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186 pages, Hardcover
First published January 17, 2023
#1 Sorcery of Thorns ★★★★★
#1.5 Mysteries of Thorn Manor ★★★★★
“I do have some standards, contrary to popular opinion. I’m not about to sit back and watch my house turn into a prude.”
She felt, with a passion that tore at her, that she could make a real difference: that given the chance, she could find a way to protect both humans and books equally.
“When I die in pursuit of your favor, make sure the obituary mentions that it wasn’t for my lack of razor-sharp wit and keenly honed reflexes.”
Silas glanced at her from beneath his lashes. “I’m afraid he was one of the worst of all. He left fingerprints on the silver.”
Elisabeth couldn’t answer. She was having the complicated realization that she still wanted to kiss Nathaniel even while he was wearing an old lady’s hideous dressing gown.
Even though she knew this was a ridiculous thing to think, she felt as though kissing were something they had discovered—a marvelous secret that only they knew, and were inventing as they went along.
“Thank you,” Elisabeth said formally to the door. She supposed one ought to be polite to potentially sentient magical houses, as well as books.
“There’s no need to thank me, Scrivener,” Nathaniel said from the floor. He was still peering into cracks in the baseboard, creeping along on his hands and knees. “I’ll get down on all fours for you whenever you like.”
Without taking her eyes from the door, Elisabeth reached down, took him by the arm, and lifted him to his feet.
“There might be a weapon to go along with the armor.”
“That’s just what we need, for you to get hold of a broadsword cursed by one of my evil ancestors. Scrivener, I know this goes against your red-blooded warrior nature, but if you see anything pointy, please make an effort to resist.”
Mercy skidded into view at the end of the hallway. Her face hardened at the sight of the approaching forces. Bravely, she raised her mop.
“Mercy, run!” Elisabeth bellowed.
“No, save us!” Nathaniel yelled.
Mercy went a shade paler. “Are those bloomers?” she shouted.
“When she opened it, she discovered a handwritten dedication on the patterned endpapers: To my beloved—may you always believe in fairy tales. Smiling, she traced her fingers over the letters, feeling the indentations they had left on the paper. This was one of the things she loved best about books. She might never know who had written the dedication, or how long ago, or to whom, but she could briefly clasp hands with them across eternity, a chance meeting of souls made possible by their shared love of a story.”
”This was one of the things she loved best about books. She might never know who had written the dedication, or how long ago, or to whom, but she could briefly clasp hands with them across eternity, a chance meeting of souls made possible by their shared love of a story.”