“That’s a horrible story!” Maeve slid the book back across the table.
“This horrible story tells us one key thing, that belief is a powerful form of magic that can make its own truth. It has thepower to invert the world as we know it – fictions become fact, and facts a fiction. When the fae come, the world will see their own dead walking the earth. They will know that magic is real and deadly and powerful. And to whom will they turn to save them?”
“Witches,” Rowan whispered.
“Exactly.” Clara jabbed the book triumphantly. “Their belief in us is all we need to make fiction a fact, to bring about the result we desire – the banishing of the Slaugh, and the return of the fae to their realm. We have to make their belief in witches powerful enough that it will create the result we desire. Flynn has the right idea – witches exist now only in pop culture, as fragments of mythology turned into Halloween candy. We can make them real again through art.”
I leaned forward, my chest tightening.Who knew art had such fierce power?
And then Moira’s face flashed in front of my eyes, and I realised I’d known all along.
“There are many artists in the covens, as well as artists like my son here who aren’t witches but have a connection to our cause. If we got them to flood the market with art that challenged and confronted, art that spoke of the destructive power of witchcraft, art that couldn’t be explained away, then we will be able to create and channel that belief.” Clara touched her son’s arm. “Ryan here has just finished a beautiful painting about the witches of Crookshollow. He will release it into the market. It might draw some attention to what’s going on in the village.”
Might draw some attention?If a new Raynard painting hit the market it would send the entire art world on a tear. And if the subject made the press look at witches in Crookshollow…
They’d look at my statue.A statue that mysteriously appeared overnight, and couldn’t be moved or destroyed. A statue that hummed with a mysterious power...
I glanced over at Maeve. The muscles in her face twitched as she worked through Clara’s words.She doesn’t believe Clara. It’s art, not science. It’s too irrational, too open to chance. It’s?—
“This is it,” she breathed. “This is the weapon we have. This is how we can stop the Slaugh.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO: MAEVE
“Ineed the bathroom!” I yelled over the noise of the welder.
“What?” Flynn yelled back.
“Bathroom!” I threw down the box of screws I’d been holding for Corbin and raced off toward the house.
Ever since Clara had come knocking with her book and her famous artist son, we’d all moved into Flynn’s studio. He sat in a chair in the middle of his piles of junk, directing us to drag out bits of scrap from his collection and cut them up and solder or screw them together. Occasionally, Ryan Raynard would pipe up with a suggestion, and Flynn’s face would go as red as his hair and he’d stammer a bit and change to Ryan’s way.
Even Clara and Aline were pitching in, although their contribution was mostly running back and forth from the kitchen with endless cups of tea. Between all of us, the statue was taking shape in record time – a male companion to Flynn’s female witch with a wild mane of wire-brush hair. He cast both his arms wide, an arc of lightning surging between the hands. I had the idea of making the statue into a Tesla coil so the lightning would be real, but Corbin overruled the idea in the interest of public safety.
“Spoilsport,” Flynn muttered. I had to agree.
I wiped my greasy hands on my jeans before pulling open the kitchen door. It was fun getting dirty with the guys. Arthur tossed around the heavy scrap metal like it was made of paper. Flynn loved bossing everyone around for once, and he and Blake kept us all laughing with their antics. Shy Rowan contributed a couple of really creative ideas, and of course, Corbin was good at making everyone work together.
Once this statue was finished, we’d sneak out and plant it somewhere else in the village. Flynn thought we might even be able to get a third one up before Ryan released his painting and the press went crazy.
We spoke to Gwen at the Avebury coven earlier this afternoon. She had all her artists working on another piece. “I’m astounded we’d never thought of this before,” she said. “There are many documented instances where belief magic has been used effectively. Combining it with art objects to store that magic makes perfect sense.”
“Do you think it will be enough to stop the Slaugh?” I said.
“And then some!”
I’d also packaged up the knife Daigh had used along with a sample of my blood, and typed up a letter to send off to a DNA testing lab I found on the internet. I explained the sample was green because of a rare genetic condition, and hoped that would be enough to encourage them to go forward with the test without any further questions. Corbin wrote out a check for the lab fee from the Briarwood fund we all shared for expenses. According to the lab website, we’d get a result back in 3-5 business days.
Then we’ll find out just how related Daigh and I really are.
In the bathroom, I smiled at my reflection as I washed my hands. My dark roots had started to grow back into my fringe, and my short pixie hair now completely covered my ears. Bitsstuck out at all angles, streaked with dust and grease from the shed. A black stain smudged my cheek.
I was a completely different person to the girl who’d first set in this castle a month ago. Was it really only a month? It felt like so much longer. The bond I shared with the guys felt like it was forged decades ago. In a way, it was. I carried pieces of them around inside of me, and they each held a piece of me.
I’d fallen apart in this castle. I’d come undone after the death of my parents. I’d discovered a side of myself I’d never even imagined, and I’d met and fallen in love with not one, but five incredible men. The girl in the mirror wasn’t someone old Maeve recognised – she was entirely new – a quantum leap in Maeve-ness.
I smiled despite myself.Maybe Aline’s ritual had a bigger impact on me than I thought. Maybe it was good for all of us to cleanse away the guilt of the past.
