The Secret Horses of Briar Hill

The brass bolt draws back. “Emmaline? Are you awake?”

It is Thomas.

“Yes.” I throw the covers back, but the stillwaters rise, and I cough and cough. Thomas looks in hesitantly, then quickly looks away.

“Sister Mary Grace said—”

“You must do me a favor.” I force myself to sit up. “In Anna’s bedroom. There’s a desk with a secret drawer that’s released by a latch in the bottom. There’s a—” The stillwaters beast fights to claw up, and I swallow him back down. “There’s a book. Take it to the sundial garden. Attach it to the ivy. You have to. Foxfire needs us.”

He stares at me, as if not hearing. “Emmaline…”

“Please! I can’t go myself.”

He hesitates, and then nods. “Yes. Yes, of course I will.”

I breathe out slowly, sinking into the pillows. They are soft. They are clouds, like Foxfire’s hair.

But Thomas remains in the doorway. “There’s something I have to tell you, Emmaline. My aunt’s written from Wales. I have to leave later tonight, and I’ll be gone for a few days. It’s my father’s funeral in London. It’s poor timing,” he stammers, glancing at the red ticket. “But there’s nothing to be done for it.”

He takes a deep breath, and then I understand. He thinks he will not see me again. He thinks the stillwaters will come for me while he is away. I snap my eyes to him.

“You think I’m going to die.”

?

?No. No. I just…”

Yes. This is what he thinks.

His fingers toy with the brass bolt. “Goodbye, Emmaline.” Then his hand drops to his pocket, and he takes out a small hand mirror. He sets it on my table next to the cold tea. It has brass edges and a wooden handle and I’ve no idea how he came by anything so fine.

There is a tag attached.

I hold it to the light.

For Emmaline May, from your friend Thomas.

“So the horses can look after you,” he says. “While I’m gone.”

IT IS DARK WHEN I WAKE.

Freezing rain pelts the cracked window. I barely remember sleeping. I so badly want to sleep again, but Thomas’s visit has kindled my strength. I must know for certain that Foxfire is safe. I peel back the sweat-soaked sheets and climb shakily out of bed. My knees and ankles don’t work properly, and the moment my feet touch down, I crumple to the floor, and crawl slowly to the window.

The clouds outside are heavy and mottled with full silver moonlight. I can just make out a fast shadow darting back and forth across the snow. Bog. Beside him trudges a looming, unbalanced shadow that must be Thomas. I hiss out a long breath of relief. Soon, at least, the spectral shield will be complete. Foxfire will be protected.

I scan the sky. Against the dark clouds—is that an even darker shadow? It flies in a tight circle, around and around, right over the hospital, just like a German plane.

Thunder cracks and I jump.

The Black Horse. Volkrig. Well, let him circle. He’ll never find Foxfire now.

I ease the window closed and seal out the night with arms that feel so deeply weary.

The brass bolt slides back.

“Emmaline!” Sister Mary Grace hurries in. Sister Constance is right behind her. “What are you doing out of bed, child?”

I let my head tip forward to rest on the window’s cool glass. Thunder cracks again, but I smile. Below, Thomas is opening the garden gate.