The Accidental Afterlife of Thomas Marsden by Trevayne Emma

Author:Trevayne, Emma [Trevayne, Emma]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

A Dream

Wake up, Thomas, and hear me. Wake up, please! Help us. You must help us. I know you can hear me if you will let me inside your head. You are the only one who can. I have left you everything you need.

CHAPTER TEN

A Change of Heart

THOMAS SLEPT THAT NIGHT IN the softest bed he’d ever felt, or touched, or even seen. Like sleeping on the fluffiest of summer’s day clouds, wrapped in covers baked with as much warmth as the sun. He’d never rested so well, deep and dreamless.

They’d looked at him a bit funny downstairs, but there was nothing the slightest bit odd about the pound he passed the man in his silly uniform, who did not keep his job by asking too many questions, even of a young boy in tattered clothing who sauntered in and asked for the poshest room in the place.

He saw no reason not to spend that old faery’s coin on whatever he liked. Figured he and the other one, Wintercress, owed him a good night’s sleep in exchange for his first night upon this earth, spent cold and lonely atop a grave.

Serve them both right if he decided to live like the prince he apparently was, on their silver.

He got it, and breakfast, too, when he awoke to bright daylight. Eggs and buns and kippers, all on a tray with a pot of tea and a dainty silver sugar pot. If Silas were here . . . But Thomas left it where it was, and its dainty spoon, too.

His dreams had been very odd, which he supposed was only to be expected. Again and again, he had reached for the doorknob of his room, only to find it locked because he wasn’t opening it the proper way. And every time he opened it wrong, a great, terrible pain coursed through him.

How dare that Deadnettle think he’d a right to ask Thomas for help, after what the faeries had done? He knew he hadn’t gotten the whole story, neither, but perhaps if he’d not run off, Deadnettle would’ve told him the rest of it. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t. Those bells had seemed to pain him enormously, so much that he’d not said a word or tried to chase as Thomas ran off.

Angry as he was, it was sad nonetheless, if it were true. That being here caused the faeries such pain, and they would never be allowed to leave. The bells had seemed to cause him real agony. Sad, but Thomas shrugged in the fancy mirror, framed and everything, that hung on the papered wall. Nothing he could do about it, even if he liked to. He wasn’t magic in the least, and trying to send them home had killed Thomas’s . . . had killed Thistle—yes, that was its name—who was supposed to be such a powerful faery.

Thomas dressed in clothes that felt much grubbier than they had the day before, after he’d slept a night in such a clean bed.

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