The Castle of Fire and Fable (Briarwood Reverse Harem Book 2)

by Steffanie Holmes

  I shoved my head inside. It was a Tuesday, so there was no service going on. A man in elaborate priest’s robes stood by the altar, peering through wire-framed spectacles at a clipboard while a cherubim woman gesticulated wildly, jabbing a fat finger at the paper.

  “That’s Sheryl Brownley,” Jane whispered. “She’s a friend of my mother – the only one I can actually stand. She’s the local florist, and she’s on every committee and community group on the village.”

  Sheryl Brownley turned then, and her ruddy face lit up when she caught sight of us peeking around the door. “Jane, darling! It’s been so long. Come in, come in, dearies. Father McCoy and I were just discussing the floral arrangements for this year’s All Saint’s Day service. Do you have that delightful baby boy with you? Oh, I must have a wee cuddle. And who is your friend? I know every face in this village, but I don’t recognize yours.”

  Jane stepped into the nave, looking as if she was descending into hell. “Hi, Sheryl, it’s nice to see you again. I’ll just unbuckle Connor, I’m sure he’d love a cuddle. This is Maeve Crawford. She’s now the owner of Briarwood—”

  “—the castle, but of course!” Sheryl bustled over and wrapped her arms around me, knocking the window out of me and placing a sloppy kiss on each of my cheeks. “You’re Aline Moore’s girl. We’ve all been so curious about you, gone all these years and now suddenly returned.”

  “You knew my mother?”

  “Oh yes. Your mother was well known in the village. She was beautiful, as you well know.” She studied my face. “You’ve inherited her eyes. My dear friend Agnes Andrews saw you in the pub a few nights ago, and she wanted to come over and chat but you were surrounded by all those strapping young men. You must be careful, or you’ll end up with a reputation, like our Jane here, nasty business, but the Lord knows the truth of her heart. Now Jane, let me at that baby boy.”

  Jane handed Connor over. Sheryl bounced him in her arms, planting a hundred kisses on his tiny head until her lipstick smeared across his cheeks.

  “I’ll leave you guys to talk.” I sat down in the pew at the front, leaving my purse on the bench beside me. Jane stared up at the altar, her face twisting. She opened her mouth several times before she finally pushed the words out.

  “I actually want to talk to you about a baptism,” Jane’s eyes focused on the vicar. “For Connor.”

  “I don’t really think that’s appropriate—” he started.

  “Oh, don’t be such a wet blanket, Peter.” Sheryl scoffed. “I’m sure Jane didn’t mean for all the commotion last time. Come along, dear. I take care of all the bookings for the church, anyway. I’ll find you a date. Can you look after Connor for us, dearie? We'll just pop out back.”

  Without waiting for an answer, she shoved Connor into my arms. I couldn’t help but grin at his lipstick smeared face. “I’ll just wait here,” I said, staring up at the altar. “It’s so beautiful.”

  The Crawford’s church in Arizona was nothing like this place. Ours was a huge, purpose-built square building, almost like a gymnasium or a rock venue. There was a lighting rig on the ceiling and a hardwood stage and a projector that took up an entire wall. I’d asked Dad once why it didn’t resemble the pictures of churches I saw in books, with their steeples and bell towers, and he’d said that they were trying to distance themselves from those medieval displays of wealth.

  “Those churches were built to glorify man, not God,” he had told me in his soft way.

  But as I looked at the elaborate carvings on the altar and the light reflecting through the stained glass windows, and the shiny silver goblets and implements waiting for the service, I saw a little of the might and majesty that would have greeted a peasant as soon as they entered this place. All of it was designed to leave you in awe, to channel your energy toward thinking about His word. Like the candles and stones in the ritual we performed in the early hours of the morning, none of these objects contained God, but they helped to focus the mind, channel the energy.

  For the first time in my life, I wondered if I might actually understand religion, just a tiny bit.

  Now that’s a creepy thought.

  My phone buzzed. Kelly’s face appeared on the screen. Oh no, I forgot to call her back. I looked up at the vicar, who pointed to a sign above the choir that read ‘Turn your phones off in the house of our LORD.’ Sighing, I darted to the back of the church, pressing the phone to my ear.

  “Kelly, hey,” I shifted Connor to the other hand as I settled myself in the back pew.

  “Why are you whispering?”

  Hearing Kelly’s voice brought everything back – the horror of what had happened to our parents, the fact that I’d never see them again, and that I’d never get to show them this beautiful church or discuss the meaning of all the different Church of England rituals. I’d been so caught up in Briarwood and learning about the guys and the fae and my mother and my powers, that I’d barely thought about the Crawfords since I’d broken down in Arthur’s arms.

  Raw grief rushed over me, calling up all the dark thoughts I’d pushed aside. Kelly’s voice in my ear reminded me how far away from each other we were. My arms ached to hold her, to draw strength from her vivacious nature. But she didn’t sound all that vivacious right now. Her voice croaked, and I knew without asking that she’d be crying. Guilt stabbed at me that I’d been off fighting fae and not thinking about my parents and then I couldn’t stop thinking about them. The flood of memories hammered against my skull, making my head swim and my stomach clench.

  “I’m in a church,” I whispered, the grief stifling my voice.

  “A church? I thought you’d never set foot in a one of those again, Miss Rational Humanist.”

  “It’s a long story. I’m here for a friend. What’s up?”

  “Oh, nothing. I’m just sitting here, missing Mom and Dad, and you, too.”

  “I miss you, too.” I struggled to get the words out, my tongue weighed down by grief. “How’s life living with Uncle Bob and Aunt Florence?”

  Silence.

  I tapped my phone. “Kelly? Can you hear me?”

  A pause. “Yeah… um… it’s okay, I guess. They really were so nice to offer to be my guardians. They’re a lot stricter than Mom and Dad.”

  “I remember that.“ We visited Bob and Florence a few times, and it usually ended with Dad hurriedly bustling us into the car after I said something to annoy Uncle Bob. And considering Uncle Bob was annoyed by the fact Muslim Americans still got to vote and he wasn’t allowed to take his pistol to the movie theater, I had a lot of ground to cover.

  “Be glad you’re not here,” Kelly said, her voice surprisingly bright. “There’s a list of house rules a mile long and I have to spend half an hour every night in silent prayer and they took most of my clothes and books away, but it’s only a year until I can go to college or come stay with you, right?”

  “Don’t get your hopes up. I might have sold Briarwood by then.” That had always been my plan, but saying the words out loud made my chest squeeze tighter. I’d only been here a week and I was already getting attached. “Why did they take your clothes and books?”

  “No books are allowed in the house that aren’t biblical. And my clothes weren’t modest enough. Aunt Florence went shopping for me. You should see the dress I’m wearing. Even the Puritans would have called it too much.”

  “How’s school?”

  “Dumb, but I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to hear about the fabulous time you’re having in your castle with all those hot guys of yours.”

  “Um…” I glanced up to where the vicar was talking with Jane and Sheryl by the altar. He saw me on my phone and frowned. “I want to tell you all about it, but there isn’t really much more to tell since last time…”

  “Since you kissed the Aragorn one?” Kelly teased.

  I paused, remembering Arthur’s strong lips against mine, the way his kiss tore my breath away. God, that was a good kiss. We hadn’t gone any further, even tho
ugh we both wanted to. Arthur didn’t think it was fair on the others.

  What would I tell Kelly? Not about the witchcraft, obviously, or the fae. She’d have me committed. But did I tell her about sleeping with Corbin and Rowan, about Flynn and Corbin, Flynn and Blake? Would she get it? Would she think it was awesome or would she be concerned I was throwing it around like the Large Hadron Collider?

  Would it just sound too much like I was showing off my fabulous new life?

  But this was Kelly, my sister. I had to tell her something. I need to think about this.

  “Listen, Kelly, I really shouldn’t talk here. The vicar is giving me a filthy look already. Can I call you back a little later?”

  “Sure,” Kelly said brightly. “I want to hear all the gory details. Bye, sis!”

  She hung up. I stared at the phone, in awe of how well she seemed to be handling our parents’ deaths and her new living situation. She always had it so much better than me. Kelly was the laughing extrovert, the girl who could insert herself into any social situation with a smile and flirtatious remark. It was no wonder she was coping okay, even with Uncle Bob and Aunt Florence’s craziness. She hadn’t fallen into bed with several guys in order to deal with her loss.

  Jane came bounding back just as I clicked the phone off. “You’re not supposed to talk on that in here,” she said.

  I shoved the phone in my pocket. “Since when do you play by the rules?”

  “Since Sheryl here has fandangled me a baptism the day after tomorrow,” Jane grinned. “And it happens to occur on my mother’s regular appointment with her golf instructor, so she won’t even be able to come.” She lowered her voice. “I managed to wrangle a name out of her of another village harlot with an unbaptized child.”

  “Excellent.” I handed Connor back to her. “I’ll just get my purse and we can go.”

  When I went back to the front of the church, my purse wasn’t on the seat. Odd, I swear I left it right here. I bent down to check under the pew in case it had rolled off somehow, but it didn’t seem to be there, either.

  “You lost it?” Jane asked, shifting Connor to her other shoulder.

  “I swear I left it here when I got the phone call.” I frowned, glancing around the church. The only people inside were the vicar and Sheryl, and unless the vicar was hiding my purse under his robes, I couldn’t see how either of them could have taken it.

  “I’ll check at the back.” Jane ran off. I got on my hands and knees and peered under the nearby pews. Surely it couldn’t have gone far? It wasn’t as if it had legs or was magically imbued like Aladdin’s carpet. I thought of the four magical protections inside, and a lump of panic rose in my throat. Had a fae escaped our warding spell? Had one of them snuck in to steal my purse so we’d be unprotected?

  “Er, do you need some assistance?” the vicar asked, although his voice clearly implied he thought our problem was beneath his concern.

  Now I was getting frantic. My stomach churned as I crawled around between the pews, pawing under every surface. It’s not here. The fae have it, but what are they going to do with it—

  “Oh, here it is!” Sheryl popped her head up from the next pew. She held up the strap of my purse in triumph.

  “Thank god!” I explained, ignoring the vicar’s stern face as I raced toward Sheryl.

  “It was hiding behind this pillar,” Sheryl explained, pointing to one of the large gothic arches lining the nave. “It probably rolled off and skidded on the floor. The marble gets quite slippery. Last week, Mabel’s heel came right out from underneath her and she took quite a tumble. The poor dear nearly had to get her other hip replaced.”

  Sheryl dumped the purse back in my hands. It rattled as all my things clattered around. “Thanks!” I replied. “For everything, really.”

  “You’re welcome, my dears. Please come back any time. There’s a weekly service schedule on the church noticeboard, and everyone is welcome.” Sheryl said that last bit with a glare at the vicar.

  Jane was smiling as we pushed our way through the door. “I’ve never felt this good after spending time in a church before,” she said, bouncing Connor’s stroller down the shallow steps.

  “I think this calls for a celebration.” I pawed around in my purse, searching for Rowan’s cookies. “In three days time, Connor will be safe from Daigh, and we can get to this other woman and—”

  The words flew out of my mouth as someone barreled around the corner of the steps and slammed into me.

  “Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry!” A familiar voice croaked. “Allow me to he—”

  The voice stopped mid-word as the figure backed up, and I recoiled as its face transformed from concern to venom.

  It was Dora.

  “You,” she spat at me. “How dare you step foot inside the house of our Lord?”

  I bit my lip. My heart thudded against my chest. We hadn’t had a chance to figure out what to do about Dora, about the fact that she would remember the fae in her head, moving her limbs without her consent, wielding that knife on her behalf. Now she was staring at me, a glob of spittle on the edge of her brown lipsticked mouth, waiting for me to respond.

  “What are you talking about?” Jane demanded, hand on her hip. “Maeve has as much right to be here as anyone else.”

  No, Jane. Don’t make it worse.

  “Fine words from a harlot,” Dora’s penetrating gaze swiveled to Jane. She raised a finger and jabbed it at Jane’s chest. I noticed her wrinkled skin was speckled with red. Red paint, like the paint on Jane’s front door. “You dare to profane these walls with your presence, nursing a bastard on your breast while your dear mother prays for your eternal salvation. I shouldn’t be surprised you’re colluding with this witch.”

  “Dora,” I said softly. “You know witches don’t exist. What happened the other day has a rational explanation.” The sentence was so ridiculous coming from my lips – the scientist who demanded a rational explanation for everything but had been forced to embrace the occult – that I almost burst out laughing. But Dora’s stormy face was nothing to laugh about.

  “I know you placed a demon inside me,” she snarled. “I could hear it inside my head, moving my mouth and body, forcing me to hurt my boys. Those boys are like sons to me, and you made me hate them. You made me try to hurt them. I’m here to see if the vicar will pray over me, lest my mortal soul be in danger from your foul, demonic touch.”

  “I thought Christians were supposed to be accepting of all people,” Jane’s eyes flashed. She shoved Connor’s stroller forward, forcing Dora to leap out of the way. “Maeve owns the castle now, and those boys care about her. She’s a part of this village so you should get used to seeing her around, and me. We’re not going anywhere.”

  “Crookshollow will not suffer witches and Jezebels,” Dora yelled after as as we wheeled our way down the path. “You’ll pay for your sins!”

  “Christ, what’s her problem?” Jane fumed as we rushed down the street, just as Arthur pulled up in his ridiculous car and waved at us.

  “Us, I guess.” My hands trembled. I remembered the words written on Jane’s door and the paint splattered on Dora’s hands. I had a horrible feeling that Dora wasn’t going to stop until she’d run us both out of Crookshollow for good.

  14

  CORBIN

  The door swung open, and a face I hadn’t seen since the Christmas-before-last appeared in the gap, her features drab in the pale sky, her hollow eyes lighting up a little at the corners as she recognized me.

  “Hi, Mum.”

  She’d cut her hair since I’d last seen her – a short, sensible bob that cut off at her chin with a razor-sharp line. It made her look older, or maybe that was the sagging skin around the edges of her mouth and the haunted look in her eyes.

  “Corbin,” she said, not unkindly, but not with the longing of a mother who hadn’t seen her son in nearly two years. “This is a surprise.”

  “Yeah, it is. Can we come in?”

  “We?” Mum pee
red around me, and her lips pursed as she took in Rowan. “You brought him?”

  Rowan opened his mouth to speak, but I beat him to it. “He’s my friend, Mum. He’s changed since you last met him. He’s completely clean now.”

  “He doesn’t look clean.” She wrinkled her nose. “The girls will be home any minute. Is he safe in the house?”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t have brought him otherwise.”

  I watched the cogs turn in her brain, holding my breath for her decision. Finally, she stepped back and held the door open. I slid my boots off and placed them in the haphazard pile of shoes that always littered the entrance. My chest panged to see the girls’ school shoes and sparkly sneakers alongside Dad’s Oxfords and wellies. Their feet were so much bigger than I remembered.

  Mum led us down a hall that should have been crowded with family pictures but instead housed dull department store artwork. She bypassed the sitting room and gestured for us to sit at the dining room table. “I’ll put the kettle on,” she said, shuffling into the kitchen.

  “How are things, Mum?” The question sounded so forced and wrong in this house. Rowan sat on the other side of the table and stared at his feet. I glanced around the room, noting again the lack of family photos on the walls. She opened the fridge to get the milk out and I noticed the door bulged under the volume of Tessa and Bianca’s drawings and school notices stuck there. At least some things were the same.

  She launched into a story about the girls’ current obsession with hip-hop dancing. Tessa had decided she was going to be the next Beyoncé, and of course Bianca had to do anything that Tessa did, so they were currently at their weekly dance class. “Tessa’s writing and directing her own play at school,” Mum said, her voice listless, as if that wasn’t an amazing thing for an eight-year-old to be doing. Mum held up a mug. “Were you milk and sugar? I can’t remember.”

  “Milk, no sugar for me. Rowan has the same.”

  “Oh, right.” Mum set an extra mug down on the countertop. She’d either been intending to ignore Rowan, or else she’d forgotten he was there. I wasn’t sure which option worried me more.