39. Thirty-Nine Corbin

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

THIRTY-NINE: CORBIN

" H ere you go, big guy," Arthur carried me up the steps to Raynard Hall's ornate entrance, his gait wobbling with every movement. I was half afraid he'd keel over and dash my head open on the stones.

"Where's my goodnight kiss?" I choked out, leaning my cheek against Arthur's face so his beard tickled my skin.

"People who get themselves killed so they can have underworld adventures without telling their friends don't get a goodnight kiss," Arthur shot back as he manoeuvred me through a long winding hall and dumped me unceremoniously on a bed.

"Ow, hey! Maeve never got all this lip when you used to carry her off to bed." I rubbed my side, where Daigh's knife had been buried inside me. Now that I was alive again, the ghost of the wound smarted like it never had in the Underworld. That, combined with an overwhelming fatigue and some other odd pains and twinges were all Clara and Maeve needed to know to force to me bed rest for the immediate future.

"Maeve doesn't weigh a hundred kilos," Arthur muttered, rubbing his bicep.

I laughed. My lungs protested, and my laugh turned into a gasping cough. Arthur handed me a bottle of water, and Maeve and the rest of the coven crowded into the room to fluff my pillows (Maeve), shower me in kisses (Maeve and Rowan), tell dumb Irish jokes (Flynn), smirk (Blake), ask for my musical requests from my playlist and then blatantly ignore them (Arthur) and recall specific and mind-numbingly dull details about the science lecture that saved my life (Maeve again).

I loved them all so much. It felt like we'd been separated for four months, instead of just four days.

Everything in Ryan's house smelled and felt and looked brilliant . The sheets beneath me were clouds of cotton candy. Flynn's Irish voice was like the gentlest lute music. And Maeve's kisses pumped blood through my body. It was so bloody great to be alive again.

They couldn't take me to the hospital for obvious reasons, but they still needed to deal with the reality of my death. Blake invited around DS Judge. She took one look at me and fainted. When she came to, she agreed that the best course of action was to conveniently "lose" my file at the station and to inform her officers and the people in the village that the body they'd thought was mine was a vagrant who died of natural causes.

It was a completely ridiculous story (how could a knife wound, a fire, and a large hole in the chest be ‘natural causes'?), much of it coined from Blake's imagination. He had Daigh's talent for spinning a tale. If I'd been on top of things, I'd have come up with a much better solution. As it was, my brain was stuffed with cotton wool and I could barely remember my middle name, much less come up with a cunning plan to resurrect myself in the eyes of the law. At least Blake and Maeve could compel belief when required, because they were going to need it.

"I've made all your favourite things," Rowan arrived from the kitchens carrying a tray piled high with food.

"Hey, get over here." As soon as Rowan set the tray down, I grabbed his arm and yanked it forward. Rowan collapsed on the bed. Panic shot through his face for a moment, but he relaxed as I threw my arm around him. "This is way too much food. Clara said I'm barely going to be able to eat anything for a week or so. You're gonna have to help me finish this off."

"Oh, what a chore," Maeve took a mince pie from the tray and bit into it. A divine smell of slow-cooked meat and gravy wafted across my nose. "I'm so happy I think I could eat a whole house."

I picked up a scone loaded with jam and clotted cream. My mouth watered at the buttery, sugary scent, but I hesitated, the scone frozen in front of my mouth. Rowan rubbed my leg. "Don't force yourself, Corbin. I can always bake more."

I bit into the scone. My mouth burst with flavour – light, airy dough, the tangy jam and the sweet cream were even better than I remembered. Crumbs flew across the blankets as I devoured the scone in two bites. I reached for another, but as I did, my stomach twisted with pain. "Gah. That hurts."

"No more scones for you." Maeve whipped the scone out of my hand. "You're on a death detox until you feel better."

"Give me one of those bloody juice cleanses any day," I muttered.

Rowan wrapped his arms around me. "I'll bring you more when she's not looking," he whispered in my ear.

"You will not!" Maeve snatched the tray away. "We're taking this tray away. We'll get rid of the food so no one is tempted to help Corbin eat things he shouldn't."

Before I could stop her, she marched out of the room, carrying my treats with her. Blake, Arthur, and Flynn got up to leave as well. "Where are you all going?" I demanded.

Flynn shrugged. "Sorry, mate. I'm not going to miss out on Rowan's food just because you went and got yourself killed."

"Friends don't ask friends to skip meat pies," Blake added, as they headed out the door.

Maeve blew me a kiss from the hallway. "Get some sleep, Corbin. We'll be back when we've finished off the scones."

"Hey, come back here!" I called out. "I went to hell for you! The least you could do was save me a pie!"

The only response was pearls of laughter as they carried my food away.

Ungrateful bastards. I rolled over and fluffed my pillows around my head. Despite my lack of scones, a smile crept across my face. After all these years of searching, I was finally, truly home.