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

by Steffanie Holmes

  Every second I sat in silence at the table weighed on me, pushing my body into the carpet. The family we’d been before The Incident existed only as a fuzzy memory, a dream that felt too unsettling in its perfection. Had we really been that happy? Had the kitchen at Briarwood really been alive with German nursery rhymes and silly games and arguments over who got the last of the chocolate milk? Looking around this barren, dead home, I couldn’t see it.

  Mum set down mugs of steaming tea in front of us. She slumped into the chair at the end of the table, as far from us as she could be while still putting on the British pretense of being polite. She talked about the girls and her knitting club and Dad’s hernia, and her face tightened into the pinched expression she always got when I came over. She filled the silence so I wouldn’t find any space in the conversation to talk about Briarwood or magic or Keegan.

  I let her have her delusion for a little while longer, but when I reached the bottom of my teacup, I leapt. “That’s all great, Mum.” I toyed with the chipped rim of my cup. “Listen, we came to ask you about something.”

  Immediately, her pinched expression turned hostile. “Corbin—”

  “The spell protecting the gateway to Tir Na Nog is failing, and more and more fae are slipping through. We need to know how that spell works so we can recreate it—”

  “Corbin, that’s enough.”

  Rowan cringed at her sharp tone, but I barreled on.

  “Mum, I know you don’t want to deal with magic, and I’ve respected that. All these years I’ve never asked you for help with anything. But this is serious. They took two babies from the village. We managed to get them back and stop the fae temporarily, but we don’t know what they’re going to do when—”

  “You made your choice when you chose that place and those hooligans instead of your own family,” she said this with a sharp look at Rowan. “Your father and I allowed you to throw your life away for it, isn’t that enough? Must you poison our home with your bad choices?”

  “This home is already poisoned, and this is bigger than me and the coven. You could all be in danger. I don’t know what they’re trying to do. They may come after the girls next—”

  “That’s enough. Not another word.” Mum stood up, dropping her mug into the sink with a crash. “If that’s all you came here to say, you can leave now.”

  I glanced at Rowan and shook my head. I knew this was pointless. We shouldn’t have even bothered. “Can I at least stick around to see the girls? I promise we won’t mention magic again, either of us.”

  Her expression softened an inch. She knew how much my sisters missed me and how little they understood about what had transpired between us to keep me away. “All right. But a single word about magic and you will be permanently banned from this house.”

  “Understood.”

  Rowan stood up. “Mrs. Harris, could I use the bathroom?”

  She looked like she was going to tell him he couldn’t, but I broke in before her. “It’s right down the hall, man.”

  Rowan shuffled off, leaving me alone with Mum. She stood over the sink, her hands gripping the edge like it was the only thing holding her upright. She stared out the window, where a pair of starlings attacked a small bird-feeder made out of an egg carton hung in the fir tree. I stood up, my chair scraping against the linoleum, and went to stand next to her. I placed a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t shrug it off. I braced myself and went in for a full hug.

  She sighed - a visceral, terrible sound for all its sadness and finality. She rested her head on my shoulder, but she didn’t embrace me back. Her body felt thin and frail – not the buxom, cuddly woman who’d fixed my skinned knees and baked cakes with me. The Incident had stolen that mother from me, in the same way it had stolen everything good from our lives.

  “We missed you at Christmas,” she said stiffly. “I cooked your favorite – roast chicken.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” I’d been in Arizona over Christmas, keeping an eye on Maeve and her family. I’d stood in the bushes at the edge of her house like a creep and looked in the windows at her and Kelly exchanging presents under the tree while her Dad swung his wife around the room in a giddy dance. I’d felt the same pang in my chest then that I was feeling now. “Did you get the presents?”

  “We did. Thank you. The girls colored in their books in a day.”

  “Good.” I struggled to think of something else to say. So much of my life was Briarwood and magic and Maeve, and she wouldn’t let me talk about it. I hunted around for a subject she could engage with. “I’ve been learning Manx.”

  “Manx? You mean, from the Isle of Mann?”

  “Yeah. It’s only spoken by a few academics and some revivalists, but it’s got these really interesting diversions from the other Goidelic languages.”

  “It’s just like you to add another dead, useless language to your repertoire.” Mum placed her hand over mine. Her fingers trembled a little. I looked down at her face, expecting to see tears streaking her cheeks. Instead, she was smiling. A genuine smile that took ten years off her aged face. I rocked back on my heels, surprised. I hadn’t seen that smile in so many years. “How many is that now?”

  “Fifteen. I don’t count my Spanish because it’s pretty shaky.”

  “Your Dad will be proud.” Her grin widened. But then, as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished, leaving behind the drawn, ghost of a woman my mother had become. “Oh, Corbin, when are you going to go to university and put that brain of yours to use?”

  “I don’t need a degree to put my brain to use. There’s plenty for me to…” I trailed off. I’d been about to mention the library and Briarwood, and that would’ve been bad.

  The front door banged. Mum leapt away from me, her head jerking toward the door.

  “Mummy, today we learned about twerking!” Tessa cried, her footsteps clattering down the hall.

  My sister stopped short when she saw me in the kitchen. “Corby!” She jumped into my arms. I held her tight against me, breathing in that milky scent of her. She’d got bigger and heavier since I’d last seen her, some of the baby fat gone from her face.

  “It’s a surprise,” I grunted, staggering backwards as I struggled to hold her squirming body. Bianca came running in and threw her arms around my legs. My chest ached as emotions I’d forced myself not to acknowledge forcing themselves to the surface. It’s been too long to go without seeing the girls.

  “It’s the best surprise. I wrote a story in school today about a dinosaur. Did you know people discovered dinosaurs in England? We’re going to go to the museum next week and look at their bones. Can you come to the museum with us? It’ll be way more fun with you.”

  “Tessa,” Mum warned.

  “What? Oh, sorry, Mum. I didn’t mean that you’re boring. But we haven’t seen Corby in aaaaages. Will you take us to the dinosaurs?”

  “Corbin’s going back to Crookshollow tonight, aren’t you?” A hint of desperation clutched to Mum’s voice.

  “I am.” I set Tessa down and picked up Bianca, spinning her around until her legs flared out and she broke down into giggles. “I’ll take you to see the dinosaurs another time.”

  I meant every word, but I knew it would never happen. The knowledge squirmed in my gut. You’re a horrible big brother.

  “But can you stay for tea? We’re having toad-in-the-hole.” Tessa jumped up and down. “I’m going to make the batter!”

  Behind Tessa’s head, Mum was shaking her head. But no way in hell was I going to say no to that face. “I’d love to,” I hugged Tessa again.

  The girls dragged me off to their room to show me their school stuff and their doll collections. As I sat on the bed and learned all about the love lives of their Barbies and Sindys and Bratz (Cathy and Barbara were girlfriend and girlfriend – for eight-year-olds, my sisters were pretty progressive), it occurred to me that Rowan hadn’t yet come back from the bathroom.

  Dread stabbed at my gut. There were too many secrets in this hous
e for Rowan to be wandering around unchecked. What’s he doing?

  15

  ROWAN

  They’ve got to keep their magical stuff around here somewhere.

  In one of the rare moments when he spoke about his family (usually after one-too-many glasses of Arthur’s mead) Corbin told me that after Keegan died, his parents had totally broken away from magic. They burned their family grimoire and all their ritual implements on a big bonfire and left Briarwood behind them. But I didn’t believe him.

  Magic was in our blood. It pulsed in my veins – a hum that rose from deep in the earth and thrummed through my body. You couldn’t just get rid of it. And Corbin’s parents knew the dangers of the fae. Even if they’d renounced their magical ways, no way would they take a chance that the fae might come after their daughters. Corbin’s protective air magic simmered in their veins – they would protect their family at all costs.

  That grimoire was around here somewhere. And maybe, just maybe, it would have a record of what happened twenty-one years ago – something that could help us.

  I pulled one door open, revealing a linen closet. Feeling around behind the towels revealed no hidden doors or lockboxes. I shut the closet as quietly as possible and crept up the stairs.

  On the landing I could hear Corbin laughing with his sisters in one of the rooms. The mirth in his voice tore at my heart.

  I crept past the girls’ bedroom and pushed open another door, finding a darkened room with drawn curtains beyond. I slipped inside and shut the door after me.

  I pulled my phone from my pocket and shone it around in the gloom, looking for an altar or a shelf of books. Instead, I found a bedroom.

  A teenage boy’s bedroom, with two beds and a shelf of action figures and science fiction novels. Cases from fantasy computer games. Two Playboy posters and Chelsea flags dotted the walls. Names spelled out in red wooden letters hung over each bed.

  On the left, CORBIN. On the right, KEEGAN.

  My throat went dry. I stared at that second name until the letters blurred and ceased to have meaning. Between the beds sat a small nightstand crowded with photographs. I picked one up, looking at a picture of Corbin aged about thirteen – with an adorable gap-toothed smile – wearing a Scouts uniform, a red backpack covered with band patches at his feet. His arm hung casually around a boy a year or so younger, wearing the same uniform and holding a blue backpack that looked brand-new. He had Corbin’s dark hair and bright, intelligent eyes. Both boys looked excited.

  There it was, right in front of me, the reason Corbin’s shoulders stooped with the weight of the world. Keegan. The boy I’d never met whose life and death hung over every aspect of my life, who kept Corbin tethered to Briarwood and Maeve in the vain hope that keeping them safe would absolve him of the guilt he had no reason to feel.

  It was six years ago, but Corbin stubbornly refused to cast off the blame for Keegan’s death.

  Anxiety tugged at the back of my head, pressing against me. If you really loved Corbin, you’d be able to heal him. You’d be able to make him see that he didn’t have anything to be guilty about. But you’re so completely useless. You don’t really love him, you’re attracted to him because you’re broken and warped and when he sees that he’ll kick you out of Briarwood and you’ll be back in the gutter. And it will be exactly what you deserve, because what even is the point of you?

  Fuck.

  My throat tightened. The more I tried to shove the thoughts down, the more they pressed against my skull, shoving out all other sense. I forgot about searching for the grimoire, forgot about being in Corbin’s parents house and the fact they hated me. I cast my eyes around the room, searching for something to count. Counting made the voices stop.

  The figures.

  He’ll never love you in that way, because who would love a fucked-up delinquent who hears voices in his head and counts everything to stay sane? One day he’ll find out the truth and you’ll never see Corbin or Maeve again—

  I dropped to my knees in front of the bookshelf, my eyes darting across the rows of elaborately painted D&D figurines and transformers. I touched the head of each one as I counted, one… two… three…

  The anxiety loosened its grip on my windpipe, and I gasped in a breath. Four… five… six…

  “Rowan!” Corbin called.

  Shit.

  I dropped the photograph and rushed to the door, opened it a crack and peering out onto the landing. Corbin passed by, heading toward the stairs. I slipped out of the door and pulled it shut behind me. There was no sense in hiding what I’d been doing. “Here,” I said.

  “You weren’t in the bathroom?”

  “I… got lost on the way back.”

  “Really?” Corbin lifted an eyebrow in a joking way, but his eyes flashed. “Walking up the flight of stairs didn’t give you a clue?”

  I shrugged. “You know me. I’m pretty clueless.”

  Corbin sighed. “Mum is already freaking out, especially about you being here. If I give her one reason for her to kick us out—”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  His face softened. He waved a hand at me. “Come on. The girls want us to play board games with them.”

  We spent an hour sprawled across the sitting room rug, a game of Settlers of Catan spread out in front of us. We had the same game at Briarwood, but Arthur and Corbin got so competitive it wasn’t nearly as much fun. The girls squealed with delight every time they got to place another city or collect a big haul of resources. Flynn wasn’t there making inappropriate “wood” jokes. It was so nice it made my stomach hurt.

  My shoulders itched, sensing a presence behind me. Every time I looked over, Bree Harris stood in the doorway, watching me with hawklike intensity.

  I didn’t blame her, not after what she’d seen the last time we met – me, five days out of rehab, tearing trees up from the castle grounds with my magic and hurling them through the lower floor windows. Of course she thought I was dangerous for her daughters to be around.

  Corbin’s father arrived home around seven. He was a Don in nearby Oxford, so he came up the front path in his academic dress, looking like a character from Harry Potter. The girls met him at the door, leaping all over him while he tried to wrap his weary arms around their squirming bodies. Emptiness echoed in my head as I watched the warm family scene. This loud house, those gorgeous girls, the smell of warm sausages wafting from the kitchen… it was everything I’d always wanted.

  Corbin gave up all of this – this joy, this love – for the coven, for me. He had everything and he gave it up because he believed it was the right thing to do. If I’d had this I’d never have been strong enough to turn away from it, especially not for a burnout like me.

  With burning shame I remembered the person I was when Corbin found me. A street punk with a heroin addiction and a power I couldn’t control. I resented Corbin for dragging me away from London and forcing me into rehab. I deliberately failed, twice, just to prove to him that he was wrong. I brought drugs into Briarwood – something he forbid me to do – and tore up a priceless tapestry during one of my fits.

  Flynn and Arthur wanted me out of the castle. I didn’t blame them – all they saw was a dangerous, unpredictable addict who had a vendetta against tapestries. I must have destroyed thousands of dollars of priceless antiques in those first few months.

  But Corbin never gave up on me. Always he was there beside me, at all my rehab sessions, talking to my counsellors, patiently waiting for me to get my shit together.

  Eventually I did, and when I emerged from the drug-fueled haze, a pair of shining dark eyes greeted me, filled with such pride and love that I’d never been able to look away from them since.

  But without the drugs, the anxiety crept on me, and it was getting worse, especially since Maeve had turned up. The voice wailed at me day and night that I was an imposter, I wasn’t supposed to be there, I wasn’t strong enough or good enough to be part of the coven, and I would never have the love I so desperate
ly wished for.

  Eventually, Corbin’s dad extricated himself from his daughters and hung up his coat and gown. He stood up and his eyes flashed with pain when he noticed his eldest son.

  “Hey, Dad,” Corbin’s soft voice betrayed his hope.

  Wordlessly, Corbin’s dad nodded his head, then pushed past Corbin and headed to the kitchen. “It’s dinnertime,” he called to the girls. “Wash your hands.”

  Corbin’s shoulders sagged, but when he looked at me, his face was as kind and impassive as ever. I moved toward him, but he stepped back and shook his head.

  “We should get going,” he said, his voice soft.

  “Yes,” his mother nodded vehemently, her eyes darting toward the kitchen. “Traffic going back to London will be slow. You’ll want to catch the next bus.”

  She didn’t ask us to stay for dinner. I’d seen her place an enormous toad-in-the-hole into the oven. There would have been plenty to go around. But Corbin’s dad—

  He didn’t even acknowledge Corbin’s presence. How could he refuse to even see his son? Couldn’t he see what that did to Corbin?

  “Can I just go say goodbye to the girls?”

  She shook her head. “Put your shoes on. I’ll bring them out.”

  “If you change your mind about what we talked about—”

  “Goodbye, son.” Corbin’s mother stepped forward, raising her arms slightly, as if she was going to hug him. But halfway there she seemed to think better of it, and patted him awkwardly on the shoulder instead. She turned and went into the kitchen, and a moment later appeared again with the girls in tow.

  “Corby, come back soon!” Tessa wrapped herself around Corbin’s leg.

  “And Rowan, too.” Bianca wrapped her tiny body around my leg. Her warmth seeped through my trousers. I bit back a rising lump in my throat and patted her shoulder, not knowing what to say.

  “Girls, don’t keep your brother. He’s got to catch the bus now.”