The Cold Kiss of Death

A hollow, empty feeling settled beneath my breastbone. I didn’t know if I wanted a Happy Ever After with Fi

And none of it the child’s own choosing.

It wasn’t a decision to be taken lightly.

Or by a committee.

And yeah, the whole philosophising bit still didn’t stop me being as pissed off as hell about the broodmare part I was supposed to play. Or the fact that Fi

‘Fuck, Fi

‘I’m a satyr, Gen!’ he said, exasperated. ‘We’re fertility fae, it’s what we do! We court whoever the herd elders decide—that’s the way it is. But if I hadn’t wanted to do this, either before or after I met you, I could’ve said no; it’s not like I’m the only satyr in London.’ His face hardened. ‘And I’m not the only fae in London either.’

Yeah, and didn’t I know it, what with dryads chasing me, and the early morning wake-up call from Randy Ricou.

‘So what you’re telling me,’ I said slowly, ‘is that I have to choose.’

‘Yes.’

That didn’t leave any wiggle-room for doubt, did it?

‘Look, I want you to choose me, Gen.’ He clasped my shoulders, hope sparking in his eyes. ‘But I saw the way you looked at Tavish, so’—his eyes turned flat and bleak—‘anyway, whoever you choose, you need to do it soon, otherwise the dryads will try and make the choice for you.’

‘That’s not a choice, Fi

‘Exactly. That’s what I’m saying.’ His hands tightened almost painfully on my shoulders. ‘Once you’ve made your choice and it’s official, then the dryad problem will go away.’

‘No, you don’t understand; it’s not the dryads doing the kidnapping and whatever that’s the fait accompli, it’s the whole thing. Having a child should be mychoice, mine and the father’s, not a group decision taken by people I’ve never even met who want me to pick out a magical sperm donor from a line-up. But none of you will give me that choice, will you?’

‘No,’ he said, quietly, desolation echoing in his voice. ‘Not when it means we die out.’

I pulled away from him and sat down, rubbing my hands over my face, a sick, frightened feeling in my stomach. I didn’t want this, didn’t want the responsibility. Why couldn’t it be someone else’s? Why me? But of course the answer was easy; it was only me because I happened to be handy, no other reason.

‘Gen,’ Fi

‘What?’ I looked up, startled.

‘Why do you think it keeps pushing us together like this?’ He took hold of my hands and the magic hummed as if in agreement. ‘So far it’s just being ... helpful, but it could change, you know that. The magic wants to survive as much as any of us, and it’s not just the magic dying that’s killing us; if we fade, so will the magic.’

My mother had faded.

My father found my mother at a fertility rite, got her pregnant, and then after I was born, she’d lost so much blood, he couldn’t stop her from fading. Or so the story goes. I’d believed it as a child, but now I realised no sidhe would willingly agree to have a vampire’s child— got her pregnantwas just a pleasant euphemism. And I was the result. And while I might be my father’s daughter, I was still the valuable commodity he’d been determined to produce when he’d raped my mother—still the valuable commodity he’d traded to a psychotic vampire.

It’s not a story that dreams of happy families are made from.

Or one that had ever made me want to have my own children, even without a curse to contend with. But if the magic decided to encourageme ... Even if London’s fae left me alone, I might not be able to trust myself to make the right choice, a prospect that terrified me even more than everything else.

I looked down at where he clasped my hands. ‘What about the child?’ I said softly.

‘It’ll be a child, Gen. It’ll be loved and cared for, whoever its father is. You’ll see to that.’ His expression turned hopeful again. ‘Can we at least talk about it, maybe try and work out where we go from here?’

Part of me wanted to, but another part knew Fi

Now, I was here to ask about another child: Helen’s changeling child, in the hope that the answer would help me find the sidhe who’d murdered Tomas.

I pulled my hands from Fi

‘Hell’s thorns, Gen! Why won’t you talk to me?’

‘Because I’m not ready to.’ I pressed my hands flat on my knees, focusing on the snags in my jeans where I’d fallen over, keeping everything else—fear, hurt, anger and frustration—all bottled up. ‘And because right now,’ I carried on, ‘we have other things to worry about, like finding the sidhe who’s already killed once. What happened with the boy last night?’

‘Okay,’ he said, almost to himself, ‘okay, if you’re not ready, we can do this later.’ His brows drew together into a thoughtful frown. ‘The florist’s boy, yes ... we went to see him, only he wasn’t there. His dad said he was off to some concert or other with a mate. Helen’s got someone checking into it.’

Damn. The boy was a dead end. Now for the other question. I kept my gaze on my hands, not wanting to see his face. ‘I’ve just seen the phouka,’ I said, my voice neutral. ‘Helen gave a child to the sidhe. A changeling.’

He inhaled sharply, then he rose and retreated to sit behind his desk.

I looked up at him. His face was closed, all expression banished, leaving just a handsome mask. As I had expected. A dull pain twisted inside me, then I had a sudden—horrible—thought: was it his child?

But his next words denied it. ‘That is not for me to discuss.’ His voice was as blank as his face.

‘Well, you’re going to have to discuss it, Fi

‘She wouldn’t do that.’ A line creased between his brows. ‘In fact, I’m not even sure she’d know how to.’

‘I’m not saying she would, but it’s her blood, Fi