Maeve looked thoughtful as we trudged back to the house. Something rustled in the bushes as we made our way up the hill. “I think it’s just a fox,” Arthur said from further up the path. “Too small to be a human.”
“I hope he’s right,” Maeve mumbled under her breath. I squeezed her hand.
“You’re thinking something, Princess. You’ve got that constipated look on your face.”
Maeve snorted. “Where did you learn that word?”
“Three guesses,” I grinned, jabbing a finger at Flynn.
“He’s a bad influence on you, or you’re a bad influence on him. I haven’t decided which.” Maeve’s hazel eyes bore into mine. “You’re right, though. I’m thinking that I need to find out what’s going on with Kelly and Jane. It’s killing me that they’re not here in the castle where they have some protection.”
“I could visit Jane. One of us should go into the village anyway and see how much belief the statue’s collected, and what the villages make of it. It should probably be me, since no onethere knows who I am.” I shrugged. “I’ll stop by the cottage. I know where it is.”
“You definitely do.” Maeve grinned, remembering the day I snuck up on her when she was using the outhouse behind Jane’s cottage. If looks could have killed, the one she’d given me that day would’ve had me dead and buried. She was lucky she was so hot when she was pissed off. “Thank you. She won’t speak to me, but maybe you can make her see reason. Take Flynn with you – Connor loves Flynn. That might get you through the front door. But don’t either of youdaredo anything stupid.”
“Your wish is my command.” I wanted to speak to Clara, anyway. I needed to know what she made of the dream, and of the conversation we’d just had with Daigh. Flynn agreed to go into town with me on the condition we had lunch at the pub. I didn’t think that was the cleverest of his ideas, but he insisted. I felt certain that fell under Maeve’s definition of ‘stupid.’
As we headed out the door, I noticed Flynn slide a knife into his sock.
Thick grey clouds hung low in the sky, and rain pelted us as we walked down the road into the village. We didn’t encounter anyone else on the road, but as soon as we set foot on the high street it was clear we were even less welcome than we’d been a few days ago.
As soon as they say us, people ducked into nearby shops, or slammed their car doors and drove away. A woman lifted an enormous crucifix necklace and thrust it angrily toward us as she skirted around us.
“Maeve isn’t going to like this,” I said, as a young mother nearly drove her stroller under a car trying to avoid us.
“Don’t be daft. This is exactly what we want.” Flynn pointed across the greene. “Look.”
I didn’t even have to turn toward it to know what he was talking about. The statue hummed with magic – it rattled mybones and grated against my teeth. When I did lay eyes on the witch, I found it difficult to focus my vision. Something about the shape of it wouldn’t hold my eye – I kept slipping off at the edges. Tendrils of pale blue light emanated from the witch’s clawed fingers, snaking through the air as they reached toward the village.
Two blokes in orange vests stood behind the statue, watching a third man attack one of the legs with some sort of handheld torch that shot a jet of brilliant blue flame. From the way they yelled and cursed, I assumed the flame was meant to be doing more than just tickling the witch’s feet.
The blue tendrils wrapped around the men, sliding over their skin, forcing their way into ears and nostrils. As they scratched their heads and muttered words about witchcraft and trickery, the statue pulsed brighter. Even as they tried to tear it down, they were feeding it with their belief, making it strong enough to resist their machines.
“What did I tell you?” Flynn patted my shoulder. “I’m a genius.”
“Can we get away from the green, Mr Genius – I don’t want to be nearby when they realise we’re watching them.”
“Right you are. We should find Clara.”
“I hope this hasn’t been affecting her too much,” I said as we rounded the side of the bank that marked the halfway point of the high street. The old stone building hid the rest of the street from view. “They might be targeting anyone they suspect is a witch?—”
I stopped short, my breath catching. We’d come around the front of the bank. The footpath glittered with broken glass. My boot kicked a bent tarot deck that had scattered over the road. A mangled dream catcher hung from the edge of the rubbish bin.
Someone had gone down the street and broken the window of every vaguely magical shop in Crookshollow. Lady Cordeliapaced outside her tarot booth, railing down her mobile phone at some poor clot at her insurance company. The owner of the esoteric bookshop mournfully threw soaked volumes into a rubbish bag. Not even theBewitching Bitesbakery with its cartoon witch on a broomstick in the front window had been spared. Trays of pastries and cakes had been flung out the window and smeared across the footpath. The Asian woman who owned it knelt outside, weeping into her hands.
When we reachedAstarte, we found Clara sweeping the broken glass off the pavement. She’d already taped a large black sheet over the broken window. It wouldn’t do a thing to deter the weather or vandals. DIE WITCH had been scrawled across her shop door in bright orange paint.
“Don’t fuss,” she snapped when Flynn grabbed the broom out her hands. “I’m fine. I was at home when this happened.”
“Go on up to the castle,” Flynn said. “You’re staying with us.”
“I have a perfectly good home of my own, young man.”
“Yeah? If they’re capable of this, then you’re not safe there.” Flynn shrugged. “At least Briarwood is a fortress. It’s designed to keep out invading hordes and low-level vandals. Or go to your son’s house. Either way, you need to stay away from Crookshollow.”
Clara patted his arm. “It’s nice to hear your concern, seems as this is because of your little stunt.”
“You saw my statue, then?”
