6. Six Flynn

CHAPTER SIX

SIX: FLYNN

" Y ou fecking bastard," I grunted, drawing the screw out of the hole. Wrong size . Of course my boxes of screws were on the other side of the workshop, where I couldn't get to them because I was currently holding two halves of a giant scrap-metal statue that would crash to the ground without my hand or the elusive screw holding them in place.

I inched my feet across the room, dragging the two halves of the statue after me. The flimsy skeleton groaned in protest as its corrugated iron feet scraped across the concrete. "Look, if I don't get that screw, you're going to lose an arm, which is going to really mess with your artistic integrity. It's your choice," I groaned as I dragged it forward another foot.

I wished I'd thought to ask Blake to come out and help, but he'd gone straight to his room after we finished talking with Aline. I had a feeling he wasn't happy with Maeve's decision not to speak with Daigh, or maybe he was thinking about his friend Liah, or maybe he was just weirded out by Maeve's mother coming back from the dead like that. I had to admit, it creeped me out a bit, too.

Maeve had barely left her mother's side since she woke up this morning. Her eyes leaked with tears. I couldn't even imagine what she was going through. What if it had been my Ma? What would that even be like?

I wanted to make her feel better, but I knew she didn't need my irreverent humour or sexy body right now. She had the other guys – Corbin loved this emotional stuff, and Rowan just wanted to hold her and never let go. I trusted them to look after her. There was something I had to do.

I needed to create .

Aline's ideas about belief and magic nagged at me. Memories from our return to Crookshollow swirled around in my noggin – of the villagers crossing the street to avoid us, yelling weak insults and saying we weren't welcome.

Belief in witchcraft was growing, spreading through the village like a potato famine. Belief that we were somehow responsible for what happened in the church. Belief that we would do something terrible to all the godfaring people of Crookshollow.

I could do something to fan the flames of that belief, and maybe help us to collect it and store it for later use, like a giant metal belief tupperware container.

I'd already bent and welded lengths of rebar together to make a skeletal frame. Now, I was using bits of the body off an old car, corrugated roofing iron, and some old boiler to give the body shape and form. I'd curled the ends of the feet up like pointed shoes, and used motorcycle chain for dangling sleeves. If I can just get this hat to stay in place while I…

I dragged the frame another inch while I stretched out my fingers toward the tool chest. Nearly there ? —

"Can I help?"

I turned my head. Maeve stood in the doorway, hands shoved in her jean pockets, shoulders hunched. A shaft of sunlight shone behind her, highlighting her face like a halo.

"Yes, actually." I jabbed my nose at the tool chest. "Can you grab a box of screws for me? They're in the third drawer down on the left."

Maeve grabbed the box and held it open in front of me. I pulled out a screw and inserted it and the washer into the hole, tightening it with my drill. I followed it with another three, and stood back to admire the completed skeleton, now with the hat perched on top. "What do you think?"

"I think… er, it's a mound of junk?"

"Can't you see it?" I pointed to the bicycle handle sticking out, "That's the hooked nose." I kicked one of the corrugated iron feet. "There's the pointy shoes. " I grinned at the old gramophone horn I'd just flipped upside down on top. "And that's the pointy hat. I'm just going to finish off her clothes and hair, and I've even nicked a bunch of fencing wire from the groundskeepers cottage I'm going to use to make a broomstick. I think I'm going to put her right down by the gate so anyone driving past will see."

"It's a sculpture of a witch." Maeve frowned. "Flynn, are you sure that's a good idea?"

"It's a brilliant idea. One of my most brilliant, in fact. The whole village believes we're witches. After what they saw at the church, that belief is leaping around like wildfire. It's probably even stronger than when your mum was messing around with it."

Maeve sighed. "But this isn't like last time. They're not just mildly amused by the commune of hippies up at the old castle. They hate us, and they've got that mob mentality. We've already seen them attack Jane for her career choice, and they were willing to hurt Connor. But after all those people died at the church… we don't want to incur their wrath."

"I think that's exactly what we should do." I patted the statue. "We feed the beast and then collect all that belief and store it in my sculptures. That way, we can collect even more power than you and Aline and Blake can hold yourselves."

Maeve's eyes blazed. I thought she was going to scold me, which was kind of hot, especially when the little vein popped out in her neck.

"And I know you said no going off and doing things by yourself," I finished hurriedly. "But I wanted to make a statue anyway. Even if we don't use it for collecting magic, it will at least make a fun addition to the courtyard."

Maeve's mouth twisted up into a grin. She reached up and kissed me, her lips fire on my skin. "You're right, Flynnmeister. You are a genius."

"Told you." I grabbed a mangled exhaust pipe from Arthur's last car and tossed it at her. "Now hold that for me. Our witch is going to need a wee familiar."