master, no doubt. "Not yet, I plan to do so tonight."

She ruffled her feathers and picked at a few with her beak as he spoke. When he finished, she looked up and said, "You've put it off a bit, have you not?"

"The full moon holds power; now is the right time."

Husky laughter met his announcement. Ray looked to Tabitha. He had seen her only once in human form; she'd taken on the visage of a petite woman. The laughter did not match Tabitha, but he had to be sure. The owl remained in animal form, and her large eyes were directed at the ground. Ray turned his head downward to see a young blonde woman standing at the base of the tree. He recognized her as the presumptuous woman who had tried to put a spell on the Thorntons. He jumped down from his perch and landed in front of her.

"You have courage to come into my domain." She did not seem like the bold type to me.

She laughed again. It did not fit her features; there was something off-kilter about her appearance. A shimmering light clung to her skin and blurred the edges of her outline. Her laughter was familiar, though; not that he had ever heard it before.

"I have no fear of you, Ray Thorn," she said. "My plans have all come together, thanks to you. I would never have been able to wake Catherine's power without letting her into the forest."

A cold chill crept down his spine. "You." He held back from pointing though he was tempted to do so. I should have known. The game is not over, not by a long shot.

She smiled wickedly. "You caught on quick this time. How do you like my new form?" She spun in place, lifting up the hem of her skirt as she twirled. "This girl was desperate for power. She wanted so badly to have simple human things, money, respect, and a grand home. It led her to ruin, I am afraid. Her heart was delicious, though, so full of malice and deceit." The witch sighed with pleasure.

"You have her heart; why use her any further?"

"She did have her uses. I needed her for the final act. I could not let her spoil it, so I took her heart ahead of schedule." She examined her nails as she said this. It was all meant as a goad to entice him to act. That was the witch's flaw; she thought Ray harbored a secret compassion for the humans when the truth was he would be glad to see them all wiped from the earth. They were a disease infecting the land and weakening his people. The witch was vain enough to belief their brief tryst meant something to him

"I see," he said through gritted teeth. He was at the edge of his patience. No matter what he felt for humans, he was tired of the games the witch wanted to play with him.

"I think Catherine will be the most delicious of all. She is innocent, more so than Miss Smith. With a higher concentrate of Fae than I have ever witnessed before. She is hardly human at all. No wonder she is withering in the human world. She has blossomed here; I am glad I had you bring her to me."

Ray felt as if he had been struck in the gut. He refused to let her see the effects of her words upon him. "You're very welcome. We have been working together for a long time. How many years has it been now?"

"Nearly twenty." She smiled and stroked the side of his face. Though he found this form repugnant, he still felt the faint draw of attraction to the woman that was hidden beneath the mask. He told himself he hated the humans, but she was not entirely human. Just like Lady Thornton. He shoved that thought aside. It was the spell, nothing more. "Our game is coming to an end, my dear Mr. Thorn." She smiled. "I do not think I need to remind you what happens if you try to cross me tonight?"

"I would not dream of it." He took a step back away from her, afraid he would do something he would regret. "For the history we share, answer me this: what is Catherine; why is she special?"

She waggled her finger in front of him. "Tsk. Tsk. You should never ask a lady to reveal her secrets. However, if you come to the manor tonight, I may reveal it all to you."

She sauntered away, swinging the thin hips of Miss Ashton as she did so. Ray watched her go, conflicted. A choice lay before him, either risk crossing the witch and potentially break the pact they had made near twenty human years ago, or sit back and watch Lady Thornton have her heart cut out like all the rest. I know this is all vengeance. Every one of those girls was meant to humanize me, and until now I never cared about a single one of them. And I am not even certain it is her I care about or if it's the spell making me care.

"What are you going to do?" Tabitha hooted softly. There was no mocking in her question only a hint of concern. It rankled to have an enemy pity him, but there it was.

Damned if I do, damned if I don't. He crossed his arms and stared at the manor for a moment, considering his options.

"It would appear I have a dance to get to."

Chapter Twenty-six

Their opening dance had been tense to say the least. Catherine felt every eye in the room upon her. It may have all been in her head, but she felt the room teeming with tension. Edward alone seemed to be oblivious to the whispers and the dark looks their neighbors were giving them. He smiled, his bright white teeth gleaming under the candlelight. When the dance led them apart, he kept his eyes upon her as if there were no one else in the world but the two of them. Is this love or is it magic? She wanted so badly for it to be true, but she feared her hopes were in vain. Groups of two entered into the dance, and Catherine spotted Miss Ashton dancing beside them along with Mr. Nathaniel Cedars.

Miss Ashton threw her head back and laughed as she and her partner drew close to Edward and Catherine. For the first time since the dance started, Edward's gaze was drawn from Catherine. Mr. Cedars looked confused by Miss Ashton's behavior.

Catherine overheard him say as they passed, "Miss Ashton, what amuses you so?"

She only shook her head and smiled at him. "It's a secret."

They danced away from Miss Ashton and Mr. Cedars, and Edward's eyes followed Miss Ashton across the room. Catherine forced a smile and pretended not to notice. She saw Mrs. Bloom and Mrs. Lilac sitting at the edge of the dance floor, whispering in one another's ears. I feel as if I were on display. Everyone must see Edward staring at Miss Ashton. How could his attentions be so fickle? Is the love spell wearing off? Dr. Rowan and Mrs. Rowan joined the dance just then. It was time to switch partners, and Dr. Rowan stepped up to trade partners with Edward. Her husband spun Catherine towards the doctor. Edward was meant to dance with Mrs. Rowan, but instead he cut off Mr. Francis Rowan, who was trading partners with Miss Lilac and intended to dance with Miss Ashton while Mr. Cedars danced with Miss Lilac. Edward stepped across the line of dancers to take Miss Ashton's hand. He swung her down the line away from Catherine. Mrs. Rowan appeared to be mortified to have been left without a partner until her son gracefully stepped in to dance with her. Edward and Miss Ashton danced for a moment, their eyes locked together as if there were no one else in the world.

"Mrs. Thornton, you're holding on too tight," Dr. Rowan said.

She dropped his hand and blushed. He, unlike many of the others, did not regard her with contempt but pity. The entire neighborhood saw how her husband had abandoned her for Miss Ashton. They had not even completed their first dance. Fortunately, Mr. Rowan stepped in to help Catherine finish the dance when Edward seemed unwilling to let Miss Ashton go back to her original partner.

"I hope you will oblige me, as I am a bit of a clumsy oaf," Mr. Rowan said with a smile.

She knew he was trying to cheer her up, and she appreciated the gesture. She gave him a weak smile. "I am no better, sir. I have never attended a ball before now."

They parted and sashayed to opposite sides and returned in the middle. "I am shocked!" he said dramatically. "A woman of your beauty and grace, you have been most cruel in keeping your countenance from the dance halls of England."

She laughed at his jest. By then the song was over. They bowed to one another, and Catherine drifted off the dance floor. Edward realized he had abandoned his wife in the middle of the dance and found her at the edge of the dance floor. She felt lost at sea. The neighbors were surrounding her, but she had never felt more alone. Edward's cheeks were rosy, and he was beaming when he found her.

"Darling, I lost you somewhere. I do not know what happened."

You danced with the woman you really love, that's what happened. I was a fool to try to keep you.

"It was a confusing dance. Mr. Rowan rescued me in the end, so no harm was done."

Edward glanced over at the gentleman in question. He narrowed his eyes, watching Mr. Rowan, who was talking with Miss Alder. Edward placed a hand in the small of Catherine's back. "Come, let me make this right. I shall dance the next dance with you."

Catherine spied Miss Ashton making her way to them through the crowd. He should be with her. They are suited to one another with their golden hair and light eyes. She had been selfish to try to keep him.

"I will sit this next one out. I think I will get some punch," Catherine said.

"Then let me summon one of the footmen for you." He scanned the crowd for the footmen, who were circulating with glasses of refreshment. Just then Miss Ashton appeared at his shoulder.

"Lord Thornton, I lost you in the crowd." She was flushed prettily, her pink lips parted slightly.

Edward turned to look at Miss Ashton, and it was as if he were seeing her for the first time.

"Miss Ashton, my wife is not inclined to dance. Would you reserve the next dance for me?"

She lowered her lashes in a demure way. "I would like that very much."

He held out his arm to her, and Miss Ashton linked arms with Edward, and the pair made their way to the dance floor. She held back her bitter tears. Those would be better shed later on when she was alone once more. This is for the best, she tried to tell herself, but no matter how she spun it, she could not deny that, no matter what Edward's feelings were, she loved him. No matter the love spell, it could not override Edward's true feelings. She had seen the signs the day she met Miss Ashton, but she had ignored them. I should have removed the spell when I had the chance. She watched her Edward smile at Miss Ashton as they queued up to dance. He brushed a stray lock behind Miss Ashton's ear. Just seeing them together twisted her stomach with jealousy. It's not too late to undo the spell. I just have to speak the words, and he and Miss Ashton can be together and I will forget it all. Oblivion sounded divine. The villagers for the most part hated her, including the staff, and her husband's love was manufactured. It would be better to believe herself mad than to continue living like this.

A prickling sensation danced across the back of her neck. Her head shot up in time to see Mr. Thorn sliding through the crowd. She considered turning the other way to avoid him. She was angry at him for his interference in her life, and she did not want him to witness her vulnerable moment. Her chance slipped away as he went around Mr. Mapleton to come and stand before her, effectively blocking off her view of the dance floor. If she were not already cross with him, she might have thanked him for the distraction.

"Mr. Thorn, what a pleasant surprise," she said with just a touch of sarcasm. He seemed to bring out a bit of a tart in her.

"Is it? You summoned me," he said. He nodded and smiled at Lydia, who was creeping closer to them with the Bloom sisters hot on her heels.

Catherine laughed as if Mr. Thorn had said something very amusing and looked away from her sister-in-law. She hoped Lydia would not come over and ask too many questions. How would she explain her husband's staff coming into the ball and rubbing elbows with his guests? "I think that is your own wishful thinking, Mr. Thorn. I was merely watching my guests enjoy the party."

"But you were thinking about me," he said.

Catherine colored at his insinuation but hid it behind her decorative fan. "I presume you would enjoy that if I were."

He laughed uproariously, and a few guests stared at the pair of them askance. Lydia was upon them now, and Catherine could not avoid the meeting that was about to occur.

"Catherine, everything is magnificent, and you were beautiful as you danced with Edward."

Catherine flinched, and Ray's gaze flickered at her in question. She shook her head slightly in response.

Lydia continued onward, not noticing their silent exchange. "I do not believe I have made your companion's acquaintance." She fluttered her eyelashes at Mr. Thorn.

Catherine wondered if she was lying or if she really did not recognize her brother's gardener. Ray bowed deeply and took Lydia's hand. "I am Mr. Thorn." He kissed her hand.

The Bloom sisters tittered behind Lydia. "And how do you know our dear Catherine?" Lydia said a bit breathlessly.

Catherine hid her smirk behind her fan. She had never seen Lydia speechless; it was a sight worth seeing. Hot on the heels of her amusement was the terrifying realization that Mr. Thorn would most likely say something embarrassing. She grabbed his sleeve as a warning. He smiled down at Catherine in a way that would have made many other women's knees weak. She was immune to his charm, however. She glowered up at him. He smirked in response.

"I am her cousin on her mother's side," he said and left it at that.

Catherine could tell from Lydia's and the Bloom sisters' adoring expressions they were hoping they would hear more about Mr. Thorn.

Mr. Thorn could see that as well. "I would love to talk more, ladies, but I have promised my next dance to my cousin, if you'll excuse us." He gave them an elegant bow. Catherine was shocked they did not swoon. He grabbed Catherine by the hand and led her onto the dance floor. Dancers had already begun to line up. At the far end of the line, she saw Edward and Miss Ashton were sharing another dance. He does not even care what a scene he's making. He's shared two dances in a row with her while I stood aside. She shook herself. It did not matter; after tonight, it would not be her problem. She had resigned herself to casting the spell as soon as the night was over.

"Are you ready, cousin?" Mr. Thorn said with a crooked smile.

She did not feel much like smiling, but something about Mr. Thorn's smiles were contagious.

"I am only dancing this one dance with you. I don't want the neighbors to talk."

He laughed and the music began. They drew close at the center for the first step. They were supposed to clasp hands, turn, and promenade down the line. But Mr. Thorn held her close for a moment, their hands clasped and their eyes locked.

"Let them talk."

Chapter Twenty-seven

Everything was going well. His guests seemed to be enjoying themselves. He wished Catherine would dance with him, but he did not want to pressure her. She had been in delicate health as of late, and he feared any extra strain would cause another fit. He was fortunate Miss Ashton was a willing partner. They were well matched when it came to dancing. He assumed that was because they had shared more than a few throughout their youth. Miss Ashton smiled at him from a few feet away. They had traded partners, and Dr. Rowan spun her around before she swung back towards him. He had to admit she was a vision. Her blonde hair haloed her head, turned golden by the chandeliers hanging above. From the moment she entered the ballroom, he found it difficult to tear his eyes away from her. Why did I never notice her beauty before?

She watched him, a glimmer in her eye. It was a familiar look, but not one he related to Miss Ashton. It reminded him of someone, but it was difficult to pin it down while dancing. He was focused on executing his dance steps. Miss Ashton sashayed over to him, and he let the thought escape. They met once more, clasping hands for a moment, as the dance required, when he felt a sting as if something had struck him at the base of his skull. He rubbed at the tender spot and glanced around to see what had struck him.

As his eyes crossed the floor, he saw Catherine dancing at the other end of the dance hall. She was smiling, which was a relief. His relief was short lived as jealousy coursed through him. He would need to have words with Mr. Rowan. The last he had seen his friend's son, he had still been a boy. Mr. Rowan needed to learn his place. A gentleman did not flirt with another gentleman's wife. If she wanted to dance, why did she turn me away? Then Edward saw Catherine's partner. It was not Mr. Rowan but Mr. Thorn. He stared at the pair of them as they danced. The world blurred around him as he focused entirely on his wife and the man he had sworn to kill.

Mr. Thorn leaned in as Catherine passed him by in their shared dance. She smiled and ducked her head while his hand lingered too long against hers. The beast inside Edward roared with anger. How dare she? She refused to dance with Edward, but now she was cavorting with Mr. Thorn while the neighbors all looked on. Has she been making a fool of me this entire time? I thought Mr. Thorn kidnapped her; now I wonder if she went away with him of her own free will. Apparently my wife has been unfaithful. How dare she flaunt her infidelity in front of me.

"Edward?" Miss Ashton touched his arm, but he had forgotten all about her. His entire focus was upon Catherine and Mr. Thorn.

Mr. Thorn watched Catherine's every move. His eyes were drinking her in. It was much too intimate. He looked at her as if he wanted to devour Catherine. When the dance led them back together, every touch of their fingertips and every glance they shared seemed to shoot through Edward tenfold. The dancers near Edward were weaving around him as he stood locked in place, paralyzed by his rage. Then one by one, the dancers came to a halt, rippling out from Edward and down the line to Mr. Thorn and Catherine, who were still too lost in one another to notice. When the last dancers stopped and stared, Edward's temper snapped.

"How dare you!" Edward shouted. His voice rang out across the hall, and silence fell in its wake.

Mr. Thorn had his hand on Catherine's waist. She spun in place, and her eyes locked on her husband. Her mouth dropped open. The guests moved back, leaving Edward, Miss Ashton, Mr. Thorn and Catherine in the center of a circle.

"Edward--" Catherine started to speak, but he held his hand up.

"That man is a murderer! You brought him into my house and now flaunt your illicit relationship before the entire neighborhood."

Catherine blanched as she shook her head. She was too ashamed to even attempt to defend herself.

Edward took a step towards them. "I thought you were faithful to me. I wanted to pretend like none of this ugly business happened, that you did not go missing, not once but twice. I can see you were playing me for a fool."

"Edward, it's not what you think--"

"Silence!" He stalked over to them, intent on pulling Catherine away to continue their talk in private. I love her; how could she do this to me!

Mr. Thorn stepped in front of Catherine, throwing out his arm to shield Catherine from Edward. "Stand down, guardian. You are making a scene," he said.

Edward's eyes nearly popped out of his head. He had faced humiliation at Mr. Thorn's hand before; he was not going to do it again.

"I may have let you escape, but you have crossed me for the last time," Edward spat.

Mr. Thorn smirked. "You are overconfident in your abilities. It was I who let you scamper away with your pathetic life. Now stand down, and I will not be forced to embarrass you in front of your guests." He swept his arm towards the guests, who were looking on with mixed expressions of concern and rapt attention. Nothing this exciting had happened in Thornwood in a very long time.

"Do not let him speak to you that way," Miss Ashton whispered into Edward's ear. Her breath was warm against his neck. She pressed in close to him, molding her body against his. "Use your gift to defeat him. All of the Thorn Dwellers fear what you can become."

He turned to look at her. How did Miss Ashton know about the transformation? He had told no one, not even Catherine. She smiled and tilted her head. Her smile was different than he remembered, much more cunning. She's right. He was defeated as a man, but as a monster...

He looked back to Mr. Thorn. "You leave me with no choice." He shed his evening coat and loosened his cravat. He stripped until nothing of his clothes remained but his pants. The neighbors whispered upon seeing him undress. Their voices were like a hive of hornets inside his skull. He pressed his palms to his ears to block out the sound. The pain of the transformation seared into his flesh. His bones snapped and reformed. Hair grew from every follicle. His hands enlarged and were tipped with claws. He fell to his knees as his spine twisted and elongated. His guests screamed and ran for the exits. Their exit was a blessing; in the absence of all their warm bodies, he could focus on the task at hand--killing Mr. Thorn at last. His sense of smell heightened. He could smell the stench of fear on Catherine, and a hint of it on Mr. Thorn as well. Good, he fears me.

The transformation complete, Edward stood to his full height and roared. He felt powerful, invincible, and he thirsted for flesh.

"Edward! What has happened to you?" Catherine screamed. Her fear was like a perfume. His sense of purpose was muddled in his monstrous form. He turned to his wife, but he no longer saw her as such. Now she was prey.

He pulled back his lips and snarled at her. She stood behind Mr. Thorn. Even in his monster form he knew he could not get past Mr. Thorn, not with a direct attack. He would need to separate Catherine from Mr. Thorn. He lunged at the pair of them, and as he expected, she ran. He gave her a head start because he loved the chase. Miss Ashton screamed at him to stop, but he could not hear past the sound of Catherine's pounding heart. It was music to his ears. The hunt was upon him, and he needed to tear her to pieces.

He chased her out of the ballroom and through the halls. The scent of human fear was everywhere, but hers was bright as a beacon. She stumbled, he sped up to close the gap between them; the game was over. He snapped his jaws, nearly clamping down on her ankle, but at the same time something rammed into him from the side. He was thrown off course. He twisted around and fell back, baring his teeth at the attacker. He found another monster like him hunched over and snarling, saliva dripping from his jaws.

Edward tried to go around him towards Catherine, who was cowering on the ground. The monster stopped him by nipping at Edward's neck. He yelped involuntarily and took a step back. The animal instinct to obey his alpha was suppressing the bloodlust, if for the moment. He growled at the other creature.

"Patience, nephew," said a familiar, husky voice.

Edward turned, prepared to attack the woman who dared approach him.

His aunt Isobel strode in wearing the same gown Miss Ashton had been wearing. Catherine gave a small gasp. He looked over and found Mr. Thorn kneeling beside Catherine, glaring daggers at his aunt. Mr. Thorn had a hand resting on Catherine's shoulder. The moment's reflection brought his human mind to the forefront. He remembered what he was supposed to do now. I have to kill Mr. Thorn.

"You have no control over your impulses," his aunt said conversationally. "I cannot let you harm Catherine. She is precious to me."

"Mrs. Rosewood, get away from him. He's not in his right mind; he's dangerous!" Catherine cried. Leave it to Catherine to try to rationalize his transformation from man to beast as a form of madness.

Isobel laughed, a hollow mocking sound. "Oh, my dear, you are just as innocent as you seem. Edward will not hurt me because I made him, just as I made Johnathan. She sauntered over to the other beast. It lowered its wolflike head for her to scratch behind the ears. She was a petite woman, but despite that, she gave off an aura of authority. She was in complete control of the situation. "He was a terrible husband, but he has made a wonderful pet."

Catherine shook her head. She could not absorb the truth. Edward was restless--he had waited long enough for Mr. Thorn to die, now was the time. He did not want to talk; he needed to feel Mr. Thorn's lifeblood filling his mouth, he wanted to feel his last heartbeat as he ripped his heart from his chest with his jaws. While the creature name Johnathan was occupied, Edward ran around him and his aunt to lunge for Catherine and Mr. Thorn.

Catherine screamed as Mr. Thorn jumped to his feet, flaming sword in hand. Edward snapped and tried to bite into the flesh of Mr. Thorn's arm only to have the burning blade score into his shoulder. He jumped backwards and circled Mr. Thorn and Catherine. Mr. Thorn stood in front of Catherine defensively while Edward plotted his next attack. Johnathan did not try to intervene. He and his aunt seemed prepared to let Edward and Mr. Thorn have their fight.

Mr. Thorn went on the offensive, jabbing at Edward's exposed underbelly with his blade. Edward shifted out of the way and loped around him towards Catherine. He knew he should focus on his enemy, but her fear was driving him wild. He just wanted one taste. He wedged himself between them. Mr. Thorn was at his back and Catherine had scuttled backwards and was pinned against a wall. Johnathan and Isobel were too far away to intervene. There was nothing stopping him now. He rushed forward, jaws open, saliva flowing, anticipating the sweet and salty taste of her flesh. Catherine threw up her hands and screamed.

Chapter Twenty-eight

She saw the creature that had been her husband thundering towards her. The entire world slowed down. Every step he took seemed to take an eternity. She felt as if she were swimming through molasses. Am I going to die? Is this how I will meet my end? If only I had broken the spell sooner, none of this would have happened. On impulse she threw up her hands. She knew there was no hope, and out of desperation she said the words of the spell.

"I release these ties that bind; no longer will I hold you in my thrall. You are free to love as you will!" The words echoed and vibrated through her. A tingling sensation rose from the tips of her toes, coming up from the ground, and coursed through her.

The monster stopped a few inches from Catherine. She could smell his rancid breath and see the gleaming points of his teeth. The monster tilted his head like a lapdog. It was ludicrous, and Catherine laughed at the sheer madness of it. The tingling sensation faded and left her feeling empty. The spell had not worked; she still remembered everything. The monster's hesitation gave Mr. Thorn the opportunity to launch an attack from behind. He stabbed Edward in the back, and the beast thrashed backwards, trying to attack Mr. Thorn, who was clinging to his back by his sword. Then the other beast joined the fray. He clamped down on Mr. Thorn's thigh and tore at his flesh. Mr. Thorn pulled his blade out of Edward and swung it towards Johnathan.

Johnathan was quicker than Mr. Thorn, and he merely jumped backwards, teeth bared. Edward turned back around and rushed Mr. Thorn, knocking him to the ground but not before he swept his leg under Johnathan and brought him crashing to the ground with him. Johnathan threw out a clawed hand and pulled Edward down as well. The three of them rolled around, the green blade flashing as Mr. Thorn fought off his attackers.

Mr. Thorn regained his feet and scurried backwards. The two beasts harried him, pushing him into a corner. They then took turns attacking him. One would pounce at him, then the other would snap at his ankles. Mr. Thorn had his back pressed against the wall, swinging his blade, hacking and slashing.

A hand came down on Catherine's shoulder. She looked up to see Mrs. Rosewood smiling down at her. "It's time to go, Catherine."

Fear gripped her hard. Mrs. Rosewood was not the woman she thought she knew. Despairing, Catherine realized her one friend had betrayed her. Catherine tried to wrench free of the woman's grip, but it was iron tight. "What about Edward and Mr. Thorn? Shouldn't we do something to stop them?" She hoped somewhere buried deep Mrs. Rosewood still held some affection for her nephew.

"They'll sort one another out, I am sure," she said and pulled Catherine to her feet. Catherine felt like her knees were going to buckle beneath her at any moment. Mrs. Rosewood half-dragged her towards the door. Catherine cast a few desperate glances towards Mr. Thorn. He was bloody and his sword arm was sagging. The monsters were taking their time wearing him down. He did not notice Catherine being abducted.

In the foyer there was evidence everywhere of the guests' flight. A discarded shrug lay trampled on the floor. They exited the manor out the double doors, which had been flung open. A hat smashed and torn lay at the bottom of the steps. Even the front lawn was upturned from those who had ridden their carriages over the grass rather than wait to take the driveway out.

"What happened to Miss Ashton?" Catherine said. She needed to keep talking or she would crumple under her fear. She wanted to know where Mrs. Rosewood was taking her and what she wanted from her. She had said Catherine was precious to her. Did she think Catherine was the Thorn King's heir? That would explain why she wanted Catherine.

"She is dead, I am afraid. I borrowed her form for this evening, as you may have surmised. She was very good at stirring up trouble, which is exactly what I needed."

Catherine trembled all over. She had liked Mrs. Rosewood. She had felt comfortable with her, and everyone else in the village had treated her with scorn. "I thought you were my friend. Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?"

Mrs. Rosewood shook her head. "Oh, darling Catherine, I could spend ages explaining to you what you are and what makes you so special. Tonight, however, our time is short, and there is much to do. Believe me, I never falsified my affection for you. I care for you more than you know. "

I suspect she cares for me as a tool. She tugged her along the garden path and to the forest edge, where the wild met the manicured. This was what Mr. Thorn had called the gateway to the Otherworld. It was here that Mrs. Rosewood finally let go of Catherine. She stumbled and her legs continued to shake. She was not sure if it was from fear or if it was a lingering effect of the attempted spell.

"Open the gateway for me," Mrs. Rosewood said and pointed at the edge of the forest.

Catherine looked from Mrs. Rosewood to the forest. "I cannot. Mr. Thorn is the one who guards the gateway. I do not know how to open it."

"Yes you do; any child of the Thorns can open the gateway."

Her heart lurched. She does not know that I failed the test. "You're mistaken. Mr. Thorn tested me; I am not one of the Thorn Dwellers."

"That's where you're wrong, dear Catherine. It is true you are not the daughter of the king, but you are very much one of the Thorn Dwellers. Haven't you felt the change since you arrived? You feel more alive, more assured than before."

She wanted to deny it, but it was true. Looking back, she had grown so much in a short amount of time. She had done and said things that she never would have dreamed of before. The forest had terrified her when she first arrived. The more time she spent near the forest and in it, the less she feared it. I no longer think I am mad. I stood up to Mrs. Morgan when she tried to force me out. I have changed; is it because of the forest? She glanced over to the dark forest. The trees loomed above her, shadowy beneath the moon. The fog that had once dominated the landscape had dissipated. The moon was full and bright in the sky and lent plenty of light. Catherine could see the small folk scurrying about in the undergrowth, watching her and Mrs. Rosewood.

Mrs. Rosewood continued, unaware of Catherine's inner dialogue, "You were never meant to be sent away, believe me. I have waited a long time for this, Catherine. You are meant to open the gateway for me. Now go." She shoved Catherine lightly on the shoulder.

There was a hard line where the manicured lawn ended and the ground was left wild. She crossed over this invisible barrier and felt the press of a film clinging to her skin. Her fingers and toes tickled; there was a warm sensation rising from her toes and coursing up her legs. Catherine took a few more cautious steps towards the line of trees, with tangled thorny bushes and knee-high grass. The small folk chittered as she drew near, but they did not emerge from their hiding places. She saw flashes of sharp teeth and a glimpse of clawed hands. The undergrowth was alive, pulsing with the creatures that would attack her if she came too close. They were agitated as they scurried from branch to branch. There was no pathway to light her way as before, just darkness and glowing eyes watching her. The bushes rustled, and a creature flew out to land on a tree just above her.

Catherine looked up to see Tabitha the owl looking down at her. Catherine opened her mouth to speak when the owl gave her a small shake of her head and nodded toward a large rock at the base of the tree. Catherine caught her meaning, though she was not sure she would have the power to do what the owl expected of her.

"Hurry, the moon is nearly at its pinnacle. There is not much time left," Mrs. Rosewood said. Her heart-shaped face was tilted back as she regarded the moon. Her dark hair was shot with silver by the light of the moon, and her face was ecstatic. Her arms were outstretched in welcome.

Catherine squatted down to pick up the rock. It was the size of her fist and dense. She closed her eyes. I can do this. Then Tabitha screeched and flew towards Mrs. Rosewood. She threw up her arms and batted away the owl. Catherine took her chance to spring at Mrs. Rosewood. She collided with her, wrapping her arms around her middle. They fell onto the grass, rolling around. Catherine tried to get on top of her, but Mrs. Rosewood was deceptively strong. She punched and kicked at Catherine, clawing at her arms, trying to pry the rock from Catherine's hand.

Catherine felt the tingling sensation grow, turning into a slow-building burn. It gave her energy and strength. She pulled hard with her free hand and flipped Mrs. Rosewood over and pinned her down with her thighs and her free hand. She held the rock aloft, unsure of what to do next.

"You will not do it," Mrs. Rosewood sneered. "I know you better than you know yourself. You are not a killer."

Her arms trembled. It was true. Catherine could not kill another human, even if she had turned Edward into a monster. Mrs. Rosewood did not struggle as she gazed up into Catherine's eyes. Catherine lowered her hand. I should let her go.

"That's right, Catherine. You are a good girl. Drop the rock, and let's talk about this," Mrs. Rosewood said in a coaxing tone.

There's no need for violence. I am sure she has an explanation for her actions, Catherine thought reasonably.

"Catherine, do not listen to her. She is putting a spell on you," Mr. Thorn said.

Catherine's head shot up. Mr. Thorn had never called her by her Christian name before, and it broke the spell Mrs. Rosewood was trying to weave. He was standing above Mrs. Rosewood's head. His face was covered in blood, and his clothes were torn. There was a deep gash in his thigh, and he was holding his shoulder at an awkward angle. He's been injured. Does that mean... She could not complete the thought.

Isobel laughed. "Ray, you fool. You know the moment you raise your hand to fight me, our pact is at an end. Those were the terms. I remain bound to Thornwood unless you tried to do me harm."

He glared down at Isobel. His eyes were a bright green like the forest at noon time. He was struggling with his decision, his flaming sword held aloft. Catherine knew she had to do something. She brought the rock down, intent on hitting Mrs. Rosewood hard enough to knock her unconscious. She closed her eyes to do it; she could not face the violence. That was a mistake. Mrs. Rosewood's hand shot up to stop her and twisted Catherine's wrist.

"I am impressed, Catherine. You have hidden steel. I am glad to see it," Mrs. Rosewood said with a malicious grin.

Catherine cried out. Mrs. Rosewood's touch burned her flesh. The sensation crept up her arm and lit her body aflame from the outside, sinking down into her muscles until she was paralyzed by invisible flames scorching her. Pain-induced tears streamed down her face.

"Let me go, Ray, or I kill her here in front of you," Mrs. Rosewood said, yanking Catherine up by her arm and dangling her in front of Mr. Thorn.

He raised his sword, perhaps preparing to kill Catherine himself to put her out of her misery. Catherine could think only of the pain. She wanted to die if it would end this agony. Her vision turned red from the pain, and no amount of screaming did anything to abate it. He drove the tip of his sword into his flesh and said: "Threads undone, binds broken, I release you from your obligation to me."

His blood dripped onto the ground in a pool. Mrs. Rosewood stared down at it with pleasure. "If I would have known it was this easy to have you undo the spell, I would have done it years ago."

She dropped Catherine, who crumpled on the ground. The fiery pain receded in small increments. Catherine curled over on her side and brought her knees to her chest.

"Now that the pact is broken, I am free to kill you," Ray said and raised his sword. He swung it towards Mrs. Rosewood, who did nothing to stop his blade from slicing her in half. When the blade touched her, she burst into black dust that dissipated on the wind.

Ray swore and spun around in a circle. "Come back. This fight is not over."

The only response was the mocking laughter of Mrs. Rosewood followed by silence. Catherine lay panting on the ground as the pain receded. I thought I was going to die. I wanted to die. She could not stem the tears that were falling. Mr. Thorn came to kneel down beside her.

"Lady Thornton, can you hear me?" he said.

She nodded. She was afraid to speak. Bile was threatening the back of her throat.

"I have to take you into the forest to heal you."

He helped her to stand. She trembled all over. "Where is Edward?" she said, her voice cracking.

Mr. Thorn flinched. "I am sorry, Lady Thornton. He was not himself. I had to come and save you before she opened the gateway."

The ground seemed to fall out beneath her. She lost her balance and fell down to her knees. Mr. Thorn went down with her, his arm around her shoulder for support. "I need you to take me to him," she said.

"You're injured," he protested.

"I have to see him," she said through gritted teeth. Please, God, I promise to never ask for another thing if you spare Edward, she prayed and fought back her tears. Crying would do her no good. She wiped at her tearstained face with the back of her hand.

Mr. Thorn helped her to her feet, and they made their slow progress to the manor house. In the foyer there were signs of their struggle all around. At the far end of the room lay a crumpled pile of linen. Catherine looked to Mr. Thorn to ask him where Edward was; then she heard a moan. What she had mistaken for linen was actually her husband, lying pale, naked, and sprawled on the floor. Despite her own injuries, she rushed to his side. Mr. Thorn protested as she hobbled over to her husband. The pain was almost gone, but it had left its mark on her.

Edward was covered in gashes. His lips were bloody, and there was a cut above his eye. She sat down beside him, her hands hovering over his numerous wounds. "Call Dr. Rowan. We have to give him medical attention," she said to Mr. Thorn.

"Don't..." Edward's voice was the merest thread.

She leaned over him and brushed her hands against his face. He winced. "Edward, hold on. I am going to call for a doctor."

He coughed and blood bubbled onto his lips. "It's too late..." He took a rattling breath. "I can already feel my lungs filling."

He moved his hand and revealed a stab to his gut. Blood was gushing out of it in a steady stream. She wept. Her momentary resolve was broken at the sight of the gore.

"Hush, darling, everything will be all right." She stroked his hair.

"I heard your voice. I was fighting to break free of the madness, but I could not seem to find you." He took another wet strangled breath. "I lost control when I thought he had killed you." He closed his eyes for a moment. "I am glad you are unharmed."

Tears were falling from her eyes and dropping onto his face. He did not try to brush them off his own face, but he reached a bloody hand out to cup her cheek.

"I love you, darling. Thank you, I am sorry our time was so brief."

She held his hand to her face and felt his pulse slow, then stop. He was staring up at the ceiling, eyes blank and unseeing. She sat there for a few more moments, unmoving.

Mr. Thorn touched her shoulder, and she wrenched it away as if his touch burned.

"Do not touch me. I do not want to ever see you again, Mr. Thorn. Do not come back here."

He said not a word but slunk away and out the door. When he was gone, she wept all the harder. It had not been a spell after all. Edward loved her.

Chapter Twenty-nine

The night was silent as Ray marched to the forest edge. He had tried and failed more times than he liked to admit, and tonight was the pinnacle of his greatest shame. Isobel, his great mistake, had broken free of the bonds that had trapped her for nearly two human decades. Now she was free to roam the earth while he remained bound to the gateway. Not for much longer, I am certain. The council might have forgiven me for Catherine, I might have even gotten another chance, but I lost my last bargaining chip. He knew it was weak to look back on his mistakes. A warrior looked ahead for the next challenge and the next battle. He wanted to turn around, to go back to Lady Thornton, and force her to look at him. I killed her husband. She will not ever forgive me. There was nothing left of the guardian inside him any longer; humans do not understand if I let the creature live, he would have killed everyone in the village--I had to do it. Edward Thornton had never been the right choice for guardian. In the golden days, the Thorn King would have interfered and placed another of their line over him. Edward Thornton had been a guardian who not only dismissed the Fae, but convinced his people to do the same. He was no guardian at all. Without an heir apparent, it would be up to the council to appoint a new guardian. Not that it mattered to Ray any longer.

Ray reached the forest edge. The silence was deafening, it was as if the entire forest had witnessed his shame. Even the small folk were quiet, though he could see their glowing yellow eyes watching him from the shrubbery. He hesitated at the opening of the lighted path. It curved and twisted into the forest before disappearing behind a bend.

"I best get on with it, I suppose," he said to himself.

"What about Lady Thornton?" a voice asked. The voice was like a light touch, easily ignored, but it sent shivers up his spine.

Ray flicked his gaze to the left. A petite woman was standing at the edge of the forest. Her auburn hair was a tumble down her back. She had a heart-shaped face and large luminescent yellow eyes. She wore a cloak made of white feathers. She tilted her head to the side as she regarded him.

"Tabitha, my feathery spy." He smiled. After everything that he had gone through that night, he could not summon the energy to send her away. "Lady Thornton is no longer my concern," he said in dismissal. He took a few steps onto the path.

"But you are concerned about her welfare, are you not?" she said in her feather-soft voice.

He looked over his shoulder at her. She could not be any taller than his chest. She was the size of a child with the shape of a woman. Her white gown clung to her curves, accentuating the swell of petite breasts and small hips. These were all distractions from the topic at hand; the bald truth was: he was concerned about Lady Thornton's welfare. He thought his feelings were the spell Isobel had placed on him. Inexplicably he had grown to care for Lady Thornton during their brief time together. Isobel wanted Catherine, and he knew from experience that when she wanted something, she would not give up. Under different circumstances, he would not have voiced his concerns. But if he could not remain to guard Catherine, someone must.

"I am, and I can no longer protect her. I must face the council." He imagined Lady Thornton's round, pale face, and large innocent eyes. Maybe it was some strange form of kinship he felt for her, or maybe it was because he had hung all his hopes on her. Whatever the reason, he did not like the idea of her falling into Isobel's clutches.

Tabitha bobbed her head; it was an owl-like gesture. He could tell she did not often take human form. "I will watch over her. She will need someone she can trust at her side."

He turned around so he could face her fully. "Why would you do that?"

She lifted a delicate shoulder. "Because I am like her, a part of the Otherworld, but separate."

He wanted to ask her more, but time was running short. The council may make his punishment more severe if he put it off any longer. He bowed to Tabitha before turning back to the road. He heard the flutter of wings and the screech of an owl, but he did not turn around. The human world was behind him. Lady Thornton would find a way to manage. He had his future to worry about now.

The audience hall was deep in the forest, farther even than the king's grove. It was a dark and secret place used only by the Thorn Court, the higher beings. The lesser creatures of the Thorn Kingdom were subject to their own individual rule. The council hardly ever convened since the king had gone to slumber and then only in special cases, Ray being the special case in recent years. He passed through the forest past Fae dwellings; some were built into large trees as his was. He spotted red doors set into large oak trees, sconces just above the doors flickered in the night; he walked past illuminated windows, and the shadows within turned to watch his progress. Others doors were hidden in tangled vines woven together to make walls and ceilings. Doors cracked open with thorny hands reaching around from the darkness within. Bright green eyes watched him go like dozens of gems. Some of the Fae lived in the tops of trees. They parted branches to peer down at him. None would move to greet him. He was marked for death, and they would not tempt the council's ire to give him a kind word.

He heard the whispers, nonetheless. The small folk had crawled out from their hidey holes to taunt him.

"Turn back, coward."

"It is not too late to run."

"How dare you show yourself before the council empty-handed."

He did not lift a hand to refute them. It would be easy to be a coward and turn away. As it was, he felt as if every step took all his concentration. If he ran, he would become an outlaw, a rogue leeching off whatever magic he could find. He would be cut off from the life-giving river that flowed through the forest and gave them all life.

He had reached the entryway to the audience hall. The wind caressed his skin. He tilted his head back. An archway of interlocking branches blocked out the moon and stars. To either side of him were rows of trees. The trees whispered to him, but they did not mock.

"We have witnessed your sacrifice to the Thorn Kingdom. The trees live long, and they do not forget," a voice like a brush of wind through the leaves said.

Ray bowed his head, humbled that the tree spirits would wake from their long slumber to give him encouragement. When the Fae died, they returned to the earth. Their spirits joined the great river that nourished the trees. The voice that spoke was that of his ancestors. In the old days, the trees communed with Those Who Dwell in the Thorns, but they had been withdrawn from the Fae for a long time. The trees kept their secrets as they slept, just like the king.

"Thank you," he said, touching the trunk of a nearby tree. The wind blew through his hair and brushed the vine-like strands against his cheek. It was a goodbye, he suspected.

The trees' encouragement gave him the strength to continue on.

The tunnel made by the trees ended at a long, wide hall. Here the trees were closer together. It was impossible to see where one tree started and the other ended, their trunks had grown together and their branches intertwined, creating a latticework that rose to the sky in an arched canopy. Moonlight broke through the branches at the top, and shafts of light fell onto the ground. When humans had walked in the Otherworld, they had tried to replicate the design in their stone structures that they called churches, but it never held the same majesty as the living breathing sanctuary held. At the far end of the hall was a throne made of thorns. Intertwined branches scattered with thorns formed the throne. The thorns themselves were a hand-span long. They were sharp and deadly, representing the power of the Thorn Kingdom. Now the throne lay empty as their king was trapped in his endless slumber. Ray walked up to the throne and knelt down before it. Flanking the throne were three men to the left and three women to the right. They all stared down at him with grim expressions.

This place once held magic and music and laughter. If he listened closely, he could hear the laughter drifting on the wind, the sound of the music, and the endless revelry. Not any longer. When the king fell asleep, so did the Thorn Kingdom. They were rotting from the inside. The Fae were never meant to live without music, dancing, or light. They indulged in the dance once a month now and no more. Even the dance had lost some of its magic. The wind blew through the hall, bleak and cold.

"Raynall, you have been summoned by the council to report on your quest to find the heir to the Thorns. I can see that you have come alone. Does this mean you have failed?" said the man who stood closest to the throne.

Ray kept his eyes glued to the floor though the voice which spoke was familiar and despised.

"No, she is here, she's just invisible." He glanced up at the man standing before him. He had long corded hair, the front locks tied back. On his brow he wore a circlet with a green stone, marking him as a member of the council. He wore a long robe in a similar green color. He glared down at Ray, his jaws clenched.

"Now is not the time for jokes," a woman said, stepping forward. She had hair that was long and golden curls. She had ivy tied up in her hair, making a crown on top of her head. Her face was pale and smooth as alabaster. On her head, tangled with the crown of ivy, she also wore a circlet with a yellow gem, which sparkled like her unusual golden eyes.

Ray gave her a lopsided grin. "Auraleigh, you are cruel. How long has it been since we danced naked together with nothing but the stars to light our way?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Silence." The first man with the green jewel slashed his hand and glowered at Ray.

The wind picked up, and the trees around the clearing swayed in the sudden breeze. They seemed to groan and moan. Ray stood up. I will not face them as a cowering subject. Nothing I do will change their minds. He kept his posture relaxed but watchful. It would not do to seem afraid, they could sense fear, and they used it to their advantage whenever possible.

"Father," Ray addressed the man with the green jewel, "I have come before the council to report that Lady Thornton is not the heir to the Thorns. Though she joined the forest dance, she did not manage to wake the king."

"I knew you would fail," said a man with bright red hair. He wore a circlet around his neck, with a large ruby at the hollow of his throat.

"Cinaed, you're as pleasant as ever," Ray replied.

Cinaed bared sharp pointed teeth at Ray but was held back by the man next to him. The third male councilor had golden skin and long dark hair. He kept it loose to frame his long face. On his head he wore a crown made of a bird's nest. On a chain around his neck was a white stone.

"Why did you come here empty-handed? You could have fled," he said to Ray while keeping a restraining hand on Cinaed.

Ray's eyes flickered in his direction. While his father was immovable and Cinaed was too impulsive, Faron was calculated and cunning. Of all the council, he feared Faron most of all.

"I remain loyal to the Thorn King, that is why," Ray replied. He met Faron's gaze, and they assessed one another.

Faron tilted his head, let go of Cinaed, and stepped back next to his fellow councilors.

"When you stood before the council last, we informed you that there would be no more leniency," said the woman beside Auraleigh. She had nut brown skin and long silky black hair. She had a generous bust and waist. Her clothing was a royal purple that clung to her skin, showing all her curves. Her gem was purple as well, and it was in a choker at her neck.

Diare was the type many men would want to take to their bed but regret it afterwards. She had full lips that were painted red and long lashes that framed purple eyes. Ray smiled at her--he knew the vicious streak that hid behind her voluptuous form. He also knew she loved flattery.

"Diare," he purred her name. "You know me well enough to know I never fear the future. I am sure you will administer a just punishment."

The third woman laughed; it was a burbling sound. She turned gray eyes to him. "You think to use your charms on us, Thorn son?" Liadan was slippery. Her hair was a muted gray, and her skin was pale, with dark black eyes that had no bottom. Her gown was set with river stones, which also circled her neckline. On her head she wore a circlet with a blue stone.

"You've caught me. Now that you've all had your chance to speak, may we move these proceedings along? I am a busy man."

It was traditional for all the council to speak before meting out any judgment. It was a tiresome process that if Ray had any say in, he would have had done away with a century ago. If the Thorn Court loved any one thing, it was ceremony.

"You should humble yourself before us, son," his father said in a deadly calm voice.

"I suppose there are many things I should do," Ray replied.

"Not for much longer," his father said. It appeared he had been chosen as representative for this hearing. How do I get so lucky? Ray wondered.

"You were exiled as gatekeeper because you led the guardian's daughter into the forest dance. You begged a second chance, so you were tasked with finding the heir to the Thorns. You failed at that task."

The words were flung to wound. By now Ray was beyond caring. He was never meant to succeed, he could see that now. They had only given him that chance because his father was on the council. He would not get any third chances. His father was staring down at him, a hard glint in his dark eyes. If there was ever a man not inclined to smiling, it was his father, Carrick. He could not stand the disgrace Ray had brought upon their clan. It was time to face the music.

"We have discussed your punishment, and it has been decided you will walk through the caves of trials. If the gods see fit, you will return to your place at court. If not..."

Ray could not even muster a sarcastic response. No one survived the caves. It was a death sentence.

"When am I to face the trial?"

"We will summon you when the time comes, until then you will be assigned to guard the new guardian of the forest."

This was a shock. He thought for certain they would punish him straight away. From the tight white lines around his father's mouth, he knew this was not his father's doing.

"The new guardian? The old one has only just died. You work rather quickly."

Carrick ignored his jibe. "Catherine Thornton is the new guardian. She was not the king's daughter, but she is of the blood of the guardians. We have chosen her to guard the gateway. In light of her husband's failure, we believe someone of stronger Fae blood will do a better job."

Ray laughed. He could not help it. He had failed to find the heir, but at least he had found a proper guardian. And for now they did not seem to be aware of Isobel's escape. If he were lucky, he could keep that a secret or else his punishment might be escalated.

"Does this amuse you?" Faron asked. There was a glimmer in his eye, and Ray got the distinct impression Faron had something to do with his short reprieve.

He's the most dangerous of all. If I live, that may be a problem. Out loud he said, "More than you know, Faron." And he laughed again.

Chapter Thirty

"My lady, you've hardly eaten a thing," Mrs. Morgan admonished. Catherine looked over her shoulder at the housekeeper as she picked up Catherine's untouched breakfast dishes. She had taken her meal in her room. She could not face the halls where Edward had died. The enormity of this empty home was suffocating her. She would have stayed in her room forever if the funeral were not today.

"I am not very hungry," Catherine said. Her eyes were downcast. Mrs. Morgan had changed since Edward died though she could not pinpoint why. For that matter, all the servants' attitudes had changed. Miss White had been positively chatty when she came to clean out the fireplace of ash that morning, and Miss Brown had been very attentive without the slightest hint of malcontent. Since Miss Larson disappeared, Miss Brown had taken over as her lady's maid, and she was doing up the last of Catherine's buttons as Mrs. Morgan had come to clear away her dishes herself--that was parlor maid work. The housekeeper had more important things to do. What is her motive? Is she trying to secure her place in the household after she threatened me? Catherine did not have the heart to dismiss her. She wanted nothing to do with Thornwood or its staff. She had written to her mother and awaited only a reply before she would head back to London and home.

"You should eat more, my lady. I would hate to see your health decline. Lord Thornton would have wanted you to stay in good spirits," Mrs. Morgan added.

Catherine nodded in response. It seemed none but she remembered anything about the night of the ball. Catherine alone was burdened to remember every gruesome detail of that night. She had been down to the foyer the next day, and where there had been gashed wood panels, fresh polished wood gleamed. The broken vases and spoiled artwork had been replaced as if there had never been a battle between two monsters just beside it.

"Miss Brown, I will finish attending her ladyship," Mrs. Morgan said.

Miss Brown ducked her head and slipped out of the room, leaving Catherine and the housekeeper alone. Catherine turned and held her breath. She was waiting for the penny to drop. She had been expecting this for days. Let's get this over with.

Mrs. Morgan inhaled and exhaled heavily. "This is difficult for me to say." Mrs. Morgan fixed Catherine with her gaze. "My family has served the guardians of the Thorns for generations. When you arrived, something about you felt... off. His lordship was not himself when he returned, and I knew you had bewitched him. I tried to send you away, and I would expel you from this house had they not chosen you as the next guardian..."

Catherine's stomach dropped. "I beg your pardon?" Catherine asked. She had assumed the staff was ignorant to the Thorn Dwellers and their peculiar customs.

Mrs. Morgan pressed her lips into a line. "Do not pretend. I know you have been courted by Those Who Dwell in the Thorns. I saw one of them bring you to your room late at night. I do not know what pact you made with them, but I will see it undone. My grandmother was a hedge witch, a powerful one, and she taught me enough. I will break your hold on this place. One way or another."

Catherine's head was swimming. "I am not the guardian. That cannot be possible." She clutched onto the vanity for balance.

"Believe me I am as baffled as you. I have scoured the family records. By all accounts, the next in line should be Lord Thornton's cousin Henry Thornton. I can only assume because he is in India he is beyond their reach."

Catherine nodded her head. "I want nothing to do with this place. I plan to leave as soon as matters are settled here."

Mrs. Morgan's frown deepened, but she said no more on the subject. However, her disapproval was written in every line of her body. "Is there anything else, my lady?"

"No, thank you," Catherine said and turned away to hide her shaking hands. They cannot possibly keep me here. I refuse.

Mrs. Morgan bowed at the waist and left Catherine alone. The door slammed shut, and Catherine sank down onto the edge of her bed. Her hands were shaking as she balled them into fists on her lap. A few errant tears rolled down her cheeks; she wiped them away with the back of her hand. She took a few moments to compose herself. When she felt she could manage to face her guests, she went to the mirror and examined her puffy red eyes and her rosy cheeks. At last I have some color, she thought sardonically.

She exited her room for the first time in days and headed down the stairs. The carriage had been brought around, and she climbed inside to ride to the church where the funeral service would be held. Being inside the carriage brought back terrifying memories of that night Edward was attacked. She was able to manage them with an effort, but it left her wondering. If I had remembered, could I have saved Edward from his fate? It was thoughts like these that had troubled her since his death.

Reverend Alder was waiting outside the chapel when she arrived. She spotted him through the curtains on the carriage door. Her coachman jumped down to help her out. The Reverend was a middle-aged man who had been in charge of this parish Edward's entire life, from christening to consecration. He had dark hair winged-tipped with silver and a clean-shaven face. A thin man with long arms he opened in welcome to Catherine as she walked up the pathway leading to the chapel.

"Lady Thornton, how are you faring?" he said as she approached him.

"Well enough," she said with a faint smile. She did not want to burden him with her grief.

He gave her a sympathetic smile full of pity. Catherine turned and faced her guests, who had begun trickling in. The villagers came out en masse to pay their last respects to Edward. The neighbors stopped and spoke with Catherine, giving a kind word or offering assistance should it be wanted. She gave them all a gracious uncommitted response. The ceremony was simple, and Catherine managed to disguise her tears behind her handkerchief. She sat in the same row as Lydia, her husband, Patrick, and their two young sons. The boys did well not to fidget, but Lydia wept openly at the loss of her brother. Edward's youngest sister, Edith, was away on holiday in France and could not return in time for the funeral. Catherine had received a thoughtful letter of condolence from her sister-in-law. Edward's cousin and heir, Henry, was also absent--he was away on business in India.

The ceremony ended, and the wake was to be held at the manor. Catherine rode back alone in the carriage and wept, not caring if anyone saw her red tearstained face when they returned. When she arrived at the manor, she felt empty, like a doll which could be placed upon a chair. The guests tried to talk to her, but she did not remember any of her conversations. Lydia took over as hostess, and Catherine was able to melt into her grief. At some point a man in a smart suit approached Catherine. He leaned over to speak with her.

"Lady Thornton, my name is Mr. Clark; I am your late husband's attorney."

She looked up at him. He was a squat short man with red hair that was liberally shot with gray. He had a pair of spectacles resting on the edge of his nose as he regarded Catherine.

"Mr. Clark, a pleasure," she said, trying to summon the energy for polite conversation.

"I am sorry we must meet under such circumstances. I hoped we might speak about your husband's estate."

"I do not want any of it," she told him quite bluntly.

He scrunched his face for a moment. He was not prepared for her announcement. "May we speak in private?" he asked to avoid addressing her lack of decorum.

She stood up and led him out into the hall. The nearest room where they could speak privately was Edward's study. She hesitated, but Mr. Clark took the reins and went there directly. She followed after him. They went inside, and Catherine stood in the center of the room, uncertain of what to do. There were signs of Edward all over. His favorite jacket was slung carelessly across a chair in the corner, a dog-eared book sat on the desk, and a portrait of him hung above the mantel. She looked away from his likeness and closed her eyes against the tears.

Mr. Clark folded his hands in front of himself and smiled at Catherine. "I would rather not have rushed these proceedings, but I felt, given the state of things, it was necessary."

She nodded her head, signaling for him to continue.

"Your husband had a will, as I am sure you are aware. We had recently finished drafting it, coincidentally. He left you a considerable amount, five thousand pounds a year, for the remainder of your life."

Catherine took in a sharp breath. This was much too generous; they had been married less than a month and had not known each other much more than that.

"I cannot accept that," she replied.

Mr. Clark looked as if he had been struck. He staggered back a step. "Lady Thornton, I know you are grieving, but this will be enough to let you live very comfortably for the remainder of your life. If you choose to marry again someday, this allowance will continue..."

"I do not want it. I did not marry Edward for his wealth."

"No one has said that. Your husband wanted you to be taken care of. When he made these plans, I am certain he did it thinking you would have had years together."

The tears were spilling down her cheeks. It was too much; even in death Edward had thought of everything.

"Excuse me, Lady Thornton, I have been inconsiderate." He handed her his handkerchief.

She took it and dabbed at her cheek. "Please, continue."

"There was one other stipulation in Edward's will. The manor and his fortune have been entailed, and his cousin Henry shall inherit. He is to be the next Lord Thornton since Edward had no male heirs. The problem is Mr. Thornton has been missing some six months. It will take time to find him, if he does live, and if not, then..."

"Who will the house fall to?"

"It would be the next male heir, Lord Thornton's nephew, Johnathan Oakheart." Lydia's oldest son was no more than five years old.

"But he's a child. What will happen... to the estate." She intended to say to the forest but corrected herself at the last moment. She could not imagine that small boy could manage to be the guardian of the Thorns, not for many years. Mrs. Morgan said I was the chosen guardian, but that cannot be possible. I thought it must be a relative of the Thorntons. Then again, who is to say the Thorn Dwellers could not change when they see fit.

"Mr. Wolfe will manage the estate, and I will do my part with the finances. I do not tell you these things to scare you, Lady Thornton. There is nothing for you to worry about. Lord Thornton prepared everything so you would not need to worry. I wanted to inform you so you may know that you may stay at Thornwood Abbey as long as you like. Lord Thornton arranged everything. I only wanted to tell you so I could put your mind at ease."

Catherine nodded stiffly. "Thank you, Mr. Clark. You have put my mind at ease." The truth was she doubted every word out of Mr. Clark's mouth. Not because she thought him insincere, but this entire scenario stank of Fae intervention. It was all too tidy.

When her guests left, Catherine dressed in her coat and went out into the garden. Dusk was falling by then, and an orange and pinkish light fell over the hedges and the manicured lawn. She headed for the path that bordered the garden and looked upon the wild woods beyond. She reached the edge where Isobel had attempted to force Catherine to open the gateway to the world of the Fae. Where she had nearly took another's life to save her own. Most of that night had faded into a foggy haze, but that moment stood out clearly in her mind. When Mr. Thorn had left, she thought she would never see him again, and now she did not know how to summon him to her. Should she enter the forest and try to find his dwelling? If she called out to him, would he appear at her side as he had done so many times?

The branches nearby rustled, and Catherine startled as Tabitha flew past her and landed on a branch nearby. She placed a hand over her rapidly beating heart.

"Tabitha! You startled me!" Catherine exclaimed.

The owl did not reply other than to hoot softly, tilt its head, and blink its large yellow eyes at her.

Maybe this is not a talking owl. I could have mistaken her for a different owl. "I was a fool to come here, wasn't I?" she asked the owl.

"You are many things, Lady Thornton, but a fool is not one of them," Mr. Thorn said, as of yet unseen.

Catherine spun in place and saw Mr. Thorn leaning against the tree in which the owl sat. He gave her a lazy smile that she was itching to slap off his face. We are all just a game to him. Our lives mean nothing.

"I have come to ask you to remove this spell from the manor. I have no desire to be your guardian."

His smile faded. "I would remove it if I could, but that is beyond my ability."

She took a deep breath. It was the only way to keep her temper in check. "Then I would speak with whoever can break this spell."

He pushed off the tree and walked over to her. She wanted to turn and walk away. When she looked at him, she saw Edward's blood on his hands. She saw the flaming sword he used to end her husband's life.

"Believe me, if I had the power, I would be the first to break you from this tangled web, but I cannot. As it is, this may be the last time we meet."

Relief swept through her, Mr. Thorn had been nothing but trouble for her. "If you will not help me, then I will find someone who will." She turned to walk away, but he grabbed her wrist and forced her to face him.

"You cannot run away forever. It will not bring him back."

"I know that, Mr. Thorn," she snapped and pulled her arm free. "But there is no rule that says I must spend time in the company of my husband's murderer." She regarded the ground. She did not have the strength to meet his gaze. She expected him to deny it or to make some excuse.

"I cannot refute you, but know this, I did not ever intend to hurt you, Catherine."

Tears stung the back of her lashes, but she held them back. She had done enough weeping for a lifetime. She looked up, but he was gone, which was for the best. In his place stood a petite woman with long dark hair, round hips and bust. The owl was gone as well.

"Who are you?" Catherine asked.

She gave a curtsy. "You know me as Tabitha the owl, but you may call me Miss Olson, I am your new lady's maid."

Catherine stared at the tiny woman for a moment, not sure how to respond. "I have no need of a lady's maid. I do not plan to stay here."

Miss Olson smiled. "You are in need of protection. Isobel is not finished with you, and if you are alone, you will be vulnerable."

She regarded her for a moment. "Why would you be willing to risk yourself for me?"

Miss Olson tilted her head to the side. "I think you can help me regain what I lost," she said enigmatically.

She considered arguing, but from the firm set of Miss Olson's jaw, she knew there was no use trying. If she had learned one lesson, it was there was no use arguing with the Fae; they always got what they wanted. "I suppose I can bring you round and make introductions to the housekeeper, Mrs. Morgan."

"No need to trouble yourself. I am sure you will find Mrs. Morgan has already found a new lady's maid for you." She winked.

Catherine shook her head. "I am sure I will."

Epilogue

She had been waiting for this visitor. Indeed, she had delayed her departure in anticipation. Isobel saw the carriage roll up outside her window. The curtains had been taken down, and the windows cleaned. She had a clear view from the parlor. She had been admiring her garden, memorizing the white fence and the rows of vegetables and flowers. She had tended them as a mother does her children, with a loving hand, for many years. She had lived in her gilded prison for too long. If she was being honest with herself, there were moments she had enjoyed the domestic tranquility that Thornwood had to offer, but she equally chafed at it. She was meant for more, so much more. Now I am free at last!

A young man with a flat face and dull-witted eyes jumped down from the coachman's seat. He scurried to open the carriage door. His buttons did not line up correctly and the hem of his shirt hung down below his coat. The paint on the exterior of the carriage was faded and chipped. Though she could not hear it, Isobel imagined the door to the carriage swung open with a creak.

The inside was dark like an open mouth yawning. The coachman reached into the dark interior of the carriage, and a white gloved hand took the large calloused one. Mrs. Ashton emerged and looked down at the garden with a crinkled nose as if she had smelled something foul. She leaned on the coachman as she took a step down onto the cobblestones just outside the garden gate. The coachman rushed to open the gate for Mrs. Ashton. Isobel watched her careful approach as she picked her way through the garden and up to the front door. She disappeared from view as she reached the door.

Mrs. Ashton rapped upon it, and Isobel waited. Henrietta had been sent ahead to Isobel's next destination. Only Isobel and her most faithful servant remained at the cottage, and her pet was out hunting at the moment. She sat in her chair, hands folded in her lap. She was clever to discover me. She will be much more useful than her daughter. Isobel could see the coachman watching his employer from beside the carriage. He was wringing his hands and glancing furtively from side to side. He can sense what she cannot. That child has more Fae blood than Mrs. Ashton, though she thinks of herself as a child of the Thorns. A smile curled Isobel's lips as Mrs. Ashton knocked on the door with more urgency.

Isobel rose gracefully and exited the parlor. Her footsteps did not make a sound; she moved about the empty house as a ghost does. She strode across the empty foyer. The hardwood floor looked barren without her possessions. There were signs of habitation all about the room, a faded silhouette of a table against the wall, a few scuffs on the ground, and the lingering scent of baked goods. It was difficult to leave behind, she had only ever known Thornwood, but the next step in her plan required it. I will return soon.

Isobel opened the door and found Mrs. Ashton standing in the doorway, her hand raised to knock. Mrs. Ashton dropped her hand and pretended to straighten her coat instead.

"Mrs. Ashton, what a surprise," Isobel lied.

"Mrs. Rosewood, I have come to speak with you." There was a determined set to her expression that delighted Isobel. She was hard-pressed to hide her mirth, and the corners of her lips curled up.

Isobel raised an eyebrow in question to disguise her amusement. Mrs. Ashton's thin lips were pressed together to where they nearly disappeared against the white of her face.

"I am afraid I am in no position to entertain at the moment." She swept her arm back to show the empty room, vacated of furniture and curtains.

"This is not a social call, Mathilde." She narrowed her eyes at Isobel.

Isobel laughed darkly; the rich husky sound echoed off the barren walls. Mrs. Ashton shifted from foot to foot. Not the greeting you were expecting, is it?

"Please, come in." Isobel stepped aside, letting Mrs. Ashton into her home.

Mrs. Ashton looked over towards the coachman before lifting her chin and stomping into the empty foyer. Her shoes clattered on the hardwood. She marched to the center of the room and spun around to face Isobel.

"I presume you are here about your daughter?" Isobel asked as she closed the door behind her and locked it. The bolt caught with a click that reverberated across the chamber and seemed to strike Mrs. Ashton, as she flinched. Mrs. Ashton's eyes flickered to the locked door and then up to Isobel's face.

"Mary has been missing since the ball, but I am sure you are aware of that," Mrs. Ashton said without preamble.

Isobel leaned back against the door, smiling. "I do recall seeing her that night, dancing with Lord Thornton. He shared two dances with her in a row, if I recall. Quite the scandal in the making, perhaps she has gone to ground to save some shred of her reputation." She smirked. I buried her in a shallow grave at the forest edge. Not that I will ever tell you that.

"Tell me the truth; is she... did the Thorn Dwellers take her?" There was no real hint of despair in her demeanor, more a cool indifference as if they were speaking about the weather rather than the untimely end of her only daughter. This is a woman who cares little for others. I can use that.

"She is gone. Along with your last hope of clawing your way out of the sinkhole you find yourself in."

At this Mrs. Ashton did blanch. "I knew it. I should expose you to the village--"

"To what end? I have more power than you. I could turn you into a harmless white rabbit if you even considered turning against me."

"I have some power. Do not test me, witch." Mrs. Ashton took a step forward and jabbed a finger at Isobel.

Isobel laughed. "Do not threaten me with your hearth magic; it will get you nowhere. You were clever enough to see through my glamour, and you thought you could blackmail me to do your bidding. However, that is not how this game is played."

Isobel pushed away from the door and strode over to Mrs. Ashton; she circled her. She took her time, and with her inner eye she probed Mrs. Ashton. She was ambitious and cunning to a fault. She was so confident in her own ability and her own intelligence that it often blinded her to her mistakes. She reeks of pride. That can be broken--it would make her a valuable tool. I need eyes in Thornwood while I am away. Mrs. Ashton pivoted, following Isobel's movements.

"Please enlighten me," Mrs. Ashton replied.

"I had plans for your daughter, but she failed. You, however, have much more power; I can see that. It is flagging, but I can remedy that for a price."

Mrs. Ashton licked her lips. "What sort of price?"

Isobel stopped her pacing and stood in front of Mrs. Ashton. She reached out and caressed Mrs. Ashton's cheek. Mrs. Ashton shivered and closed her eyes. She feared Isobel, but she desired her power. She would cut out Isobel's heart with her own two hands if she thought it would gain her an advantage. Isobel dropped her hand to her side and said, "I want you to watch Catherine Thornton and report back to me all that you see."

Mrs. Ashton's eyes flew open. "Why? She is nothing but an insignificant ladder climber."

She did not acknowledge her ignorant commentary. She was a fool, too human to see the greater picture. She, like her daughter, desired human things, money, influence, and worldly possessions. They had never witnessed real power. They had not seen the Thorn Kingdom in full bloom. They had not tasted the ambrosia, danced beneath the stars with bare feet and hair loose, made love beneath the canopy of the trees. Isobel sighed. Each time she had tried to reach for the memories and hold onto them, they crumbled to ash in her hands. Mrs. Ashton did not have even an ounce of Catherine's potential power. And therefore she could never understand what power and beauty waited just beyond the village. "It does not matter what I want her for. Do this for me, and I will restore your magic and more."

Mrs. Ashton rubbed her hands together, feigning contemplation. There was only one choice to be made. She was desperate.

"I will do this, but not without payment up front."

Isobel smiled as she reached into a pocket on her gown. She removed a vial with red liquid. She tossed it in the air, and Mrs. Ashton fumbled to catch it. When she did, she held it in her hand as if it were the most precious of gems. "Consider it a present. It will not return all of your powers, but it will strengthen what you have lost."

Mrs. Ashton pulled out the cork and drank the contents in one draught. Isobel shook her head. Humans were such fools. She saw Mrs. Ashton out after that. When the door was closed, she walked through the house before she slid out the back door to the garden, which backed up to the forest. Something shifted in the undergrowth.

"Come, my pet." She beckoned to the creature in the woods.

The bushes rustled, and then a creature more wolf than man ambled out. He had the head of a wolf with long arms that dragged in front of him. He stood up on haunches covered in thick coarse fur. She reached out to stroke his muzzle. He leaned into her touch. His mouth was streaked with blood from his meal.

"It's time to go, Edward. There is much to do before we return for your wife."

***

From the Author:

Tangled in Thorns, the sequel to Heart of Thorns is not yet available. If you enjoyed this book please leave a review. By reviewing you help other readers decide to pick up my book, make my book more visible on e-book retailers sites, and let me know you want more from the Thornwood Series! Your review doesn't have to more than a sentence long. Even a 'I love it' makes a world of difference.

Thanks for reading,

Nicolette Andrews

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About the Author

Nicolette is a native San Diegan with a passion for the world of make believe. From a young age, Nicolette was telling stories whether it be writing plays for her friends to act out or making a series of children's books that her mother still likes drag out to embarrass her with in front of company. She still lives in her imagination but in reality she resides in San Diego with her husband, children, a couple cats, and an old dog. She loves reading, attempting arts and crafts, and cooking. Connect with her at her her website, on Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest!