4. Four Maeve

CHAPTER FOUR

FOUR: MAEVE

A hand shook me from my nightmares.

"Maeve," Rowan's gentle voice soothed me into the real world – the world where my men weren't pierced on wooden stakes. "Your mother is awake."

Your mother is awake. Four totally normal words that made absolutely no sense. And yet, here they were being uttered. I guess nothing was really normal at Briarwood Castle.

I dragged my tired body into some jeans and my new Blood Lust t shirt, and followed Rowan downstairs to the library. My mother's ghost lay across the sofa, her dainty feet resting on top of the arm, and her body wrapped in layers of blankets. A tray of scones with jam and cream and a pot of tea sat on the coffee table next to her. Corbin sat behind his desk, poring through a thick volume. Flynn, Blake, and Arthur stood or sat around the room, watching her with various expressions – from curiosity to reverence to blatant distrust.

"Where are Jane and Kelly?" I asked.

"In the Great Hall, watching reality TV and demolishing a pile of Rowan's scones," Corbin grinned. "I figure that's going to buy us at least an hour."

"You talked to them?" I asked, a warning creeping into my voice.

"Not really. We grunted good morning to each other." He shot me a meaningful look, which I chose to ignore.

"These scones are delicious," the woman on the couch said, smacking her lips together. "It's been twenty-one years since I last tasted food. I used to dream about roast potatoes."

I eyed the scone in her hand, then touched the one left on the plate. It was real. "So you're definitely not a ghost?"

She smiled. "I seem pretty corporeal. Truthfully, I don't know what I am. The magic that held me inside the painting is not something I've ever seen before."

"Are you up to this?" Rowan asked, pouring out tea. "Maeve and Corbin are going to have a million questions."

"I'm fine, Rowan." She took another big bite of scone. "The power of English baking sustains me. I'm not surprised you're a whiz in the kitchen. Your father was the most incredible cook."

"Don't talk about our parents," Arthur growled.

Rowan bowed his head, staring at the floor. I wanted to wrap my arms around him, but Corbin beat me to it.

The woman's eyes widened. "But why not? Don't you want to know what they were like when they were young and foolish?"

Cold silence answered her question. She shrugged, and took another bite of her scone.

I leaned forward. "Rowan's right about the questions. I'll start. What should we call you?"

"Aline. Or Mum. You could call me Num." Tears glistened in the corners of her eye.

"That's not happening." I rubbed my tired eyes. I wished I'd thought to have some coffee before we did this. " Aline, presumably if you were declared dead, then there must've been a body. That body is still buried somewhere in the ground, turning back into stardust. So how are you here now with a body that looks perfectly fine and not at all like a zombie?"

Aline looked down at the baggy black t-shirt Arthur had given her clinging to her shapely body. "I can't answer that one."

"I can." Corbin met my gaze and gave me an apologetic smile. "I was going to show you one day, but I didn't think you needed it right when you were mourning the Crawfords. Aline's body was never recovered, but there was a lot of blood and a charred patch of earth in the circle, along with a lock of her hair. The witches assumed the fae destroyed her body as a final insult, since she had stopped them from raising the Slaugh. My parents placed a memorial stone for her in a corner of the orchard."

Shit.

I don't know what my mother's lack of remains meant, but I knew it was important.

Aline patted her breast, grinning. "Phew, that explains that, then. This body is all mine, baby."

Baby? I watched her face. Was she trying to… flirt with Corbin?

This whole thing is way too fucking weird.

I was still trying to wrap my head around the physics of her presence. "So you've been trapped in that painting ever since the ritual twenty-one years ago? Where was your body? That frame was big, but not big enough to hide a corpse."

"It's hard to explain. I don't understand it myself. It's only recently I've had self-awareness. Prior to that I existed in darkness, awake but devoid of my senses, trapped in a nightmare from which I could never wake. Some months ago, I began to hear again, and to register the language and the meaning of the words I heard. I didn't realise how many years it's been until Flynn mentioned Maeve's birthday. I've been listening to the conversations in the castle ever since." She turned to Corbin. "Your voice kept me company the most. I don't think anyone else ever heard the doubts you have when you pace the hallway at night. Except me."

Then she turned to Rowan. "You barely spoke, but you used to pace around in front of me at night. I worried you might wear a hole right through the floor."

Corbin looked uncomfortable. Rowan stared at the floor. I wrung my hands, not sure what to make of these intimate moments she'd shared with my guys, when they didn't know she was there.

"And you," she glared at Flynn. "You made me want to laugh all the time. But I had no stomach to rumble, no larynx to vibrate, no mouth through which to issue forth my mirth. It was like trying to hold in a giggle during a Eulogy. You, good sir, are cruel ."

Flynn took a deep bow. "Finally, someone appreciates my genius."

Aline smiled at me, but she must've seen something in my expression, because her smile fell away. She hurried on with her story. "After hearing came scent. Delicious smells wafting from the kitchen, the distinctive scents of each of you as you went about your business." Her eyes met each guy in turn. I'd noticed it too, how each of them had their own distinct scent. Rowan was sweet herbs and flour. Arthur was smoke and ash. "Every day you spoke about Maeve. She was ever present in your thoughts, and I knew that my good friends Andrew and Bree had kept their promise to me and sent you four to watch over her. As you grew closer to coming into your powers, Maeve, my own magic started to wake up again. That first day you arrived at the castle, when you gazed up at the portrait, that was the first time I'd ever been able to see out into the world again. And the first thing I saw was you , my daughter."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

"I've been following you ever since, although how I cannot explain. My conscience seems to sense what goes on with you even when you weren't directly in front of the portrait. I've watched you come to terms with your magic, and piece together the details of what happened at the ritual. And sometimes, if I tried really, really hard, I could channel my own magic through you and change things in your world."

Arthur's eyes widened. "You did it, didn't you? You brought my sword to me in the fae realm."

Aline smiled. "I heard you cry out. You needed it."

Realisation dawned on me. "You changed the canvas so we'd notice you. And you… you spoke inside my head." Aline nodded again. Another thought occurred. "Was it you who baptised the guys during the fight at the church? They all heard a female voice praying inside their heads and water splashed on their faces and the fae couldn't take them."

"Yes, also me. That bit of magic made me blind for three days, but it worked. I'm so pleased it worked."

Flynn threw his arms around her. "You may be a ghostie, but I'm not afraid to hug the woman who saved my bacon. Speaking of which," he drew away in horror. "You haven't tasted bacon in twenty-one years? Rowan, why aren't you rectifying the gross injustice right this minute!"

"Er—"

"Don't you dare," Aline clamped her hand around Rowan's arm, and shot him that dazzling smile of hers. "The scones are amazing. They're more than enough."

My head spun. I just didn't know what to make of this. So many times I'd thought about who my mother might have been if she lived beyond my birth day, what it would have been like to go to her with my fears and my triumphs. But Aline was nothing like I'd pictured. She was practically my age, and seemed like she'd give Kelly a run for her money in the flirting game. She didn't seem to know anything .

I wanted to feel an instant overwhelming love for her – some deep cosmic bond that had connected us across twenty-one years – but all I felt was confused and freaked out and sad.

"Go on," she waved at me. "I be that's not the last of your questions."

I sighed. Not even close. "What do you know about how you got inside the painting?"

Aline's eyes darkened. "Ever since I gained conscious thought i've been trying to figure it out, but the ritual is a complete blur. I'll tell you what I do remember – I'd figured out that Robert was being compelled by Daigh, so I knew that if I wanted a chance at catching the fae off-guard, I'd need to keep the ritual secret. You were squirming around in my belly, poking your tiny limbs into my bladder. I was determined that no one would hurt a hair on your head. I also knew that the ritual would take me from you, leaving you without either of your parents." She reached out to me.

This time, I let her take my hand. Her skin felt warm and soft, her fingers long and delicate. Across her palm was a raised bump – a strange imperfection on her perfect porcelain skin. A lump rose in my throat, and my body trembled as though I was cold. But it wasn't cold. Is this the visceral reaction I was hoping for? Because now that I had it, it totally freaked me out.

This doesn't make any sense. Even if this woman is my mother, she's a stranger to me. A weird stranger who flirts with my guys. Why does her touch give me this shiver?

All the emotions swirling around in my head were reflected back at me in Aline's eyes. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she rubbed a finger over my knuckles. "Oh, Maeve. I'm so sorry I never got to be there when you grew up. I missed so much, but I don't want to miss any more. Please, tell me about your life. I want to know everything. Have you been happy? Have you been loved?"

I glanced around at my guys – from Rowan's kind, open face to Blake's dark smirk. The Crawfords' faces flashed in my mind, but I pushed them aside. If I thought of them now, I'd completely break down. "Yes, I have been loved. But we can't get distracted by sentiment now. We need to stop the fae, and having you here may be the biggest advantage we have. Tell us about the ritual – everything you remember."

Aline's smile froze for a moment. I drew my hand back. The ghost of her touch lingered on my skin. More tears toppled down her cheeks.

"You're protecting your coven. It just…it's so beautiful to see you all together. I remember you all as children and I…I loved your parents very much."

"Most of our parents are dead," Flynn blurted out.

Aline buried her face in her hands. "No."

I glared at Flynn. "Aline, the ritual."

"You have to excuse Maeve," Flynn said. "She likes everything to be logical."

She shook her head. "Yes, sorry. It's hard to be logical after what I've been through. I'll try to remember everything that might be useful. Back then, I had this idea that maybe the belief in magic would be just as powerful as actually performing magic. Belief, after all, is one of the most powerful forces on earth. Belief makes Gods of men. It topples nations. It changes hearts. I wondered if drawing on belief instead of our elemental magic in a ritual would enable us to collect belief from the people around us and weaponize it. The fae have fallen out of knowledge – so belief is not a force they can wield – but thanks to Christian dogma and modern pop culture, witches are still very much part of the human psyche, and very much tied to Crookshollow's mythology in particular. I didn't think it would be too hard to stoke the fires of belief in the village."

That's an intriguing idea.

"I couldn't find much in the books about the power of belief, but I did a little experiment. I used Daigh's belief that he had pulled his deception over on me to capture some of his magic." She reached over and touched the pendant on my throat. It flared with heat under her fingers. "I stored it in there, because I knew I'd need it during the ritual to perform a glamour that even Daigh would believe. I tested it first, giving myself the appearance of my friend Bree and eating a meal with the coven. They were completely fooled. Even Andrew chatted away to me without realising I wasn't his wife."

"You're very scientific about your magic," I said. Rowan took my hand and squeezed it, his wide eyes signalling he understand what I was thinking. Aline's experiment was exactly what I'd have done, testing a theory before jumping in.

Needles stabbed at my heart, and I had to gulp down another lump in my throat.

Forget coffee. I needed a glass of Arthur's strongest mead.

"Magic and science were one and the same for many centuries," Aline said, in a haughty voice I wondered might sound similar to what Flynn referred to as Corbin's ‘Boring Professor' voice. "Alchemists made many scientific breakthroughs while searching for their philosopher's stone."

"We could have done with your help when we first told Maeve about her powers," Flynn said. "This stubborn wench took ages to believe what we all knew was true."

"How I wish I could have been there," Aline said. "I wish you'd been able to grow up knowing what you would be capable of. You could have prepared for it."

I yanked my hand out of Rowan's and folded my arms across my chest.

Aline straightened up. "As I was saying, once I knew that my glamour would work, and it would work on Daigh, I knew what I had to do. I made plans with Andrew and Bree, and prepared myself to die."

"How would you know you would die?" Corbin asked. I glared at him, knowing what Aline was going to say. I'm not dealing with the predestination issue today on top of everything else.

"Because I saw it. I see the future in visions that leave my mind open and my body bleeding. The last vision I saw was my own death. I knew I would die to protect Maeve, so I made sure that I stopped the fae on the way out." She lifted her hands, indicating the room and all of us. "It turns out, even Fate can play tricks on her most ardent servants."

That's because fate doesn't exist, and premonitions are completely impossible, I thought, but didn't say. Flynn looked at me like he expected me to bite at the Fate comment.

"The ritual," Corbin took her back to the story.

"Yes, yes. Witches started arriving at Briarwood from miles around – the new age hippies from Avebury and Glastonbury, the German coven in their black goth gear, the eastern Europeans with their folk magic and dark auras. The presence of so many strange people converging on Briarwood fueled the town's simmering distrust of us. Belief in witchcraft soared. I could feel the power pulsing in the streets, exuding from the church steeple. If this worked we would have more than enough.

"We had to wait for your birth before we could perform the ritual. It was dangerous to wait, because Daigh was assembling a fae army. He'd killed many Seelie and taken their power for himself. His warriors moved up and down the countryside, stealing unbaptised children to grow his power still further. The night you came, the wind howled outside, but the castle was warm and filled with love. Robert was by my side the entire time, but I was too far gone to know when it was him or Daigh whose hand I crushed with my grip. You were born in the early hours of the evening, a slithering alien of a thing, covered in blood and mucus – and yet, you were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Monet's water lilies didn't come close to the sublime wonder of holding my child in my arms. I cradled you to my breast and wept. All I wanted to do was curl up with you and sleep. But instead I called the witches for the ritual, and wrote you the letter. Did you get my letter?"

I nodded, digging my shaking fingers into the pocket of my jeans. I drew the letter out and handed it to Aline. She brushed her hand over the broken seal, inhaling sharply.

"I remember every word I wrote," she whispered. "I'm so so sorry."

"The ritual," I whispered, struggling to hold back tears of my own.

"Yes. You must know the truth of it." Aline gripped the edge of the letter, where her tears from all those years ago had thinned the paper. "We gathered in two circles in the field – an inner circle of the High Priestesses, and an outer circle of the other witches. They called up their powers, and I drew that power into myself, becoming the conduit for their belief in me. I'd made sure to spread gossip in the village that something interesting would be going on at the castle that night, so a bunch of local kids were hiding in the bushes. One ran back to report of women dancing and chanting under the moonlight at the pub, creating a chain of belief that funnelled into our ritual, extending me more power than I'd ever known possible.

"It was time. I touched my fingers to the amulet, and I was able to use Daigh's power to cast a glamour. I picked up the knife. I held it above your head. Twelve High Priestesses and Bree and Andrew and Robert and Daigh inside Robert's head saw me plunge that knife into your heart."

She held up her hand, and I noticed a long scar across her palm, the tiny imperfection I'd felt on her skin. "Instead, I plunged the knife into my hand. I knew I could not hold the glamour for long, and for it to be believed Daigh would expect to see blood. Unfortunately, I cut too deep. Weakened by the birth, my body shuddered under this new trauma as Daigh tried to rip your body from me. The witches – knowing that I had committed this horrific act to save the world form the Slaugh – held him back, and Andrew bundled you away. Robert escaped from their grasp and fell on me, clawing at me, torn between the twin minds sharing the same body, both wallowing in the horror of what I'd done to them." She rubbed the cuts on her cheeks. "I think that's where I got these cuts."

"I had a balm for them," Rowan said.

"Thank you, beautiful." That flirtatious tone was back. "Fae poured out of the sidhe, answering Daigh's anguished call. They rushed the circle, breaking the outer ring. But they were too late. Daigh's belief in my breaking his pact with the underworld by killing his daughter had, in fact, broken his pact with the underworld and robbed him of all his power. And he thought I'd killed his child. Robert thought I'd killed his child." Darkness passed over her face. "It was twice the amount of pain one soul was able to hold. The grief on his eyes, in their eyes – it broke me to see it. I could feel myself losing my grip on life.

"Robert wrapped his hands around my throat, tightening, loosening, as the great internal struggle tore apart his mind. Which one of them wanted me to live and which wanted me to die, I did not know. I have no clue into whose eyes I stared as my life drained from my body. I was too weak to fight back, even if I'd wanted to. But I had to die. I had to go to the underworld, it was the only way to be sure we'd won.

"The cut in my hand bled profusely, and soon my vision swam and the carnage of the ritual fell silent. The world went dark. I thought he'd choked the life from me, and that I'd awake in the underworld. But instead, I slumbered in the nightmare of darkness inside that painting until you lot woke me again."

"Robert was the one who placed you inside the painting," I explained to her what we learned from our visit to Robert Smithers, how we believed he'd traded his mind with Daigh in exchange for the fae king's artistic talent, and how he said they were both in love with her. Aline looked distressed as I described the institution he lived in and the precarious state of his mind. "We couldn't get it out of him when we visited him – he's not exactly coherent. But the painting bore traces of water magic, not fae magic, and we recently found out that witches can store energy inside objects." I touched the pendant on my throat. "The same way you stored that piece of Daigh's magic inside here."

Aline's eyes lit up. "I'm impressed, Maeve."

"Don't be. Just help us figure out how to stop the fae a second time."

And tell me who my father is.

I didn't say it. I wasn't ready to hear the answer, not from her. I had a feeling I wasn't going to like what she said.

"What's happened with the fae now?" Aline leaned forward.

"They have moved into the underworld and taken a sacrifice of 22 unbaptised humans and 22 high-ranking fae," Corbin said. A collective shudder passed through the group at the memory of those lives burned away.

"How many days until the full moon?" Aline asked.

"Eight days."

Aline tipped her head to the side. To me, it didn't look as though she was considering the problem nearly hard enough. "Daigh must know I tricked him all those years ago, because you are alive, and he found you. I do not think we can fool him again."

"Then what can we do?"

"Even if we destroy Daigh and strip his power, we're still screwed," Blake said. "The Slaugh will still ride, and Liah will simply rise up to become queen in his place. And if you ask me, we should be more afraid of meeting her in battle than Daigh."

"Who's Liah?" Aline frowned. "And while we're on the subject, what happened to you, Blake Beckett? I heard in the painting that you came from the fae realm, but you were born a human and fae?—"

"—can't be inside the castle walls. I know." Blake smirked. "I'm just amazing," Blake explained what happened to his parents and how Daigh adopted him and he'd escaped the fae realm to join us. At the mention of his parents' grisly death and the tortures he'd endured under Daigh's control, Aline winced. I wondered if she was thinking what might've happened to me if Daigh had known I was still alive.

"Thank you, Blake, and you're right. Destroying Daigh won't stop the Slaugh riding. We'd literally have to overthrow the demons of hell in order to call this off now. There's only one other solution that I can see."

"We retire to a desert island and rejoice in the fact we now have a lifetime supply of free Irish whiskey?" Flynn asked hopefully.

Aline shook her head. "We have to get the fae to change their mind and call off the deal they've made. Which means I have to speak with Daigh."