The Castle of Wind and Whispers

by Steffanie Holmes

  “I’ll marmalade the bastards who did this,” Flynn growled.

  “Don’t you dare.” Clara wagged a finger at him. “I won’t have violence in the village on my behalf. You boys be good and get back to the castle before you cause more trouble.”

  I touched my hand to hers, flicking a piece of my spirit magic under her skin, hoping it would calm her nerves. “If you can find out anything about using belief as magic, we’d be interested.” She nodded. A shiver ran up my arm as she sent me a flicker back.

  I ran a hand through my hair as the dark car drove away, disappearing around the side of the bank. Why had she done that? Did I look like I needed calming down? I wasn’t the one who’d just had my business vandalized. “What do we do now?”

  “Pub.” Flynn marched off. I raced after him. Flynn’s voice had this dark edge I’d never heard before.

  “You sure that’s a good idea, mate?”

  But Flynn was on a tear. He stormed into the pub, marching past a table of locals and slamming the barstool on the flagstones as he pulled it out. “Hey Nell,” he hollered at the comely girl behind the counter. “A pint each for me and my mate here. We’ve had a shitty morning and I’m hoping you’ll cut us a little slack.”

  She waved at him to keep his voice down. “Aye, I’ll serve ye,” she whispered. “But only because the boss ain’t here today. Just you sit right here where I can see you and stay out of trouble, Flynn O’Hagan. If you chance it with any o’ my regulars, I be kickin’ ye and don’t ye forget it.”

  “There’s that warm Scottish hospitality I’ve come to love,” Flynn grinned. “You’d better give us some food as well. I’m right foddered. I’ll have the bangers and mash, and Blake’ll have the curry of the day.”

  I jabbed him in the ribs. “Do you order for me now, like we’re an old married couple?”

  “Mate, we practically are an old married couple.”

  I leaned over and planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek, which he wiped away in disgust. Nell’s laugh followed her into the kitchen.

  Murmurs rose up from the nearby tables. My back itched from eyes boring into my skin. Flynn sipped his pint in silence, his gaze fixed on the wall. He sensed them, too. His whole body radiated rage.

  What’s going on with him? Why are we even here?

  Nell came back a few minutes later with our food. We ate in silence. My curry tasted like dirt (No fault of Nell’s, I just didn’t want to be there). Flynn kept his back to the door, but I snuck a look over my shoulder as two of the guys from the green came in, orange vests glowing under the low pub lighting. Their faces set hard as they recognized Flynn. They stomped over to the bar, talking loudly about the statue. “The bastard thing won’t come out. It’s like the entire thing’s made out of Kevlar or some shite.”

  “Graphene?” The younger one piped up. “That’s the hardest substance in the world. A sheet one atom thick is two-hundred times stronger than steel.”

  “Yeah, well, it ain’t made out of no bloody Kevlar.” The old guy slapped him on the back of the head. “Ole’ Mayer Scottson was out there in the wee hours with his concrete drill, but buggered if he didn’t even get a chip out of the base. I’m telling you, that thing’s enchanted.”

  “Why don’t you try cracking your head against it?” Flynn piped up from the end of the bar. I punched him in the arm, but that didn’t stop him from adding. “There’s a pile of lead between your ears, so it might make a dent.”

  The entire pub fell silent. The guy’s face turned red as a tomato.

  “I’ll make a dent in your face, witch.” The guy slammed his fist down on the bar. At the back of the room, a woman whimpered.

  “Are you startin’?” Flynn set down his glass and stood up, rolling his sleeves to his elbows. “I’m happy to knock your bollix in, give your wife something else to cry over other than your ugly mug.”

  “You wanna say that again, you fucking faggot witch!” the guy shouted, reaching across the bar toward Flynn.

  “Get him, Gus!” someone yelled from a nearby table.

  Gus grabbed Flynn by the collar and slammed him against the counter. Flynn seemed to expect this, because he threw his arms against his chest and swiped them down, breaking Gus’ hold. Gus moved to grab Flynn again, but Flynn was faster. He swung his fist and slammed it into Gus’ cheek, flinging him back into one of the tables. Hot chips and sloppy curry flew everywhere.

  “Fuck.” Gus staggered to his feet, clutching his ear. Blood trickled down his shirt. Flynn swung again, but Gus ducked his hook and barreled into Flynn, pinning him back against the bar.

  “Oi, drop him!” Nell leaned over the bar and poured a pint over Gus’ head. Gus yelled and spat, but he did get off Flynn. I grabbed Flynn under the arms as he surged forward, and his fist glanced off my shoulder as he thrashed and yelled. Nell frowned at me and pointed to the door. “I said no trouble. Get him outta here.”

  I dragged Flynn toward the door. Twenty pairs of eyes followed us. I was trying to shove Flynn through when Gus’ young friend said loudly, “It’s that new girl up at the castle behind all this. Calling herself the daughter of that weird lass who disappeared twenty years back. Looks like her, too, except with the short hair.”

  “You heard what young Bill Rilay’s son said he saw up there earlier,” someone else called out. “That weird lady is back.”

  Shit. Flynn and I both stiffened. It wasn’t a fox after all.

  “Then he’s a damn fool. Aline Moore’s dead and buried,” a woman said.

  “He said it’s her, all right. Looks just like the pictures in the old papers. They brought her back. Those witches rose her from her grave.”

  “It’s that witch bitch lady faggot that moved in,” the first man snarled. “She’s behind this. We should go up to that castle right now and put the fear of God into her.”

  Flynn jerked his head around. He tore himself from my grasp and stalked toward the bar. His hands raised in fists. “You don’t go talking shite about Maeve Moore.”

  “Flynn, let’s go,” I hissed. We shouldn’t have come here. The witch statue was one thing, but if they think we’ve raised the dead, they’re going to get violent. It’s like walking right into the middle of Daigh’s court and loudly announcing all Unseelie were weak.

  “You heard him threaten Maeve?” he snapped, breaking my grasp and rushing back into the pub. “That’s not right.”

  “What are you going to do about it, witch?” The young guy shoved Flynn. Chairs scraped back as several men stood up, hands balled into fists, faces twisted with rage.

  Before I could grab him, Flynn had shoved the guy back, grabbing his collar to hold him still while he smashed his fist into his nose. The guy screamed as blood pissed from his nose and splattered across the flagstones.

  Flynn hit the guy again, his eyes blazing with a fury I’d never seen before. Another bloke grabbed Flynn and tried to tear him off. Flynn flipped around and swung his fist, catching the second bloke in the jaw. With a roar, Gus launched himself into the fray, landing a hit in Flynn’s gut as Flynn’s foot connected with his knee. Gus went down in a barrage of abuse, and Flynn stomped on his neck.

  “Bloody hell, Flynn!” I dived in, dodging a flying fist and grabbing Flynn’s shoulders. I tried to tear him away, but Flynn was having none of it. He scrapped with three guys, sending two of them over a table and slamming another into one of the wooden pillars, which splintered with a mighty crack.

  “Break it up!” Nell screamed.

  “I’ll hex the lot of you wankers,” Flynn yelled. A jet of water shot between his fisted fingers, slamming into one of the men and knocking him to the ground.

  Two blokes plowed into Flynn, who sprayed water all over the pub as they pinned his arms. Gus rolled on top of him and slammed his fist into the side of Flynn’s head. Flynn went down like a sack of potatoes, and six angry faces turned toward me.

  “Hi,” I waved. “I’m Blake. I’m not from around here. Trust an Irishman not to know when t
o shut his gob, am I right?”

  I managed to block the first fist that flew at my face, but the second slammed into my stomach, driving the wind out of me. A blow landed across my shoulder, and I went down on top of Flynn, the room spinning as a circle of feet closed in on us.

  19

  ROWAN

  After the talk with Daigh, Flynn and Blake went to town and the others all went back to the house. I stayed out in the garden, pulling on my gloves and picking up my shears. My head still felt a little woozy from my fall, but nothing cured me faster then when I cut back some of the herbs that were starting to look a little wild to encourage new growth, saving the nicer cuttings for drying.

  Gardening was such an obvious pastime for earth witches, it was practically a cliche. If I’d known that when I’d started nursing seedlings on the edge of the old canal and growing potatoes on the roof of the abandoned building, then I might’ve taken up crochet instead. But until Corbin, I had no one in my life to tell me what was normal for a witch. All I knew was that I could manipulate trees and plants and heal wounds and mix herbs together to make things happen, and that power terrified the foster families I was placed with. Terrified people tended to lash out with their fists. Or their cocks.

  The gardening was a good skill. It meant I’d had something to barter at the building. When I first came to Briarwood, the guys were living off takeout and microwaved fish fingers. Taking over the kitchen was one way I could start to pay back the kindness Corbin had done me. And I liked it – I liked the precision of gardening and cooking, the control, the easy access to things that could be counted and arranged. You raised the seeds, tended the soil. You added the ingredients in the right amounts, in the correct order, and something delicious emerged.

  Rain pattered against my shoulders as I gathered a selection of herbs into my basket. I was low on some of the key ingredients for the poultices that healed magical attacks. I wasn’t sure what we could expect in the coming days, but my remedies had saved us before. The more I had on hand, the better the chances I could help anyone who got hurt when the fae attacked.

  My stomach twisted at the thought. Seeing Daigh through that mirror, hearing him talk about the destruction of humankind like it was stepping into a cold shower, it brought home just how precarious our situation truly was, just how little control we actually wielded. We were only seven days away from the full moon, and we still didn’t have a solid plan. If Daigh didn’t take the deal Maeve offered him, we’d have to fight. Even if we did manage to beat the Slaugh back with our belief magic, we wouldn’t escape unscathed. People would die.

  You’re useless. What’s the point of collecting all those herbs? What’s cooking going to do to help fight the Slaugh? They’re all going to die. Everyone you love is going to die. My skin itched and crawled, like it was about to slide off my bones. My muscles tightened, desperate to stop what I was doing and fulfill one of my counting rituals to relieve the tension and feel like I was doing something, anything, that might actually help.

  No, I told myself, and the voice relented, just a little. Ever since the ritual in the early hours of this morning, I’d been feeling calmer, like I had more control over the rituals and the tics and the voice. I told it to go away and it did, for a few minutes at least.

  In the kitchen, I set the basket down and ducked under the sink to pull out my drying racks and paper bags. When I stood back up, I wasn’t alone anymore.

  “Hey,” Corbin said, leaning against the doorframe. “What are you doing?”

  “Replenishing some of my stores,” I said as I set one of my drying racks down on the island and started laying out the herbs. They needed to be dried for a few days in the airing cupboard. I separated out seven sprigs of rosemary, tied them together with string, and looped the string around the top of a small paper bag. I punched five air holes in the bag (always five. It had to be five), and tied it to the rack.

  “Good idea. We never know what scrapes Flynn might get into next,” Corbin grinned, standing opposite me at the counter and resting his hands on the countertop. I stared at his fingers, at the mythological tattoos swirling down his forearms. “What’s the paper bag for?”

  “It speeds up the drying time, and it also catches any seeds that fall, so I can use them, too.”

  “Clever. But then I’m not surprised. You know exactly what to do with all this stuff.” Corbin shuffled on his feet. “Rowan, I wanted to ask you something.”

  I picked up seven sprigs of thyme and wrapped the string around them. I couldn’t force myself to look up at him. Tension flared between my shoulders, beckoning me to count and dispel the nerves that shot through my body. He regrets last night. He doesn’t want to be with me anymore. It was the most amazing night ever but he thinks I’m disgusting—

  “I noticed that last night you didn’t come down to count the window panes. Is everything okay?”

  I dropped the sprigs on the floor.

  He’s right. I hadn’t counted the window panes after the ritual. In the two years I’d been sober at Briarwood, I hadn’t gone a single night without counting the window panes in the Great Hall while drinking my tea. I had to do it, or something horrible would happen to Corbin.

  But I hadn’t done it last night. I hadn’t even wanted to do it after that ritual. It never even occurred to me.

  What does that mean?

  “Everything’s fine,” I whispered. And it was. And that fact was terrifying. The voice had never been silent for so long before. Usually, if I was even a half hour late for the window-pane counting ritual, the fear would twist in my gut. But I hadn’t even noticed.

  Panic shot through me, and I had to give in to the urge now. One.. two… three… I counted out seven stalks of feverfew. I couldn’t look at Corbin.

  “When you were talking to Aline, you got so anxious you fainted. You stopped breathing. Your pulse was so weak I could barely feel it. If I hadn’t known how to perform mouth-to-mouth, you’d be dead right now.”

  “I know,” I whispered. “It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have asked about my parents. I should have counted the window-panes.”

  “Rowan,” Corbin’s voice dropped half an octave. It sent a shiver down my spine. “I think you should see that specialist.”

  “No doctors. I’m fine.”

  “This isn’t going to be like rehab. They’ll—”

  “I don’t want it.” I knew what would happen when I went to a doctor – they’d give me all these horrible tests that would confirm what I already knew – that I was broken, messed up on the inside. They’d put me on horrible drugs that made me not myself, that made me forget about how much I loved Maeve, and Corbin. Or worse – they’d lock me away like Robert Smithers, and I’d never see them again.

  Corbin sighed. “It’s your decision.”

  “You’re not mad?”

  “Disappointed, but not mad.”

  “Last night… do you still feel…” I couldn’t finish the words. I couldn’t bear the idea that he might have changed his mind about me, about us.

  ‘Come here, I’ll show you how I feel.” A hand touched me under the chin. I jerked my head up. Corbin’s lips met mine, hot and ferocious. Herbs scattered around me as he leaned across the counter and pulled me to him.

  The kiss seared me inside, waking up parts of me that had laid dormant for so many years. The pressure inside my head fled, replaced by the heat of Corbin’s lips.

  “Out of the way, lovebirds!” Blake yelled from across the garden. “Injured man coming through.”

  Corbin and I flew apart. Blake stumbled through the kitchen door. Blood trickled down the side of his head from a cut over his hairline. The sleeve of his leather jacket had been torn.

  But he wasn’t as bad as Flynn, whose body lay limp in Blake’s arms. Blood poured from his nose and lips. His t-shirt had been torn in several places, revealing cuts and bruises all over his body. He groaned as he clutched his arm across his torso, like it couldn’t move on its own.

 
; I backed away. “I’ve got yarrow. It will help stop the bleeding.”

  “We’ll need a whole bloody yarrow forest for this eejit.” Blake swept my basket and drying racks off the counter and dumped Flynn on top.

  “You should have called an ambulance,” Corbin scolded. “He needs a hospital, not herbs. He might have internal damage. What’s wrong with his arm?”

  “I didn’t see what happened because I was being stomped on by Gus and his cronies at the time, but I think he might’ve broken it,” Blake shrugged.

  Flynn leaned over the side of the counter and coughed. Blood splattered across the kitchen floor. “I’m fine, mate. It’s just a flesh wound. Besides, I saw Doctor Lewis while Blake was dragging me out of the pub, and he did nothing. Ain’t no one in that village going to help us now, not after they saw… ow, Holy Mother of Mary, that fecking hurts.”

  I’d barely touched his arm and he was screaming like a banshee. Definitely broken. I ran through the remedies I had available… yarrow, of course, and comfrey leaves to help knit together the break… and feverfew, to stimulate healing…

  Anxiety flared inside me as I laid eyes on the herbs and racks scattered all over the floor, and the blood puddling under Flynn’s body. Push through it, Flynn needs you.

  “Put the kettle on,” I said to Aline, who’d just entered the room. She went to the stove while I ran over to my herb shelves and grabbed several jars. I tipped ingredients into a strainer and added that to a large mug. While I waited for the kettle to boil, I grabbed a handful of yarrow leaves and a dash of water and crushed them up in my mortar and pestle, all while Flynn moaned and writhed.

  “Rub that into his worst cuts,” I said, thrusting the crushed yarrow leaves into Aline’s hands.

  The kettle whistled. I took it off the burner and filled the mug with hot water, covering it with a tea towel to keep the vapors in. I covered the top with my hand, pushing my magic through my anxiety to speed up the infusion process and imbue the herbs with my own unique power. A warm hand pressed into my back. I opened one eye and saw Maeve’s concerned face staring up at me. A flicker of spirit magic flared against my palm as she leant her own power to the remedy.