Blake’s smile was easy, but his hand slipped against the chair, and he nearly toppled over. Corbin caught him on the arm, steadying him.
“No problem,” Blake murmured. “I just need to step outside for a bit.”
“Blake—”
But he was already gone, the door slamming shut behind him.
“Excuse me a minute.” Robert was too busy cackling to notice anything amiss. Corbin glared at me as I raced from the room, slamming the door shut behind me.
I glanced around frantically. Blake sat on a bench seat in front of a wall of glass looking out into a tree-lined courtyard, his head in his hands. I slumped down beside him, placing my hand on his knee. “Okay, spill the beans.”
“I don’t have any beans, Princess.” Blake moaned, rubbing his head.
“It’s an expression. It means ‘tell Maeve what happened in there so she can stop freaking out’.”
“Nothing happened.”
“You suddenly felt the need to contemplate the nature of your existence?” I pointed to a sign on the wall that invited residents to sit and do exactly that.
Blake groaned again. “Seeing that guy in there, it hit me that I could have been looking at myself.”
“What do you mean? Best I knew, you’ve never referred to yourself in the third person.”
“Inside that man’s skull is a human mind wrecked by fae magic. That could be me if I’m not careful.”
“Explain.”
“Fae magic and human magic – they’re connected, but different. They both harness and manipulate the basic elements, but in completely different ways. That’s why the fae can’t shoot fireballs like Arthur and we can’t compel people. Except when we can.” Blake rubbed his head. “Daigh taught me some simple fae magic – very simple glamour and compulsion, a couple of other tricks I haven’t shown you yet. I shouldn’t be able to do them, but I think he might have done something in my head to make that happen. Every time I do them, I lose a little piece of myself. It tears apart bits of my mind.”
“Neurons,” I corrected him.
“Right, neurons. If I’m not careful, you could be sticking me in a place like this. Because Robert Smithers has been broken by fae magic. I looked inside his head. It’s a mess.”
“So he’s been doing fae magic?”
“That’s what I thought at first, but no. Remember I told you a fae could only compel for a half hour at most? Robert was compelled foryears. The scars are all over his mind.”
The horror of that shuddered through my body. “You’re telling me that Robert had a fae literally hitchhiking around in his brain?”
Blake nodded, misery scarring his crystalline features. “I had no idea that was even possible, but the neurons don’t lie. A fae fucked him up.”
“He must have been fighting against that voice, seeing it do things with his body and being completely unable to stop it.” I ran over the broken conversation we’d had with Robert. “That’s why he said someone else painted those portraits. Because someone did. Rob is the person, Robert is the fae.”
“No.”
“No?”
Blake placed his hand in mine, curling his fingers between my digits until our palms pressed tight together. “You’re right about Robert living with two people inside his head. But the fae is no longer present in his mind. Robert is entirely an invention of Rob’s mind. After so many years sharing his mind with another, he must’ve got lonely when the fae left and decided to continue the conversation.”
“He’s so used to feeling his body and words controlled by another, he kept going on believing he was two people, even after the fae left?”
That’s horrible.
So many details slotted into place. How Robert Smithers the artist suddenly appeared on the art scene with an unheard-of talent. How he survived the ritual at Briarwood, but never painted again…
…because he couldn’t.
Tears welled in the corners of my eyes. Was there anything the fae wouldn’t corrupt, any witch of Briarwood whom their cruelty couldn’t break?
