As I’d sat in that hospital chair, thinking about Maeve in there with her sister, I realized I didn’t have any control at all. I’m getting worse. Maeve’s presence was sending me into a spiral of rage and pain and guilt and desire. I didn’t know how to stop, if I could really, truly stop. But I vowed to try. If I couldn’t stop for Corbin, maybe I could stop for her?
“Pull over,” Maeve said, directing me in front of her house. It was a small clapboard ranch-style house similar to the others on the street, save that the shutters were painted red. A small wooden cross was glued to the front door, and an American flag hung limply from a pole in the front garden.
I turned off the engine.
“This is my house,” Maeve said, her eyes darting across the front porch.
“I know.”
Maeve frowned. “That’s right, you used to stalk me. I usually try to forget about that. Anyway, I guess I should say it was my house. Now Pastor Tim lives there with his dorky sweaters and his stationary bike.”
“Do you hate him?”
“Yup. It’s not his fault. I’m working on it.”
I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her head against my shoulder. My chest tightened. I stroked Maeve’s short hair, expecting her to cry. She didn’t, but she stared at that front door in silence for a long time before she pulled back and said, “Drive back to the main street.”
I parked up under the shade of a desert willow and rolled the roof back up. Even though evening approached rapidly, the sun still beat down on us – hot and oppressive. Tongue of violent orange and fuchsia streaked across the horizon. I’d forgotten how hot and dry it was here and how much the sun dominated the landscape. English sun never scalded your insides like this.
Maeve took my hand and dragged me up and down the street. At every corner or landmark she would stop and tell some story about her parents or her sister.
“This is the school field where Dad taught us to ride our bikes. It was just supposed to be me, but Kelly couldn’t stand not doing something that I was doing, so he asked around the congregation and someone had a tiny tricycle they could lend us. So every time I fell off my bike, there was Kelly right behind me ringing the bell on her trike and telling the whole world how much better she could ride.”
We picked up milkshakes from a diner called Ruby’s and sipped them on a rickety deck overlooking the sprawling desert, now lit by pale moonlight. Maeve told me a story about coming here with Kelly and her friends from school once. The girls started a conversation about their movie star crushes and Maeve launched into a rant about all the ways Star Trek disobeyed the laws of physics. One by one all the girls moved to another table and in the end Maeve was just sitting in the corner by herself reading a book.
“I was such a dork,” she said, slurping her milkshake with that faraway, determined look in her eyes. The desert heat had eased a significantly now the sun had disappeared, which was good because I was starting to die in my long-sleeved Blood Lust tee, but no way was I taking it off and letting Maeve see the bandage on my arm.
We finished our milkshakes and got back in the car. Maeve directed me to a dirt road leading out of town. I followed her instructions, wondering what memory we’d be visiting next.
We stopped by the gate of a grand old farmhouse, the exterior immaculate and the windows gleaming even with the desert dust settling on the path. Four American flags were lined up along the front fence.
Maeve got out of the car and slammed the door. She shoved the gate open and stalked up the path. My gut swirled with apprehension. What are we doing here? This is something to do with Kelly, but I have no idea what. Is Maeve going to do something illegal?
I was halfway up the path by the time Maeve pounded on the door. It flew open and a short, pale-faced woman in a floor-length cotton dress with long lace sleeves answered the door. I half expected her to put on a white bonnet.
“Maeve?” she gasped. “What are you—”
“Where is he?” Maeve demanded. “I want to see him now.”
“Bob’s in his study, but I can’t disturb him after dinner—” The woman shrieked as Maeve elbowed her way past and disappeared into the house.
Shite. I broke into a run. The woman leapt back, terror in her eyes. I barreled past her, following that streak of pink hair and that determined glare. Maeve turned a corner in the hall and charged through a door. I stormed after her, my heart hammering in my chest.
“What is the meaning of this?” A deep voice bellowed.
I reached the door. Maeve stood on one side of a large dark wood desk, squaring off against the enormous man behind it. He had at least a head’s height on her and several heads girth. His hand gripped a thick Bible so hard the knuckles glowed white, and the shaft of moonlight through the window illuminated the malevolence in his eyes. “How dare you barge in here and interrupt the Lord’s work?”
The woman behind me cowered at his booming voice, but Maeve didn’t flinch. “Hello, Uncle Bob. You look very busy so I won’t keep you. I just came to tell you that it’s over.”
“What’s over? What are you doing in my house? I hope you didn’t come here expecting a handout, because I have nothing to give you. Just because my brother got taken in by some British harlot’s sob story doesn’t mean I’m responsible for his mistakes—”
“You hit her.” Maeve’s eyes flashed. Her whole body shook with rage.
Shite.
In those three words, I understood everything. I was staring at the cause of Maeve’s sister’s attempt on her life. I was staring at the woman I loved protecting her own.
She was so much like Corbin, flying in to save the day. Except that Corbin would never confront a person who hurt someone he loved. Instead, he tried to give his friends the tools to heal their own wounds.
But Maeve Moore – who looked every inch the High Priestess with her feet planted wide and her hands balled into fists and her eyes not giving an inch to this towering giant – she was here for justice.
“Your sister lives under my roof, and she needs to learn to obey my rules. I am her elder. I know what’s best for her, and she needs to learn a little respect.” He gestured at Maeve as though she was a fly he was trying to swat away. “It’s easy to see where she got her disobedient attitude from. My brother was not forceful enough with his women—”
“You hit her,” Maeve repeated, the words slow and hard and dangerous.
“Now, Maeve, don’t go blowing these things out of proportion.” The woman bustled forward, her hands clasped near her throat. “Bob gets a little exuberant sometimes, but he would never—”
“You,” Maeve spat at her. “You’re just as guilty as he is. I know he’s an ugly brute and you’re scared, but you, Aunt Florence, offered to take Kelly in, knowing what this man would do to her. And I will never, ever forgive you for that.”
Florence’s face paled. But my attention was drawn back to the uncle, who moved around the desk, approaching Maeve and towering over her with a stance I knew from my martial arts training was designed to intimidate.
I stretched out a hand and hit him square in the middle of his barrel chest, stopping him mid-stride. “You’re not getting any closer,” I said.
“Arthur, I can handle this,” Maeve hissed.
“I know. That one was for me.”
“Who the hell are you?” The man swiveled his attention to me, the burly male who he thought was his biggest threat. His first mistake.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Maeve raise her hand above her head, her palm pointing toward her uncle. The air in the room shifted, rising in temperature and sizzling against my skin. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
“I’m a friend of Maeve’s,” I said, putting on my most menacing voice. “I’m here in case you decide not to listen to her very sensible requests.”
“So you’re hanging out with delinquents now?” The uncle sneered at Maeve. “Bringing a white trash criminal here to my house in an attempt to scare me? My, but you
have fallen from your lofty goals of going to space. Has the wrath of the Lord finally fallen upon your head, girl? Do you finally see that all you are is a worthless little Jezebel with—”
“It is you who is worthless,” Maeve hissed. Something crackled across her palm. Her uncle raised a hand to his temple.
“What is this—” he screwed his eyes up.
“Call me worthless one more time,” Maeve yelled. “Go on, Uncle Bob. Belittle or intimidate or degrade or terrify another woman because you are a rotten, evil, coward. I dare you.”
He shoved the Bible in her face. “Begone from my sight, you vile creature, you evil witch—”
I couldn’t help it. I set the Bible on fire.
Bob yelled and dropped the burning book on the desk. The flames darted to his other papers, and soon the whole top of the desk was an inferno. His computer popped and fizzed. A smoke alarm beeped loudly from the hallway. Florence screeched and ran off, presumably to call the fire department.
Now he looked genuinely scared. I was perfectly happy for him to believe Maeve made the fire if it meant her punishment was doled out. But Maeve wasn’t done. She advanced on him, her hand raised, palm pointed toward him. He grabbed her wrist and tried to force her arm back, but she used the technique I taught her to break his grasp, wrench her arm free, and press it to his face.
His skin popped and crackled as she fed her magic directly into his temple. He screamed – a high-pitched, wailing cry that was so beyond pain it was barely conceivable. I had no idea what Maeve was doing to him but it looked like the worst imaginable thing.
“This is who you are,” she whispered, splaying her fingers across his face. The fire engulfed the whole desk now, the dancing flames illuminating her terrible beauty.
I coughed. My eyes stung. The smoke was filling the room, obscuring our exit. The fire leapt to the bookshelves behind the desk. We have to get out of here.
“Maeve, we have to go.” I grabbed her arm. My fingers burned like they’d been dipped in acid. Something flashed in front of my eyes – memories or visions that didn’t belong to me. Black people in the government, gay people kissing on the steps of a church, a women President speaking on TV, crosses being torn down and trampled under angry mobs demanding change. Being made to clean and cook and forced into silence and submission.
She’s feeding him his own nightmares, I realized. Dredging up his darkest fears and giving them to him in technicolor and 5.1 surround sound.
“You’re a pig,” Maeve whispered, her voice rasping as her mouth filled with smoke. “And a coward and an abuser, and the only reason I’m not hauling you down to the police station right now is because Kelly’s dealt with enough this year and she doesn’t need the horror of trying to get your ass convicted. Instead, I’ve come to give you a little taste of what you did to her.”
“I’ll get you!” he gasped, his hands grasping at midair. “I’ll have you burned for this, you witch…”
“That’s right,” she said. “I am a witch, and I’m real, and I’ve got the power to bring you to your knees. I’ve got a whole army of demons at my beck and call, and I will roast you over an open fire and eat your flesh from your feet up if you ever touch Kelly or any other woman again.”
“You… you… you…”
I saw the exact moment his spirit broke, the moment he realized his God would not save him, that he would die in a fire being tortured by his greatest fears. His whole body sagged, and his voice turned from angry to pleading. “What do you want? I’ll do anything. Just let me live.”
“Oh you’re going to live. I want you to live. I want you to wake up every day and remember that a woman has power over you. Here’s what’s going to happen,” Maeve said, shifting her hand slightly so he screamed anew. “Kelly is being discharged from hospital tomorrow, but she will not be returning to this house. You will deposit twenty thousand dollars into her bank account tonight. And then you will never speak to or seek her out again, and nor will you fight the petition for emancipation she’s going to make. I’ll check and if the money isn’t there, I will come back, and I will not be happy. Are we clear?”
“Yes, yes, I’ll do it! Just please don’t hurt me,” he sobbed.
“Did your wife ever say that to you when you beat her with your fists?” Maeve spat in his face. “You are disgusting. If you are a representative of your deity on earth, then I am glad to be rid of Him from my life for good.”
She shoved her uncle hard into the desk. Bob yelped as the fire leapt up his shirtsleeve. He dived on the floor and started rolling around, trying to put the fire out. He got his sleeve out but the fire leapt on his back, so he rocked around the floor like an overturned turtle, bellowing at the top of his lungs for his God to save him.
It would have been hilarious if the room wasn’t rapidly filling with smoke. My eyes wept with tears, and I doubled over in a coughing fit.
“M— Ma—” I tried to choke out her name, but all that came out was more coughing. My throat closed up. Shite, shite. We have to get out, now.
I could no longer keep my eyes open. I swept my arms around in a circle and connected with Maeve’s waist. I wrapped my arm around her and reeled her closer to me. She leaned against me, coughing violently.
I tried to pry my weeping eyes open, but they weren’t having it. The shrill bleat of the smoke alarm behind my head throbbed against my skull. Panic rose in my chest. We were going to asphyxiate in here if we couldn’t find the way out, but how the hell—
Arthur, you bellend… the smoke alarm!
The bleating alarm oriented me in the space. I dragged Maeve towards it, bending as low as I could to try and get beneath the smoke where the air was more breathable. There wasn’t as much smoke in the hall. I pressed my hand against the wall, knocking photographs off as I dragged Maeve away.
We crashed through the front door and collapsed on the porch, gasping in the fresh air. My throat burned. After a few moments, I could open my eyes again. Sirens blared down the road.
“We’ve got to go.” Maeve scrambled to her feet, looping her arm under my elbow. I winced as she gripped over the fresh cut. We raced down the path and clambered into the car.
“Drive!” Maeve yelled, gripping the Corvette’s dashboard.
“What about the fire?” I asked, wishing Flynn and his water magic were here.
“Not our problem,” Maeve shot back, watching in the side mirror as the fire truck screamed into the drive and the back porch collapsed. “His God will put it out for him.”
45
MAEVE
My whole body trembled as I watched the flames consume Uncle Bob’s historic farmhouse. I wanted to feel triumphant. He’d been a horrible person who beat his wife into submission and hurt my sister when she was at her most vulnerable, and he did it all in the name of the same God my dead parents dedicated their lives to glorifying.
I wanted to smile. I wanted to whoop for joy and yell that justice had been done.
Instead, my fingers itched to grab the wheel and turn the car around. I longed to crawl back into that house and make sure my Uncle and Aunt were okay. I wanted to write them a “sorry I burned your house down and showed you the horrors of your own nightmares” sympathy card. It was just like the other day when I’d sent that guy through the window at the pub.
My head buzzed with flashes of Uncle Bob’s nightmares. They were disturbing and satisfying in their poetic justice. His worst fears realized were feminists taking over the government, being forced to sit on community committees with black people, and discovering that God was really Allah and he’d missed out on the seventy-five virgins. Bigotry, hatred, horror at being challenged and found wanting. He was so terrified of losing his power that he lived inside a cage of his own making.
And I’d seen it all through his eyes. I hadn’t even known I could do that – call up someone’s nightmares and play them back like a showreel. I’d had no plan when I made Arthur drive me to the farmhouse. I just knew that Kelly couldn’
t stand up to this guy, but I could. Bob towered over me, trying to intimidate me, but all I could see was the dream I had where he grabbed Kelly and told her she was to obey him, and I got angrier and angrier, and the pillar of power rose up from inside me and I grabbed his face and pushed.
I’d got what I wanted. Uncle Bob would leave Kelly alone. He’d freed her. She had enough money that she could start college or pay for an apartment or do whatever she wanted. I’d never again have to look down at my sister’s face in a hospital bed after hearing how she’d tried to hurt herself. So why did my stomach feel all tight and horrible, and why wouldn’t my hands stop shaking?
“Why don’t I feel good?” I asked Arthur as we drove to our next destination, our second-to-last before we could go back to Phoenix and see Kelly.
“Because you’re a much better person than I am,” he replied.
“Explain.”
“You feel like shit because you used your power to hurt and intimidate someone else.”
Shit. “Yeah, that’s it.”
I did. I did to Bob exactly what he did to Kelly. I was the bully. I forced him to do what I wanted.
“It’s not a bad thing, Maeve. You were raised in a Christian household. I’m guessing you were taught to turn the other cheek if someone tried to hurt you. That’s why you never fought back at any of the horrible kids at your school. That’s why you tried to get us to help Dora instead of letting Blake tinker with her head. That’s why you wanted Blake to stay even when the rest of us didn’t trust him. You try to see the good in people. You try to understand them before you judge them. Maybe all the fire and brimstone and burn the New Earth stuff didn’t fly with you, but it looks like some of the best parts of religion did. That’s the kind of person you are, Maeve. You don’t want to hurt people. You don’t even want to hurt the fae. And you hurt someone tonight. But you shouldn’t feel bad. That guy was a wanker. A total gobshite, Flynn would say. I’m not going to waste a moment of my life feeling sorry for him, and neither should you.”
The Castle of Fire and Fable Page 27