The Castle of Wind and Whispers

by Steffanie Holmes

  The Castle of Wind and Whispers

  Briarwood Reverse Harem, book 4

  Steffanie Holmes

  Bacchanalia House

  Copyright © 2018 by Steffanie Holmes

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. MAEVE

  2. MAEVE

  3. MAEVE

  4. MAEVE

  5. MAEVE

  6. FLYNN

  7. CORBIN

  8. MAEVE

  9. MAEVE

  10. ARTHUR

  11. MAEVE

  12. FLYNN

  13. BLAKE

  14. ROWAN

  15. CORBIN

  16. MAEVE

  17. MAEVE

  18. BLAKE

  19. ROWAN

  20. FLYNN

  21. MAEVE

  22. MAEVE

  23. MAEVE

  24. MAEVE

  25. CORBIN

  26. MAEVE

  27. MAEVE

  28. MAEVE

  29. CORBIN

  30. MAEVE

  31. ROWAN

  Excerpt

  Dying to know what happens next?

  Want more stories from the world of Crookshollow

  About the Author

  Come hang on Facebook!

  For Amy,

  * * *

  Thank you for moving in and ruining the neighbourhood.

  And being a badass business bitch and eggcellent egg cooker and amazing friend.

  1

  MAEVE

  “Hello, Maeve,” the figure croaked, its voice dry and hoarse. It outstretched its arms, lurching forward as if it intended to embrace me. “We meet at last, my daughter.”

  My daughter.

  The world froze. The apparition’s words hung in the air, fuzzy and devoid of meaning. It’s saying I’m its daughter, but that’s not possible, because my mother is dead.

  And yet … the ice-blue eyes that looked at me with such haunting venerance were the same eyes that stared out of my mother’s portrait. The delicate hands that had once been folded in her lap extended toward me. The bow-shaped lips that had once turned a mysterious smile out at me now trembled with anticipation. The only thing that was different from the portrait were long, thin cuts across its face.

  It’s impossible, but…

  The citrine stone at my throat dragged against its chain, heavy and warm against my skin. The diadem around my forehead pushed my head toward the ground. My legs gave way beneath me. I sank into the soft grass, touching my hands to the green blades as if they might give me some answer. “You… but… how?”

  The apparition sank down beside me, white skirts fanning out around long legs like a ballet dancer. Behind its head the pillar of fire sank back, becoming a small blaze – like the campfires Andrew and I used to roast marshmallows over during our overnight astronomy trips. I could just make out the dark figures of my coven as silhouettes against the glowing flames.

  The apparition reached out a hand to touch mine. The ring around my finger flared with heat as the hand approached. I jerked away. No way did I want the specter touching me.

  That would make it real. And no way was this real. No way.

  “I’ve been trapped inside that canvas for twenty-one years,” the figure grinned, that beautiful smile like a knife through my heart. “You freed me, Maeve. I always knew one day you would. I just knew you would be the most powerful witch the world has ever known.”

  “We were only trying to release the magic trapped inside the painting,” I said woodenly. “I didn’t know about you.”

  Another figure dropped down beside me. Corbin’s tattooed arm slid around my waist, and he pressed his lips against my cheek. “Maeve, I think this is the magic trapped inside. She might be a ghost or a wraith or just an imprint of her former life.”

  “Corbin, get back. We don’t know what it is or what it can do.”

  “Corbin?” Its eyes widened as its gaze swept across his features. “Is that really you, all grown up? When I last saw you, you were a tiny toddler ordering everyone around. You have your mother’s kind eyes.” It turned back to me. “Does he look after you, my daughter? Does he protect you? His parents always protected me.”

  Corbin stiffened beside me. The figure swung around, its eyes leaping between the guys. “Arthur, that must be you with those huge muscles. You were such a big baby you nearly killed your mother during birth. I’d recognize that golden hair of hers anywhere. Flynn, you were always running after Corbin and getting into mischief. And Rowan, beautiful Rowan… you were only a babe when the fae came for us. You were the most peaceful baby, hardly ever crying or making a peep. Your parents loved you more than the moon and the stars.”

  Rowan made a strangled sound in his throat and staggered back. I felt a surge of anger toward the ghost… apparition… hallucination… whatever it was. It upset Rowan by talking about his parents, like it knew them, like they were friends.

  It stretched long fingers out toward Blake, curling the ends as if beckoning him forward. Blake just stared with his smirk frozen on his face. “Blake Beckett… you were the sweetest boy. You used to bring flowers from the garden for your mother to make garlands for the rituals. You must have come into possession of your spirit magic by now – I hope it hasn’t been a burden to you.”

  Blake said nothing, just kept staring and grinning.

  Tears glistened in its eyes. “It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this. We wanted to raise you all together – one big happy family. We wanted to teach you all about your powers and what miracles you are capable of. Instead, we abandoned you to fight our battle for us. I’m so glad you all found each other again… my heart just flutters with happiness.” It clutched its hands over its chest like a melodramatic actress in the throes of passion. I might’ve laughed if its very presence hadn’t robbed me of the ability to form sounds.

  Corbin blinked. “Is she a ghost?”

  “If she’s a ghost, why isn’t she falling through the earth?” Flynn asked.

  His question stirred something in me, the innate need of mine to puzzle out strange phenomena, to subject even this terrifying vision to the scrutiny of science. I opened my mouth and found my voice.

  “Ghosts don’t exist,” I said. “There’s a logical explanation for what we’re seeing. We’ve been breathing in God knows what chemicals from the burning paint, and it’s caused this hallucination.”

  “If we’re hallucinating, then why do we all see the same thing?” Arthur said from somewhere on my left.

  “We’re in a highly suggestible state – it could be possible—”

  “I’m not a ghost, Maeve. If you touched me, you would know.” The apparition raised its hand to its cheek and rubbed, then stretched its fingers out to me, palm out, begging me to try it. “I felt the heat of those flames against my skin. Right now, I’m wiggling my toes in the grass. The wind’s blowing through my hair. I’m real, and all I’ve wanted to do these last years is hold my daughter in my arms.”

  I touched my finger to the Briarwood ring. The stone glowed with warmth. The metal seemed to have grown tighter around my finger. “I’m not touching you until I know for a fact this isn’t some kind of fae trick.”

  It smiled. “So logical. So questioning. Such amazing hair.” It tilted its long, slim neck, sweeping around to take in the five guys. “And commanding a coven of beautiful men? You are definitely my daughter.”

&n
bsp; “We’ll let the DNA test confirm that,” I growled. “Unless ghosts can’t take DNA tests.”

  “I’ll happily take any test you ask of me, my darling Maeve. I’ll walk over coals if it means I could hold you in my arms—”

  Horror clawed at my belly as the apparition’s words cut off with a hacking rasp. Its eyes rolled back in its head. It toppled forward, the body (that definitely appeared solid now) crumpling as its forehead slammed against the dirt. I screamed and darted back, my heart pounding against my chest.

  “Aline?” Corbin cried, rocking forward to reach for it. I grabbed his arm.

  “Stay back. Don’t touch her!”

  Her.

  My mother.

  But it’s impossible.

  I stared at her crumpled form, half expecting her skin to melt into a puddle, or ugly black spiders to crawl out of her white robes like they did in horror films. But she just lay still with her head and her arms draped at awkward angles.

  She didn’t move.

  My heart leapt into my throat. Why isn’t she moving?

  2

  MAEVE

  As I watched the not-ghost’s lifeless body, Rowan crept forward and picked up the corner of her sleeve between his fingers. “Don’t touch her!” I cried again, terrified she might place some spell on him.

  Rowan leaned close to her face, his dreadlocks spilling over the ground. “She’s breathing, so that’s good. Do ghosts breathe?”

  “Um, I’m not sure.” Corbin brushed the curtain of hair off her cheek. I braced myself for something horrible to happen to him, but nothing did. “Aline, are you okay?”

  “Is she…” I choked out.

  Is she dead? I wanted to ask. But the words were ridiculous, because we were talking about my mother, who was already dead. My eyes drew to the cuts on her face, drawn in lines down her forehead and cheeks like… like claw marks.

  “Aline?” Corbin rolled her over onto her back, cradling her face in his lap. Her body flopped like a rag doll. He held up her wrist. “I can feel a pulse, but it’s faint.”

  How the hell can she have a pulse? She’s dead.

  Rowan touched her face, murmuring under his breath. “She’s in some kind of catatonic state,” he said. “I think its a side effect of the spell’s reversal.”

  “What do we do?”

  “We take her back to Briarwood,” Corbin said.

  I shook my head. “Not happening. We don’t know what she is or why she’s here. It’s not safe.”

  “It’s the safest thing we can do. You want to know if she’s a fae? Well, trying to take her through the wards is as good a test as any. We can’t just leave her in this field for the local farmers to discover. It wasn’t that long ago that she was the mistress of Briarwood. People will recognize her. They’ll ask questions, like why she hasn’t aged in twenty-one years.”

  I glanced down at the serene face of the woman who looked just like my mother. “She needs a hospital.”

  Rowan bent down and touched her cheek. “This isn’t something a hospital can fix. I think I can help her, but I need my herbs.”

  I glanced between the two of them – Rowan’s wide, frightened eyes and Corbin’s steady, intelligent gaze. I marveled how they’d managed to steamroll right through my protests. The two of them together were trouble. “You definitely think this is the right thing to do?”

  “I think it’s the only thing to do.” Corbin squeezed her wrist. “We’d better hurry. Her pulse is getting fainter.”

  I nodded and stepped back. Arthur rushed forward and reached under her body, draping her arm over his shoulders. My heart lurched as her head flopped against his chest. Her skin was so pale, it looked translucent, the veins standing out like dark webs. Corbin moved in to help, but Arthur shrugged him away. “I’ve got her. She’s as light as a feather. Pity that artist lover of hers didn’t think to paint her a nice sandwich.”

  The fire sizzled as Flynn doused it in water. Corbin picked up the grimoire and slammed it shut, and Rowan and Blake collected the rest of the equipment. We traipsed across the field and stepped over the stone wall that marked the boundary of Briarwood Castle, moving back into the protection of our wards. The figure of my mother flopped lifelessly in Arthur’s arms.

  Corbin and Blake flanked me as we ascended the slope and cut through the orchard, wrapping their arms around my waist. With every step, the jewels of the High Priestess of Briarwood weighed heavier against my skin. Lights glowed through the Great Hall windows, and I could see the TV blaring on the wall and Connor bouncing in his swing. Good, Kelly and Jane are occupied.

  We rushed through the wooden gate leading to the high-walled kitchen garden. Flynn held the kitchen door open for Arthur. Rowan rushed around, grabbing bottles and jars from the shelves. “Lay her down on the island,” he said.

  Arthur laid the ghost/specter/wraith/zombie/figment of our imagination out across the table, knocking the pepper shaker on the floor. Under the LED lights, her skin glowed with ethereal translucency. Her lips moved slightly, and I caught the faintest whisper. I leaned in close without touching her, trying to catch what she was saying, but it was too quiet.

  Rowan dumped herbs and oils into his mortar and crushed them into a paste. “Open her mouth,” he said, his voice taking on the quiet authority I only ever heard when he was treating someone who’d been hurt. Corbin tipped her head back, holding her jaw open. Rowan dumped a spoonful of paste on her tongue.

  “We need water,” he said.

  Flynn rushed to the sink and returned with a glass of water. Rowan dribbled some into her mouth so the paste would slide down her throat. “Incline her head, so she doesn’t choke,” he said. After another dribble of water, she’d swallowed all the paste.

  “What happens now?” Arthur said, glancing at me and then back at the sleeping figure. My stomach flipped and churned like mad. I didn’t know whether I was excited or hopeful or terrified or all of the above.

  “We wait,” Rowan said. “We’ve no idea what she’s been through. Her body will take a while to deal with the trauma. We should take her somewhere more comfortable, get her blankets and—”

  “Maeve?”

  I whirled around at the sound of the voice. Kelly stood in the doorway, dressed in her jeans and Arthur’s Blood Lust sweatshirt, her hands disappearing inside the enormous sleeves. She folded her arms across her chest and peered around me at the kitchen island. “Why is Rowan forcing herbs into a strange woman in a white dress? What happened to her face? What’s really going on?”

  3

  MAEVE

  Shit, shit, shit. “Um, it’s kind of a long story.”

  Kelly glared at me. “I’ve got time.”

  “Right.” So here it is; I’m really a witch, and me and my coven of hot guys – all of whom I’m sleeping with – have just completed a releasing ritual that seems to have brought my mother back from the dead. We’re hoping if Rowan can revive her than she’ll be able to tell us exactly how to stop the fae who are threatening to raise the souls of the restless dead to lay waste to the earth.

  Yeah, that wasn’t going to fly. It sounded like the plot of some stupid teen witch TV show. The trouble was, I was frantically trying to think of another explanation that Kelly would believe, and I had nothing. I was never good at creative writing at school.

  “Maeve?” Kelly prompted me.

  “Yes. Right. So…” I glanced at Arthur with his hair wild around his face and his sword still hanging at his side, and a lie fumbled its way to my lips. “This woman is a friend of Arthur’s from… from his medieval reenactment club. They were going to have a training weekend here but Arthur cancelled it because we were traveling, only she didn’t get the message. She’s a bit eccentric and old school, and doesn’t have a cell phone, you see. So… yeah. She came and the castle was all locked up and she didn’t have any money and it looks like she was just sleeping in the woods and she must’ve stumbled into the briar and cut herself. We just found her and she’s a bit mes
sed up so Rowan’s giving her medicine…” I trailed off. It was so stupid. Kelly isn’t going to believe this story. Maybe you should just tell her the truth, or at least part of it. It would be easier than lying, especially if this woman wakes up—

  “Is that true?” Kelly narrowed her eyes.

  I opened my mouth, but I couldn’t push the words out. Kelly tapped her nails against the cuff of Arthur’s hoodie.

  “Kelly, I—”

  CRASH.

  Startled out of my stupor, I whirled around to see Aline sitting up, clutching her chest as she wheezed and spluttered. Her eyes bulged out of her head like a demented frog. Rowan’s pestle lay in pieces on the tile.

  “Don’t let her roll off,” Rowan cried. Arthur and Corbin grabbed Aline’s arms, bracing her as they helped her sit up. She coughed and sputtered, her tiny body convulsing as she fought for breath.

  “Omigod, is she on drugs?” Kelly stepped closer, her expression horrified.

  “Get away from her!” I shoved Kelly away, terrified that she’d touch Aline and end up with some horrible hex and how the hell would I explain that?

  I shoved harder than I intended. Kelly stumbled back and slammed into the kitchen cabinets. Rowan’s jars rattled on the shelves. She clutched her side, glaring at me as tears rolled down her cheeks.