18. Nineteen Blake

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN: BLAKE

O nly when Daigh's face disappeared from the surface of the mirror did I drop Maeve's hand. His evil laugh reverberated in my head, reminding me how important it was that we beat the bastard in this battle. Because if he won…we'd all be buggered, to borrow a phrase from Flynn.

Maeve bent down and picked up a long sherd of the cracked mirror, pinching it between her fingers. "It's hot."

"We did just hit it with a ton of magic," Aline pointed out.

Maeve tossed the sherd on top of the broken frame. "That was a waste of a perfectly good mirror."

Aline flopped down on the grass, wrapping the long sleeves of her cloak around her body. "Wasn't that exhilarating!"

"It wasn't. It was awful . And it was a waste of time – he didn't take our deal."

""Did you really expect him to?" Arthur frowned.

"I thought that was the plan."

Aline grinned. "Have faith, daughter. We're much more subtle than that."

"You did what you came to do, Princess." I kicked a mirror sherd with the edge of my boot, sliding it on top of the rest of the glass. "You unnerved him."

Seeing Daigh again sure unnerved me. I hated the way he directed that smile of his at Maeve. I'd seen that smile too many times before, and it usually led to someone getting spikes under their fingernails or losing their head.

"We did," Aline grinned, twirling a strand of her hair around her long fingers. "I hoped we would also learn something valuable, and we did."

"We did?"

I nodded. Aline and I were the only people who knew Daigh well enough to read between the lines. "He denied practically everything else, but he never denied he was in love with Aline."

Maeve looked thoughtful as we trudged back to the house. Something rustled in the bushes as we made our way up the hill. "I think it's just a fox," Arthur said from further up the path. "Too small to be a human."

"I hope he's right," Maeve mumbled under her breath. I squeezed her hand.

"You're thinking something, Princess. You've got that constipated look on your face."

Maeve snorted. "Where did you learn that word?"

"Three guesses," I grinned, jabbing a finger at Flynn.

"He's a bad influence on you, or you're a bad influence on him. I haven't decided which." Maeve's hazel eyes bore into mine. "You're right, though. I'm thinking that I need to find out what's going on with Kelly and Jane. It's killing me that they're not here in the castle where they have some protection."

"I could visit Jane. One of us should go into the village anyway and see how much belief the statue's collected, and what the villages make of it. It should probably be me, since no one there knows who I am." I shrugged. "I'll stop by the cottage. I know where it is."

"You definitely do." Maeve grinned, remembering the day I snuck up on her when she was using the outhouse behind Jane's cottage. If looks could have killed, the one she'd given me that day would've had me dead and buried. She was lucky she was so hot when she was pissed off. "Thank you. She won't speak to me, but maybe you can make her see reason. Take Flynn with you – Connor loves Flynn. That might get you through the front door. But don't either of you dare do anything stupid."

"Your wish is my command." I wanted to speak to Clara, anyway. I needed to know what she made of the dream, and of the conversation we'd just had with Daigh. Flynn agreed to go into town with me on the condition we had lunch at the pub. I didn't think that was the cleverest of his ideas, but he insisted. I felt certain that fell under Maeve's definition of ‘stupid.'

As we headed out the door, I noticed Flynn slide a knife into his sock.

Thick grey clouds hung low in the sky, and rain pelted us as we walked down the road into the village. We didn't encounter anyone else on the road, but as soon as we set foot on the high street it was clear we were even less welcome than we'd been a few days ago.

As soon as they say us, people ducked into nearby shops, or slammed their car doors and drove away. A woman lifted an enormous crucifix necklace and thrust it angrily toward us as she skirted around us.

"Maeve isn't going to like this," I said, as a young mother nearly drove her stroller under a car trying to avoid us.

"Don't be daft. This is exactly what we want." Flynn pointed across the greene. "Look."

I didn't even have to turn toward it to know what he was talking about. The statue hummed with magic – it rattled my bones and grated against my teeth. When I did lay eyes on the witch, I found it difficult to focus my vision. Something about the shape of it wouldn't hold my eye – I kept slipping off at the edges. Tendrils of pale blue light emanated from the witch's clawed fingers, snaking through the air as they reached toward the village.

Two blokes in orange vests stood behind the statue, watching a third man attack one of the legs with some sort of handheld torch that shot a jet of brilliant blue flame. From the way they yelled and cursed, I assumed the flame was meant to be doing more than just tickling the witch's feet.

The blue tendrils wrapped around the men, sliding over their skin, forcing their way into ears and nostrils. As they scratched their heads and muttered words about witchcraft and trickery, the statue pulsed brighter. Even as they tried to tear it down, they were feeding it with their belief, making it strong enough to resist their machines.

"What did I tell you?" Flynn patted my shoulder. "I'm a genius."

"Can we get away from the green, Mr Genius – I don't want to be nearby when they realise we're watching them."

"Right you are. We should find Clara."

"I hope this hasn't been affecting her too much," I said as we rounded the side of the bank that marked the halfway point of the high street. The old stone building hid the rest of the street from view. "They might be targeting anyone they suspect is a witch?—"

I stopped short, my breath catching. We'd come around the front of the bank. The footpath glittered with broken glass. My boot kicked a bent tarot deck that had scattered over the road. A mangled dream catcher hung from the edge of the rubbish bin.

Someone had gone down the street and broken the window of every vaguely magical shop in Crookshollow. Lady Cordelia paced outside her tarot booth, railing down her mobile phone at some poor clot at her insurance company. The owner of the esoteric bookshop mournfully threw soaked volumes into a rubbish bag. Not even the Bewitching Bites bakery with its cartoon witch on a broomstick in the front window had been spared. Trays of pastries and cakes had been flung out the window and smeared across the footpath. The Asian woman who owned it knelt outside, weeping into her hands.

When we reached Astarte , we found Clara sweeping the broken glass off the pavement. She'd already taped a large black sheet over the broken window. It wouldn't do a thing to deter the weather or vandals. DIE WITCH had been scrawled across her shop door in bright orange paint.

"Don't fuss," she snapped when Flynn grabbed the broom out her hands. "I'm fine. I was at home when this happened."

"Go on up to the castle," Flynn said. "You're staying with us."

"I have a perfectly good home of my own, young man."

"Yeah? If they're capable of this, then you're not safe there." Flynn shrugged. "At least Briarwood is a fortress. It's designed to keep out invading hordes and low-level vandals. Or go to your son's house. Either way, you need to stay away from Crookshollow."

Clara patted his arm. "It's nice to hear your concern, seems as this is because of your little stunt."

"You saw my statue, then?"

"A creepy metal witch appearing from thin air in the middle of the greene? No, I completely missed it." Clara shoved his arm away. "You have moxie, I'll give you that, boy. It's been all anyone in the village can talk about."

"That was the idea."

Clara lowered her voice. "Turning belief into magic – it's clever. I wouldn't have thought of that."

"Oh, don't be modest now." Flynn teased her. "A clever broad like you – the idea would have come to you eventually. Luckily, I thought of it first. It goes without saying that an Irishman knows his magical conduits."

"Indeed. It's becoming quite heavy with magic, if you don't mind my saying so." Clara's tone suggested she thought it might be too heavy. "I do hope you've thought through this plan of yours thoroughly."

"Not in the slightest," Flynn grinned happily. "Do you think it will be enough to hold back the Slaugh?"

"I don't rightly know, son. I guess we'll find out in seven days."

We helped Clara sweep up the glass. Flynn offered to go to the garden centre and pick up some MDF to fit over the window to keep more of the rain out, but Clara shook her head. "Gregory Stone owns the ironmongers and he's head of the church choir. They won't sell to any of us. You'd have to go all the way to the DIY store in Crooks Worthy, but I've already called my son and he's sending his driver over to fix it up. Luckily, my insurance company isn't local or superstitious."

"So you'll stay with your son?" I demanded.

"I will. And don't you boys worry. He knows how to keep an old woman safe." A shiny black car pulled up and a man wearing a black suit waved at Clara through the window. She climbed in. "Any time you need me, holler over the fence. Ryan and I want to help any way we can."

"I'll marmalise the bastards who did this," Flynn growled.

"Don't you dare." Clara wagged a finger at him. "I won't have violence in the village on my behalf. You boys be good and get back to the castle before you cause more trouble."

I touched my hand to hers, flicking a piece of my spirit magic under her skin, hoping it would calm her nerves. "If you can find out anything about using belief as magic, we'd be interested." She nodded. A shiver ran up my arm as she sent me a flicker back.

I ran a hand through my hair as the dark car drove away, disappearing around the side of the bank. Why had she done that? Did I look like I needed calming down? I wasn't the one who'd just had my business vandalised. "What do we do now?"

"Pub." Flynn marched off. I raced after him. Flynn's voice had this dark edge I'd never heard before.

"You sure that's a good idea, mate?"

But Flynn was on a tear. He stormed into the pub, marching past a table of locals and slamming the barstool on the flagstones as he pulled it out. "Hey Nell," he hollered at the comely girl behind the counter. "A pint each for me and my mate here. We've had a shitty morning and I'm hoping you'll cut us a little slack."

She waved at him to keep his voice down. "Aye, I'll serve ye," she whispered. "But only because the boss ain't here today. Just you sit right here where I can see you and stay out of trouble, Flynn O'Hagan. If you chance it with any o' my regulars, I be skelping ye and don't ye forget it."

"There's that warm Scottish hospitality I've come to love," Flynn grinned. "You'd better give us some scran as well. I'm right foddered. I'll have the bangers and mash, and Blake'll have the curry of the day."

I jabbed him in the ribs. "Do you order for me now like we're an old married couple?"

"Mate, we practically are an old married couple."

I leaned over and planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek, which he wiped away in disgust. Nell's laugh followed her into the kitchen.

Murmurs rose up from the nearby tables. My back itched from eyes boring into my skin. Flynn sipped his pint in silence, his gaze fixed on the wall. He sensed them, too. His whole body radiated rage.

What's going on with him? Why are we even here ?

Nell came back a few minutes later with our food. We ate in silence. My curry tasted like dirt. Flynn kept his back to the door, but I snuck a look over my shoulder as two of the guys from the greene came in, orange vests glowing under the low pub lighting. Their faces set hard as they recognised Flynn. They stomped over to the bar, talking loudly about the statue. "The bastard thing won't come out. It's as if it's made out of kevlar or some shite."

"Graphene?" The younger one piped up. "That's the hardest substance in the world. A sheet one atom thick is two-hundred times stronger than steel."

"Yeah, well it ain't made out of no bloody kevlar." The old guy slapped him on the back of the head. "Ole' Mayer Scottson was out there in the wee hours with his concrete drill, but buggered if he didn't even get a chip out of the base. I'm telling you, that thing's enchanted."

"Why don't you try cracking your head against it?" Flynn piped up from the end of the bar. I punched him in the arm, but that didn't stop him from adding. "There's a pile of lead between your ears, so it might make a dent."

The entire pub fell silent. The guy's face turned red as a tomato.

"I'll make a dent in your face, witch ." The guy slammed his fist down on the bar. At the back of the room, a woman whimpered.

"Are you startin'?" Flynn set down his glass and stood up, rolling his sleeves up. "I'm happy to knock your bollix in, give your wife something else to cry over other than your ugly mug."

"You wanna say that again, you fucking witch!" The guy shouted, reaching across the bar toward Flynn.

"Get him, Gus!" someone yelled from a nearby table.

Gus grabbed Flynn by the collar and slammed him against the counter. Flynn seemed to expect this, because he threw his arms against his chest and swiped them down, breaking Gus' hold. Gus moved to grab Flynn again, but Flynn was faster. He swung his fist and slammed it into Gus' cheek, flinging him back into one of the tables. Hot chips and sloppy curry flew everywhere.

"Fuck." Gus staggered to his feet, clutching his ear. Blood trickled down his shirt. Flynn swung again, but Gus ducked his hook and barrelled into Flynn, pinning him back against the bar.

"Oi, drop him!" Nell leaned over the bar and poured a pint over Gus' head. Gus yelled and spat, but he did get off Flynn. I grabbed Flynn under the arms as he surged forward, and his fist glanced off my shoulder as he thrashed and yelled. Nell frowned at me and pointed to the door. "I said no trouble . Get him outta here."

I dragged Flynn toward the door. Twenty pairs of eyes followed us. I was trying to shove Flynn through when Gus' young friend said loudly, "It's that new girl up at the castle behind all this. Calling herself the daughter of that weird lass who disappeared twenty years back. Looks like her, too, except with the short hair."

"You heard what young Bill Rilay's son said he saw up there earlier," someone else called out. "That weird lady is back."

Shit. Flynn and I both stiffened. It wasn't a fox, after all.

"Then he's a damn fool. Aline Moore's dead and buried," a woman said.

"He said it's her, all right. Looks just like the pictures in the old papers. They brought her back. Those witches rose her from her grave."

"It's that American witch who moved in," the first man snarled. "She's behind this. We should go up to that castle right now and put the fear of God into her."

Flynn jerked his head around. He tore himself from my grasp and stalked toward the bar. His hands raised in fists. "You don't go talking shite about Maeve Moore."

"Flynn, let's go." I hissed. We shouldn't have come here. The witch statue was one thing, but if they think we've raised the dead, they're going to get violent. It's like walking right into the middle of Daigh's court and loudly announcing all Unseelie were weak.

"You heard him threaten Maeve?" he snapped, breaking my grasp and rushing back into the pub. "That's not right."

"What are you going to do about it, witch?" The young guy shoved Flynn. Chairs scraped back as several men stood up, hands balled into fists, faces twisted with rage.

Before I could grab him, Flynn had shoved the guy back, grabbing his collar to hold him still while he smashed his fist into his nose. The guy screamed as blood pissed from his nose and splattered across the flagstones.

Flynn hit the guy again, his eyes blazing with a fury I'd never seen before. Another bloke grabbed Flynn and tried to tear him off. Flynn flipped around and swung his fist, catching the second bloke in the jaw. With a roar, Gus launched himself into the fray, landing a hit in Flynn's gut as Flynn's foot connected with his knee. Gus went down in a barrage of abuse, and Flynn stomped on his neck.

"Bloody hell, Flynn!" I dived in, dodging a flying fist and grabbing Flynn's shoulders. I tried to tear him away, but Flynn was having none of it. He scrapped with three guys, sending two of them over a table and slamming another into one of the wooden pillars, which splintered with a mighty crack .

"Break it up!" Nell screamed.

"I'll hex the lot of you wankers," Flynn yelled. A jet of water shot between his fisted fingers, slamming into one of the men and knocking him to the ground.

Two blokes plowed into Flynn, who sprayed water all over the pub as they pinned his arms. Gus rolled on top of him and slammed his fist into the side of Flynn's head. Flynn went down like a sack of potatoes, and six angry faces turned toward me.

"Hi," I waved. "I'm Blake. I'm not from around here. Trust an Irishman not to know when to shut his gob, am I right?"

I managed to block the first fist that flew at my face, but the second slammed into my stomach, driving the wind out of me. A blow landed across my shoulder, and I went down on top of Flynn, the room spinning as a circle of feet closed in on us.