The fae moved through the panicking villagers, slicing them with their vicious bone knives. Behind them the black fog swirled. Dark tendrils curled toward us, seeking new victims.

Flynn tugged at my arm. I knew I had to get to Blake, but my body froze as the black fog swirled higher, completely obscuring the fire and the stakes behind it. Corbin’s back there. And Kelly. The numbness settled over me, pinning me in place.

“Maeve, we have to… Mary Mother of Jesus,” Flynn breathed.

A huge shape barreled out of the fog. Light from the fires flickered across it, illuminating black clothing torn and splattered with green blood, and features twisted in wretched vengeance. A dark shape like a backpack hung over its shoulder, and above its head, moonlight caught the edge of a steel blade.

Arthur.

He moved like a giant from mythology crushing his foes beneath him. Sparks trailed from his sword as he swung at the fae, and an orange aura encircled his body – his rage manifesting as blazing skin. Never before had I seen a person look so out of time, so not of the earth.

“Get everyone behind the wards,” Arthur yelled, lunging forward on one knee to slice through a fae’s arm. Screams followed in his wake as he cut down the fae with one hand, the other holding that bloody lump over his shoulder.

He has Corbin’s body.

I couldn’t bear it. A sob escaped my throat.

Blake’s hand clamped around mine, jolting me out of my grief. We dived into each other, casting out with our magic. Arthur’s wrathful image burned in my head, and I took his rage into myself and forced it outward, hunting out the fae one by one and gripping their minds with my own.

Leave this place, Blake commanded through my mind. Images slammed into me – flashes of life in the fae realm, of Daigh leering over me while pain rocked through my body, of revels and orgies and dreams of green places without barriers. The images swirled and changed – the bright forest and green meadow of Tir Na Nog replaced by dark hallways lined with wooden doors and harrowing screams, of fae burning in a black cauldron as their souls were captured to unleash the Slaugh, of dark creatures made of shadow and nightmares, reaching through the fog for me.

You’re not welcome here, Blake hissed. The thought slammed into the connected minds, and they, and I, turned around and fled to the crack, and in a hundred splintered fractures of thought I, and they, leapt into the gloom. Blake threw his arms around me and held me still so I wouldn’t follow them, but my mind tipped over the edge a hundred times. As the void swallowed the fae, their minds uncoupled and spun free, severing their thoughts and memories until finally there were none left.

My mind spun from the emptiness. I rocked on my feet, struggling to remain upright. Blake’s voice faded, pulling me out of the darkness with him. “Now the villagers,” he whispered. “Maeve, can you do it again?”

I nodded. Blake gripped my hand and pressed his lips to mine, feeding me his energy. I sucked in a breath, dropped through space again and into the minds of the villagers around us. It was even easier than finding the fae – the villagers were too scared to notice our presence tapping on the edge of their conscious. Blake fed them thoughts of trust and safety. Follow the witches and everything will be okay.

I tried to close my mind from the images that assailed it, but there was no stopping the torrent of fear pouring into my mind. My throat closed as I lived the fear of the villagers, long simmering and deep rooted. Every unexplained phenomena and personal misfortune jokingly attributed to ‘the witches up at the castle,’ until it wasn’t a joke anymore, but a belief. Fears of parents that their kids would be sucked into a cult and forsake their futures, that they’d all die in some silly ritual like all those people did twenty-one years ago. Deep personal distress that by acknowledging the coven they would be cast out of the village as well. Small minds and small hearts that smiled politely while they wallowed in doubts and nightmares. Our faces flashed in a blur of terror – Flynn’s twinkling eyes suddenly menacing, Corbin’s bookish interests becoming reclusive obsession, Arthur a dangerous warrior out of time, Rowan’s anxiety and skin color a reminder of the other lurking in the shadows, Blake’s cool beauty utterly frightening.

That’s not what we are, I cried into the onslaught, but the thoughts and images kept coming, again and again painting us as the architects of horror. Every tragedy, every evil thing, every unexplained coincidence in the village had built a mountain of evidence against us. We were the scapegoats for grief and hatred and woe.

For the first time, I understood the true, awesome, and destructive power of belief.

Hopelessness settled on my heart, burrowing deeper with every fresh horror flashing front of my eyes. Even if we triumphed against the fae, what hope did we have of living a peaceful life amongst such hatred?

Blake pushed his voice through my thoughts, and they, and I, felt his authority rumbling in our chests. Trust the witches. Follow them to the castle and you’ll be safe.

It’s not working, I cried.

Of course it won’t if you don’t believe it, Princess!

Through the jumble of images and memories and sensations, I found my own mind – the one voice of dissension against a tide of hate. I tore up every good feeling and every true emotion the guys had given me, every kind word and every hug and every secret they’d trusted to me and every piece of their pain they’d shared with me. I bundled up those pieces of them and I shoved them into a tiny, hard ball and I fired their spirit into the villagers.

The images changed. Flashes of the boys in the village – Corbin chatting with the butcher, Flynn and Arthur helping an old lady lift her groceries into her car, Rowan dropping off a tray of seedlings for the kindergarten garden, his face hidden behind a curtain of dreadlocks. Blake at the pub trying to break up Flynn’s fight. Me looking like my mother reborn, my terrified face pinned to the window of my taxi as I drove through Crookshollow for the first time.

Around us, people gasped and cried out, and the images swirled and swelled, becoming a flood of beautiful acts and everyday kindnesses and simple truths. They saw. They saw my boys as they truly were – the witches in the castle who had no one else but each other, who loved fiercely and fought on the side of what was good and right and true, even when they fought alone.

Trust the witches, Blake screamed over the images. Run to the castle. They will save you!

They ran. Screaming and crying with the force of the emotions I’d pushed through them, they surged toward the small meadow gate, heading up toward the blazing castle. As each passed through the gate their minds unhitched, taking with them tiny pieces of my love.

My emptying mind reeled as it was plunged into darkness, no longer seeing the battlefield and the burning castle beyond through the eyes of the villagers. I kept my own eyes clamped shut and flung myself around, searching for something to lift the darkness.

“I got you, Princess,” Blake’s voice whispered in my ear. His warmth wrapped around me, bringing me back to the present. I opened my eyes, seeing the meadow through my own mind, my retinas burning from the pain of it all. Black tendrils curled toward us. They’d completely engulfed the bonfire and the stakes. I could no longer discern the lights of Crookshollow in the distance, nor could I see Aline or Smithers or any of the others.

Blake and Flynn grabbed an arm each and yanked me forward. I forced my legs to move, slipping and sliding over the long grass as I ran with them up toward the castle. My chest burned. My feet pounded against the path as we ducked through the trees. The villagers fell in step behind us, winding up the narrow meadow path and collapsing in the wide parking area outside the portcullis, where the taxi driver had dropped me off on my very first day at Briarwood.

At the edge of the parking area we caught up with Rowan. He collapsed against me, his whole body shaking. I buried my head in his shoulder, letting his long dreadlocks hide my face from the fire.

The four of us huddled together, bracing ourselves against a wall of heat. Power slid from my body, and with it the strength to remain standing. I collapsed on the sloping lawn, bringing the guys down with me. My eyes flew open, and the breath fled my lungs.

Fire leapt from Briarwood’s windows, tainting the night air with the scent of burning furniture. The night rang with exploding glass and cracking beams, and sparks rained down from the battlements like Fourth of July fireworks.

I tried to crawl toward the castle, but the wall of heat slammed into my body, knocking me back like it was an actual barrier. The whole castle glowed like a fairground ride.

Just like the Ferris wheel that took my parents. Everything I love burns.

The boys wrapped me in their arms. Flynn tried to turn my face away, but I wasn’t going to hide while my castle burned. Flames tore through the Victorian stables, and I knew they would have reached the Great Hall, rendering that beautiful ancient room to ashes. The lintel above the ticketing office collapsed, bringing a wall of stone down with it. Each stone hitting the ground punched me in the gut.

Beside me, a body knelt in the grass. Aline placed her hands to her face and wept. I knew I should be able to summon the same tears. After all we’d fought for and all we’d achieved, a castle that had stood for centuries as a last bastion against the fae would fall tonight. But the same numbness that infected me after my parents’ deaths clung to me now. There was no emotion left inside me. Corbin’s death had stolen the part of my soul capable of feeling.

Arthur appeared from the shadows, his face streaked with blood and filth, his eyes dark and unreadable. He collapsed on his knees, sliding Corbin’s body from his shoulder and laying it out reverently in front of him. I flung myself toward him, but Flynn grabbed my waist.

“Maeve, you don’t want to see.”

“Don’t tell me what I want,” I screamed, tearing away from Flynn and draping myself over the body. The last of my spirit magic hummed through my hands. I pressed my palms to Corbin’s cold, charred cheeks and pushed and pushed and prayed and prayed that it would somehow bring him back but there was nothing, no spark of life for me to cling to.

He’s gone.

“Corbin… Corbin!” A voice screeched. Corbin’s mother dropped down beside me. I slid back as she embraced her son’s body, tears flooding down her cheeks.

A warm hand fell on my shoulder. I looked up. Andrew’s eyes flashed at me with the same sad intensity I knew from his son. “Get back, Maeve,” he said. “This isn’t your fault. We’ll look after him now.”

“No,” I whispered. Hands grabbed me under the shoulders, dragging me away. “No,” I said again. I kicked out, but my limbs slowed, dragging through the air like they were underwater. I had nothing left to fight with.

I let them pull me away. The guys surrounded me, pressing their bodies against mine, trying to bring me back from the dark, numb place. But it was an illusion. We were all untethered now, all of us living with the horror of what we had made.

Sirens whirred as two fire engines careened up the winding drive. The first engine stopped at the gatehouse – too tall to fit under the arch. The firefighters leapt out and unrolled their hose up the drive. The second engine was smaller and managed to make it through. Glass shattered as one of the enormous windows in the Great Hall blew out. Jane and Clara stood closer to the front of the house, directing the villagers to get back, to stay safe.

It didn’t matter. None of it mattered now that Corbin was gone.

Two police cars pulled up, sirens wailing. Detective Inspector Wallace got out of the passenger seat and stormed toward Officer Judge. “Thank god you got here,” she cried. “I’m trying to secure the scene and—”

“You let this get out of control,” Detective Inspector Wallace yelled, pointing to the squad car behind him. “Get in that car and turn over your badge immediately. I don’t want to see you on this scene.”

Officer Judge’s face whitened. She slunk off to the car. The villagers huddled together, their eyes haunted.

“Everyone stay back.” DI Wallace waved his arms in an invisible line we weren’t allowed to cross. “No one leave this area. You’ll all be held for questioning. Where are the castle tenants?”

“We’re here,” Flynn called out.

“Not all of us.” Arthur barreled up to the DI with fire in his eyes. “They killed our friend.”

Wallace bellowed as the topiary behind him spontaneously burst into flames.

The firefighters spread out, shouting orders at each other as they unrolled their hoses and went to work putting out the blaze. My boys gathered around me, pressing their bodies against mine. I buried my face into Rowan’s chest, watching flames leap through the Great Hall windows through a curtain of his dreadlocks. Like some great Viking funeral, Briarwood’s legends burned to ash, her legacy rising into heaven on a trail of smoke.

Everything good in the world burned along with it.