"Your painting will be fine!" Was all Rosamund had time to say before she was pulling him further into the storage closet at the back of the church. She was thanking fate again and again that she had spent so much time in the church.
There was a trap door that Adelaide had shown her once, the cellar where they kept the aging wines and cheeses that they sold on market days in town. As quietly as she could she lifted the lid. Peter helped her down first and then followed, quietly replacing the door.
Loudly the front door of the church swung inward with a bang behind them.
It was pitch dark in the cellar. There was not an ounce of light. Rosamund's breathing grew heavier, and her fingers started to tremble. She hated the dark. It was so cold and consuming. She hated the dark. I can't breathe. I can't. She hated—
Warm fingers encased her own and she was pulled against Peter's chest. She could feel his heart pounding against her temple. She gripped his fingers tightly and turned, burying her face in his chest. He brushed a soothing hand down her hair and somehow the sound of his breathing steadied her in the darkness.
For a moment she forgot.
Forgot that they were hiding, forgot all of the scary anxieties that settled on her in the dark. And all she could hear or smell or feel was him. Cinnamon and cloves scented his soft shirt that her cheek was resting against. His hold on her made her feel warm and like nothing could harm her.
In the dark she looked up at him, wondering if he could hear how loudly her heart was pounding. Or if he would even realize that it was all because of him and not her fear of the dark.
Footsteps thudded dully above them. Rosamund looked up even though down here her sense of direction wasn't fully stable and there was nothing she could see. There were muffled voices.
A loud crash made her jump and Peter squeezed her hand reassuringly. She was glad neither of them made a sound. The seconds drug on for what felt like hours until the footsteps receded to another part of the small church.
There in the silence, in the dark, with only the sound of their own breathing around them Rosamund felt like time itself had ceased moving. She pictured the ticking hands of a watch coming to a halt.
"Do you think they're gone?" Peter asked.
"They should be by now. Can you find the way out?"
"We're right below the door, I kept my other hand on it so I wouldn't lose it."
Rosamund breathed out a sigh of relief. "Okay then, let's go."
Peter lifted the trap door as quietly as he could. He helped Rosamund up first, easily hoisting her up and out. Her eyes took a minute to adjust to the bright moonlight but when they did, she was shocked.
The room had been ransacked. Cups and plates were shattered into shards on the floor, winter cloaks were slashed, so much damage in so short a time. The floors were scuffed with boot prints. The two headed out to the sanctuary. The pews were tipped, and the easel was on its side. There was no sign of the painting or the lantern flies now.
Rosamund cast an uncertain look towards Peter.
What could this all mean?
Peter stared forlornly out the doors that were still open, leading out into the night air.
"I'm sorry about your painting, Peter." Rosamund felt guilt prickle all over her. She really had thought everything would be fine.
"Why would someone want to take it?"
Rosamund wrung her fingers. For the same reason that Sister Adelaide and I have to talk in code. For the same reason the villagers are always looking over their shoulders. For the same reason that I'm scared of what it means that you're here. She thought all these things to herself, but aloud all she said was: "Because of the mayor."
"Doctor Lyle mentioned him too, what does he have to do with any of this? Why would he want my painting?"
"Magic is strictly regulated in town, Peter. That's what you were doing! Magic. Those lantern bugs or whatever were made of magic. I have a feeling that you'll have a lot of questions from everyone in the morning..."
Sometimes Rosamund hated being right.
After she and Peter and done what they could to clean up the mess she went home, feeling strange and guilty and frightened. He said he would go stay the night at Brother Arthur's house and let him know what happened. Honesty was the best policy. Rosamund knew that, but it still made her nervous for him.
And she couldn't shake the feeling that all of this was her fault. When she got home she soothed herself by making a steaming cup of chamomile tea and snuggling with Puff in her favorite arm chair. She tried to read, tried to knit, but her heart kept pounding away at the thought of being next to Peter. Of being the one who had gotten him in trouble.
Rosamund spent the night anxiously tidying up her cottage and getting ready for her morning shift at the Duckling Dive. Even if Peter had brought some strange magic to Slumber she needed to keep to her normal routine as best she could.
Puff pranced around her feet as she got his breakfast that morning, jovial and unaware of the stress she was under. "What I wouldn't give to be a fluffy little dog without a care in the world." Rosamund said as she ruffled his ears fondly. Puff just went on eating as she changed into her short green uniform dress and apron.
Rosamund tied her long blonde hair back with a cream bandana, gathered the basket that held her lunch, and made her way out into the sunny morning. Everything looked the same as it always did. Same path to work, same greetings as she passed by the shops, but she felt different.
Rosamund couldn't place it. Something about Peter being here unsettled her. There were no people outside of Slumber so where had he come from. As far as she knew their little town was surrounded by nothing but rolling hills and dark forests in every direction until the edge of the world.
"Got somethin' on yer mind there, Miss Rosa?" Mister Hatch called out to her as he waved.
"No, nothing important!" Rosamund did her best to give a genuine smile and continue on her way.
At least it was easy to settle into work. She left her basket of food under the long shining wooden bar counter and let the warm smells of fresh cinnamon rolls and brewing coffee ease the tension in her shoulders. All the usual patrons were there.
A table of fly-fisherman sat in their usual spot, bickering about who had hauled what out of the cloud rivers that hung above the southern forest. A Mother Moff sat with her son as he ate his porridge before school. Finally Doctor Lyle and....Sister Adelaide?
The two were talking in hushed whispers about something. Rosamund grabbed her serving tray, a basket of fresh rolls and butter, and went over to their table with the excuse of giving them some free bread.
"I never see the two of you in here!" Rosamund hoped her grin didn't look like a grimace as she set down the rolls.
"Ah, yes--" Sister Adelaide's expression faltered briefly and then she turned back to Lyle. "We were just discussing Peter's treatment. That's all."
"What treatment?" Rosamund asked as she set the butter down on the table, folding her serving tray under her arm.
"Just the plan for how to prevent some of his less than helpful habits. Nothing to concern yourself with while you're working, Rosa." Doctor Lyle said dismissively.
"We wouldn't want to hold you up!" Sister Adelaide added. Rosamund tried to keep the confusion from her face.
"I really should be going anyway, see you both again soon." Doctor Lyle left a few daisy petals on the table for a tip and then slid his chair back with an unpleasant scraping sound.
"And I have so much to do at the church! I'll see you after your shift, Dear." Adelaide shuffled after him and Rosamund was left standing there twice as confused as she had been. What were the two of them doing together? It seemed like Peter had turned the whole town topsy-turvy.
Rosamund set to work clearly their empty coffee cups and uneaten rolls when she heard one of the fisherman from his table.
"I'm tellin' you! I saw them carrying in a whole sack of some blinky, glowly, nightmare fuel! Saw it with my own eyes! You can't be tellin' me that I ain't saw what I saw. When the door opened it wasn't even the maid! It was the M-"
"Keep quiet ya old fool! You want to get our fishing licenses revoked again? You didn't see nothin', I didn't see nothin, and nobody is gonna say anything about the nothin' that they saw. Got it?" One of the other fisherman hushed the first and their conversation shifted to the weather instead.
Rosamund took her tray and the dishes back into the kitchen where the dishes were scrubbing away at themselves with an enchanted cleaning cloth. If it was fine to have magic for chores, what was so bad about Peter's magic?
The longer he was here the more questions she had. But now she had a place to look for answers. If the lantern flies were at the Mayor's house, that's where she had to go.