The other possibility – and this was much more likely – was that a witch did it. And I had a pretty fair idea of which witch that might be.
I whirled around and faced Blake. “You did this.”
Blake shook his head. “Think again, Mussolini.”
“Stop calling me that. This is a glamour, and you’re the only one of us who can perform that magic. You told us so.”
Maeve’s fingers tightened around my arm. “Corbin, don’t do this,” she hissed.
I wrenched my arm out of Maeve’s grasp and folded them across my chest. “Go on, Blake, tell us all how you’re really still working for Daigh, how you’re here to do things like this to terrify and distract us so your king can slip past our defenses.”
Blake folded his arms. “He’s hardly slipped past anything. I’d say he’s riding in on a huge golden chariot waving a sign saying, ‘Look at me! I’m coming to kill all humans.’”
“Corbin.” Maeve’s voice was sharper this time. “This subject is old. Blake’s on our side, end of story.”
Why is she still so willing to trust him?
Blake had never helped us for any other reason than to save his own skin.
Except for just before, when he told the truth about contacting that fae, and at the church, when he threw himself in front of that arrow meant for Maeve.
I didn’t want to trust Blake. He was a complete wanker and it would be so much easier to punch him in his stupid sneering mouth. But I didn’t have the final say anymore. Maeve did. And that was right and proper. If only she’d see Blake for what he really was.
But…if it weren’t for Blake, Maeve would be dead right now.All signs pointed to Blake being on our side. Unlike Maeve, I didn’t make my decisions solely based on empirical data. I relied on my gut to lead me in the right direction. And right now my gut was screaming that this guy couldn’t be trusted.
Clara waved her hand over the portrait. “This is no glamour. There’s magic here, but it’s much older. It seems to be mixed through the paint itself. I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
“Almost as if it came from another realm,” Arthur muttered. I nodded in agreement.
Blake shot me an amused look that made my blood boil. “Once again, my innocence is proven to the person who really matters here –ourHigh Priestess. Can I go to the kitchen now? Fielding constant suspicion does build up an appetite.”
Maeve touched Blake's shoulder. She glared at me, and I felt her power sizzling behind her words. ”We have to stop this bickering. Peoplediedtonight. I know we’re all upset about that, but if we lose it with each other then we’re never going to stop Daigh.”
She fixed each of us in turn with her dark eyes, and my anger withered. Admiration surged in my chest, along with a bit of shame. Trust Maeve to bring us all back to what was really important.
I glanced at Blake, who was flicking strands of his long black hair over his shoulder and not looking the least bit sorry. Could I ever trust the guy? For Maeve’s sake, and the coven, I had to bloody well try.
I stuck a hand out under Blake’s face. “She’s right. You’re in this, whether I like it or not.”
Blake stared at my hand as though he was afraid I’d strike him with lightning.
“You shake it. It’s a human gesture of camaraderie.”
Blake still looked confused, but he took my hand and we shook. I may have crushed his fingers a little more than was polite, but it was a start.
Maeve gave a little smile. If she was happy, it was worth it.
I stared up at Maeve’s mother, who still looked out with that petrified expression. “Okay, then. We know this portrait is magical. It’s moving on its own. This magic might be something we can use. Does anyone have any idea what it might be and why it’s in Aline’s portrait? Flynn, you’re an artist. Any thoughts?”
Flynn ran a hand through his mop of red curls. “Painting leprechauns?”
“Just a modicum of seriousness while the whole world is at stake would be appreciated, Flynn,” Maeve huffed.
“Sorry, couldn’t resist. My totally serious, not-remotely-humorous guess is that if there’s magic in the paint then the artist must’ve put it there.”
Of course.I turned to Maeve. “You brought a book about Smithers, didn’t you? Have you read it yet?”
“Only the first half of it – his biography. The rest is all wank about art.”
