19. Maeve

Itossed and turned for a while, the vivid images and sensations of the dream still whirling around in my head. Eventually, I must’ve drifted back to sleep because I woke up the next morning to the sun streaming through my windows and the heavy weight of Obelix snoozing on my feet.

As soon as I moved, Obelix stood up and glared at me. The vibe in here just got hostile, he seemed to be saying. I won’t stand for it.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not the one who can lick my own butt,” I shoot back at him.

Obelix jumped down and disappeared down the stairs, yowling at the top of his lungs for breakfast. I yawned and sat up, rubbing my eyes. The haze of jet lag that had hung over me the last couple of days had mostly gone – and the numbness in my chest had slid away a little more as well, leaving me raw and a little nervous.

You have nothing to be nervous about. The guys can’t tell you had an orgy sex dream just by looking at you.

Although, if they are witches…maybe they can.

Nope, not thinking about it. I pulled on a pair of jean shorts and a cap-sleeved t-shirt and padded downstairs. The rest of Briarwood House was already awake. Voices echoed through the castle as the guys joked with each other in what I was learning was their typical routine. I tried to follow their voices, but sound traveled weirdly between the enormous spaces and heavy-duty stone walls, and I still didn’t know my way around all the rooms. I peeked in the kitchen, and they weren’t there, although the neatly stacked dishes beside the sink and a fresh basket of vegetables told me Rowan had been at work.

I tried the rec room, but they weren’t there, either. “Hey guys!” I called out. “I’m Dorothy, lost in the land of Oz. Help me find my way to breakfast!”

Corbin called back. “We’re out on the porch. You take a left at the Great Hall and come through the drawing room.”

I followed their voices through the winding halls, taking a wrong turn out into the internal courtyard where a line of visitors waited for the first tour to start, before finally locating the door that would take me out onto the sprawling porch at the back of the castle. It overlooked the garden and the rolling fields and the wood, and the wild Crookshollow Forest beyond.

Rowan bent over the table, setting down platters of savory muffins and scrambled eggs. Corbin handed around plates – his arm still a little stiff from where the fae had hurt him – and Arthur handed me a flute of pink champagne.

“I thought life couldn’t get any better than waking up to freshly baked scones.” I accepted the glass and took in a deep whiff of the fresh, buttery and bacony muffins. “But you proved me wrong.”

“We wanted to give you something special.” Arthur’s thick fingers brushed mine. “To welcome you to Briarwood. Plus Rowan informed us that you don’t like tea.”

“I don’t know how you can drink it! It tastes like dirt.”

The guys laughed.

“But seriously, you didn’t need to do this for me. We already went to the pub, and you left all those presents in my room… if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were buttering up your landlord. Do you want me to put in an air conditioner or something?”

The guys exchanged a look. My veins sizzle. Can they see my dream somehow? Are they trying to tell me?—

Finally Corbin said, “Everyone at this table knows what it feels like to lose someone. We just want to make sure Briarwood is a safe place for you to mourn or… do whatever you need to do.”

“Now that you mention it…” Flynn grinned, rubbing the red lattice on his face. “I always thought the castle would be much improved with a pool. Perhaps a sauna.”

“And we could definitely get someone in to clean the gutters,” Arthur added. “Castles have a lot of gutters.”

Four faces stared adoringly at me. I blushed, reeling in their kindness and in the news Corbin had just shared with me, that they’d all grieved for someone they loved the way I was doing now.

If only they knew about the filthy dreams I’d had about them all the night before.

Thank whatever weird pagan gods witches worship that none of them had that crazy spirit power that could see into people’s dreams.

If spirit magic even existed. I still had my doubts. I hadn’t quite figured out how witches and elemental magic fit into my multiverse theory yet. With every day that went by at Briarwood, I grew more inclined to accept their word that fairies and witches were real.

They certainly felt real.

Arthur swept my chair out for me, and I settled in. “Thanks, Aragorn.” I beamed, and Arthur bowed.

The guys started passing plates around the table, and I helped myself to two muffins and a giant pile of scrambled eggs. Rowan even had homemade chutney (another new British word I learned) in a tiny bowl, and I dumped a glob of that on top and dived in.

“So, aside from my postponed sword fighting lesson, what’s on the agenda today? More fairy-slaying?”

Rowan looked up from cutting his muffin into perfect squares, his eyes wide.

Corbin choked on his muffin. Arthur had to pound him on the back until he could speak again. “You decided to believe us?”

“Based on the empirical evidence I’ve seen so far, ignoring the existence of the fae would be willful ignorance. I’ve come up with an explanation that I can live with, for now. And I’m going to help.”

“Help us?” Corbin lifted an eyebrow.

“Yes, If you want any hope of defeating the fae, you need to take a scientific approach. And that begins with a full study of them. No offense,” I nodded to Corbin, “but those books in your library are total trash. There’s no ethnological or anthropological studies of the fae. Well, luckily, you happen to have a scientist living with you.”

Arthur rubbed his chin. “I’m not sure you quite understand what you’re getting into. Science is all well and good, but it’s never won a war.”

“Yes, it has, actually. Scientists have been key to massive breakthroughs and victories in numerous battles. Bayer’s invention of synthetic tire rubber kept the entire German army moving after the Allies cut off their supply of natural rubber from Southeast Asia. The invention of ultrasound was vital to detecting U-boats in World War II. The trireme made the Athenians the rulers of the sea and were imperative in their victory at?—”

“Okay, okay, okay.” Arthur held up his hands. “I’m beaten.”

“Go on, Einstein,” Flynn leaned over the table, his fingers dancing on my hand. “Tell us what you need.”

Hearing Kelly’s nickname for me in Flynn’s musical Irish brogue sent a wave of pleasure through my body. “Um…I’ve been working on a scientific theory that might explain the fae. Unlike other theoretical physicists, I might actually be able to test some of my hypotheses. I’d like to get some scientific instruments and set them up around the sidhe, and take readings. And I’d also like to interview each of you about your experiences with the fae. No fantastical accounts,” I glared at Flynn. “Just straight up ethnographic information that I can compile into a study. And I want to see your research on this fifth coven member.”

Corbin looked uncomfortable. “Why?”

“Why? Because you’re the only one who’s looked at it. You might be missing something really obvious, and a peer review will highlight that. If finding this witch is as important as you say, then you’ll take all the help you can get, even if that help comes from a college dropout from Arizona.”

Corbin glanced at Rowan, who was staring at his plate and not saying anything about as loud as a person could. I knew there was more to this “fifth” story than Corbin was letting on, and damned if I was going to let him keep it from me.

Corbin cleared his throat. “Fine. We’ll sort all that out for you. Was there anything else you needed, O Illustrious Landlady, or shall we finish this delicious breakfast?”

“Way ahead of you.” Arthur was already squirting a generous swirl of something called HP sauce over his eggs. He passed the bottle to me and I sniffed it. Weird. Why couldn’t Brits just use ketchup like the rest of the civilized world?

I put a little on my plate to try, and I’d just taken a bite of the warm, cheesy muffin when an elderly woman in a black dress strode briskly across the porch toward us. He silver hair was pulled back into a severe bun, and a feather duster rested against her shoulder.

“Master Corbin?” she called out, her voice flat and harsh. “There’s someone arrived to see you. She’s waiting in the reception hall.”

My eyes widened. This must be the woman Arthur mentioned the other night. We have a maid? Cool.

“Oh, thanks, Dora.” Corbin stood up. “I’ll bring her out.”

The maid – Dora – shot me a filthy look. “Who is your guest? You don’t usually let them stay for breakfast.”

Whoa, there’s a loaded comment.

I glanced at Corbin. How many girls did he bring back to the castle? It hadn’t occurred to me before, but now that I thought of it…these guys were all smoking hot and actually genuinely nice, which was not a common combination. Girls must fall all over them. But they hadn’t mentioned any girlfriends.

I remembered Neale flirting with them at the pub. Had Corbin slept with her? Had any of them?

The possessive knot twisting in my stomach make no sense – I only met these guys two days ago and, apart from Arthur, none of them had made any indication that they wanted to take things to the places they’d gone in my filthy dream.

But I hated the idea of them bringing other girls back to Briarwood. Now that I was here with them, I wanted them all to myself, which was totally crazy, right?

Right?

Corbin wasn’t giving anything away. “Dora, this is Maeve. She’s going to be living with us from now on.”

“And who does she belong to?” Dora frowned at me.

Wow, Dora, that’s nice.

“I can speak for myself,” I said, a little frostily. “And I don’t belong to anyone.”

“American,” Dora sniffed. She turned to Corbin. “Don’t let her steal any of the silverware.”

“Thank you, Dora. That will be all.”

Dora bustled away, unable to resist another loud sigh as she stomped into the house.

I gave Corbin a sickening smile. “Well, she’s adorable.”

“She’s as old as this castle, and twice as formidable. But she’s not so bad once you get to know her.” Corbin stood up. “I’d better go get Emily.”

As soon as he left, Flynn let out a whoop. “Grumpy Guts has gone, let’s get this party started.”

“Um…”

I was beginning to learn that life was never boring with Flynn around. Before I knew it, he pulled a portable speaker from somewhere and plugged in his phone. A minute later, weird humping bass noises shook the table.

I dropped my fork and stared at Flynn in horror.

“I’m sorry, this is music?”

“This album just dropped this morning. It’s this wicked drum and bass out of Dublin.”

“Can you stick it back in?”

Rowan snorted. I noticed he was placing each little muffin square on his tongue one at a time. I wondered how he handled the irregularity of scrambled eggs, but then I noticed he wasn’t eating any. That sucks, the eggs are delicious.

“Come on, Flynn,” Arthur growled. “Turn that shite off.”

“Arthur only likes brutal Scandinavian death metal,” Flynn shot back, turning the sickening noise up another notch and getting to his feet to dance around the table.

“It’s black metal, actually,” Arthur shouted over the din, thumbing the intelligible logo on his black t-shirt. “And that’s not all I like. I’m also into folk metal, thrash metal, symphonic metal, doom metal?—”

Flynn wrinkled his nose. “Forgive me for not recognizing the diversity in your musical interests.”

“At least metal doesn’t sound like the speaker is throwing up?—”

“Guys!”

We whirled around. Corbin stood on the edge of the deck. Beside him, a blonde bombshell wearing the tiniest pencil skirt known to humankind shot all my boys (and I was already thinking of them as my boys) a sultry smile.

“Emily!” Flynn dropped his speaker and rushed over to give the woman one of his customary hugs. Arthur took the opportunity to unplug the phone from the speaker, a feat for which I was eternally grateful.

My gratefulness wore off when Arthur too rose and embraced this woman. Her tiny, perfect breasts pressed against his chest. The hug lasted a few seconds longer than I expected, and jealousy flared in my chest as I wondered if they’d had some thing together.

A shag.I reminded myself of the British term. I wonder if they’ve shagged.

“Maeve, I’d like you to meet Emily, our family lawyer.” Corbin brought her over to the table, his eyes flashing with delight. “And your lawyer now, too.”

“Nice to meet you,” I plastered a smile on my face. Somehow, when I imagined the person who wrote me that letter about Briarwood House, I’d pictured a middle aged, slightly round matron with a grizzled face from too many years fighting against the glass ceiling – not this graceful creature, the perfect example of feminine beauty.

Next to her, I was a frump. It wasn’t me being self-deprecating – it was simply a fact. And that fact usually didn’t bother me, but being around these guys was making me crazy.

Emily thrust out her hand to me. “Maeve, it’s lovely to meet you. I’ve brought along all the papers for you to sign to officially hand Briarwood’s ownership over to you. It’s funny, but I always pictured you as a blonde. You can never tell with names in letters, can you?”

Her greeting tugged at me, a weird annoying feeling that something wasn’t quite right. But I didn’t have time to ponder it further, not while Ms-Perfect-Tits was waiting for a reply. I extended my hand and shook hers, forcing myself not to wince at her aggressive handshake.

“Come and join us for breakfast,” I heard myself saying, plastering a fake smile on my face. “We probably have a lot to discuss about my mother’s estate.”

“Oh, yes, please,” Emily beamed, and slid herself into the empty chair beside Rowan. She touched his arm in a familiar way that made my skin crawl. “It’s been an age since I had Rowan’s home cooking. I’m hopeless in the kitchen, too busy at work. Ooh, is that the HP sauce? Arthur, you naughty boy, you know it’s my weakness. All right, send it this way.”

Emily and the guys started to gossip about some dude – Ryan Raynard – who owned the adjoining property, called Raynard Hall, and was apparently this uber famous reclusive artist who hadn’t been outside in years. I shoveled down the rest of my breakfast, which now tasted like cardboard, and tried not to be such a bitch.

Just because Emily’s pretty, and she knows my guys, and she’s hanging around the castle like it’s her second home, doesn’t mean that she’s slept with any of them, and even if she has, it’s not any of my business…

I slid back in my chair, and it hit me. What was wrong with what Emily had said.

She thought I was a blonde.

She hadn’t recognized me. But how could that be, when Corbin had seen a picture of me that she’d shown him?

One of them was lying to me. But was it Emily… or Corbin? And why?