Blake shrugged. “Dreams are free.”
“Not my dreams. You did something, didn’t you?” Blake’s grin widened, and realization dawned on me. I glared at Rowan, who flinched and stared at his shoes. “You rotten bastard. You put something in the tea. How could you do this? I expect that from Flynn, but not from you. It’s a violation of—”
“I didn’t think you’d be back.”
I whirled around, sending up another puff of dust. Corbin leaned against one of the doors, wearing the same clothes he’d died in and a wide, earnest grin. The shaft of a bone knife stuck out of his torso, on the left side of his abdomen. He gave a coquettish little wave. “I see you’ve brought the others.”
“I didn’t bring them,” I glared at Blake and Rowan. “They drugged me so they could come here on their own.”
Corbin’s smile widened. “Let me guess, because you refused to believe I was more than a figment of your imagination?”
Blake gave Corbin a little wave. “You’ve got to come back, mate. Without you, she’s impossible to keep in line.”
Rowan’s body went rigid. He blinked several times. “Corbin?” he asked in a whisper. “It’s really you?”
Corbin moved so fast I didn’t even see him. One moment he was leaning against the wall with that knife handle jiggling as he talked. The next, he stood in front of Rowan. They fell against each other, their arms tangling together as they pressed their bodies close. Rowan’s dreads swung through the air as he brought his lips to Corbin’s. They devoured each other, their longing erupting off them in waves of desire.
My heart soared, even as my body trembled. I wanted to run to them and throw myself into the fray. I wanted Corbin’s lips against mine, his strong, steady hands skimming my body, his tongue devouring me. I wanted it to be real.
Corbin pulled back, breathing hard. “It feels so good to touch someone again.”
“What about Maeve?” Blake asked. “Surely you had a little dreamtime hanky-panky last time you met?”
“Maeve won’t let me hug her,” Corbin grinned. “It’s not scientifically possible.”
“Figments of my imagination shouldn’t hug me,” I muttered.
“He’s no figment,” Rowan breathed, his arms locked around Corbin’s torso. He grazed the knife handle with his forearm, and another shudder drove through his body. He dropped his arms and stepped away.
Corbin stared down at the knife. “Sorry about that. It’s bloody annoying. I pull it out and it just appears again.”
“I think it’s rather fetching,” Blake said.
“You’ve seen Corbin now,” I snapped. “Can you both go away and come wake me up? I don’t want to be here anymore.”
“No can do, Princess. Not until Mussolini here tells us what he did to stop himself from properly dying, and why.”
“I knew you guys would figure it out,” Corbin grinned. He scratched at the collar of his shirt, pulling out a long leather cord. On the end of it was a tiny lump of metal, shaped a little like a bottle. On the end was a small engraving of a cross. I had the vague sense I’d seen it before. “All this time it was sitting on my shelf in the library and I didn’t even knew what it could do.”
“And what exactly is it?” The familiarity of the object nagged at me, but Corbin did have a lot of old junk in the library.
“Don’t worry about that right now. I wrote it all down for you. Listen, this is important. I’ve seen something,” Corbin frowned. “The king of the underworld has Daigh’s power.”
Blake nodded. “Daigh told us he traded it for the ability to speak to us through the castle mirrors. Isn’t that hilarious? Daigh rendered himself powerless and did all our work for us.”
Corbin shook his head. “Daigh’s more dangerous than ever.”
“Mate, he’s locked up in a steel room at Ryan Raynard’s house, as you’d know if you hadn’t been on this mission to die for… what reason exactly?” Blake frowned at him. “That’s what I don’t get. The sacrificing yourself to save the coven, I get. That’s your thing, like Flynn’s thing is being annoying and Rowan’s thing is talking to the floor. But you couldn’t have known what would happen last night and that we’d all escape. So what I don’t get is why. What did your death accomplish?”
“I had a suspicion from the way Daigh seemed so unconcerned about discovering how we intended to stop the Slaugh that he had something more sinister in mind,” Corbin said. “It occurred to me that we’ve been approaching this idea of an alliance as if there are two worlds involved – the human world and the fae. But in reality, there are three. By coming to this place and raising the Slaugh, Daigh’s involved the demons, too. And no alliance between us would work unless we included them.”
“Why didn’t you just say that?” I yelled. “Why did you have to die?”
“Because the only way to negotiate with the demons was to be here in the flesh.” Corbin glanced down at his body. “Or not in the flesh, I guess. The only way I’d be able to speak to them was if the fae were somewhere else – say, if they were busy on earth, trying to get their hands on Briarwood.”
“And did you speak to them?” Blake asked.
Corbin nodded. “I think so.”
“You think so?”
“I had an audience with the king of the underworld. Or queen of the underworld. That’s not yet clear. Demons don’t seem to have genders. It has a name but when the demons pronounce it all I can hear is gargling. Which was also all I got in reply to my entreaty, although at the mention of Daigh’s name it got very agitated. But there’s a demon CEO and I spoke to it and I get the idea it wants Daigh and his fae cronies gone from the underworld.”
“That’s going to happen when the Slaugh ride, anyway,” Blake said.
Corbin nodded. “Exactly, and now it has Daigh’s power it doesn’t seem too concerned. But I know and you know that we’re going to stop the Slaugh. What I also know, and what I’ve been trying to tell you, is that Daigh is going to stage a hostile takeover. We’ve maneuvered him into a corner. He knows he can’t go back to the fae now. He’s going to make a move on the underworld, probably while it’s empty during the Slaugh.”
“How do you know what Daigh’s going to do?” I demanded. “He’s locked away in Raynard Hall and you’re… here, wherever here is.”
“Just say it, Maeve. We’re in the underworld.” Corbin ran a hand through his dark hair. “And I know what Daigh’s going to do because I’ve seen it. It hasn’t happened yet, but it’s going to happen soon.”
“Now I know this is just a dream,” I said. “Corbin never claimed to have any precognitive powers.”
“I don’t,” Corbin said. “But you do.”
“How many times do I have to tell you, there’s no—”
“—such thing as precognition unless you subscribe to retrocausality,” Blake rolled his eyes. “We get it, Princess.”
“I don’t really know how to explain it, Maeve. Right now I exist outside of space and time, in your dreams. There’s a stream of energy, like a cord, connecting us all together, even when I’m all the way down here. It’s what enables me to enter your dreams. And it seems to allow me to use all your powers. Look.” Corbin held out his hand, and a small fireball appeared on his palm. “I could never do that before, either. If I think about Arthur, I can make fire.”
“I believe it,” Rowan whispered.
“I don’t.” Wake up, I commanded myself. You know this is a dream. Just wake up and it’ll be over.
Corbin reached for my hand. “Come with me. I’ll show you. We have to hurry.”
I recoiled, not wanting his skin to touch mine. I didn’t know what would be worse – to touch him and feel the icy pall of his death, or to sense the warmth of blood pumping through his veins and to know it was a lie. Why did my brain have to give me this nightmare? Why was I aware, but I couldn’t wake up?
Because Blake and Rowan drugged you. If it was the same drug that had helped me enter the fae realm to save the babies,
I’d need to dig deep into my own pain and grief to find a nightmare that would jolt me awake. But wasn’t this nightmare enough? Or did some part of me want to believe what Corbin said was true?
“I’m never one to pass up an opportunity to meet royalty,” Blake thrust his hand into Corbin’s and knitted their fingers together. Rowan held out his hand to me, but I ignored him, falling into step behind Corbin and Blake. Rowan’s boots trailed after me, but I couldn’t bear to look at him. I kept my eyes focused on the tunnel ahead of us.
After navigating endless twists and turns, the hallway widened out to accommodate an enormous arch framed by human bones arranged in a rococo design. Beyond the dark hole I could see nothing but gaping blackness. The humming in the walls grew intense. Waves of a kind of magic I’d never felt before reached from the warm stone and caressed my arms.
Corbin paused in the entrance. “Can you feel Daigh in there?”
I moved to stand beside him, forcing myself to resist the urge to touch him. My eyes blinked as they tried to discern something in the darkness, but with nothing to focus on they strained and ached. I listened to the magic with my body. Corbin was right. Behind the dreaded, malevolent gloom there was something that reminded me of Daigh, some faint whiff of his power or forgotten note of his lyre.
Rough hands landed on my back, shoving me into the gloom. I flung my arms out to grab onto something, to hold myself back. I grabbed only air.
Sound rushed around me, screams of joy and terror, the crackling of a Ferris wheel as it burned to the ground. I opened my mouth to scream, but the darkness choked my voice out of me. I toppled forward and fell into a deep abyss, the darkness swallowing me whole.
My body slammed against something hard. My eyes flew open as I bounced on the bed. Warm arms wrapped around me. Rowan’s lips pressed against my earlobe. “I got you, Maeve.”
I jerked out of his grasp and whirled around to glare at Rowan and Blake, whose eyes flickered open. Rowan reached for me but I jerked my arm away. Behind me, Arthur lifted his head off the pillow. I was surprised he’d even want to be in the same room as Blake, but maybe he’d calmed down. He didn’t look calm now. “What’s wrong?”
I glared at Blake. “Don’t ever invade my dreams without my permission again.”
Rowan’s lip trembled. “But we were just—”
“You of all people should know how private grief is.” I placed my hand on Rowan’s chest, over his heart, and shoved him away. “I can’t believe you did this.”
Arthur grabbed Blake’s arm, his eyes wild. Orange flames flickered across his palm. “What did you do to Maeve, you bastard?”
“Arthur, don’t burn anything,” Flynn lifted his head off the pillow.
“I’ll burn him if he’s hurt her!”
“Stop!” I yelled, my hands balled into fists. “Just stop!”
Four guilty faces whirled around. Obelix gave an indignant howl and jumped off the bed. Flynn held out an imploring arm. “Einstein…”
“No, don’t Einstein me.” I pointed at the door. “Get out, all of you. I don’t want to see any of you right now.”
14
MAEVE
“I’ve already done an initial survey,” said Greg the engineer, rolling up the sleeves on his checkered shirt to reveal muscled forearms. Beside him, Emily – lawyer for the Briarwood Trust – sucked in her breath. “The damage looks worse than it actually is. As we walk around I’ll point out some of the main issues that need to be addressed, and I’ll draw up a complete report when I get back to the office. You can take that to a builder and get a quote.”
“Thank you so much for sorting this, Greg,” Emily simpered, clinging to his arm and batting her long eyelashes. He must be hot if he met Emily’s exacting standards. I didn’t notice. I was too busy staring at the wreckage of my castle.
In the morning sunlight, Briarwood’s damage stood in stark relief. Broken glass littered the courtyard, mixed with white trails of styrofoam beads from the torn beanbags. A side table that once stood in the first floor hallway now lay in a broken heap in the corner.
The inner doors hung from their thick hinges, splinters of charred wood like the jagged teeth of a monster. Greg stepped through the monster’s mouth and entered the entrance hall.
My mind flew back to the first time I entered these doors. Corbin flung them open, his face bright and expectant. I’d been too surprised to see the guy who’d saved me from the fire at the Coopersville fair that I’d barely been able to take in the grandeur of the place. But then I’d stepped in behind him and Briarwood worked its magic on me.
Now the front hall was unrecognizable. Not a single piece of furniture remained intact. Hard, grey lumps stuck up from the floor where Flynn had dumped scone mix on the heads of the villagers through the hole above the door. Portraits and ornaments had been thrown down from the floor above. Dark streaks along the wall beside the door chilled me. Blood. The whole place smelled like damp and smoke and blood.
Greg pointed to the balustrades and explained that the wood would need to be replaced.
Rowan’s arm brushed mine. I was still mad at the guys for the way they’d been acting, and especially at Rowan for invading my dream like that. I hadn’t said a word to any of them over breakfast or in the car this morning. But now I clung to Rowan, unable to support myself under the horror of the damage. Every bruise and battered corner of Briarwood resembled a piece of myself.
Rowan wrapped my body in his as we moved into the Great Hall. The scent of flour still clung to his skin, even though he hadn’t been in the kitchen in two days. His grip tightened as we stepped across the threshold and faced the damage.
The room where I’d made love to the boys over and over again in my dreams, where we’d fallen asleep on the couches before our mission into the fae realm, where we’d drunk Arthur’s mead and watched movies and acted like a real family… was completely destroyed.
The ceiling had partially collapsed, burying the sofas, tables, and bar in stone and dust and ancient wood. The fire had blown the windows out, sprinkling the whole room with glittering glass fragments. A stiff breeze blew in leaves and grass clippings from the garden. My nostrils stung from the charred, smoky air. One of the massive ceiling beams had come down at one end and pierced the television. On the opposite wall, a tapestry hung in tatters, damaged beyond repair.
“Most of the beams will need to be replaced,” Greg explained, as if that weren’t already obvious. “I’ve got a mate over in Crooks Crossing with a reclaimage yard. He’s just torn a stack of oak beams out of an old barn. I think they’re going to be the right length to work in here. Anyway, we’ll try and find something that matches. The windows will need replacing, of course. And depending on what’s underneath the flagstones, we might have to lift them up, because of the water—”
Too much. It was too much.
Arthur spun around and stormed out. I glanced over at Flynn, but he shook his head. The way Arthur had been acting, it was better to leave him to calm down on his own. A second fire right now would bring the whole place down around us.
The rest of us trudged up the stairs after Greg. Each room we passed brought fresh horrors – the villagers had ransacked the guys’ bedrooms, tearing down the curtains, shredding their clothes, smashing paintings and posters, and slashing the mattresses into ribbons. Flynn picked through his vinyl collection, searching for any that had survived. He kicked the pile in frustration when he found nothing.
“Those poxy bastards can eat my bollix!”
Greg stopped at the base of the stairs leading up to my turret bedroom. “After you,” he gestured. “Be careful when you get to the top – two of the stairs have fallen through.”
My heart leapt into my throat. I couldn’t bear to think what waited for me at the top of those stairs. It would never again be the beautiful room the guys had worked together to decorate, filled with their personal, thoughtful touches. Memories flashed in front of my eyes – Arthur carrying me up the winding st
aircase. Lying in my enormous bed with Rowan, eating scones and drinking tea and talking about Corbin. Piled in the bed with all the guys around me, comforted by the sounds of their breathing as I drifted off to sleep.
I couldn’t face it now, knowing what it had meant to me.
Flynn raised an eyebrow. I shook my head. Rowan pulled me close, turning me away from the staircase. Flynn went up without me.
“I’m so sorry about last night,” Rowan whispered. His lips grazed my ear. I stiffened, but I didn’t let go of him. His dreadlocks fell over my shoulder, a curtain that hid me from the world.
Boots slapped on the stairs as Flynn and Greg returned. I peered out from Rowan’s dreadlocks. Flynn’s face was bone white. My heart sank. Nothing had been spared.
The four of us exchanged pained looks while Greg kept on talking and talking, his hands moving excitedly as he spoke about the rebuild. As if it was possible to rebuild our lives after everything that happened.
As if Briarwood could ever be a home again without Corbin.
15
ARTHUR
My arms swung around my head as I whirled my blade and slashed at the apple tree. A long branch stove off, scraping along my cheek as it crashed down. Unripe apples rolled over the ground. I whipped around and stabbed at the opposite tree, sending down another shower of fruit. Apples thudded and bounced off my body, but I didn’t notice any of the blows.
Corbin’s dead, and it’s all my fault.
I had one fucking job in this coven – fight the baddies, hold them back, make sure no one got hurt. And because I’d failed at that, the way I failed at everything, my best friend was dead and everyone hated me and nothing was going to be right ever again.
Their accusing faces followed me everywhere. They kept looking at me, because they blamed me. Every glance and glare was an accusation. Rowan’s wide sad eyes, Maeve’s cold gaze, teetering on the edge of darkness. Flynn’s serious face, looking at me like he saw something I didn’t. All of them hating me because I killed Corbin. I was right behind him. I should have swept in and saved him, but I’d thought he could handle himself.
The Castle of Spirit and Sorrow Page 11