“Maeve, no,” Blake yelled, but I couldn’t have stopped even if I wanted to.
Luckily, all my physics studies did kick in and informed me that I’d foolishly aimed where my moving targetwas, and not where I expected her to be.
Instead of intercepting the knife, I crashed into the maid with all my weight behind me, sending her sprawling across the floor.
Her arm raised over my head. In slow motion I watched it arc down, the tip of the blade aimed at my shoulder.
Adrenaline surged in my body. My mind blanked. I couldn’t think of what to do except hold on to her and yell at the top of my lungs.
A flash of orange light blinded me. Dora’s fingers opened and the blade fell to the ground. Heat fared in front of me and I loosened my grip in surprise.
Dora rolled away, her eyes bugging out and her hands frantically beating at a fire that spread across her skirt.
His damage done, Arthur wasted no time. He dragged Dora up by the scruff of her neck and held the palm of his hand to her face. “What the bloody hell are you doing?” he yelled. “If you don’t answer meright nowI’m going to fry your ugly face.”
Dora twisted and squirmed in his grip, her hands raking at Arthur’s eyes. She yelled incoherently, thrashing and kicking like a wild animal. Arthur growled as her nails tore open his skin.
Another flame burst from Dora’s collar, spreading quickly over the cheap fabric, reaching toward her face. Dora yelled and shrunk away, but she didn’t stop thrashing.
“Shite.” Corbin moved behind Dora, his own palm raised. The flame disappeared as Corbin sucked the air from around it, but Dora’s face went pale and her hands moved to clutch her throat as she struggled for breath.
Arthur shoved his hand over Dora’s face, his eyes blazing. I grabbed his arm over his shoulder, trying to yank it away from her.
“Arthur, don’t hurt her.” I’d seen the guilt he wore behind his eyes from the last time he’d lost control and hurt someone. I didn’t want him to carry even more.
“Yeah, hold your fire, Arnold.” Blake leaned onto his knees. “Look at her eyes. I know fae compulsion when I see it. She’s not doing this.”
“You will all die!” Dora screamed, finding her voice again.
I peered over Arthur’s shoulder, ducking as Dora made a swipe for my head. Blake was right; her eyes looked odd – not angry, but all glassy and unfocused.
I noticed something else, too – a jerkiness to her movements, as though she was a puppet being tugged on invisible strings.
“He’s right.” I shook Arthur’s shoulder. “It’s not Dora doing this.”
“You can’t just believe everything that guy says.” Corbin was beside me in a flash, grabbing Dora’s flailing arms and pinning them behind her back.
“You weren’t awake when Daigh said he was going to compel someone to kill you all before you woke up,” I remembered now. “He must have been talking about Dora. She came in here expecting us to be asleep. It would’ve been easy for her to plunge that knife?—”
“Steady on! I get it.” Arthur’s arm bulged. He eased his grip, letting Dora’s feet touch the floor again. He still kept a tight grip on her as she pummeled his chest with tiny fists. ”Why did she bring the roast?”
“Becauff compulffon ivna oooomp dime ontro,” Blake mumbled.
“What’s this bellend talking about?” Arthur growled.
I glanced over at Blake. He’d picked up the roast lamb leg from where it had rolled under the sofa and was gnawing on it like a caveman. His whole face lit up with joy. He looked up at me, juice dribbling down his chin, and swallowed.
“Because compulsion isn’t complete mind control.” Blake tore off another chunk of meat and chewed. “The fae inside her head has to push through layers and layers of her thoughts and memories and compulsions and habits. I take it she normally comes here and cooks these exquisite meaty delicacies?”
“Actually, I do,” Rowan murmured from the back of the room. He came around the couches and stood beside me. His dreadlocks brushed my arm as he peered into Dora’s face. “But she does like to come into the kitchen and fuss.”
Blake held up the half-gnawed leg. “If this is her fussing, then she’s welcome any time.”
Corbin pressed his shoulder into Dora’s back, holding her struggling body taut. “So how do we cure her?”
Blake shrugged. “You can’t, unless you kill the fae who’s compelling her. But most fae can’t hold the spell for more than thirty minutes or so. Just keep her away from any sharp objects until then. In this house that might be difficult.”
“Grab her waist, Arthur,” Corbin said. Arthur wrapped his arms around Dora, and the two of them wrestled her to the floor. Corbin pressed his knee into her back, pinning her down, while Arthur sat on her legs and clamped her wrists in place.
