23. Maeve

Iwoke with a jolt. My eyes adjusted to the dark, and I saw that I was no longer in the Great Hall, but back in my own bedroom. My hands gripped the sheets, bunching them into knots around me. My whole body was covered in sticky sweat and the ache between my legs still throbbed, my pussy desperate to be filled.

What the hell was that?

I’ve never had dreams like that before.

I was officially a nymphomaniac. Being around these guys all day, every day was making me mad with lust. And kissing Arthur again seems to have made it worse.

I knew, logically, that dreams were just my brain throwing up random images and sensations during the REM sleep stage, perhaps as a way of processing information that I encountered throughout the day. It stood to reason that my dreams might be particularly vivid or disturbing after I’d witnessed my parents dying like that.

But why was my mind going back to the same fantasy – that orgy in the middle of the Great Hall? And why was that Unseelie, Blake, always there, right in the center of things?

The shrill noise pounded in my ears. I glanced around, my heart pounding. If it was a dream, how did the sound follow me into?—

My phone.

The screen lit up, and it vibrated across my nightstand, the ringing piercing the din. I grabbed for it, noting my sister’s picture on the screen and the time in the corner; 2:28AM.

“Kelly?” I cried, jamming the phone to my ear. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

The fae were in Arizona the night my parents died. Corbin said that pouka Kalen was after him, but what if they went after Kelly next? What if?—

Kelly laughed, although her laugh sounded a little wooden. “I’m fine, Einstein. You sound weird. Did I wake you up from a nap or something?”

“It’s after two in the morning! Of course you woke me up.”

“It is? Oh crap, sorry! I thought I had this time zone thing right. It’s supposed to be the middle of the afternoon.”

I groaned. Typical Kelly. I’d explained the time zones to her a hundred times before I left. I even downloaded a conversion app onto her phone. But that was my sister for you. We’d been texting back and forth ever since I’d arrived, but I hadn’t had a chance to talk for more than a couple of minutes. Now, the sound of her voice sent a wave of longing through me.

I missed Arizona. I missed fry bread and chimichangas and the horizon following me everywhere and there not being any fae. I missed being a normal twenty-something science nerd with normal crazy Evangelical parents and normal science-nerd problems.

And most of all, I missed Kelly, even with her inability to get timezones correct.

“Yeah, well…” I rubbed my eyes and turned on my bedside lamp, illuminating only one small corner of my enormous room. “I’m awake now. Go on, tell me what’s up.”

“I just wanted to talk to you.” Kelly’s voice cracked a little. “I’m living with Aunt Florence and Uncle Bob now. They made up a fold out couch in the den. Every night I go to sleep staring at the corner of the pool table. They’ve been great, but…”

“But it’s not home.” My chest tightened again. I understood. Everything at Briarwood had been amazing so far, but it felt as though I was out of time. And I’d met Bob – Matthew Crawford’s arrogant radio preacher older brother who was convinced he was the direct word of God – enough times to know he wouldn’t know what to do with a strong-willed teenage girl like Kelly. Every time we came back from Bob and Florence’s house, our parents would get extra-strict for a couple of weeks, trying to live up to Bob’s ridiculous godly standards.

“Exactly. Bob confiscated my phone and most of my clothes. There’s no internet, no TV, but Uncle Bob does bible study with us every night where he basically talks about how it’s a woman’s purpose to serve her man and have babies, and they’re trying to make me march in an anti-gay parade.”

Gross.“Yikes. Kelly, I’m so sorry.”

“I know. I tell myself over and over that it’s only for this year. I don’t know if I can stand it. The first week of school was weird. Everyone was so nice. No one wants to talk to me in case they say something wrong. I made a joke in math class and no one laughed, so then I threw a pencil at Jake Skipper and Mr. Daniel saw but didn’t even give me a detention.” She sniffed. “It’s just so messed up.”

“Kelly, I’m so sorry.” I hated myself for her tears, her pain. “I should be there with you. I’d put Bob in his place. We’ve all each other’s got. We should be facing this together – the Crawford sisters against the world.”

“No, Maeve, no.” Kelly said firmly. “Don’t you dare come back. If you do, I’ll never talk to you again, and then what would be the point of being stuck at Uncle Bob’s house without my scintillating conversation to keep you from going mad?”

I laughed, tears rolling down my cheeks. “But you’re hurting?—”

“Of course I am, you ninny. My parents were killed. But you being here isn’t going to make me hurt less. In fact, it would be worse, because I’d know that I was holding you back from your zany English adventure. Now, go on, tell me about the castle. No, tell me about the hot guys!”

I grinned despite myself, the memory of the last dream echoing across my mind. I’d mentioned in my texts that the four tenants were actually totally hot dudes, and ever since Kelly had been hounding me with suggestive emojis. She was getting almost as bad as Mom with the emojis?—

No, don’t think about Mom.

Instead, I described each of the guys in detail, starting with Corbin and finishing with Arthur. I wasn’t sure if I should mention the kiss, but when it got to it, I couldn’t help it.

“Omigod!” Kelly squealed. “Arthur sounds absolutely scrumptious. You’ve got to send me pictures. I am so jealous right now. You’re living in a castle with four hot guys and are being kissed by Geralt of Rivia.”

“I consider him more of a blond Aragorn.”

“You did always have a thing for Aragorn. Are you dating yet?”

“I’m not in any state to date anyone, especially not someone who is technically my tenant.” But at the thought of it, I couldn’t help smiling. I told Kelly all about the tower room, and all the gifts the guys gave me, and Rowan’s breakfasts and the pub and learning to sword fight and playing croquet with Flynn.

“I’m so jealous,” she said, her tone wistful. “It sounds amazing.”

“It is, but it’s also…weird.” I ached to tell her about the fae, but I knew that was a terrible idea. She wouldn’t believe me, which made sense, since I still wasn’t sure I believed myself. Or, she might believe me, and she’d insist on coming here, and I wouldn’t put her in danger. “There’s a picture of my birth mother in the hallway. She looks a lot like me, only way prettier.”

And last time I looked at it, I heard a voice talking to me, but let’s not mention that.

“I bet Arthur doesn’t think so.”

“Shut up,” I grinned, cradling the phone in my arms.

We talked for a little longer, Kelly’s voice making my chest ache a little. She sounded so clear, as if she was just in another room and not thousands of miles away.

After we finished the phone call, my eyes were wide open. No way could I go back to sleep now. I pulled on my robe and padded across the bedroom and down my narrow, winding staircase.

My throat itched from all the talking and laughing – a glass of water or juice would definitely help.

As I padded down the hall toward the secret staircase, I noticed a shaft of moonlight from one of the tall windows falling across my birth mother’s portrait.

No, not moonlight. I peered out the window into the courtyard below. A square of light from the library downstairs stretched across the cobbles, casting a faint glow along the rows of ancient stones. Through the window I could make out Corbin’s broad shoulders hunched over his desk, a stack of books piled high beside him.

He must be working all hours, trying to figure out how to stop the fae.

I thought of going down there to see him, but the memory of Corbin’s touch in my dream stopped me. I pulled away from the window and my gaze flickered back to my mother’s portrait. I stood in front of it, gazing up at her. The citrine jewels on her finger, necklace and diadem glimmered as though they were more than just paint splashed on a canvas. Her lips – so like mine – curled back into that mysterious smile.

Her eyes aren’t the same as mine. Mine were hazel, with that weird shattered glass effect around the edges that Kelly once said was like looking into water. Hers were a cool, clear blue, bright and vivid and totally enchanting.

“I wish I’d been able to meet you,” I said, my voice echoing down the silent hallway. The portrait stared back with that same alluring smile. A heavy weight crushed my chest – the pain of a different life I might have lived if she’d still been alive, and of another person who moved on and left me behind.

Everything’s so messed up. I wish I had someone to talk to, someone who understand what it’s like to lose everything, what it feels like to not trust what you’ve seen with your own eyes?—

Talk to me, Maeve.

I leapt back from the painting, grabbing the sides of my head. That did not just happen. A weird, singsong voice that wasn’t my own did NOT just talk to me inside my head.

I listened hard, tugging thick handfuls of hair until my scalp ached. But the voice didn’t come back. The castle remained as still and silent as death.

Okay. Now I’m imagining things. That’s great. Way to add another dimension to this totally fucked up mess I’ve got myself in.

I stared at the image for a long time, until I stopped seeing my birth mother – she became a conglomeration of pigment and geometric shapes and tones. I let the weight and history of Briarwood wash over me, the high stone walls embrace me, coddling me, keeping me safe. Even if my life was “complete bollocks” as Flynn would say, at least I had this place, and while I was here, I could never truly be alone.

Sighing, I tore my eyes from my birth mother and went down to the kitchen to find myself a snack.

“How will you get this woman to talk to you?” Corbin linked his arm in mine.

Behind his back, Flynn glowered at him and gave him the finger.

The woman he was referring to was Jane Forsythe, who had lost her baby to the fae, although she didn’t know it was them yet. Corbin had put in a quick call to Emily this morning and managed to wrangle Jane’s address out of her – it was such a small town that pretty much everyone used Emily’s law firm. Getting that address meant stomaching twenty minutes of listening to Corbin flirting over the phone, which turned my stomach in jealous knots. Although watching Flynn make funny faces behind Corbin’s back made it slightly easier to bear.

My four guys now walked in a diamond formation around me – Arthur at the front, huffing and sweating in the ankle-length coat he wore to disguise the short sword he had sheathed on his belt. Corbin and Rowan stood either side of me, the ends of Rowan’s dreadlocks flicking the bare skin on my arms as he walked. Flynn pulled up the rear. He sang some weird, somber Celtic song at the top of his lungs.

“I’ll think of something,” I said. “My parents used to visit grieving widows and sad old people all the time as part of their work and they’d often drag me along. I should be able to get her to talk.”

“I don’t like you going in alone,” Arthur huffed, his hand flying instinctively for the hilt of his sword.

“We won’t get anything out of her with you four standing around looking menacing and waving your sword around. Besides, I have my protections.” I placed my hand in the deep pocket of my denim overalls, brushing the handle of the short knife Arthur had given me, wrapped in a short Latin incantation scrawled on a piece of parchment from Corbin. In the other pocket was the small twig from Rowan and the medallion Flynn made me. All of these were supposed to be magical items. I didn’t believe in magic, but they did make me feel safer.

We walked under the enormous gatehouse marking the entrance to Briarwood, dodging between cars arriving for the morning English Heritage tours, and turned onto the country lane. Arthur insisted that if we were going to walk, that we take the main road instead of the shortcut through the field. I didn’t blame him – he’d run into the fae twice in as many days in that field, and here on the road we’d be visible to passing cars and other people’s front windows.

“The English are nosy neighbors.” Arthur waved to a lady pruning her rose bushes across the road. “That makes for as good a fae protection as we could hope for.”

I nodded my agreement, but mostly because it was nice to walk with them along the lane, between the towering oaks and the hydrangeaswith their puffy flowers. We passed thatched-roof cottages and grand manor homes. Birds chirped and somewhere in the distance a donkey bayed. It was all very idyllic.

A mask, but a beautiful mask.

Just before we reached the village high street, Corbin turned us off down another narrow lane. He stopped in front of a small cottage, the front garden crowded with bright flowers. From the looks of it, it had once been an outbuilding for one of the larger estates – a classic Tudor wattle-and-daub, with window boxes bursting with purple flowers and runner beans snaking up the garden trellis. No one was outside, and the curtains were drawn across the front windows.

I pushed my way through the wooden gate and snaked up the path, the guys right behind me.

A horseshoe and a bundle of sticks that looked suspiciously similar to the twig in my pocket hung beside the doorway. I fingered the bundle.

“They’re from the rowan tree,” Corbin said. “Rowan is supposed to help keep the fairies away.”

I smiled over my shoulder at Rowan, who dared the slightest of smiles back. “He does a bloody good job. Now, all of you, go wait at the end of the path. She won’t open the door if she sees you all out here.”

My boys exchanged a glance. I knew they didn’t like it – especially Arthur – but they obediently moved away to stand at the cottage gate, the tops of their heads only just visible over the large primrose bush. I took a deep breath, smoothed down my hair, and knocked on the door.

I heard footsteps stomp toward me. A few moments later, a woman flung the door open with so much force that it slammed into the wall, shaking the tiny cottage.

She looked about my age, which was terrifying because I knew she had a kid and although lots of girls in Arizona had kids in high school, I somehow imagined women in England were all proper and waited until they’d finished their degrees at Oxford and found some rich Earl to marry.

She also looked a mess. Her eyes were ringed with red circles, and her straight brown hair stuck out at all angles, as though she hadn’t brushed or washed it in days.

“I said, I’m not talking to any more bloody reporters,” she snapped, her mouth curling into a scowl.

‘I’m not a reporter.” I extended a hand to her. “My name is Maeve Crawford. I’m from the… ah, the local Women’s Welfare Group. We’re a support group for single women facing hard times, and I wanted to come over and see if you needed anything.”

Jane Forsythe sagged against the doorframe, her snarky demeanor disappearing in a flash, replaced by a face so broken with sorrow I thought I was staring into a mirror of my own soul. “No, I…” She shuddered, but her voice remained firm. “I need my baby back, but you probably can’t help with that.”

You might be surprised.

Jane turned her head away, and my heart thudded as I realized she was crying and didn’t want me to see.

“Would you like me to come in?” I asked. “I could make some coffee… I’m sorry, I mean, tea. You drink tea in England, I always forget. And maybe I could do some dishes, put some laundry away, just make life easier. I really do just want to help.”

“Do you get a Girl Guides badge for this?”

“Yes, I do,” I answered automatically, hoping I was reading her right. “It’s called the Assisting Distraught Mothers badge. The picture on it is of me buried under a pile of diapers and housework while you drink three bottles of wine simultaneously as cabana boys fan you with palm fronds.”

Jane gasped with laughter, her face completely shellshocked at the expression of mirth. I guess that was what happened when your child went missing. My heart ached for her. She held the door open a fraction wider. “Come in, but if pictures of my house turn up on social media, I will hunt you down and make you choke on that badge.”

“Deal.” I liked Jane already.

Inside, the cottage was just as messy as I’d expected. Days of teacups and empty takeout containers littered the kitchen. Flies buzzed around lazily, unsure of what to feast on first. Clothes were strewn everywhere. My foot kicked a toy rabbit that lay face down on the floor. I picked it up and stared into the smiling bunny face.

Her baby might’ve dropped that while the fae stole him away.

Jane threw herself down in a sofa and pulled a photo album onto her lap. Inside were pictures of a smiling, chubby baby who looked exactly like the one Blake had taken through the wormhole. Which didn’t actually mean much, since I couldn’t tell any one baby apart from another.

I went into the kitchen, put the pot-bellied kettle onto the stovetop and fiddled with the knobs on the oven before figuring out it was gas, so I had to light the element as I turned the knob. While the pot boiled, I cleared all the containers off the counter, dumped all the old tea bags and open chocolate bar wrappers into the trash, and ran some water to wash the coffee cups… sorry, tea cups.

Jane flipped the pages of her photo album and stared off into space.

I flubbed my way through the tea-making process (what went first? Milk? Sugar? When did you take the teabag out? Rowan showed me but I couldn’t remember a thing because his eyes were so beautiful and hot tea was so gross) and set it down in front of Jane.

She took the mug and sipped.

I held my breath.

She took a second sip. Either I’d got the tea right or (more likely) she was too sad to taste anything – either way, she didn’t spit it back in my face. I took a sip of mine. Yup, still tastes gross.

“The kitchen’s looking a bit tidier,” I said, wondering how I could get her to talk about what happened. “I’ll wash our cups and things before I leave, so at least you won’t have to worry about ants.”

“Thank you.” She slid the book off her lap. It was open to a picture of Jane with her baby in a long flowing gown in front of a beautiful gothic church.

“Wow.” I touched the edge of the picture. “Your little girl is so beautiful.”

“Connor is a boy,” Jane said, her mouth wobbling.

“Shit!” I clamped my hands over my mouth. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean… I just thought with that gown…”

“It’s fine,” Jane smirked. “At least I know you’re definitely not a reporter. So you don’t baptize babies where you come from?”

“Arizona, and yeah, we do, but it’s a pretty simple affair. The church I went to – my father was the pastor so I had to go – didn’t believe in ostentatious ceremonies. We just did them as part of standard Sunday service. Splashy splashy, there you go.”

“Well my parents believe in doing things the proper way, which means stuffy, stiff-upper-lip, Church of England bollocks.” Jane jabbed the picture with her index finger. “I didn’t even want to do it – I had Connor out of wedlock, so I’m not in God’s good graces – but my mother insisted. She filled the church up with all her friends, and then wouldn’t speak to me for months afterwards because Connor screamed the place down and puked all over the vicar’s vestments and he refused to finish the ceremony. Bloody hell, he was only three months old, what did they expect? And of course, when I actually need her, she’s too busy with the annual garden show to—” Jane gulped, then shook her head. “Anyway.”

“Can I ask… non-reporter to mother, what happened the day Connor disappeared?” I search for a lie to explain why I wanted to know. ”The ladies at my Women’s Group are gossiping about it, and I didn’t know who to believe.”

“You don’t believe the gossips,” Jane growled. “That’s my advice.”

“Sorry, I know it’s a personal question, but?—”

“Yeah, it damn well is.”

She glared at me, and I felt about ten inches tall. Here I was trying to dig information out of a grieving mother. If the roles had been reversed, I would’ve clocked her one, and she would’ve deserved it. My cheeks burned with shame.

This was a bad idea. We’ll have to find another way to get information about the fae.

I set my cup down and stood up. “I’m sorry. I crossed a line. I’ll see myself out.”

“Wait.”

I froze. Jane looked up at me, and in her face I read a tumult of emotions – anger battling with harrowing sorrow, duking it out with the overwhelming desire to unload on a friend.

I gave her what I hoped was a kind smile. “I lost my parents recently in a terrible accident. I heard what happened to you and I thought, this girl understands.”

“I haven’t lost Connor,” she snapped. ‘He was kidnapped.” She flapped her hand at the chair, and I sat down again, before she changed her mind. “I’ve told this story so many times to the police and the reporters that it’s lost meaning, and at least you cleaned the kitchen.”

“What story?”

She sighed. “I put Connor down to bed at six, like usual, then came out here to watch telly.” Her fingers grasped the edge of the chair. “I had a glass of wine – two glasses, and before you say anything I’m formula-feeding, so it’s okay – and I was falling asleep, when I realized Midsomer Murders had just started, but I hadn’t heard Connor cry yet. That was odd. He doesn’t settle easily, so I usually only get forty-five minutes to myself, and this had been two hours. I went to check on him. The door was shut, which was odd because I usually left it halfway open, but at that stage I thought a draft had just pushed it closed but then…” she took a deep, shuddering breath. “Then I pushed the door open, and I saw these…these things lifting Connor out of his bed.”

“What did they look like?”

Jane rubbed her head. “Look, just so you know, the police think I was so drunk I can’t remember what I saw. But I know what I saw, and that was these weird little creatures – like enormous dragonflies with clear wings that buzzed a mile a minute. Their bodies were long and green with skinny forearms and hind legs, and faces that looked eerily human, with hair like moss. They almost looked like tiny fairy sprites from story books, which I know sounds mad, but?—”

“It doesn’t sound mad at all,” I whispered. “What happened next?”

“They flitted around, lifting my baby out of his crib, but they seemed a bit listless, maybe like they were in pain. I tried to grab Connor off them, but they bit or stung me, and it hurt so bad.” She rolled her sleeve up, showing me a scattering of nasty gashes and bites on her arm. “I kept fighting and fighting, but they were so strong. They got him out of the window. By the time I’d run out the front door after them, they were completely gone. And they left behind a…a pumpkin in the crib.” She scowled. “A pumpkin with a smiling face painted on the side, in blood.”

“Yikes.” I shivered. What a horrible thing to witness.

Jane shrugged. “The police think the kidnapper might have used a drone to scoop Connor up through the open window. Apparently, there’s been a similar case of drones used in a kidnapping case up in Scotland. They’ve taken Rory – that’s Connor’s father – in for questioning. But that’s bollocks, too. Rory’s a complete tosser, no argument, but he wouldn’t do this. It’s too… dramatic, too gothic. But that only leaves me with two possible explanations – my tea was drugged, or I’ve gone crazy.”

I leaned forward and touched her knee. Jane jerked back as though I’d slapped her, but then she relaxed. I withdrew my hand. “I believe you. About the creatures.”

“You do?” Suspicion crept into her voice.

“I’ve been living up at Briarwood House. I’ve seen some weird stuff around here, too.”

“Like what?”

“Like a guy who attacked me in the field beside the castle. He had claws instead of hands. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I think we may be able to help each other.”

“How?” She was sounding suspicious again.

“There’s lots of old books in the library at the castle. They’ve got information about things that look like the creatures who took your baby.”

“So show them to the police,” Jane snapped, but her dark eyes sparked with interest.

“If the police were trying to convince you that you were drunk, then I don’t think they’ll take these books seriously.”

Jane tilted her head to the side. “Am I going to take these books seriously?”

I shrugged. “Back in the United States, I was a physics major. I was going to MIT. I don’t believe in anything I can’t scientifically measure. And I’m taking these books seriously.”

“MIT, huh?” Jane gave me a sardonic smile. “You certainly are a Jill-of-all-trades. I’d like to see these books.”

“Sure. Come up to the castle any time. Tell the ticket office you’re there to see Maeve Moore and they’ll point you in the right direction.”

“I thought you said your name was Crawford?”

I sighed. “It’s a long story, and I’ve got to meet some friends. If you feel like getting out of this place, just stop by at Briarwood. I’m there all the time.”

“Thanks.” Jane couldn’t quite stretch the corners of her mouth up into a smile, but she made a real effort.

I stood up, making as though I was about to leave. I glanced toward the narrow staircase at the rear of the room, and the hallway beside it. A mother wouldn’t have a nursery up that steep staircase. That meant Connor’s room would be downstairs. I knew Jane wouldn’t appreciate me looking in, but maybe… “Do you mind if I use the bathroom before I go?”

She nodded. “Sure. It’s out the back door.”

I was totally confused about her instructions until I headed down the short hallway and realized there was no bathroom in any of the other rooms – only a small alcove that contained a sewing machine, and another doorway that was closed. Bright red wooden letters on the door spelled CONNOR. I tried the handle, and it clicked open. I pushed the door open as quietly as I could, and peered inside.

A white crib sat under the mullioned window, which was now locked up tight. Toys lined the bureau, and old-fashioned bunnies in coats and bonnets and capelets romped across the wallpaper. Another old iron horseshoe hung over the crib. With a pang, I noticed a selection of story books lined up on a tiny bookshelf. The first book was titled FAIRY STORIES.

I couldn’t see anything that seemed like a clue, but I focused on taking in all the details, so I could describe them to the guys later. My heart pounded. All it would take was Jane to come back here and I’d destroy all the trust I’d just built with her.

I backed out of the room, pulling the door shut behind me. I grabbed the back door and opened it as I clicked the nursery door shut to disguise the sound. At least I’d found the bathroom.

The cottage was so old it didn’t even have an indoor bathroom. A small outbuilding had been erected just three feet from the back door – a modern replica of the wattle-and-daub construction with hanging baskets of flowers dangling from the eaves. I could see the edge of a basin through the half-open door.

It looked safe. No fairies. I stepped out and pushed the bathroom door open all the way. I closed the door and turned away from the mirror to the toilet.

“Well, isn’t this cozy?” A deep voice growled against my ear.

My heart leapt in my chest. I spun around, my hand flying to the knife in my pocket. Hot fingers encircled my wrist, pinning my hand.

Blake’s lips pulled back into a self-satisfied smirk. “We meet again, Princess.”