“You don’t understand,” she sniffed. “Ihaven’tcried. For weeks I’ve been this big ball of numbness, and everyone’s been looking at me, expecting me to show some emotion. But it’s like their loss was so great that it took everything away, even my ability tofeel. And then I came here and met you guys andlearned about fae and kissed you and cried the other night and now I’m feelingtoo much.”
Bloody hell, she was even beautiful when she cried. Maybemorebeautiful. Everything I knew about Maeve and her brilliant, analytical mind said that this outburst was rare for her. It was an honor to be the shoulder she chose.
Don’t waste it. Say something reassuring, you bellend.
“Everyone grieves in a different way,” I said. “You have to give yourself permission to do whatever it takes to get yourself through the pain. And then you have to forgive yourself for all the shit you end up doing because of it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I didn’t cry either when my mum died. I was too angry. I had this fire inside me, burning with rage that the world had taken her from me.”
“When did she die?” Maeve tucked a strand of pink hair behind her ear, her big hazel eyes boring into mine.
I hesitated. No way did I want to talk about Mum, especially not with the fire dangerously close to flaring up in a bad way. But I remembered when I first met Corbin – only months after he lost his brother Keagan – and how angry I was, how I’d lashed out at him when he’d found me, punched him out, broken his nose. Corbin brought me to Briarwood, and in front of the fire in this big, empty castle, he told me the story of his own pain. It poured out of him – all the guilt and loss and the hopeless, crushing loneliness. I took it into myself and wore it as my own, and his pain pushed out my own, and for a while things didn’t hurt so much.
That was why I stayed, I think, in the end. Because being around Corbin and seeing him wear his tragedy like a badge of honor, to watch him transform that tragedy it intopassion, made my own pain fade to the background. Here, I had more control over the fire.
Maybe… maybe I could be that for Maeve.
I sighed. “She died when I was eight. Her and my dad had a horrible marriage. They fought all the time. Big screaming fights that shook the walls and sent me cowering under the bed. They were both fire elementals, so they had these terrible tempers. Mum was better at controlling it – she channeled the fire into her artwork, into her charity work. But Dad pushed his into his fists, which he then swung at Mum, or at me.”
“Oh, Arthur.” Maeve wrapped her arms around me, squeezing me tight. It reminded me of Mum. When the fire burned inside me, and she could see I was about to blow, she’d hold me and squeeze me and whisper funny stories in my ear. She didn’t want me to learn to deal with it the way Dad did. But you can’t fight who you are.
Maeve touched my arm, right near my elbow. “Is that where you got the scars?”
Shite.“No.”
The fire crackled inside me, pushing against my fingertips. I moved my hands off Maeve’s shoulders so that if a flame flared up I wouldn’t accidentally burn her.
I sucked in a deep breath, and continued, hoping I’d distract her enough that she wouldn’t ask about the scars again. “Anyway, they were screaming at each other in the kitchen, and I could hear crockery smashing, and then Dad was the only one screaming, only his screams were different. He yelled at me to call an ambulance, so I dialed 999 and then I went downstairs and saw her body slumped against the kitchen floor.” I shuddered at the memory. “He hit her and she fell and smashed her head open on the granite bench. And just like that, she was gone.”
“I’m so sorry.” Maeve buried her face in my shoulder. I breathed in the sweet scent of her hair. Already, the tension in her shoulders had lifted a little.
Giving her this little piece of my soul was working.
Which was damn good, because it was tearing me open. A short flame burst from my hand, and I quickly slammed my palm against the grass to snuff it out.That’s enough of that.“It’s fine. It was a long time ago. I told you because I want you to know that I remember what it was like – the way the grief seeps into every aspect of your life, how the whole world’s eyes bore into you, expecting you to react a certain way. How your own body and heart betray you because it hurts so damn much.”
“Yeah.” Maeve rubbed my shoulders. “How everyone you see suddenly seems different, like their lives are completely separate to you, because they couldn’t possibly understand how the grief follows you everywhere.”
“That’s what’s so brilliant about Briarwood.” I stared up at the tops of the trees – the sprawling apple trees loaded with fruit, the towering oak and ash that lined the edge of the garden. “The outside world doesn’t bother us. It really is like we’re part of some far off, fantastical realm. Everyone in this house came here to heal, no matter what they tell you.”
And as for why they stayed…you’ll find out soon…
“Maybe I’ll heal, too, but not if I’m kept in the dark. Corbin is hiding something from me.” Maeve studied my face, those dark eyes not missing a thing. “You all are, I think.”
I didn’t deny it. “Do you trust us?”
She hesitated, then nodded. “I know I shouldn’t. It’s ridiculous, since I’ve known you for all of three days. But something in my gut is saying that I can trust you. I don’t usually listen to my gut without empirical evidence to back it up, but you guys did save my life the other night, so I guess that’s enough for now. Yes, I trust you.”
“Then trust that Corbin will tell you everything when the time is right.” I thought of the letter sitting in the top drawer of Corbin’s desk and of the tear-streaked girl in my arms.
What would Maeve do when she read that letter? Would she hate us? Would she leave Briarwood forever?
But she was so strong, so much stronger than any of us imagined. All these years we watched her from afar and we didn’t know her at all. But I wanted to, and not just because of the magic.
Maeve changed the subject again. “Howdidyou come to live at Briarwood? I get the idea that Corbin collected you all.”
“Yeah, he did. I was the first of us that Corbin found when he decided to put the coven together.” I chose each word carefully. “He was fifteen. I was fourteen and I…I was hellbent on ruining my life. I lived with my Dad, who’d told the police my mum slipped on the wet tiles and got away with it. He’d become an even bigger dick, and I couldn’t look at him without seeing what he did to Mum and how he’d lied to get out of the consequences. I was so angry, and I couldn’t control the anger. I had nowhere to channel it. Kids were always mean to me at school, because I was so big, and I hated sports, too. You and I have that in common. I read lots of fantasy books and watched horror films and played Dungeons & Dragons, and…that wasn’t the done thing.”
