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“Do you believe me now?” Thomas whispers.
I press a hand to my mouth. I want to hold in the stillwaters. I want to hold in my voice. I want to hold in everything, but tears come out anyway. “But…why didn’t you tell me?”
Outside, the car honks. He throws a look over his shoulder.
“I should have,” he says quickly. I never noticed before, but the way his hair curls really isn’t like a wild bear at all, but like it is made for a crown to rest upon it. “But it was a secret. I’m not supposed to live in this world. I didn’t have a choice, though, you see? I’m like Foxfire. Wounded. But for me, what’s broken is on the inside. I’ve been running from the Black Horse too, all this time. You’ve been protecting us both.”
My mouth drops open.
He reaches out and touches my cheek. Outside, the car honks again, and I remember that his father has died. The funeral in London.
Did his father know who he truly was?
“I must go.” He closes the box and stands. “Thank you, Emmaline. And…ride true.”
He takes the treasure from his world with him. As he slips down the hall, the last thing I see is the royal insignia carved on the front of the box, flashing in the lamplight.
Sister Constance presses a hand to her chest. She is fighting tears.
“Come along, child.” She has to clear her throat. “Time for bed. Into Anna’s room. Sister Mary Grace has a fire going.”
A fire? But why do I need a fire? I am ablaze inside. There is no way the snow and the cold can reach me now. And then I realize that maybe Papa and Mama and Marjorie aren’t gone at all—maybe they’re just in the world beyond the mirror, with Anna and the Horse Lord’s father, stretching their wings, hooves prancing in the sun.
Sister Constance rests one hand on my shoulder, and then presses it against my forehead.
I am ablaze.
HOW STRANGE TO BE in Anna’s room without Anna. The blanket isn’t as warm. There is no smell of lavender anymore.
After Sister Constance pours medicine down my throat, she feels my forehead, and sighs. Her eyes go to Christ on the crucifix hanging above the bed. She makes the sign of the cross. Then her eyes go to the floating gods on the ceiling, and I can’t believe it—she whispers a prayer to them, too.
“Ring this.” She presses a bell into my hand. “If you need me. Dr. Turner will be here first thing in the morning.”
As soon as she is gone, I roll over toward Anna’s desk with the secret drawer. Even broken, maybe one of the colored pencils’ tips is still good, and I can draw the Horse Lord’s winged horse-and-rider insignia before I forget what it looks like. My fingers fumble to pull the latch, and the secret drawer pops open. There is the box of pencils, just where I put them, broken bits rattling. And the paper. And…
My hand stills.
No.
No, this can’t be right.
Beneath the papers, right where I hid it, Popeye looks back at me. Benny’s comic book. My heart drums in my chest, threatening to stir the stillwaters. But Thomas promised. I saw his shadow outside with Bog….
Then I see that Anna’s naturalist book with the dog-eared pages is gone, and I understand: Thomas kept his promise—but he took the wrong book.
Outside, the wind groans. Small cracks in the windowsill let in slips of cold that ruffle the heavy blanket. The corner is still pinned up. Beyond the windows, there is a blustering wall of snow. And then something flickers in the bright moonlight, and I gasp.
A black shadow.
I throw off the covers and scramble to the other window, but the car is gone. Thomas is gone. I start for the door but my legs won’t hold me up. I sink to the sooty old rug, coughing at the dust.
Volkrig is out there, and it’s a full moon, and he can see everything, he can see Foxfire!
I twist toward the bell—I’ll ring for Sister Constance—but no, she will only put me back in bed. I could crawl down the hall—the three little mice’s room is next door to Anna’s—but I have told them before about the winged
horses. They don’t believe me.
I clutch the comic book tightly, tightly, as tight as my lungs feel now, and then I twist toward the door.
