“But you don’t really belong there?” My chest tightened again. I understood. Everything at Briarwood had been amazing so far, but it felt as though I was out of time. And I’d met Bob – Matthew Crawford’s arrogant radio preacher older brother who was convinced he was the direct word of God – enough times to know he wouldn’t know what to do with a strong-willed teenage girl like Kelly. Every time we came back from Bob and Florence’s house, our parents would get extra-strict for a couple of weeks, trying to live up to Bob’s ridiculous Godly standard.
“Exactly. Bob confiscated my phone and most of my clothes. There’s no internet, no TV, but Uncle Bob does bible study with us every night where he basically talks about how it’s a woman’s purpose to serve her man and have babies, and they’re trying to make me march in an anti-gay parade.”
“Yikes. Kelly, I’m so sorry. It’s only for this year, though.”
“I know. I tell myself over and over. And the first week of school was weird. Everyone was so nice. No one wants to talk to me in case they say something wrong. I made a joke in math class and no one laughed, so then I threw a pencil at Jake Skipper and Mr. Daniel saw but didn’t even give me a detention.” She sniffed. “It’s just so messed up.”
“Kelly, I’m so sorry.” I hated myself for her tears, her pain. “I should be there with you. I’d put Bob in his place. We’ve all each other’s got. We should be facing this together – the Crawford sisters against the world.”
“No, Maeve, no.” Kelly said firmly. “Don’t you dare come back. If you do, I’ll never talk to you again, and then what would be the point of being stuck at Uncle Bob’s house without my scintillating conversation to keep you from going mad?”
I laughed, tears rolling down my cheeks. “But you’re hurting—”
“Of course I am, you ninny. My parents were killed. But you being here isn’t going to make me hurt less. In fact, it would be worse, because I’d know that I was holding you back from a zany English adventure. Now, go on, tell me about the castle. No, tell me about the hot guys!”
I grinned despite myself, the memory of the last dream echoing across my mind. I’d mentioned in my texts that the four tenants were actually totally hot dudes, and ever since Kelly had been hounding me with suggestive emojis. She was getting almost as bad as Mom with the emojis—
No, don’t think about Mom. Instead, I described each of the guys in detail, starting with Corbin, and finishing with Arthur. I wasn’t sure if I should mention the kiss, but when it got to it, I couldn’t help it.
“Omigod!” Kelly squealed. “He sounds absolutely scrumptious. You’ve got to send me pictures. I am so jealous right now. You’re living in a castle with four hot guys and are being kissed by a blond Aragorn. Are you dating yet?”
“Kelly, I’m not in any state to date anyone, especially not someone who is technically my tenant.” But at the thought of it, I couldn’t help smiling. I told Kelly all about the tower room, and all gifts the guys gave me, and Rowan’s breakfasts and the pub and learning to sword fight and playing croquet with Flynn.
“I’m so jealous,” she said, her tone wistful. “It sounds amazing.”
“It is, but it’s also… weird.” I ached to tell her about the fae, but I knew that was a terrible idea. She wouldn’t believe me, which made sense, since I still wasn’t sure I believed myself. “There’s a picture of my birth mother in the hallway. She looks a lot like me, only way prettier.”
And last time I looked at it, I heard a voice talking to me, but let’s not mention that.
“I bet Arthur doesn’t think so.”
“Shut up,” I grinned, cradling the phone in my arms. We talked for a little longer, Kelly’s voice making my chest ache a little. She sounded so clear, as if she was just in another room, and not thousands of miles away.
After we finished the phone call, my eyes were wide open. No way could I go back to sleep now. I pulled on my robe and padded across the bedroom and down my narrow, winding staircase. My throat itched from all the talking and laughing – a glass of water or juice would definitely help. As I padded down the hall toward the secret staircase, I noticed a shaft of moonlight from one of the tall windows falling across my birth mother’s portrait.
No, not moonlight. I peered out the window into the courtyard below. A square of light from the library downstairs stretched across the cobbles, casting a faint glow along the rows of ancient stones. Through the window I could make out Corbin’s broad shoulders hunched over his desk, a stack of books piled high beside him.
He must be working all hours, trying to figure out how to stop the fae.
I thought of going down there to see him, but the memory of Corbin’s touch in my dream stopped me. I pulled away from the window and my gaze flickered back to my mother’s portrait. I stood in front of it, gazing up at her. The citrine jewels on her finger, necklace and diadem glimmered as though they were more than just paint splashed on a canvas. Her lips – so like mine – curled back into that mysterious smile.
Her eyes aren’t the same as mine. Mine were hazel, with that weird shattered glass effect around the edges that Kelly once said was like looking into water. Hers were a cool, clear blue, bright and vivid and totally enchanting.
“I wish I’d been able to meet you,” I said, my voice echoing down the silent hallway. The portrait stared back with that same alluring smile. A heavy weight crushed my chest – the pain of a different life I might have lived if she’d still been alive, and of another person who moved on and left me behind.
Silent tears rolled down my cheeks. I let them fall, tumbling off the end of my chin and splashing into the carpet. Everything’s so messed up. I wish I had someone to talk to, someone who understand what it’s like to lose everything, what it feels like to not trust what you’ve seen with your own eyes—
Talk to me, Maeve.
I leapt back from the painting, grabbing the sides of my head. That did not just happen. A weird, singsong voice that wasn’t my own did NOT just talk to me inside my head.
I listened hard, tugging thick handfuls of hair until my scalp ached. But the voice didn’t come back. The castle remained as still and silent as death.
Okay. Now I’m imagining things. That’s great. Way to add another dimension to this totally fucked up mess I’ve got myself in.
I stared at the image for a long time, until I stopped seeing my birth mother – she became a conglomeration of pigment and geometric shapes and tones. I let the weight and history of Briarwood wash over me, the high stone walls embrace me, coddling me, keeping me safe. Even if my life was “complete bollocks” as Flynn would say, at least I had this place, and while I was here, I could never truly be alone.
Sighing, I tore my eyes from my birth mother and went down to the kitchen to find myself a snack.
How will you get this woman to talk to you?” Corbin linked his arm in mine. Behind his back, Flynn glowered at him and gave him the finger.
The woman he was referring to was Jane Forsythe, who had lost her baby to the fae, although she didn’t know it was them yet. Corbin had put in a quick call to Emily this morning and managed to wrangle Jane’s address out of her – it was such a small town pretty much everyone used Emily’s law firm. Getting that address meant stomaching twenty minutes of listening to Corbin flirting over the phone, which turned my stomach in jealous knots. Although watching Flynn make funny faces behind Corbin’s back made it slightly easier to bear.
My four guys now walked in a diamond formation around me – Arthur at the front, huffing and sweating in the ankle-length coat he wore to disguise the short sword he had sheathed on his belt. Corbin and Rowan stood either side of me, the ends of Rowan’s dreadlocks flicking the bare skin on my arms as he walked. Flynn pulled up the rear. He sang some weird, somber Celtic song at the top of his lungs.
“I’ll think of something,” I said. “My parents used to visit grieving widows and sad old people all the time as part of their work and they’d often drag me along.
I should be able to get her to talk.”
“I don’t like you going in alone,” Arthur huffed, his hand flying instinctively for the hilt of his sword.
“We won’t get anything out of her with you four standing around looking menacing. Besides, I have my protections.” I placed my hand in the deep pocket of my denim overalls, brushing the handle of the short knife Arthur had given me, wrapped in a short Latin incantation scrawled on a piece of parchment from Corbin. In the other pocket was the small twig from Rowan and the medallion Flynn made me.
We walked under the enormous gatehouse marking the entrance to Briarwood, dodging between cars arriving for the morning English Heritage tours, and turned onto the country lane. Arthur insisted that if we were going to walk, that we take the main road instead of the shortcut through the field. I didn’t blame him – he’d run into the fae twice in as many days in that field, and here on the road we’d be visible to passing cars and other people’s front windows. “The English are nosy neighbors,” Arthur said, as he waved to a lady pruning her rose bushes across the road. “That makes for as good a fae protection as we could hope for.”
I nodded my agreement, but mostly because it was nice to walk with them along the lane, between the towering oaks and the hydrangeas with their puffy flowers. We passed thatched-roof cottages and grand manor homes. Birds chirped and somewhere in the distance a donkey bayed. It was all very idyllic.
Just before we reached the village high street, Corbin turned us off down another narrow lane. He stopped in front of a small cottage, the front garden crowded with bright flowers. From the looks of it, it had once been an outbuilding for one of the larger estates – a classic Tudor wattle-and-daub, with window boxes bursting with purple flowers and runner beans snaking up the garden trellis. No one was outside, and the curtains were drawn across the front windows. I pushed my way through the wooden gate and snaked up the path, the guys right behind me.
A horseshoe and a bundle of sticks that looked suspiciously similar to the twig in my pocket hung beside the doorway. I fingered the bundle.
“They’re from the rowan tree,” Corbin said. “Rowan is supposed to help keep the fairies away.”
I smiled over my shoulder at Rowan, who dared the slightest of smiles back. “He does a bloody good job. Now, all of you, go wait at the end of the path. She won’t open the door if she sees you all out here.”
My boys exchanged a glance. I knew they didn’t like it – especially Arthur – but they obediently moved away to stand at the cottage gate, the tops of their heads only just visible over the large primrose bush beside the gate. I took a deep breath, smoothed down my hair, and knocked on the door.
I heard footsteps stomp toward me. A few moments later, a woman flung the door open with such force it slammed into the wall, shaking the tiny cottage.
She looked about my age, which was terrifying because I knew she had a kid and although lots of girls in Arizona had kids in high school, I somehow imagined women in England were all proper and waited until they’d finished their degrees at Oxford and found some rich Earl to marry. She looked a mess. Her eyes were ringed with red circles, and her straight brown hair stuck out at all angles, as though she hadn’t brushed or washed it in days.
“I said, I’m not talking to any more bloody reporters,” she snapped, her mouth curling into a scowl.
‘I’m not a reporter, ma’am.” I extended a hand to her. “My name is Maeve Crawford. I’m from the… ah, the local Women’s Welfare Group. We’re a support group for single women facing hard times, and I wanted to come over and see if you needed anything.”
Jane Forsythe sagged against the doorframe, her snarky demeanor disappearing in a flash, replaced by a face so broken with sorrow I thought I was staring into a mirror of my own soul. “No, I…” She shuddered, but her voice remained firm. “I need my child back, but you probably can’t help with that.”
You might be surprised.
Jane turned her head away, and my heart thudded as I realized she was crying and didn’t want me to see. “Would you like me to come in?” I asked. “I could make some coffee… I’m sorry, I mean, tea. You drink tea in England, I always forget. And maybe I could do some dishes, put some laundry away, just make life easier. I really do just want to help.”
“Do you get a Girl Guides badge for this?”
“Yes, I do,” I answered automatically, hoping I was reading her right. “It’s called the Assisting Distraught Mothers badge. The picture is of me buried under a pile of diapers and housework while you drink three bottles of wine simultaneously while cabana boys fan you with palm fronds.”
Jane gasped with laughter, her face completely shellshocked at the expression of mirth. I guess that was what happened when your child went missing. My heart ached for her. She held the door open a fraction wider. “Come in, but if pictures of my house turn up on social media, I will hunt you down and make you choke on that badge.”
“Deal.” I liked Jane already.
Inside, the cottage was just as messy as I’d expected. Days of teacups and empty takeout containers littered the kitchen. Flies buzzed around lazily, unsure of what to feast on first. Clothes were strewn everywhere. My foot kicked a toy rabbit that lay face down on the floor. I picked it up and stared into the smiling bunny face. Her baby might’ve dropped that while the fae stole him away.
Jane threw herself down in a sofa and pulled a photo album onto her lap. Inside were pictures of a smiling, chubby baby who looked exactly like the one Blake had taken through the wormhole. Which didn’t actually mean much, since I couldn’t tell any one baby apart from another.
I went into the kitchen, put the pot-bellied kettle onto the stovetop and fiddled with the knobs on the oven before figuring out it was gas, so I had to light the element as I turned the knob. While the pot boiled, I cleared all the containers off the counter, dumped all the old tea bags and open chocolate bar wrappers into the trash, and ran some water to wash the coffee cups… sorry, tea cups. Jane just flipped the pages of her photo album and stared off into space.
I flubbed my way through the tea-making process (what went first? Milk? Sugar? When did you take the teabag out? Rowan showed me but I couldn’t remember a thing because his eyes were so beautiful and tea was so gross) and set it down in front of Jane. She took the mug and sipped. Either I’d got the tea right or (more likely) she was too sad to taste anything – either way, she didn’t spit it back in my face. I took a sip of mine. Yup, still tastes like dirt.
“The kitchen’s looking a bit tidier,” I said, wondering how I could get her to talk about what happened. “I’ll wash our cups and things before I leave, so at least you won’t have to worry about ants.”
“Thank you,” she said, sliding the book off her lap and back on the table. It was open to a picture of Jane with her baby in a long flowing gown, in front of a beautiful gothic church.
“Wow,” I said, touching the edge of the picture. “Your little girl is so beautiful.”
“Connor is a boy,” Jane said, her mouth wobbling.
“Shit!” I clamped my hands over my mouth. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean… I just thought with that gown…”
“It’s fine,” Jane smirked. “At least I know you’re definitely not a reporter. So you don’t baptize babies where you come from?”
“Arizona, and yeah, we do, but it’s a pretty simple affair. The church I went to – my father was the pastor so I had to go – didn’t believe in ostentatious ceremonies. We just did them as part of standard Sunday service. Splashy splashy, there you go.”
“Well my parents believe in doing things the proper way, which means stuffy, stiff-upper-lip, Church of England bollocks.” Jane jabbed the picture with her index finger. “I didn’t even want to do it – I had Connor out of wedlock, so I’m not in God’s good graces – but my mother insisted. She filled the church up with all her friends, and then wouldn’t speak to me for months afterwards because Connor screamed the place down and puked all ove
r the vicar’s vestments and he refused to finish the ceremony. Bloody hell, he was only three months old, what did they expect? And of course, when I actually need her, she’s too busy with the annual garden show to—” Jane gulped, then shook her head. “Anyway.”
“Can I ask… non-reporter to mother, what happened the day Connor disappeared? All the ladies at the Women’s Group are gossiping about it, and I didn’t know who to believe.”
“You don’t believe the gossips,” Jane growled. “That’s my advice.”
“Sorry, I know it’s a personal question, but—”
“Yeah, it damn well is.”
She glared at me, and I felt about ten inches tall. Here I was trying to dig information out of a grieving mother. If the roles had been reversed, I would’ve clocked her one, and she would’ve deserved it. My cheeks burned with shame.
This was a bad idea. We’ll have to find another way to get information about the fae.
I set my cup down and stood up. “I’m sorry. I crossed a line. I’ll see myself out.”
“Wait.”
I froze. Jane looked up at me, and in her face I read a tumult of emotions – anger battling with harrowing sorrow, duking it out with the overwhelming desire to unload on a friend. I gave her what I hoped was a kind smile. “I lost my parents recently in a terrible accident. I heard what happened to you and I thought, this girl understands.”
“I haven’t lost Connor,” she snapped. ‘He was kidnapped.” She flapped her hand at the chair, and I sat down again, before she changed her mind. “I’ve told this story a hundred times to the police and the reporters that it’s stopped having any meaning, and at least you cleaned the kitchen.
“I put Connor down to bed at six pm, like usual, then came out here to watch telly.” Her fingers grasped the edge of the chair. “I had a glass of wine – two glasses, and before you say anything I’m formula-feeding, so it’s okay – and I was falling asleep, when I realized Midsomer Murders had just started, but I hadn’t heard Connor cry yet. That was odd. He doesn’t settle easily, so I usually only get forty-five minutes to myself, and this had been two hours. I went to check on him. The door was shut, which was odd because I usually left it halfway open, but at that stage I thought a draft had just pushed it closed but then…” she took a deep, shuddering breath. “Then I pushed the door open, and I saw these… these things lifting Connor out of his bed.”
The Castle of Earth and Embers (Briarwood Reverse Harem Book 1) Page 17
