“Are you saying…?” Catherine could not finish the thought. Was Mr. Thorn that general? Could his limited powers be because he killed that woman?
“You know his magic has been taken, but do you know why?”
Catherine shook her head. He does not tell me anything but what he sees fit. Is he hiding this terrible past? She did not want to believe her thoughts. He saved me from the creature; he saved Edward and me. What if he and the creature are tied together? Could it be possible? Catherine fretted. She wanted to trust Mr. Thorn, yet now she could not think of a viable reason to believe him. She fanned herself with her hand, the air seemed too thick to breathe, and a line of sweat rolled down her neck.
“Strange, I would think he would tell you—unless. No, never mind, I shouldn’t say anything.” Lady Bastien’s words were like a taunt, demanding answers. Why had she never considered these things before?
“Please, you must tell me.” Catherine gripped the arm of her chair, her nails digging into the thick damask.
“It’s just, they’ve never named the general in the fables, but I wonder if it could be Mr. Thorn. If he convinced the others that you were the king’s daughter and were to marry you, then he would have a rightful claim to the throne and a way to regain his power.”
The betrayal of it pierced her to the heart. Had he lied about the love spell? Had that all been a ruse to ruin her marriage? What if he never meant to protect her and instead meant to use her for his own scheming? She refused to believe it; Mr. Thorn was her ally. He could not be related to these monsters and strange occurrences.
“How can you be sure?” Catherine asked.
She smiled. “Because I am like you. I can make things grow without effort. I see creatures beyond imagining. I grew up near the forest, and during my father’s time, we had a closer relationship with it, but it has not been so in recent years. My family is meant to be stewards of the forest, but I fear Edward does not have the gift; he does not believe.”
Catherine’s mind was reeling. All her life she had believed she was mad, that these things she could do were not real. To not only have them proven but to meet someone like herself, it was exhilarating.
The servant walked in with a tray of tea and sweets. He set it down on the table beside them. The china clattered on the plate as the servant’s hands shook. Tea sloshed over the edge of the porcelain cups, but Lady Bastien did not seem to notice. She continued to smile benignly.
“Have a drink, dear,” Lady Bastien said as a cup and saucer were handed to her.
Catherine took it and was about to bring it to her lips when she stopped. “I have so many questions for you. I do not know where to begin.”
She shook her head. “There will be plenty of time. Enjoy your tea, and then we will talk further.”
Catherine sipped the tea, and a radiating heat seemed to course through her. It amplified as it slid down her throat. Her curiosity seemed to fade, and she wondered more on Mr. Thorn, and her uncertainty slipped away. Lady Bastien’s words swirled around in her mind like the amber brew in the cup. Mr. Thorn used me, and if I do not stop him, then he will continue to terrorize these people unchecked.
“This is quite delicious,” Catherine said as she set the cup down, empty. Her hands shook, and the china tinkled as it struck the saucer. She set the cup and saucer aside.
“Thank you. It’s my own special brew.” Lady Bastien smiled.
“I was thinking, perhaps something should be done to stop Mr. Thorn.” The suggestion popped into her head and then spilled from her lips so quickly, Catherine was surprised by her own words.
“Perhaps, but how would you do such a thing?” Lady Bastien replied with a small smile.
Catherine paused in thought. Mr. Thorn did not tarry far from the border, he was often there, and it would be a simple matter to draw him out. He always seemed to be around when she went near the forest. Probably trying to stop me from finding out the truth, Catherine thought bitterly.
“I shall go to the forest and confront him,” Catherine said with an uncharacteristic authority. “I can control the monster. Perhaps I can use it to attack him.”
“Good. Then I want you to take this.” Lady Bastien slid a box across the coffee table. “Take it across the border between the worlds; search out an oak tree with a cleft in it. Insert the box there. It will weaken what power he has left and leave him helpless.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s it.” She smiled, and Catherine smiled back. However, she felt a stinging pain in her breast, which she ignored, surely it was nothing.
Mist hung heavily along the lawn. Dawn had broken hours ago, but nothing seemed able to break the mist. Edward paced back and forth. Mr. Thorn was two hours late. He had hoped to teach the insolent man a lesson by now. How dare he cavort with his wife like that! Never mind that his station was beneath his and he was most certainly a social ladder climber. He would not be using his wife to do so, however. He would put a stop to this—relationship—the two of them seemed to be engaged in.
Edward’s skin itched as if it had grown too tight over his bones, and a pain pressed on his chest. This all-consuming rage would not leave him. He had not slept for thinking of shooting Mr. Thorn and ending his troubles. He kicked a nearby bucket and growled with temper.
The mist parted as Mr. Thorn strolled into the clearing.
“I am sorry if I am late.” He smirked, and Edward fought the urge to strike him with a fist.
“Normally a man’s duel is done at dawn, but perhaps since I am not dealing with a gentleman, it matters not.”
Edward meant it as a slight, but Mr. Thorn laughed derisively. “You have no idea what you are dealing with.”
“How dare you undermine me, your superior.”
Mr. Thorn crossed his arms over his chest and raised a brow. “In what regard are you elevated above me?”
It took all of Edward’s control not to shout. Was this man daft? Perhaps he should call the whole thing off if he were not certain he would be chasing his wife’s heels the moment he turned his back.
Edwards threw him a pistol instead. “Thirty paces and then we face one another like men.”
Mr. Thorn took the pistol by the barrel and held it between thumb and forefinger.
“You do know how to shoot?” Edward asked, relishing his turn to mock the man.
“It’s never come in handy before, but I am sure I will manage.”
Edward bit back a curse and said, “One.” He turned to face the other direction. “Two…three…” He crossed the lawn, his grip so tight on the pistol he feared he would snap the handle in half. “Seventeen…eighteen…nineteen…” he sounded. He wished he could peek over his shoulder and see how Mr. Thorn fared, but he dared not lest he be seen a coward. “Twenty-seven…twenty-eight…twenty-nine…thirty!” He whirled in place, his finger already on the trigger pulled back.
The shot fired, and the air smelled of gunpowder. The fog swallowed up his bullet, leaving no trace. He waited for a return shot or a groan of a shot landed; he heard neither. Had the coward fled? What a fool, he thought when something dropped out of the tree he was standing under.
He fell to the ground, pinned beneath Mr. Thorn’s weight. The man loomed above him, and his features had changed; they were sharper, more feral. Alien.
“I told you, man,” his voice whispered like the wind through the trees. “You do not know with whom you are dealing with. That woman was chosen for you by us, and we can take her away from you at any time.”
Edward swung his arm, but Mr. Thorn caught his hand and twisted. Edward suppressed a howl of pain; he would not show weakness, not now. But Mr. Thorn was deceptively strong, and Edward’s arms were held fast to the ground.
“Face me like a man!” Edward snarled and bared his teeth.
Mr. Thorn floated away from him like a leaf on the breeze and disappeared into the mist. “You seem more beast than man to me,” Mr. Thorn said from somewhere in the mist. “I will not kill you because I know it
would upset Catherine, but heed my warning, stay out of our way as your predecessors did and you will live a much longer, happier life.”
Edward no longer heard him. His mind roared, and his body contorted. He felt and breathed anger. Catherine. He must find Catherine, now, before Mr. Thorn defiled her. He howled as the pain ripped through his body, transforming him from man to beast.
Chapter Seventeen
Catherine cradled the box in her arms as if it were a precious package. The fog had grown thicker, and it shrouded her from the house as she made her way across the grounds towards the forest. She did not hesitate upon the gateway as she had done in the past. She was consumed with her task, her mind focused on stopping Mr. Thorn. She glanced about, searching for him as she passed over. The mist, however, was too thick for her to see much further than the reach of her hand.
Never mind, she thought, I shall slip in and place this where Lady Bastien instructed before he is aware.
Silence reigned in the forest. An unnatural hush swept through the trees. Birds did not call, and the wind did not rustle the branches. The unearthly song she had begun to associate with the forest did not echo and entrance her, begging her to journey further. It was as if they were holding their collective breath.
A screech pierced the stillness. Catherine looked up just as Tabitha swooped in towards her face, talons poised to attack. Catherine fell to her knees at the last moment, narrowly avoiding an up-close and personal meeting with Tabitha’s handshake.
In her haste to avoid the assault, Catherine dropped the box. It skidded across the ground, and she dashed after it. The obsessive need lessened when she was not carrying the object, and she turned to regard the barn owl. “Miss Tabitha, you nearly scratched me!” Catherine scolded, she was not one to normally do such a thing as reprimand others, but she feared the owl, being unused to humans, thought such a greeting was acceptable.
She screeched again and made a turn and came back at full speed towards her. Catherine did not tarry to talk sense into the barn owl. She grabbed the box off the ground instead and ran for the protection of the trees. Her heart hammered in her chest.
What has come over her? she wondered. Why did she attack me? Unless… she must be on Mr. Thorn’s side, I must hurry and stop them. She stopped and glanced once more over her shoulder. Tabitha was flying just beyond the forest edge but came no further. Why do I care if Mr. Thorn wants to rule the forest? I will not wed him. My place is not among them. I am a human.
She waffled with indecision. As she debated, a warmth spread through her fingertips, radiating from the wooden box. However, if she did not stop him, these monsters would continue to terrorize these people. Could she stand aside and let it continue just to protect herself?
Before coming here, it would have been a simple question to answer. Now, Catherine was not as certain.
After a few moments’ reflection, Catherine made a decision. She would complete this task quickly and continue on with her life as before she met Edward. When she turned back to the path leading into the forest, she discovered it blocked. A spruce tree, which had not been there before, barred the way. It had to be one of the denizens of the forest, those she had shared in the dance with.
“Please let me pass. I am here to help. I want to save you from Mr. Thorn.”
The spruce groaned as its branches swung towards Catherine.
Though lumbering, its girth was enough the Catherine could not dodge it, and it caught her about the middle. She exhaled as the air was forced from her lungs and she fell to the ground. The box flew from her grasp and clattered on the ground a few feet from her.
“Why have you attacked me? It’s me, Catherine!” She refused to declare herself as their princess, as tempting as it might be to do so. The tree did not take on its humanoid shape fully but did uproot its feet and stalk towards her. It separated a branch, which was sharpened to a point, and aimed it at her breast. She scuttled backwards only to have a weeping willow grab her from behind and pin her against its rough bark. The tendrils of its branches brushed against her face and wrapped around her throat, restricting her air flow.
“Unhand me! I have an important errand!” she gasped. Catherine attempted to summon power, anything that might help her in her predicament, but found nothing forthcoming. Lady Bastien had not taught her how to summon the creature to her defense. What a fool’s errand this has been! Catherine thought.
She swung her legs instead, trying to escape, but roots burst from the ground and wound around her feet and kept her planted in place. The box Lady Bastien had given her waited innocently a few feet away.
The spruce did not acknowledge her pleas and crept ever closer. Catherine concentrated harder, pulling from her very core. A tingling sensation rippled across her skin but nothing more. It fizzled without effect. If magic existed within her, it did not want to make an appearance now.
She closed her eyes, unwilling to look death in the face. Just as Catherine was resigned to her fate, luck took pity upon her. A snap and thud enticed her to open her eyes. A blur of color flashed by, and the spruce fell back.
“What are you doing!” a commanding voice shouted.
Catherine held her breath, simultaneously relieved and terrified.
The spruce halted but did not lower its weapon. “How dare you draw a weapon on a guest of the Thorn King.”
“She brought danger.” The spruce’s voice sounded like wind rippling through leaves, and Catherine felt a chill dance up her spine at the sound of it. Mr. Thorn had saved her, and she had come here to destroy him.
“What danger?” Mr. Thorn said with a raised brow. He turned to Catherine as if searching for an answer from her.
“I carry nothing. They attacked me without cause when I came to look for you!” Catherine said, fumbling over her words in her haste to get the lies free from her lips.
The spruce ignored her and pointed with its branch towards the inlaid box lying on the ground not far away. Mr. Thorn looked to Catherine with a furrow of his brow, and she felt her stomach twist with guilt. This is not right. He is using you to take their kingdom. Are they all blind? I have no reason to feel guilty. He kneeled down beside the box. He must not touch it! she thought. I have to stop him! Panic burned like fire licking at her skin.
“Mr. Thorn, you must tell them to release me,” Catherine pleaded and writhed in the willow’s grasp, urgency set her on edge. He could not touch it or else everything would be ruined! The very thought of him getting a hold of the box gave her pain.
He bent down to pick up the box, and Catherine shouted, “Don’t touch that.” However, the voice that came out of her was not her own. It was husky and foreign, strangely like Lady Bastien’s, with a malignant tint to it.
He picked up the box and opened the lid. Inside, a black jewel rested upon red velvet lining. The sight of it made Catherine moan. She desired that gem more than she’d desired anything in her entire life. Her emotions bubbled to the surface, fighting for dominance.
“Give it to me!” She arched her back and stretched her fingers in an attempt to grasp it from his hand. Mr. Thorn held it aloft just out of her reach, bound as she was to the willow tree.
“This?”
“Yes, I need it!” She drew out each word and ground her teeth. The wanting was painful. If only she could close her hands around the black gem…
“No, I do not think so.” Mr. Thorn raised the gem and held it aloft; then he tossed it to the ground, where it smashed to pieces.
A scream echoed through the forest, and its inhabitants scurried in several directions, crying out. Catherine also screamed as pain erupted in her skull. Black smoke billowed from the shattered pieces. The willow let go of Catherine, and she sank to her knees, her hands pressed over her ears.
Mr. Thorn watched the shriveled piece of flesh that had once resided in the gem wither and die. “I’ve found you, Isabelle.”
He had to find Catherine. He must find her before that presumptuous man defiled her. His fl
ower. Catherine, his beautiful wife. Edward stopped and howled a lament. He stretched elongated fingers and hunched forward to ease his sudden stumbling gait. He could smell her along the road, and he followed her scent. Wherever Mr. Thorn had taken her, he would find her, and then he would kill her before anyone else could have her.
He smelled flesh and blood, and he craved it. Oh, how he wanted to taste her, to feel her neck snap beneath his jaw. Edward lumbered up the path, a familiar walk he had done a hundred times as a man.
He tore open the garden gate, and it was ripped from its hinges and clattered on the garden path. He trampled the flower beds in his haste to reach the front door. He knocked down the front door and caught a servant by surprise. He lunged and sank his fangs into the soft exposed flesh of his neck.
Another servant came upon the scene and screamed. He raised his canine-like hair, and the scent of the servant’s fear tickled his nostrils, but an even more enticing scent called to him and made his blood sing.
Blood ran in rivulets down his muzzle. Catherine, where is Catherine? he thought. He heard footsteps on the landing above and smelt her. He ran up the stairs, where a man with a gun met him. The ineffective bullets rolled off his skin like drops of water. He pushed aside the useless metal, and he ripped out the man’s throat without breaking his stride. He ran to the bedroom at the end of the hall, where her blood called to him like a lover.
He used his shoulder to break down the door. Two women were within, huddled together, and the older of the two screamed. He smelled their fear, and it filled him with need: to rip and tear, to kill!
“Catherine!” he snarled.
“Get out of here, you monster!” the older of the two women said, trembling all over.
She was not his prize, and he pushed her aside as if she were a rag doll. She hit the wall and crumpled. The second woman’s scent alighted his senses. Yes. Catherine. He must take her now. She trembled before him, and he stood looming over her. The moment had come when he would end this for good.
Those Who Dwell in the Thorns Page 11
