We drove back into the countryside, following the signs to the nearby town of Crooks Worthy. My stomach twisted into knots. Please let Blake’s friend be wrong. Please don’t let there be a way for Daigh to hurt Connor, or anyone else.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, we entered the village and Arthur pulled over in front of an enormous cathedral. The looming gothic spires couldn’t have looked more intimidating if they tried, with its dark stone carvings and dramatic arches. As I got out of the car, I spotted a gargoyle leering over the edge of the roof. Rain pelted down, and there was no one waiting around outside, so we raced for the open doors.
I skidded to a stop on the slippery marble floor, my breath in my throat. Everything looked normal. At least, what I assumed was normal for a Protestant baptism that wasn’t overrun with evil fae. It didn’t look as though things had kicked off yet. Jane stood at the front of the church, wearing a figure-hugging red dress that I wouldn’t have called Church Appropriate under any circumstances. She bounced Connor in her arms as she chatted to the Vicar, who didn’t seem to know where to look. Sheryl bustled around, waving her arms while Corbin and Blake teetered under the weight of an enormous floral arrangement.
There were a scattering of people in the pews. None sat together, so their spread made the cavernous church appear even larger and more imposing. I noticed Flynn and Rowan seated in the back row. I ran over and slid into the pew next to them. Arthur squeezed his bulk in after me.
“Welcome back,” Rowan leaned over and hugged me. A lump rose in my throat as his floury, earth scent washed over me. God, I’d missed these guys.
I pulled away before I started crying. “No sign of the fae yet?”
Rowan shook his head. Flynn crossed himself frantically.
The vicar called for silence, and Sheryl sat down at the organ, testing a few of the keys. “I think they’re getting started,” I whispered.
They started with a hymn. I didn’t know the words, but all the guys seemed to. Arthur’s hand slid onto my knee. At first, it was a comfort, something to steady myself against while I collected myself. But after a couple of minutes of the priest droning on about baptism and sin, his fingers grew hot. All I could think about was the other night under the stars and that hand and how close it was to my—
I pinned my legs shut. Stop thinking about it.
“Maeve,” Arthur elbowed me. “If the fae really are going to show up, we need you to be as magically charged as possible.”
“Yeah,” That meant we had to... “I mean, no! We can’t do that here. This is a church.”
“No one will see,” he whispered, pulling his huge coat over my lap. I gasped as he slid his fingers under my skirt, slipping between my already sodden panties. He dipped his finger into my folds, wetting it with the juices that had already spilled there, and rubbed it against my clit.
The ache of my need rose up inside me, followed by the pillar of warmth that meant my spirit magic was activating. Arthur’s hand swirled harder, and his eyes met mine with a mischievous glint. The fact that the priest was right there – and we were doing this in a totally public room – made it so much hotter.
Arthur’s fingers stroked harder. I opened my legs, giving him more room. He responded by switching out his fingers, shoving one inside me while his thumb circled my clit. I bit down on my lip to stop myself moaning.
Flynn whirled around. He grinned when he noticed Arthur’s hand under the coat. “And in a protestant church, no less. I’ll make a Catholic of you yet, Maeve Moore.”
I kept my lips clamped shut, because if I opened them, a moan would escape. I kept my eyes fixed on the priest as he held Connor up and talked about how he would be united with Christ in his burial and resurrection to life.
Oh God … oh God … it feels so good.
"Go ye therefore, and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost ... "
The coat rustled. Flynn pulled it up above my shoulder and his hand went underneath, sliding between my breasts to tweak my nipple. He punched the sensitive bud just as Arthur thrust two fingers inside me. I clenched my teeth as the orgasm claimed me, my body shaking and shuddering against the hard pew. The pillar of power flared against my skin, humming with untapped energy.
“Oh, god,” I whispered. Arthur snorted.
Power thummed in my veins. My fingers tingled. Arthur was right – I was ready for anything now.
I glanced around the church. Everyone else faced forward as the vicar moved across to the baptismal font. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The priest raised Connor above his head, then brought him to his breast and dipped a goblet into the water. Connor grizzled. Jane sat in the front with Sheryl, her expression strained. The priest raised the goblet—
“We’re actually going to do it,” I whispered. Connor is going to be safe.
A loud bang made me jump. I whirled around in time to see a shaft of light cross the marble floor. The second wooden door banged on its hinges, and angry footsteps marched toward the nave.
“Stop this service at once!” a voice rang out.
A figure stepped into the light thrown by the stained glass windows, followed by another, and another. A whole mob flocked down the aisle – mostly women in ugly sweaters and wary-looking men waving worn bibles in their hands. All they were missing was the pitchforks and torches.
At the front of the horde stood Dora, her hands on her hips and a snarl of righteous fury on her face.
“These are witches and fornicators!” she yelled, her voice ringing out through the entire church. “They do not belong here! Remove them now, or we will do so by force!”
FIFTY: MAEVE
“If you ladies would like to take a seat,” The priest – who clearly had no idea what was going on – indicated the near-empty church with a dramatic sweep of his wrist. “We’ll continue the proceedings.”
“We don’t want the baptism to continue,” an elderly woman sputtered. “Father, do you have any idea what you’ve let into our church today?”
“This humble House of God accepts all sinners—”
“Even fornicators who steal husbands and destroy families?” Another familiar voice spoke up. I swirled my head and recognised Chief Inspector Davies at the back of the mob, her mouth twisted into an ugly scowl.
“Even witches?” Dora screamed, jabbing her finger at me and the guys. “Even the Devil’s own children?”
“Please, Dora.” A figure in the front pew stood up. I recognised Clara, from the Astarte shop. She swept her black hair behind her ears, and met Dora’s fearful gaze with a mixture of kindness and pity. “A beautiful ritual is being conducted today. A child is being welcomed into the House of the Lord. Surely you have no quarrel with that?”
“That child is born of bad seed,” Dora snapped. “His mother is a curse in this village, beguiling men away from their wives and honest men from their families. The child will grow up in an immoral household. He will learn from that Jezebel, and bring ruin on our fair village!”
“Hey.” Jane’s eyes narrowed. “That’s my son you’re talking about.”
“Your son is evil. The witches have already corrupted him. The demon they placed inside me told me so.”
I got to my feet, raising my hand and pointing it at her. The power Arthur and Flynn had unleashed inside me threatened to escape. Dora’s words twisted in my head, digging into my heart. I’d shut her up. I’d—
Flames devouring a wooden desk. Uncle Bob’s face twisted in agony as I slam his nightmares into his skull all at once.
My arm wobbled. My righteous anger faltered. A hand fell on my shoulder. “Save your anger for the fae,” Arthur whispered.
I nodded, lowering my hand. But it was too late. Dora spun toward me, her lip quivvering as she lifted a bony finger and pointed right at me. “This all started when she arrived. The daughter of that sorceress. She came to the castle and all of a sudden my boys are acting strangely, and th
en my body is possessed by a demon, and the harlot wants her son baptised. Can’t you see it’s all connected? It’s all her fault.”
“Dora,” Clara took a step towards her. Her heels clack-clack-clacked on the marble floor. Clara took another step. “I know what you’re going through. Your son is in the hospital. The doctors say he might not live out the month, although I can tell you it will be closer to ten days before you must say goodbye. You blame yourself for not accepting him for who he is. You think that if you’d tried to talk to him, to get him to repent his sins, to accept that his love for men was an abomination, that he would never have got sick. You think God is punishing you for your son, and that by purging this town of so-called sinners, He will give him back to you.”
Dora’s lip wavered. “That’s not true. My son is perfectly fine. He—”
I glanced at Arthur, but he looked just as surprised as I felt. He didn’t know about Dora’s son. And from the horrified looks of her followers’ faces, they weren’t aware, either.
So how does Clara know?
I remembered what she’d said at the shop, that she’d known my mother, that she’d come to Briarwood to perform rituals with our coven. And suddenly I realised, Clara wasn’t just any witch. She was a spirit witch.
Clara stepped forward again, rapping her cane against the marble. The sound echoed right through the lofty nave. “If you say so, dear. But let me say this – it is not your job to mete out judgement. Now, Jane may be as you say, and Maeve and those boys may be witches who dance naked under the moon. For all you know, I could be a witch who dances naked alongside them, my old bones groaning with joy.” Clara patted her hip, and smiled a kind smile. “All this sin and depravity and degradation could be going on in this village right now, and it doesn’t matter a damn, pardon my language, Father. Because you love your son, and you were like a grandmother to those boys for many years, when most of them had never known kindness from a woman.”
“But... “ Dora’s finger continued to point at me, but her hand trembled.
“You are not the final judge,” Clara said. “Your only duty to your God is to be the best woman you can be. A woman your son could be proud of. Don’t let the last act he sees you do on this earth be one of hatred.”
Dora’s hand dropped. Her eyes turned down in the corners, and her whole face crumpled. She sagged like a damp cloth. “I…”
“What’s happening, Dora?” The elderly woman asked. “Is all this true?”
“He’s my baby boy,” Dora said, tears streaming down her wrinkled cheeks. “The Bible says he’s disgusting, but he’s my son. I can’t find the—”
She stumbled over her words as her foot slipped out from beneath her. She crashed against the marble floor. At first I thought one of the guys had done it, but then I felt the floor tilt beneath me. I grabbed the back of the pew to steady myself, but the pew slid across the marble, leaping out of my grasp. The walls rumbled, and the whole church lurched as though it were rolling through the ocean on a great wave.
“It’s an earthquake!” Inspector Davies yelled.
The floor buckled, slamming my knees into the marble. Arthur fell beside me, landing on his thigh. He crawled toward the aisle, dragging a dagger from his belt.
“Get under the arches!” Connor yelled. “They’re the strongest part of the building.”
“That won’t help, since this isn’t an earthquake!” Arthur yelled back.
What made him say that I couldn’t see. Chunks of stone fell from the ceiling, crashing around me, sending up white dust to obscure my vision. I wrapped my arms over my head and tried to crawl behind Arthur. A high-pitched sound stopped me in my tracks.
Through the screams of the mob and the roar of the earth, Connor’s wail cut through. I peered under the pews, but I couldn’t see anything.
“Someone get to Connor!” I yelled, just as another long rumbled slammed me into the pew.
“That’s going to be difficult.” Flynn called from behind me.
I glanced over my shoulder. A fissure opened up in the marble – an enormous dark crack spread out across the floor, buckling the pews. The church groaned as the crack warped the walls and pushed up the floor. Black fog swirled up from inside, reaching long, ghost-like fingers through the air that snaked toward me. As the blackness reached toward my throat, I felt this tremendous pressure swell beneath the ground, as though the crack itself held back something much larger and darker than I could ever imagine.
“Maeve!” Flynn and Rowan stared at me from the other side of the fissure. They crawled backward as the crack widened. Chunks of the marble floor toppled into its depths.
“This is but a taste,” a voice boomed from inside the crack. “If you do not give back the lands that rightfully belong to the fae, we shall take them by force and scour them clean of the human stain.”
Long, green fingers clawed at the edge of the crack. I choked back a scream, my limbs frozen in place. A host of Far Darrigs dragged themselves from the depths and raced across the church, black tendrils cascading behind them like speed lines. The shaking earth didn’t seem to affect them. They vaulted over the pews and crashed into the cowering crowd.
A fae grabbed Dora, his claws digging into her shoulders. She swung her handbag up and whacked him in the face. He staggered back, his grip loosening, and a stream of water hit him full-on in the face.
“Go Flynn!” I yelled. Flynn’s face twisted in concentration as he increased the stream of water, driving back the fae. Arthur leapt at the creature just as he tumbled out of Flynn’s line-of-sight, and slammed his dagger through its chest. The fae collapsed in a pile of green blood. Arthur yanked his blade free and turned to grab another.
Meanwhile, Corbin wrestled with another Far Darrig, pinning it to the marble and trying to roll it back into the dark fissure. He bellowed in pain as his shoulder touched one of the black tendrils, and the collar and sleeve of his shirt melted away.
My heart leapt in my chest. The magic inside me simmered like a pot ready to boil over. My coven. I needed to save them. I needed to get rid of the fae—
No. I remembered my Uncle’s twisted face as he relieved his own horrible nightmares. No way was I going to look into fae nightmares. I suspected that would fry my soul. They’re here for Connor. Save Connor.
I pitched forward again, pushing down the fear that battled against the magic in my chest. crawling around the corner of the pew and into the aisle. Chunks of masonry cascaded from above, hitting the floor and shattering into pieces, showering the battle in glimmering mist that caught and played with the light. I scrambled to my feet and bolted toward the front of the church.
A Far Darrig leapt down in front of me. Before I could react, it grabbed my shoulders and spun me around, pressing my back against its slimy, furry body and pinning my arms at my sides. I screamed and kicked, trying to twist myself the way Arthur had taught me so I could knee him in the groin. I managed to connect with its kneecap, but it didn’t put me down. It lifted me higher, over the crack, and let go—
I toppled down into the crack, and slammed into something hard. A moment later I glanced up. I was back on the shaking ground in the church, the Far Darrig standing over me, staring down at his hands. Grey smoke rose from his fingertips.
“You… you’ve been baptised,” it whispered. The smell of burning flesh clogged my nostrils. Pain seared through my body.
The Far Darrig sank into the fissure, the black tendrils consuming its body. The last thing I saw before it disappeared into nothingness was its mouth open in a silent scream.
“Maeve!”
I whipped my head up. Jane cowered against the altar, cradling Connor in her breast. Looming over her, holding a long bone blade in her hand and reaching for Connor, was Sheryl Brownley.
What?
“Stay away from her!” I sprinted across the buckling ground, the earth tossing me off balance. I half leapt, half-fell into Sheryl, knocking her to the ground. We wrestled over the knife. Sheryl clawe
d at my face, raking long nails down my cheeks. I bent her hand back until tears pooled in her eyes and her fingers loosened. I grabbed the blade and held it to her throat.
She simply smiled. “Go on, witch. Spill my blood on the steps of this altar. It does not matter. The fae king has his sacrifice.”
Corbin dragged Sheryl to her feet, shaking her shoulders. “What have you done?” he demanded, his eyes flashing with barely-controlled rage.
“Nothing you wouldn’t have done had you been in my shoes, dearie,” Sheryl answered pleasantly, as if we were discussing the proper method for making a pot of tea. “I had hoped they may take Ailene Moore’s daughter with them. She would have been the ultimate sacrifice. But alas, she has been baptised, and so they cannot touch her... for now.”
The Castle of Water and Woe Page 32
