“It’s urgent, sir.”
A pained expression crossed Wallace’s face, as if he knew this conversation all-too-well. I wondered if he had daughters.
“I’ll show you where it is.” I got to my feet and led Judge down the hall, in what I hoped was the direction of a bathroom.
As soon as we turned the corner, Judge grabbed my collar. “What’s going on?” she demanded. “Am I going crazy?”
I shrugged. “Are you?”
“Don’t pull that bullshit with me, O’Hagan. I’ve seen way too much weird stuff over the last couple of weeks. First those babies go missing and found on your property, then twenty-two people are swallowed by a weird black fog after fighting with three-foot-tall furry monsters with knives made of bones. Then a statue of a witch appears in the village and gets everyone scared and desperate.”
“Bit of a shite week, aye? I could do with a whiskey—”
She continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “I stood in the Briarwood courtyard while a battle raged in my mind – one voice in my head screaming at me to kill the witches, the other telling me to go home and crawl into bed with a cup of tea. Next thing I’m crouched in a field trying to call for backup on a phone that won’t work while creatures that weren’t human burned a guy and shoved him on a stake. Your friend Maeve touched my face and I saw my own worst fears as reality flashing before my eyes. It wasn’t a hallucination – for that moment it was real. I lived in my nightmares. People had thoughts planted inside their heads that weren’t their own. This can’t continue, you hear that? I need to know what’s going on and I don’t want any more fibbing or nonsense about geology.”
“What’s the point? You won’t believe me.”
Judge jabbed a finger in the direction of the drawing room. “He won’t believe you. His brain ain’t set up that way. But I’m no idiot. I’ve lived in Crookshollow my entire life. This village is superstitious with good reason. It is the most haunted village in England. My grandma’s house has a resident ghost, and if you’d seen some of the weird shit that went on down at the precinct… Point is, I’ve got an open mind and I know what I’ve seen can’t be explained by science. I’m right, aren’t I?”
I nodded. “I’m guessing we don’t have time for a long explanation. So here’s the Twitter version: Those guys you saw in the green and black, with the bows and arrows, the ones that killed Corbin? They’re fae. Fairyfolk.”
Judge’s eyes widened. “They didn’t have no wings.”
“There are lots of different types of fae. Some of them have wings. Some have claws. Some are three-foot tall and covered with fur. Those ones were court fae – think Tolkien elves, only more evil.”
“And these fae, what’ve they got against you and your friends? Why’d they kill Corbin Harris?”
“Hundreds of years ago they were banished from the human world into a separate realm. It’s like another dimension only it’s really, really tiny. Understandably, they’re still pissed at us for banishing them, and they want the earth for themselves. There’s a doorway to their realm behind the castle. It’s our job to guard it, to stop them coming into our world. We’re witches, as you’ve probably figured out. This one fae, Daigh, he found a way to get here without going through the portal.”
“Don’t tell me,” Judge smirked. “He made a deal with the devil on a crossroads at midnight.”
“Pretty much exactly that. Only it turns out he’s also Maeve’s father, and he wants her to rule the world with him. He’s the one who killed Corbin. We’ve got him with us, locked in a secret room so he can’t hurt anyone else. But he lost all his powers, so he’s not important now. As part of the deal these fae made with the underworld, in less than two days a host of restless souls called The Slaugh will ride across earth, killing everyone they encounter until there’s no human left to oppose the fae. That’s why Ryan—”
“I don’t know what you’re all playing at,” Judge hissed. “The whole village is a circus. People are pouring in from all over the country to see this painting before it goes into some private collection. Is this really a good idea with those bloody fae and restless souls around?”
“It’s how we’re going to stop them. There’s a kind of magic that’s created when people believe in something. Like how everyone in the village now believes in magic and witches, and that belief is spreading because of Ryan’s painting and the story of the statue appearing in the town square. We’ve figured out how to use objects like artwork to store that magic and then unleash it at the right time. It’s going to overwhelm the Slaugh before they do any damage.”
Judge glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to get back. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but if you need help with anything, you know where to find me.”
“Why?” I wasn’t used to people believing me so readily or jumping to my aid. Eloquent speeches that stirred hearts and changed minds were Corbin’s department.
“Corbin helped us out on a case a couple of years back,” Judge said. “It was the first dead body I’d ever seen. A professor committed suicide up at one of the old houses on Holly Avenue. He wrote the note in Latin. One of the other officers used to be in a medieval reenactment club with Arthur, and apparently he used to bitch about his brainiac housemate who knew all these old languages, so I called in at the castle to get Corbin to look at the note. He translated it in three minutes flat and discovered one of the verbs had been conjugated incorrectly. His evidence eventually convicted the professor’s brother of his murder. Corbin’s one smart kid, and he dropped everything to help us without demanding a reward. People always ask what’s in it for them, but Corbin Harris never did. I don’t want any other people to die on my watch.”
I vaguely remembered Corbin mentioning he’d helped the police out while I was over in Arizona. It sounded exactly like him, to do something just for the sheer joy of the intellectual challenge.
Officer Judge released my collar, and we walked back to the drawing room. Inspector Wallace bent over the singed bookshelf, running his fingers across the ruined surface. He straightened up when we entered. “All done, then?”
Judge nodded. “Ready to brave the crowds again, sir.”
“Thank you for your time, Mr O’Hagan. We’ll keep you updated. No more guerrilla art in my village, right?” He tipped his head at me.
“You got it, sir.” I winked at Judge. She nodded.
20
MAEVE
Aline’s arms draped over my shoulders. “Sweetie, you should go back at Raynard Hall. You need sleep.”
My eyelids sprung open. The edges of a dream pressed against my temples, like a locked door with a misplaced key. Corbin had been there, and he’d been shouting something about a crown, and his hand was clasped around that metal lump he wore on a chain, then I’d fallen into the darkness. There were other details, but when I grasped at them, they faded away. I rubbed my eyes, but that did nothing to halt the weariness spreading up my spine. “I’m fine. I’m staying right here.”
“You’ll do no good for him sapping your strength like this. He’ll wake up when he’s good and ready.”
Arthur’s lifeless face stared up at the ceiling. I’d never seen him so still for so long. Arthur was a fireball of energy and passion. Now even his beard looked as though it was made of stone – a statue of a Viking warrior at peace with his gods.
No, I raged against the notion. He’s not at peace. Inside that thick skull of his, he’s fighting for us, for me. I had to believe that. I grabbed his good arm – the one he hadn’t mutilated – and shook it. “Arthur, you bastard. Wake up.”
“Sssssh, honey bee.” Aline placed her hand over mine and drew me away. A warm, calming feeling shot up my arm. I glared at her. Don’t use magic on me. I need to feel this. I need to feel all of it. It’s the only way I’ll be strong enough.
Hatred isn’t strength, Aline answered inside my head, but the warm feeling disappeared.
“Maeve, you’ve been here long enough. Why don’t you call Rowan o
r Blake? They can sit with Arthur for a while.” I started at the sound of Clara’s voice. I’d forgotten she was there as well. “Someone will be here when he wakes up.”
“Robert is waking up,” Smithers cooed. “Robert is greeting the birds.”
Aline hushed him.
I picked up Arthur’s hand. My stomach clenched as his limp fingers slid through mine and flopped back on the sheet. “Rowan and Blake aren’t talking to me. We had a fight.”
“What about?”
“They inserted themselves into my dream last night so they could talk to Corbin.” A shudder of disgust wracked my body. The betrayal of it still smarted.
“They shouldn’t have done that,” Aline said gently. “Did you see Corbin in your dreams again?”
“Of course I did. I’ll never stop thinking about him or wishing he was with us. But they think Corbin is speaking to me through my dreams. They think he deliberately got himself stuck in the underworld and we can bring him back,” I whipped up my head to narrow my eyes at her. “And don’t say you believe them.”
“My question is, why are you so determined not to believe them?”
“Because it’s impossible. Dreams have no precognitive powers, and they’re not microphones into other dimensions—”
Aline held up her hand. “Ah, I believe I’ve heard this lecture before. As I recall, scientists know very little about the true nature of dreams, so I think one theory is just as relevant as the others.”
“You’d be wrong,” I snapped.
Aline ignored my rude comment. “Very well. Then if what you say about dreams is true, and they are your subconscious mind interpreting signals from your brain to process important information, then Corbin’s appearance might be your subconscious alerting you to facts or discoveries your waking mind hasn’t put together yet. Did Corbin speak to you in this dream? Maybe he told you something strange or coincidental?”
I frowned. Aline was right. My brain was such a pile of mush right now, I wasn’t thinking as clearly or logically as I usually did. My brain might be using my dreams to sort through all this confusing magic stuff and create some kind of logical framework. I thought back to Corbin’s words in my dreams. “He said he died to stop the villagers from killing us, and also because he figured out that any agreement we made with the fae would be useless unless it included the demons, too.”
Clara’s eyes danced. “He’s bright, that lad. None of us even thought about the demons.”
“It’s not Corbin! It’s just my subconscious. But yes, I guess that makes sense. Daigh dragged the demons into this so if we strike a deal with Liah after we defeat the Slaugh we’ll have to include them, too.” I didn’t bother telling them about Corbin trying to speak to the demon ruler, because that was obviously my dreamstate inventing details.
“Did he say anything else?” Aline leaned forward.
“He said that that Daigh traded his powers with the king of the demons, which we already guessed. And that Daigh’s planning something that will be disastrous for humans and fae alike.” I wiped one of my fallen tears off Arthur’s cheek, hating the way my fingers pressed into his waxy skin. “It’s all so stupid. Daigh’s locked away in Raynard Hall. He has no powers. He’s not a threat anymore. Oh, and Corbin also said he’d done this in secret on purpose because I never would have let him try it if I’d known, but that he had a way to get himself back to the land of the living. It’s just wistful thinking by my subconscious.”
He also kissed Rowan. That kiss ached in my heart because I wished it had been real, and that I could feel Corbin’s warm lips on mine one last time.
“What did he – I mean, your subconscious mind – say about coming back?” Clara leaned against the door, tightening her black shawl around her shoulders.
“He said, ‘I wrote it all down for you,’ and Rowan found some Post-it notes on one of his spellbooks. I think it was the one you brought from the Soho coven. It was something about the Mysteries of Lazarus.” I waved my hand. “I didn’t look at the notes. Corbin wrote a lot of Post-its. They were stuck all over his books. It doesn’t mean he had a plan. That’s why I fought with Rowan, and Blake stepped in on Rowan’s side which is fucking ridiculous. I don’t know where they are now, and I…”
Weariness swept over me, and I found myself unable to recall the words I wanted to use. I sagged against the bed, watching Arthur’s lifeless features and begging the warrior inside to wake up and fight again for me.
“Maybe all you need to bring Corbin back is to believe,” Aline cooed.
“Belief is nonsense,” I murmured as sleep overcame me. “It’s an opiate for the masses without scientific justification…”
Aline’s hand rubbed circles on my back. Clara and Aline talked together, but their words blurred into a dull roar. I leaned my head against Arthur’s chest, timing my own breath with the steady rise and fall of his chest as the machines kept air circulating through his body.
Arthur, if you’re still in there, come back to me. We need you.
My eyes fluttered shut, and I drifted into sleep.
I stood in the dark hallway again, listening to the piercing screams from behind the doors. Corbin faced me, his hands in his pockets, a sad expression in his kind eyes. That weird lump of ancient metal still hung from a chain around his neck, and the handle of the bone knife bobbed in his side.
“I don’t know how to convince you I’m real,” he said, his voice resigned.
“Come back to me,” I shot back. “Appear in the hospital as flesh and blood. That’s the only way.”
“I can’t. You’re going to have to bring me back, Maeve. And the only way to do that is to believe.”
“That’s the hokiest thing you’ve ever said,” I folded my arms. “You sound like my mother, who I was just talking to before I fell asleep, so that explains why you’re parroting her. You’re not even a very convincing illusion.”
Corbin shrugged. “If you won’t listen to me, maybe I’ve found someone else you’ll trust.”
He swung his hands around, trailing the dust from the ends of his fingers so it formed strange shapes, almost like runes in the air. I gasped as the dust settled in the air, floating still and forming a faint outline of a body. A body with impossibly broad shoulders and a big, bushy Viking beard.
Arthur.
My mouth dried up. My heart shriveled into a raisin as the grief hit me in a wave. It rocked through my body, shattering the thin veneer of control I’d managed to exert over my emotions. I gasped as pain tightened my chest. Don’t let me lose him, too.
“He can’t speak,” Corbin said, placing a hand on Arthur’s dusty shoulder. Arthur inclined his head toward Corbin’s hand, as if agreeing with him. “He’s halfway between this world and yours. I nearly had a heart attack when I found him. What’s going on up there, Maeve? Why does Arthur have one foot in his grave?”
As if answering Corbin’s question, Arthur raised his arm. Even though he was only dust and air, I could make out a long dent in his skin where he’d cut himself. Corbin sucked in his breath when he saw it.
“Shite,” he said.
Arthur nodded.
“You’re an idiot.”
Arthur nodded again.
“Okay.” Corbin touched the knife in his abdomen. “This makes what happens next even more important. Maeve, I know you think I’m just a dream. That’s fine. But dreams tell us things about ourselves, sometimes even about things we don’t think we understand but actually do, deep inside. I think deep down you know I’m real in some way, otherwise you wouldn’t keep coming back here. I need to you stop resisting me. Stop thinking of me as Corbin if that will help, and start listening to yourself. Can you do that?”
I nodded.
Corbin’s shoulders sagged as he let out a breath. “Okay, then. Our first order of business. Allow me to introduce the person who’s going to help us stop Daigh.”
A figure stepped out of the swirling dust, dragging an injured leg. Green clothing hung in t
atters from her body, and one arm ended in a stump.
Liah.
“What’s she doing here?” I hissed.
“Greetings to you, too, witch,” Liah hissed back.
“I saved her,” Corbin said. “Daigh had her tied up in one of the torture chambers. He didn’t want the fae to run to her in case they found out about his little bargain. She wants to help us.”
I folded my arms. “Nope. This isn’t going to work, because subconscious me is an idiot. Liah is against us. She always was. That’s why she tried to kill me in the church and that’s why she was the one compelling the villagers to attack the castle. Blake felt her mind as she did that evil.”
“He did,” Liah said. “Because Daigh forced me to do it. Didn’t you wonder why I wasn’t on the field of battle, gloating over my victory? I was here, tied up, being poked by demons until I bent my mind to Daigh’s will. You’ll learn soon enough that even without his power he is no enemy to be trifled with.”
I threw up my hands. “Fine. I give up!” I jabbed a finger at them each in turn. “You’re Corbin, back from the dead to talk to me. Arthur’s a weird dust ghost. Liah’s a totally kind and trustworthy fae who’s really on our side and never tried to kill me. What’s all this in aid of? What do you want?”
“Daigh’s going to try and take his power back,” Corbin said. “He’ll escape from his prison. He’ll wait until the Slaugh ride, and then he’ll make his move—”
BANG BANG.
A loud rapping noise echoed through the tunnel. The floor shook beneath my feet. Dust toppled from the ceiling high above, pouring over my body and sending me crashing to the ground. My knees hit the hard stone floor and pain shot up my spine.
BANG BANG BANG.
The floor jerked again. Corbin looked up at the roof, just as another shower of dust rained down on his head. “Looks like you’ve got a wake-up call.”
“Corbin, wait—”
“Remember, Maeve, the clay steals the clay!” Corbin shouted at me as his body faded into the darkness.
The Castle of Spirit and Sorrow Page 15
