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Tired and exhausted, she fell asleep holding him.
Soft singing jerked her awake, and, panicked, she looked at the baby. He was cuddled safely in her arms. He’d fallen asleep as he’d fed, and his little mouth hung open. Now she could see his tiny, sharp fangs, not just feel them: the minuscule specks of white glistened against the soft pink of his baby gums. And two tiny beads of blood trembled on her still leaking nipple. Heart fluttering fast and anxious, she surreptitiously tried to wipe them away as she covered herself with the thin white nightdress.
‘Dear?’ Witch Harrier’s disapproving voice made her look up.
Her heart stopped.
They were all there.
Witch Harrier, Old Big Ears, the kelpie … and next to him was a young girl, hardly any older than herself.
The girl was the one singing, a soft sad lullaby, swaying from side to side as she twirled her long silver-gilt hair around her finger— Beside her stood the Irish wolfhound.
‘No,’ she screamed, clutching at her son and staring at the dog in abject horror. ‘You said I could keep him! Youpromised !’
‘It’s for the best, dear,’ Witch Harrier said, her face hard.
The sidhe girl stopped singing and danced over to her. She leaned down and kissed the baby’s head, then looked at her with the wide, guileless gaze of a young child.
The pendant was hanging round her neck.
‘Don’t be sad, pretty girl,’ the sidhe whispered, and took her son from her arms.
Chapter Forty-Nine
‘Did you have to drop her?’ Helen Crane’s familiar patrician voice, along with the reek of ammonia, pulled me out of the despair of her memory. ‘She was already injured, and now you’ve made it worse. She really needs to have most of her faculties about her for this, otherwise it won’t work. It’s important; we won’t get another chance.’
Looked like I’d found Helen, or rather, she’d found me. And she wanted something, which really wasn’t headline news. I pushed her desperately sad memory to the back of my mind and played dead as I tried to assess my injuries through the pain radiating out from my shoulder, down my arm and across my back. The verdict came back: not good. I was pretty sure my collarbone and shoulder blade were broken, and quite possibly my humerus too. My left arm was useless. On a lesser scale of discomfort, the flagged stone floor I was lying on was cold and hard, and the temperature was near-freezing. The icy chill made the police-issue gem- and spell-studded silver cuffs shackled around my wrists and ankles burn like super-heated brands.
‘I know it’s important, my lady,’ an apologetic male voice said. ‘I tried my best, but we were attacked and I almost lost her. I ask your forgiveness, my lady.’
I peered out from under my lashes. Jack the raven in his blond, indigo-eyed sidhe guise was crouching by my hip. He was wearing jeans, topped with a thick purple jumper, so his ability to get himself changed from feathers into clothes had either improved, or I’d been lying unconscious for some time. He was looking worriedly at Helen, kneeling next to him.
She looked the most casual I’d ever seen her. Her blonde hair was scraped back in a utilitarian ponytail and she was wearing pressed jeans with a pink tailored shirt and a navy cardigan, all of which looked out of place with her usual jewellery-shop-display of spell-carrying bling. She was treating Jack to an exasperated frown, while absently wafting a small brown bottle under my nose: smelling salts—which accounted for the ammonia. I almost laughed. Did she think I’d fainted or something?
‘I told you to stop calling me my lady, Jack,’ she snapped at him. ‘I’m your mother, not one of your fancy sidhe females you have to flatter and flirt with. Call me Mum, Mother or Helen, I don’t care which one, but most definitely notmy lady!’
So looked like I’d found Helen’s changeling son, too, and if her memory was correct, he was also Mad Max’s long-lost little boy, and Jack had to be the dog’s offspring she was protecting. Part of me was surprised I hadn’t put it together before, even if Helen was a witch and Mad Max was a vamp and ne’er the twain shall meet, let alone get down and dirty and produce a bouncing baby boy complete with tiny vamp fangs.
But while mentally playing Happy Families with Helen, Jack and Mad Max was entertaining, it wasn’t going to help me escape from my evil witch nemesis, or help me save Nicky and the missing faelings. Hoping for inspiration, I sca
And speaking of nightmares …
‘Alternatively, you could always call her Witch-bitch,’ I said, my voice sounding as croaky as a raven’s caw. ‘That works for me,’ I finished as they both turned.
Helen’s mouth pinched sourly. ‘At least you’re awake.’ She took the smelling salts away and I took a decidedly more pleasant breath.
‘Hello, my lady.’ Jack gave me a tentative smile; it held the same apology as his voice. ‘I’m sorry I dropped you. I wasn’t pla
‘Hey, no hard feelings, Jack.’ I hit him with my best glare. ‘So how’s the Morrígan and the mother thing working out for you then? Or am I wrong in thinking you’re one of the goddess’ messengers?’
‘Um, the Morrígan wanted you here, and so did my la— my mother,’ he said sheepishly.
‘Ri- ight. You do know that pissing off a goddess isn’t the healthiest thing you can do, don’t you?’
‘Ms Taylor,’ Helen spoke briskly, ‘the Morrígan didn’t say how, or where she wanted you once you got here, so Jack has fulfilled the task set for him. Please stop trying to intimidate him.’
‘I’m not trying,’ I said, keeping my eyes on Jack, ‘I’m telling it like it is. And I bought twotickets for this “Tour the Magical Tower” trip, so, no, he hasn’t fulfilled his task yet.’
‘I’m sorry, my lady,’ Jack said, ‘but I have to wait until the feather—’
‘Jack, be quiet,’ Helen said. ‘You don’t need to tell her anything.’
Jack gave me a ‘nothing I can do’ shrug. Damn. So much for my intimidation skills.And so much for my fanged backup: with his super-senses, finding a feather with my blood all over it should’ve been like finding a giant needle without the haystack.
I switched my glare to Helen. ‘Oh, and while we’re on this whole need-to-know-or-not subject,’ I said, ‘how about filling me in on all the Tour’s gory details. What’s my fate this time? Are you going for straight sacrificial victim, or can I look forward to something more creative?’
Helen ignored me and spoke to Jack, who was hovering anxiously at her shoulder. ‘I told you to rest, so will you please do so and get your strength back.’
‘I’m fine, my la— Mother.’
‘Just do as I say, Jack,’ she said tiredly.
He sat back with a loud long-suffering sigh.
‘Having problems with the kids, Helen?’ I said sarcastically. ‘I mean, you just get your son back, then you lose your daughter. Very careless of you.’
She flicked her finger at me, a fist of magic punched my injured shoulder and I disappeared into a furnace of pain.