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Synopsis

Faeries disappeared over one hundred years ago, as suddenly as slipping through a doorway. It was only the very foolish, or the very determined, who held out hope for their return.

Welcome to Thistlemarsh - a ramshackle estate where an impoverished orphan and a beguiling Faerie collide in an enchanting novel of love, revenge, and ruin.

In the wake of The Great War, the world is a decidedly unmagical place for Mouse Dunne. She once dreamed of becoming a Faerie anthropologist, but with one telegram, her world shattered. At the Battle of the Somme, her cousin's body disappeared into the mud, and her brother was left with debilitating shell shock. It was time, she knew, to put aside childish dreams.

When Mouse receives news that her uncle has left her the Faerie-blessed Thistlemarsh Hall, a dilapidated manor in the English countryside, she must leave her brother's side and return to her childhood home to claim her birthright. But there is a catch in her uncle's offer: If Mouse does not rehabilitate the crumbling house in one month's time, she will forfeit her inheritance and any hope of caring for her brother.

It quickly becomes clear it's impossible to repair the manor in the allotted time, until a mysterious Faerie appears with a proposition. He offers to restore Thistlemarsh... for a price. Mouse knows better than to trust a Faerie - especially one so insufferably handsome and arrogant - but she is out of options. There are dark and magical forces at work in the house, and Mouse must confront the ghosts of her past and the secrets of her heart or lose Thistlemarsh, and herself, in the process.

Excerpt

1

April 1919

The war did not bring the Faeries back to England. As boys languished in the trenches, they still spoke in hushed what-ifs until all hope ran out. The belief in magic was replaced by the reality of mustard gas. It was only the very foolish, or the very determined, who still held on to hope. Despite herself, Mouse was one of those few.

Faeries disappeared over one hundred years before, as suddenly as slipping through a doorway. At the beginning of the war, when the army was still sending horses to fight against tanks, there was talk that if the Faeries did return with their magic, the bloodshed might end. The new sciences allowed for wild speculation as to where the Faeries had gone. Biologists turned to the microscopic world, looking for Faeries at the end of a lens. Spiritualists claimed that the creatures had dematerialized into ectoplasm, walking invisible alongside mortals, like ghosts or spirits.

As Mouse's cousin, Bertie, and her brother, Roger, were summoned to France, she returned to the tales of her childhood. She pored over the tattered pages of her inherited copy of Lady Blakeney's Tales of Faerie: Stories for the Modern Traveler, hunting for any clue on how to bring the Faeries back. Despite her uncle's disapproval, she passed the exam to study Faerie anthropology at university. The study was not just for her, she convinced herself; it was for the war effort. It was patriotic.

Then, with one telegram, her world shattered.

At the Somme, Bertie's body disappeared into the mud, and even months after they found Roger, his teeth chattered at any sound louder than the clink of a teacup in its saucer. When Mouse arrived at the auxiliary hospital in France, he could not remember her. It was time, she knew, to put aside childish things. The book of Faerie tales sank to the bottom of her trunk as she took up her duties as a nurse at her brother's side.

The Faeries did not return to England, but after the war, Mouse did.

The ornate ceiling of the train car made Mouse think of the hospital. Faerie faces smirked down at her, just as they did in her quarters on the Front. In France, the Faerie images were part of the caved-in ceiling of a bombed-out church. She stared back at the ones above her now, both annoyed and relieved that the Fae still had the power to interest her despite the horrors she’d seen over the last few years. Their smiles were as sharp as their teeth, angular and inhuman.

Bundled into her coat, Mouse curled around her tin thermos of tea and kept her elbows tucked in tight against the spring chill. Men crowded the corridor and yelled to one another around the other passengers. Mouse could spot which of the men were soldiers, fresh from the Front. The war may have ended months before, in November, but it took time to bring the soldiers back to England. Hope and pained longing battled in their eyes. Would home be the same, or was it another casualty? Mouse knew the answer waiting for her at the end of the tracks, but she hoped these young men had better luck.

Three other passengers filed into Mouse's cabin just before the train departed Victoria Station, smelling strongly of coffee, chocolate, and tobacco. As they pushed in, Mouse folded herself further into the window seat, silent enough that they eventually forgot she was there. They balanced a crisp map between their knees, their fingers skimming along the train tracks and stopping at each little blue triangle that stood out on the paper.

"Look here, Charles," said the young woman in the group, her carefully styled blond hair curling out from beneath her hat. "There are at least ten Faerie cultural hot spots in Dartmoor."

The young man across from her leaned closer. "Devonshire is littered with them. We must be selective about where we stop."

His cheeks were pink, his smile full of life, and Mouse had to avert her eyes to keep them from stinging. Looking at him was too much like staring into the past, but the faces Mouse remembered were long gone. He could not be more than seventeen.

The man at Mouse's shoulder hummed. He was a bit older, perhaps in his twenties, but the hunch of his shoulders aged him significantly. She noted the tension in his frame, the restlessness radiating from him like the halo of an electric light. His nicotine-stained fingers bounced against the paper.

"Why aren't we stopping at Tithe village?" the woman asked. She turned to the man next to Mouse. "The Browns told me that it is full of Faerie history, James."

The man jerked. His fingers kept up a steady rhythm. "Indeed?"

"Yes. The great house there even had ties to the Faerie King," the woman continued.

Charles laughed. "Every village in England claims to have at least one manor house with 'ties to the Faerie King,' Dorothy."

Dorothy frowned. "You know that is not true. They keep some old Faerie artifacts in the house. Why don't we stop and see?"

"The lord of the manor died recently," Charles cut in, his tone tight for the first time. He cast an anxious look at James. "I don't know if we'll be able to go into the house itself."

"Well, perhaps the new lord will have sorted everything out by now."

Mouse snorted at the words. All the heads in the cabin turned toward her. She dug her handkerchief from her coat pocket and buried her face as though muffling a cough. Cheeks flushed, she looked outside, willing the passengers to forget about her again.

Beyond the train window, the world rolled back through time, dissolving from the hard dark lines of the city to softer, pastoral shapes. It was not long before the scene was all waves of green, spotted with the odd cross-helmed village.

Twists in tree branches took on a friendly bend, beckoning Mouse home, and stone walls slumped toward the railway tracks in greeting. Despite their welcome, she had to fight against the dread tightening around her heart like a band. How bad would the damage be when she arrived? It had been nearly three years since she left England, and even then, everything was in a dire state.

Grasping for a distraction, Mouse forced her attention back to the conversation of the three other passengers.

"There is no new lord. Word at the club is that he left the house to a distant heir," Charles continued.

"Didn't the lord have any children?" Dorothy asked.

"A son, but he died," Charles said sharply.

Mouse watched as the other passengers stiffened. She felt her own grief like a bullet in her chest.

Charles blustered on, as though speaking quickly would prevent the wound of the war from festering. "Lord Dewhurst had a sister who disgraced herself years ago by running off with an Irish gardener. She even married him. Her father, the old lord, disinherited her, but after the death of the heir, her son was next in line. He's no longer in the running either."

Mouse felt a prick of indignation, but she pushed it down. The carriage was silent for a moment, each person aware of the presence of the war, but unwilling to broach it. Beside Mouse, James's breath hitched.

Finally, Dorothy spoke. Her tone was hollow. "So, it is to be demolished, then?"

"I don't know. I understand that the disinherited sister had another child, a girl. I could not find any information in the society papers. And considering that she is half Irish and a gardener's daughter, who could blame them for not printing anything?" He shook his head, his tone brightening. "Anyway, I chose not to include it in our itinerary-too much scandal, not enough fun. Don't you agree, James?"

James did not respond. Against Mouse's side, she felt a quiver run through his body. His eyes bulged, and he gasped like a rabbit caught in a trap. Dorothy shrieked as he slumped in his seat.

"Good God, James!" Charles cried, crumpling the map as he rushed to his friend's side. Mouse's instincts flared, and she was on her feet.

"Take his arm and have him drink this," Mouse barked, forcing her thermos into Charles's hands. Dorothy and Charles stared at her, their mouths agape. She fought the urge to snap at them. "If you want to help him, do as I say."

Mouse pulled her bag down from the rack above, digging through it even before it landed on the seat. None of her sedatives came with her to England, but she had an unopened pack of cigarettes tucked between her socks. It would have to do. She held out the packet to James. He stared at her, his expression wide and panicked.

"Take one. It will help," Mouse said. "Trust me, I've seen my fair share of shell shock."

"I do not want to be a bother," he gasped. His cheeks were flushed, and Mouse could not tell if it was from embarrassment or lack of oxygen.

"It's no bother-they aren't even mine. I confiscated them from a man in a hospital ward. Mustard gas and cigarettes do not mix well, in my experience. You would be doing me a favor by ridding me of the temptation. I do not want to fall into the habit."

James opened the package with practiced grace, despite his trembling fingers, and tapped out a cigarette. Charles rustled up a lighter from his luggage, and soon a cloud of smoke filled the cabin.

"You are interested in Faeries," Mouse said, keeping her voice soft as she sank back down into her seat.

"Yes," James said.

"He studied them at university, before-" Dorothy's sentence cut off at Charles's warning look.

"My goal was to collect Faerie folklore from southern England. I do not know how successful I'll be if just talking about an old house leaves me in shambles," James joked feebly.

"I have a story, if you would like to hear it," Mouse offered. "It is about that house in Tithe."

"That's not-" Charles started.

"Yes, please," James cut in around another puff of the cigarette.

"Have some tea, and I'll start."

James hummed, pressing the thermos to his lips, and Mouse began, closing her eyes as she fell into the familiar rhythm of the words.

"Once, when the road between the mortal world and Faerie was still clear, the Faerie King would grant gifts to his most valued mortal servants. This was partially to reward them, but it was also to keep them within his power. From Faerie beasts and enchanted gowns to crowns made from Faerie silver and flowers that only grew under Faerie stars, the gifts of the Faerie King were known for their beauty and impossibility. The most coveted of his gifts was a Faerie-blessed house. Such a house would guarantee prosperity, good fortune, and protection from political enemies."

She heard the map crinkle beneath their shoes as her listeners leaned closer.

"Thistlemarsh Hall was one such house. The Faerie King granted it to the Dewhurst family, a pack of his best warriors and most talented liars. For many years, the Faerie King and the Dewhursts lived peacefully, with the King visiting twice a year and the Dewhursts paying him their tithe of mortal servants and gold."

"Hence the village's name?" Dorothy chimed in. Mouse nodded.

"Still, the Dewhursts knew that the Faerie King was a fickle creature. They feared he would take back their Faerie-blessed house, filled with their Faerie treasure, so they came up with a plan to keep it from him forever.

"Like all Faeries, the King loved games, and his greatest love of all was creating impossible riddles. Knowing this, the Dewhursts proposed a deal. If they could solve his hardest riddle, they could keep Thistlemarsh without paying the tithe. If not, they would return everything to him and remain under his control.

"A rather shocking deal, you might think. The odds seemed stacked against them. But you forget, although Faeries cannot lie, mortals can. They cheated the Faerie King, using a network of spies to discover the answer to the Faerie King's riddle.

"In his eyes, they answered correctly, and he granted them their reward. By the time he discovered their betrayal, it was too late. The magic was done.

"Furious, the Faerie King laid a curse on Thistlemarsh. He could not have it while the Dewhurst line continued, but the family would suffer for as long as they remained within the walls. Then, when they were laid low and the last of the Dewhursts was defeated, he would reclaim his Faerie-blessed treasure.

"And the family did suffer. There were beheadings and murders, disgraces and scandals. Despite this, somehow, a Dewhurst has always remained at Thistlemarsh Hall.

"Yet, Faerie lives are long and Faerie Kings can wait."

Mouse opened her eyes, blinking against the brightness of the carriage. James's breath had steadied, although his fingers still shook. No one spoke.

The train slowed, approaching Tithe station in a flurry of steam.

"Enjoy your trip," Mouse said as she collected her things. Dorothy plucked the map off the floor and folded it away.

"Thank you," Charles said, attempting cheer. "That will be a useful addition to James's story collection, even if it was a bit ominous. How can we repay you?"

Despite his light tone, his words were weighted.

"Consider it a gift, if you are willing to accept such a thing from the scandalous daughter of an Irish gardener," she said with a smile.

She stepped out into the corridor before Charles's confusion could fully transform into mortification. The sharp burst of James's laughter punctuated the snap of the compartment door closing.

The sun came to meet Mouse as she hopped from the train step to the platform. Despite herself, energy sprang up while she was in midair, buzzing in her belly like a hive of bees. It was the first time she had been in the country when Lord Dewhurst was not there.

She waited, but the sky did not shatter overhead, and whistles did not ring out, warning the villagers that she was loose and alone. Of course, her logical mind did not expect any of that, but the child within her who still visualized Thistlemarsh Hall as a remote dungeon could not reconcile reality and fantasy. Absently, she rubbed the little silver key that hung around her neck. She collected her trunk from where the porter deposited it at the end of the platform.

In the vaulted station, the overwhelming scent of coffee washed over Mouse. The man in the ticket booth stared at her as she walked by. Did he recognize her?

Mouse could not tell, but she glanced away. She was not ready to know what the villagers might think of her, the unwanted Dewhurst cousin, back from the Front. Would they pity her? Or would they think she was a greedy, ungrateful social climber, benefiting from the devastation of the war?

Copyright © 2026 by Moorea Corrigan

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