The innkeeper smiled. “It’s yours, dear.”
Tilly stepped away from the dress as though it were the plague. “What?” She looked sharply at her old friend.
Caroline ambled over to a settee Tilly hadn’t noticed before and sat down. “I believe now is the time for some explanations.” She patted the cushion next to her and waited for the girl to sit. “There is going to be a ball tonight, and you must attend.” She spoke in a low voice as though they were planning something devious. “The Moon Master’s Ball, to be exact.”
Tilly choked. “The Moon Master from Bromley’s Circus?” Her eyes opened wide.
“The very same, love.” Caroline nodded.
Tilly shook her head. “What is this about?”
“It’s about my wife.”
Tilly and Caroline both turned to see Lord Hollingberry at the base of the stairs, the Dorian Rat perched on his shoulder.
Tilly’s lips parted in another question, but Lord Hollingberry held up his hand, stopping her. “My wife,” he said, his eyes misty in the firelight, “was fairy godmother to a boy named Jasper.”
“But there’s no such—” Tilly began.
Caroline interrupted her. “Don’t say that!” she huffed, looking like a plump cat that had missed dinner time. “Magic is very real, and the sooner you start believing in it, the wiser you’ll be.”
“Years ago I accepted a boy—an orphan like you—named Jasper to be my ward.” The old man spoke to the floor. “I met his godmother and fell in love. But our happy life together didn’t last as long as we had hoped. Jasper was cursed, and my dear wife gave her life in one final attempt to save him.”
Lord Hollingberry slowly approached, dabbing at his eyes. “Since Aminia died, unable to save her godson, by the laws of magic I am not allowed to visit him.”
Realization dawned brightly upon Tilly. “The Moon Master is Jasper?”
“Yes, my dear. You probably wouldn’t remember him; you were only a child when he was cursed. But every curse has a way to be broken. Jasper has one night when he can have the chance to be free by finding someone to save him. And after all these years of waiting, he has chosen tonight to be that night.” He reached out a hand and clutched Tilly’s shoulder. “If he isn’t freed, he will belong to Mrs. Carlisle . . . and that poor boy doesn’t deserve such a fate.”
Pressure bubbled up inside Tilly’s chest. What did they expect her to do? Hadn’t she done enough already? She shrugged off Lord Hollingberry’s grasp, got up quickly, and walked towards the fire, avoiding his penetrating gaze. “What do you want of me? I must go to the ball? And do what, exactly?” she asked bitterly.
The Dorian Rat leaped off Lord Hollingberry’s shoulder, landing heavily on the ground. It scuttled close to Tilly’s feet, causing her to back away. Reaching out a paw, it tugged at her skirt as though asking her to listen to what it had to say.
“Get away!” Tilly pulled her dress away from its claws. “I’ve had enough of you!”
Flattening its ears against its head, the rat ran into the shadows and hid itself there.
“What?” Tilly rubbed her nose with the sleeve of her dress, glaring at Lord Hollingberry and Caroline, who were staring at her. “I’m sick of secrets and darkness. I want to have a normal life!” Tears of frustration welled up in her eyes. “I just . . .”
Tilly dropped her forehead into the palm of her hand and sneaked a sideways look at the beautiful dress. She thought of the Moon Master’s wintry eyes, eyes which had seen so much more sorrow than she had. She thought of the way he held himself, so powerful and yet so beaten down. She thought of poor Aminia, and of the woman’s devoted husband who was trying so hard to save the young man he couldn’t even speak to. And she thought of Caroline . . .
What exactly was Caroline’s part in this?
With a little gasp, Tilly spun about to face the innkeeper. Even though she had guessed the answer already, she asked, “Who are you?”
Caroline’s brow crinkled. “Didn’t I say?” She squinted her eyes and thought. “S’pose I didn’t. Well, dear,” she smiled brightly, “I’m your fairy godmother.”
The Moon Master sat shrouded in the cold darkness of his cursed wagon. If the night had been normal, he would have candles lit.
If the night had been normal, he would have been listening to Scatter’s latest news about the Circus: whether there had been any accidents, if Indigo Bromley was in a foul mood, or if the clown’s dreadful act had improved at all. The Moon Master glanced at the little corner to his right where a peacock necktie, somewhat shredded, had been arranged into a cozy nest. An emerald pin lay discarded beside it, Scatter having found no use for it.
The little mouse would never sleep there again.
Dark thoughts flitted across the Moon Master’s mind, for the recent visits of Tilly Higgins had stirred troubling memories. He idly rubbed one of his ribbons between his fingers. His jaw clenched as he thought over his life of ten years ago. He and Aminia and Lord Hollingberry had all been so happy.
Then, on his fifteenth birthday, Mrs. Carlisle had gone hunting for him.
He squeezed his eyes shut as though he could somehow shut out further recollections. But he couldn’t. Visions of Aminia leading Mrs. Carlisle away from Winslow and sacrificing herself for her beloved godson played out in his mind. Her death had been in vain, however. Mrs. Carlisle had cursed him regardless of Aminia’s death. His long fingers clenched the ribbon angrily.
At least Mrs. Carlisle knew nothing of Lord Hollingberry’s relationship to him.
And the girl . . .
Perhaps there was hope after all. His brow furrowed when he thought of the danger she was in. Surely Lord Hollingberry would keep her safe.
But no matter how much he reassured himself, he couldn’t suppress the feeling of dread growing in his chest. He stood, slowly, and drew a shaky breath.
The Moon Master must prepare for the ball.
12
Once again Tilly found herself unable to refuse Lord Hollingberry’s wishes. As he had said, there was something greater taking place, and it was up to Tilly to free the Moon Master from Mrs. Carlisle.
How she was supposed to accomplish this was beyond her reckoning. Jasper had been held captive for many years under a curse that allowed him to leave his wagon for only one night to find a girl brave enough to save him.
Otherwise, he would be Mrs. Carlisle’s forever.
Tilly hated vagueness, and Caroline and Lord Hollingberry were nothing but vague. Now, alone in the cozy basement, she paced the floor, pulled at the collar of her dress, and fretted. Lord Hollingberry had left for Winslow Manor after saying he had unfinished business to address, and Caroline was bustling about upstairs.
The fire popped unexpectedly, causing Tilly to jerk and peer cautiously at the shadows where she had last seen the Dorian Rat. It hadn’t reappeared since she told it to leave, and Tilly felt a little sorry for speaking harshly to it.
Someone began creaking down the stairs, halting her guilty feelings about the rat. To her relief, it was Caroline. “Hollingberry is outside, waiting for your grand appearance.” Grinning, Caroline walked over to the ballgown and held out her hand to her goddaughter. “For you,” she said.
Tilly looked at the two ribbons in Caroline’s hand and accepted them gently. “How did you know about them?”
“I didn’t,” she replied. “Hollingberry did. He knew Jasper would give them to the girl he believed could save him. Thank goodness Mrs. Carlisle didn’t get a hold of them!”
Tilly rubbed the ribbons between her fingers, admiring the shining stones. “They’re more than just ribbons, aren’t they?” she asked, her voice soft.
“Yes,” Caroline grunted as she fumbled with the buttons on the gown. “They were Aminia’s last gift to him. Get out of that dreadful thing you have on.” She gestured to her goddaughter’s dress.
With a clap of Caroline’s plump hands, a tub overflowing with bubbles appeared before the fireplace. Tilly sud
denly realized how grimy she felt. A minute later she was basking in a magical bath of the most perfect temperature. Her back and arms had ached since her imprisonment in Mrs. Carlisle’s basement, but now all pain slipped away as her fairy godmother rubbed a light, sweet-smelling ointment into her hair then rinsed it out. Tilly’s scalp tingled delightfully.
“Caroline,” Tilly began drowsily, the smell of apples lulling her to sleep. “How did things go so terribly wrong with Aminia and Jasper?”
Conjuring a white lace robe from mid-air, Caroline handed it to Tilly and returned to the gown, admiring her own handiwork. “Amina was teaching Jasper the ways of magic in a land far beyond Winslow.” She recounted the tale with a frown. “During their travels, they met another fairy godmother, Mrs. Carlisle, and her goddaughter.”
Tilly listened intently, not wishing to interrupt her godmother’s story.
“Jasper never was a handsome sort of fellow, but he always has possessed a certain charm that makes him appealing.” She glanced towards Tilly. “Drosselyn found him very much to her liking, the spoiled little milksop. Jasper, in turn, liked her very little.”
Caroline paused to pull a stray thread off the dress. “You can imagine how this angered Mrs. Carlisle. Her magic was so powerful that Jasper and Aminia fled, taking refuge here in this obscure little village and . . . Mrs. Carlisle pursued. You know the rest. He’s been cursed these past ten years. When Mrs. Carlisle and her goddaughter returned to Winslow, we knew the time had come.”
Tilly suddenly realized that she didn’t feel anymore as though Caroline and Lord Hollingberry were forcing her into helping them. She truly wanted to help them, not because of Lord Hollingberry’s kindness, but because it was simply the right thing to do. Jasper had suffered and so had she. They were the same in many ways, she thought.
But there was one question still lingering in the back of Tilly’s mind. “Why did Lord Hollingberry invite Mrs. Carlisle into Winslow Manor?”
Caroline grinned triumphantly. “Ah! We tricked Mrs. Carlisle quite well, Hollingberry and I. She never knew that Aminia was married. And she never suspected any connection between Lord Hollingberry and Jasper. We’ve been able to keep a close eye on that Carlisle woman since she came back!” The fairy godmother sniffed, quite delighted with her own cleverness. “Come now,” she said. “We’ve got to get you ready for the ball.”
Minutes later, Tilly was wearing a gown more beautiful than she could ever have imagined. She couldn’t help but twirl, watching the silken folds of cream and lavender fan out like the petals of a rimed tulip.
“Slow down, girl!” Caroline sounded annoyed, but the smile on her lips said otherwise. Tilly’s godmother pinned up her hair in soft curls, adding sprigs of dried lilac throughout. When the girl, who in recent years had worn only a maid’s uniform, looked at herself in the mirror, her heart thrilled with delight.
“You look stunning, my love,” said Caroline. For the first time, Tilly saw tears shining in her fairy godmother’s eyes. “But we’re not done yet!” Caroline wiped the tears away quickly and told Tilly to sit on the settee. “Where are those ribbons?” she looked around the room.
Tilly held them out to her, and the old woman snatched them away. “We’d best get you to that ball quickly! Midnight will come before too long.” She draped the shining ribbons across her goddaughter’s feet.
“What happens at midnight?” Tilly asked, once again confused.
“Hush, I’m thinking.” Caroline tapped her chin with one finger. “Oh, how does that old rhyme go? Ah, yes.” Rubbing her hands together, she cleared her throat and closed her eyes.
“Light, show yourself pure and strong,
Save a man from evil’s throng.
Take a form, small and white,
Give this girl the strength to fight.”
When Caroline had uttered the last word, something happened to Tilly’s feet. She felt a coldness slide across each foot up to her ankle, but it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. It reminded Tilly of slipping her feet into a cool set of sheets before bedtime. She looked down to see what exactly was happening and saw a pair of shining crystal slippers adorning her feet. The violet ribbons laced through tiny holes in the slippers and tied into delicate bows at her ankles. They made Tilly feel even more beautiful, and she touched the crystal gently.
“They’re gorgeous,” she whispered.
“So are you. Come along! Your carriage awaits.”
Tilly followed her godmother back upstairs, stumbling a bit from the heavy folds of her dress, and out to the front of the inn. Lord Hollingberry was standing in front of a majestic horse-drawn carriage, his breath visible in the starlight.
“Tilly!” He stared at her. “You look stunning.”
She was about to respond when she looked a little more closely at the carriage, and her mouth dropped open. “A pumpkin?”
Lord Hollingberry looked from her to the carriage that was indeed shaped like a pumpkin. “I realized my carriage was terribly old and dirty, so I had to improvise. There was a nice little pumpkin sitting out in the garden, and I think, overall, it looks quite nice. Yes, quite nice.” He nodded to himself and then stepped forward to help Tilly climb into it.
“Did Aminia teach you that trick?” asked Caroline. “You seem to have forgotten a coachman. You certainly can’t drive it.” She crossed her arms, and one of the horses attached to the carriage snorted in agreement.
“Naturally I picked up a few things from my dear departed wife. And I did not forget a coachman. What do you think took me so long over at Winslow Manor? I had to create a spell from scratch! Plus, I had to rescue Mrs. Gregson from a nasty sleeping enchantment I imagine our friend Mrs. Carlisle gave her.”
“Mrs. Gregson? Is she all right?” Tilly asked, panicked.
“She’s rampaging about the Manor at the moment, but yes, she is quite all right. I suspect she had the misfortune to be mistaken for your fairy godmother! And now, Tilly”—Lord Hollingberry motioned for her to lean out the carriage window and look where he pointed—“meet your coachman.”
Leaves rustled beside the inn, and Tilly watched as a man, a very tall man, stepped out from the shadows, tugging awkwardly on his coat. His wispy black hair was braided down his neck, and his narrow face looked as though it had seen far too much sorrow.
Caroline gasped. “Is that the Dorian Rat?” she asked, mouth agape.
“Mallory is his name,” Lord Hollingberry said soothingly. “And he is on our side. He wanted to help Tilly.”
“Is he quite safe?” Tilly asked, not taking her eyes off Mallory.
Lord Hollingberry nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Well, then,” Tilly said, drawing a shuddery breath. “Take me to the Ball, Mallory.”
13
The people of Winslow had scarcely left Bromley’s Circus since it arrived, and they milled about Bromley Meadow, bubbling with excitement. Men, women, and children alike wore attire they had purchased at the Circus. The pumpkin carriage rumbled easily up the meadow and stopped once it arrived at the colorful Circus tent. The tent’s curtains were closed, and a platform had been set up outside, with a huge silk banner hanging above it reading “The Moon Master’s Ball.”
The steady murmur of the village folk’s voices rang through the cool night air, lending the atmosphere a festive vibe. Tilly shivered as Mallory opened the door to the carriage, offering her his hand. She ignored it, determined not to forget he had once been a rat, and walked into the thick crowd.
“I hoped I would see you tonight,” a soft voice said behind her.
Tilly turned, knowing full well to whom the voice belonged.
“You look beautiful,” Rodger said, his eyes scanning slowly across her dress.
She tucked a loose strand of hair nervously behind her ear, annoyed when it popped back out. “Thank you. You look . . . very nice as well.” She stumbled over her words, trying not to show her uneasiness at being around him.
He laughed his most contagious lau
gh and shook his head. Then his face became suddenly serious, and he took a step closer, speaking in a low voice. “What are you playing at, Tilly? You’ve turned so mysterious of late. We used to be friends.” He touched the back of her hand hesitantly.
Tilly stepped backwards, giving him a stern look. “I believe our friendship changed the day you wanted it to be something more.” Biting her lip, she looked at the lush grass beneath her feet. “I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be.” He shook his head. “You’ve changed, Tilly. You’ve become . . . distant.” Rodger stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I thought you felt something for me.”
She opened her mouth to say that she did feel for him—as a brother and friend. But he held up his hand.
“I wish you all the happiness in the world.”
He left her then, his dark green jacket disappearing into the crowd, leaving Tilly with many unsaid words sitting on her tongue. She swallowed them and turned, nearly bumping in to her coachman.
“Mallory!” she exclaimed, and he looked at her with an expression she couldn’t identify. “Get back to the carriage. You aren’t needed here.” Tilly moved to step around him, but he stopped her.
“I . . .” His voice was deep and strong, and he appeared to be shocked when it left his mouth. “I must protect you.”
“If I need protection from anything, it’s from your kind.” Tears stung her eyes as she thought of her lost friendship with Rodger. “Now please, return to the coach.”
“It was not my kind that killed the white mouse,” Mallory said quietly.
But Tilly didn’t hear. The voice of Indigo Bromley swept over the meadow, sufficiently stopping any chatter and making heads whip around towards the platform.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the Moon Master’s Ball! Tonight I will introduce to you a man of mystery and magic.” Bromley paced about the wooden stage, his colorful coattails swishing behind him. “He has chosen to reveal himself to you all this evening, and only for this evening will you be permitted to know him.” Bromley stopped and winked at a group of plump old ladies who had forced themselves to the front of the crowd. “I give you the glorious, the stupendous Moon Master!”
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