Jane screwed her face up, her hand balling into a fist. “Inspector Davies, right? She’s a right she-wolf, she is. If I report this crime, she won’t lift a finger to find the culprit. She shouldn’t have told you that. She was trying to catch you by surprise so you’d reveal something she could drag me in for.”
“It was Davies. Jane, is it true?”
“It’s not really any of your business.”
The comment stung, but I ignored it. “You’re part of our coven now, whether you like it or not. The guys and I will do our best to protect you and Connor, but you have to give us the full story.”
“Have you told the guys what Davies said?”
I shook my head. “I wanted to speak to you first.”
“Good.” Jane rocked Connor back and forth. “That’s good.”
“So it’s true, then? You’re a—” I couldn’t think of a polite way to finish that sentence.
Jane sighed. “A prostitute, Maeve. You can say it. I’m not ashamed of it. Why do you think I let you in when you showed up with that cock-and-bull story about being from the localwomen's group? Most of the women in this village want to see me burned at the stake, and Inspector Davies would be the one to light the match. Her husband was only one of a long line of men who wanted to try something moreexotic. He was going on with me behind her back, but it was me she dragged out of the hotel room while her friends pelted me with rotten fruit, like a bloody witch hauled through the streets for all the righteous to look down on.”
“Jane, I?—”
“It’s a service, same as hiring a housekeeper or getting your lawn mowed, but try explaining that to the bible thumpers around here. I never ran a brothel, but Davies saw an old school friend leave my place in a short skirt and hauled me in. After Davies put me away on those trumped up charges, this whole village treated me like a bloody pariah. For weeks old biddies followed me around, screaming about hellfire and damnation. My parents cut me off so they wouldn’t lose face with their posh friends. I couldn’t even get a bloody prescription for the pill because the GP is friends with my mum, and that’s how I ended up with Connor. The only person who understood was Grandma. She knew a woman can’t rely on a man to look after us, we gotta find our own way. And then she had to go and die. AndnowI have to go groveling to the vicar who called me a whore to get Connor bloodybaptized, and it’s going to start all over again.”
“It’s not,” I said, moving my head so that I was in her line of vision. “Listen to me, I get it, okay? My adoptive parents were religious – evangelical Christians. My Dad was the church pastor. They had ridiculous backwards ideas about all sorts of things, including sex, magic, and my chosen career. But the important thing is, their God teaches them to forgive. Only God gets to judge, and they are only supposed to love and accept, even when we’ve completely messed up in God’s eyes, because humans always mess up. If my parents could get past what I am,then you have every right to walk into a church and ask for a baptism, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
“That’s different,” Jane said. “You wanted their love and support. I don’t give a flying fuck about what anyone thinks. I just want to protect Connor from the witch hunts until he’s old enough to fly far away from this stupid village.”
“Then come live with us,” I said. “Come stay at the castle for a while. You’ve already got half of Connor’s stuff there, anyway. You can be the whore who lives with the witches in the castle and lord it over them all from the top of the hill.”
“Don’t you have to ask the guys?”
“I own Briarwood castle. They are my tenants. If they have a problem – which they won’t – that’s too bad.”
Jane stared over my shoulder for a long time. Finally she said. “Sure. I guess that’d be fine. As long as it’s not a hassle.”
“You are not a hassle.”
We turned a corner and a tiny church came into view. This was a proper church – the kind you saw on British TV shows (or “the telly” as Flynn called it). Its faded stone walls and large stained glass window looked familiar to me, until I realized I’d seen the same church emblazoned on the cookie tins lining the shelves of the souvenir shops along the high street. Rose bushes lined the path, their fragrance wafting over us as we approached the open door.
Jane looked like she was walking into a funeral.
I shoved my head inside. It was a Tuesday, so there was no service going on. A man in elaborate robes stood by the altar, peering through wire-framed spectacles at a clipboard while a cherubim woman gesticulated wildly, jabbing a fat finger at the paper.
“That’s Sheryl Brownley,” Jane whispered. “She’s a friend of my mother – the only one I can actually stand. She’s the localflorist, and she’s on every committee and community group on the village.”
Sheryl Brownley turned then, and her ruddy face lit up when she caught sight of us peeking around the door. “Jane, darling! It’s been so long. Come in, come in, dearies. Father McCoy and I were just discussing the floral arrangements for this year’s All Saint’s Day service. Do you have that delightful baby boy with you? Oh, I must have a wee cuddle. And who is your friend? I know every face in this village, but I don’t recognize yours.”
Jane stepped into the nave, looking as if she was descending into hell. “Hi, Sheryl, it’s nice to see you again. I’ll just unbuckle Connor, I’m sure he’d love a cuddle. This is Maeve Crawford. She’s now the owner of Briarwood?—”
“—the castle, but of course!” Sheryl bustled over and wrapped her arms around me, knocking the wind out of me and placing a sloppy kiss on each of my cheeks. “You’re Aline Moore’s girl. We’ve all been socuriousabout you, gone all these years and now suddenly returned.”
“You knew my mother?”
“Oh yes. Your mother was well known in the village. She was beautiful, as you well know.” She studied my face. “You’ve inherited her eyes. My dear friend Agnes Andrews saw you in the pub a few nights ago, and she wanted to come over and chat but you were surrounded by all those strapping young men. You must be careful, or you’ll end up with a reputation, like our Jane here, nasty business, but the Lord knows the truth of her heart. Now Jane, let me at that baby boy.”
Jane handed Connor over. Sheryl bounced him in her arms, planting a hundred kisses on his tiny head until her lipstick smeared across his cheeks.
“I’ll leave you guys to talk.” I sat down in the pew at the front, leaving my purse on the bench beside me. Jane stared up atthe altar, her face twisting. She opened her mouth several times before she finally pushed the words out.
“I want to talk to you about a baptism,” Jane’s eyes focused on the vicar. “For Connor.”
