But there was on the right side of the room. About halfway down was a modern pine grandfather clock dripping with spells. It clashed with the whole mediaeval look – suits of armour would’ve been more in keeping – but then, the clock had to be what was stopping the time – literally. Next to it was a door. I doubted it was the way out: it didn’t look large enough to get the hospital beds through, and they’d definitely been imported from the humans’ world—
‘You are now looking at the Merlin Foundation’s newest initiative to produce the next generation of wizards,’ Helen said, interrupting my escape-planning, ‘all done through a combination of IVF, magic and surrogate mothers. Craig has developed a method of creating test-tube babies that consistently produces powerful wizards, through sex and gene selection. A lot of wizards, especially those older ones whose chance at marrying a long-lineage witch disappeared when the Bride-Price was abolished, are happy to pay his fees.’
‘Dr Frankenstein Does Designer Babies, in other words,’ I muttered in disgust as I tried to focus on the far end of the room . . . there was something hidden there, behind a massive, curtain-like Look-Away veil. It had to be the way out, or at the very least, worth investigating . . . once I got out of the Witch-bitch’s evil clutches. ‘What’s with the Doppelgänger spells?’ I asked, more to keep her talking than any real interest.
‘They indicate who the baby’s biological mother is,’ she said coldly.
I shot her an appalled look. ‘Surely the biological mothers haven’t agreed to that many babies?’
‘Apparently yes.’ She stared impassively at the Stepfords. ‘The witches are being very well paid for their eggs. He’s even paying the faelings for their surrogacy services; they’ve all signed contracts; they’re here by choice.’
I snorted. ‘So he’s killing them to save himself a bit of money? Nice to know he’s got absolutely no ethics at all.’
‘He’s not killing them per se,’ she said, turning back to me, her blue eyes as cold as her voice. ‘The majority of them just don’t have enough fae blood. They die not long after giving birth – incubating baby wizards and then breastfeeding them sucks all the magic and life out of them.’
I stared at her, shocked. ‘But he’s a doctor; didn’t he work that out before he did his test-tube thing?’
‘He did trials on Ana. The daughter is hers and her husband’s, but the sons are all Craig’s, both biologically, and by way of being his experiments. Ana is strong enough to survive the surrogacy because of her sidhe blood, but he wasn’t successful with any of the other faelings, until he put together this set-up’ – she indicated the large stone-walled room – ‘here in Between. It keeps them alive just long enough.’
‘Fuck,’ I said in revulsion, ‘I don’t know which of you is worse, him for killing them off, or you for covering up their deaths. And all because you didn’t want anyone to know that you had a child with a vamp.’
‘Despite what you think of me, Ms Taylor, I don’t condone the death of innocents. I didn’t know the full extent of what was happening until recently, and Jack’s birth is only a small part of it.’ She cast a poignant look at the still sleeping Jack. ‘Did you know vampires are infertile?’
‘Well, Maxim isn’t, obviously,’ I said, ‘otherwise your boy wouldn’t be here.’ Not to mention me. ‘But what the hell’s that got to do with anything?’
She laughed. ‘You really don’t know, do you? I always wondered if you were actually that clueless, and now I see you are. But then, you wouldn’t have spent all this time looking for a way to crack the fertility curse if you’d known the truth . . .’ She trailed off, giving me a sly look.
I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. ‘You’ve got my full attention. What truth?’
‘Jack is Clíona’s grandson,’ she said, giving me a self-satisfied look. ‘His father, Maxim, is Clíona’s son – the one the vampires took from her.’
I gaped at her in astonishment for a moment, then it clicked into place. ‘Maxim’s the reason why she laid the droch guidhe curse – but he’s supposed to be dead?’
‘Which is what she and the vamps wanted the rest of the other fae to think.’
‘She? Clíona knew her son wasn’t dead?’
‘Not immediately, but by the time she found out the truth, it was too late. She’d already laid the droch guide.’
I frowned down at the stone-flagged floor, trying to see the whole picture. ‘So he was a vamp, and not dead, but why keep it a secret?’
Helen’s lips thinned in derision. ‘Don’t you mean: why didn’t she tell the fae that she’d been so blind that she’d fallen in love with a vamp’s blood-pet, had a son with him, and then blamed the lesser fae when the vamps took her son from her and made him a vampire? And then cursed them to know the grief in her heart, a curse which made all their faeling children into vampire victims? A curse she could not remove?’
Ok-aay, so I could see how Clíona owning up to that so wouldn’t go down well.
‘Instead,’ Helen carried on with an air of imparting great news, ‘she tried to break the curse by having another child.’
‘Yeah, I heard,’ I said, remembering what Grianne, my faerie dogmother, had told me during my side-trip to Disney Heaven, why Clíona had given birth to Angel. ‘A child for a child.’
‘Oh, so you do know some of the story then.’ Helen sniffed. ‘Of course, actually producing another child was where Clíona ran into difficulties. The vamps hadn’t just given the Gift to Maxim, but they’d given it to his father too, so of course he’d been made infertile.’
‘Look,’ I said, ‘you keep saying that, but you only have to look at your own son to know it’s not true.’
Helen’s superior expression reached new levels as she shook her head. ‘Unlike you, I do know what I’m talking about. Vampires are infertile. The only way a vampire can make anyone pregnant, including a sidhe, is by using a lot of concentrated fertility magic. Clíona isn’t a fertility fae, so when it came to having a child to break the curse, she entered into a bargain with the Morrígan for a Fertility spell.’ She gave me a smug look. ‘Where do you think they got the fertility from?’
Horror seeped into me as I realised what she was saying. ‘Clíona and the Morrígan stole the fae’s fertility?’
‘They borrowed it,’ she confirmed briskly. ‘Clíona was supposed to give it back, but when she sent her daughter Rhiannon to return the Fertility spell, the spell was lost.’
Rhiannon was Angel – and she’d lost the spell! Fuck, no wonder London’s fae were dying. And everyone was blaming it on the curse – which was sort of at fault – but if they didn’t know their fertility had been stolen, they couldn’t look for it. That was a huge secret Clíona – and anyone else who knew about it – was keeping. Only why would they? Why not tell everyone and get them searching?
But as I thought about it, the tail-end of Helen’s memory replayed itself in my mind: Angel kissed baby Jack’s head . . . and a pendant was hanging round her neck . . . The huge sapphire pendant that Helen always wore. The one that was even now shining like a captive star beneath her blouse. Damn. No one who knew about the Fertility spell needed to find it, because they all knew where it was.
So the million-pound question was: why hadn’t anyone taken it back?
‘You’ve got the Fertility spell,’ I said slowly, itching to reach out and rip the pendant from her neck.
‘Yes.’ She cradled the sapphire in her hand.
Finn’s words came back to me when he’d told me about Helen getting pregnant with Nicky: ‘We were just fooling around . . .’
‘You used it to trick Finn, didn’t you?’ I accused, then a disturbing thought hit me. ‘He doesn’t know about the pendant, does he?’
‘No, of course not—’ She paused, then sighed. ‘I did consider telling him, but I had a baby daughter, a new husband, and status in the Witches’ Council at last . . . and then Craig demanded to know how I’d had another child. He blackmailed me into telling
him. Since then he’s been using the Fertility spell in his experiments.’
‘You selfish bitch!’ Bile rose in my throat. ‘London’s fae are dying. Faelings have died, not just the two most recent ones, but all those who ended up as vamp victims. Don’t you care?’
‘Faelings have always died at the hands of the vampires, Ms Taylor,’ she said bluntly. ‘It’s sad, but no one can save them all. But what’s more important now is saving my daughter.’
‘You do know that there’s no way out for you in all this, don’t you?’ I gave her a frank look. ‘It won’t be long before the police know all about Dr Craig and his experiments, and your involvement in them. The note you left me indicates you’ve got some connection to the vamps, so you’re finished with the Witches’ Council.’ And Finn will probably never forgive you for putting his daughter in danger – but I kept that comment to myself. ‘But you could make it go easier if you help me. All I need to do is find the entrance, then I can crack it open and let the police in to rescue Nicky and all the other faelings.’ I waved at the Stepfords. ‘Then they can all have their babies with a lot more care than this.’
‘No, Ms Taylor,’ she said firmly, not even considering my idea. ‘The Time-sync spell means it will be another twenty-four hours before any help can get here. By then it will be too late for Nicky. This way you’ll end up as Craig’s next experiment, and not her. I’d say I’m sorry, but I’d be lying. But I will sweeten the deal for you,’ she added. ‘If you’ll give your word to do what Craig wants, I’ll tell Nicky about the pendant, so she can tell her father.’
I did consider her proposition. It would save Nicky, and Finn and the rest of London’s fae would know their fertility had been stolen and where it was – and where it had been. And unlike Nicky, Dr Craig’s experiment wasn’t going to end up with me pregnant, not with the Morrígan’s Chastity/Contraceptive spell Tavish had sicced on me. But the spell was also the reason I couldn’t agree to Helen’s terms, even if I wanted to. I couldn’t give my word to let myself be impregnated, or even act as a surrogate, or whatever Dr Craig wanted, not when I knew it to be impossible, and when I couldn’t lie.
Damn. It was a no-win either way.
I needed an Option Three.
Helen leaned towards me. ‘Oh, and if you’re worried about having to have sex with him,’ she said, ‘don’t be. One: you’re much too old and flat-chested for his tastes, and two: he’s a scientist, and his experiments have to be done just so. So do you agree, Ms Taylor?’
I took a deep breath, looked at Jack, still curled up asleep on the floor—
And I punched Helen, a hard uppercut to the jaw. Her head snapped back and, satisfyingly, she crumpled like yesterday’s news.
Spell shackles might stop you using magic (not that I had any), but they don’t stop you using your fists.
Yep, Option Three worked for me.
Chapter Fifty-one
‘So, has she told you, my lady?’ Jack’s question startled me and I almost swallowed the key I had between my teeth, the one with which I was trying to unlock the shackle on my uninjured arm. I looked up to find him regarding me gravely out of his indigo-coloured sidhe eyes. Damn.
I spat the key out into my palm. ‘I knew I should’ve clocked you one on the head while you were still asleep.’ Trouble was, I’d been worried I’d wake him up, rather than knock him out.
‘Glad you didn’t, my lady,’ he said, casting a concerned look down at Helen, whose head I’d pillowed on her large leather bag (which contained nothing more useful than water, veggie sticks and cereal bars; I’d drunk the water). ‘Don’t worry, I’m here to help,’ he added.
I narrowed my eyes, wondering exactly how helpful he was going to be, and who he was really working for. Only one way to find out. I held out my shackled arm in invitation.
He reached out cautiously and took the key from my palm. I stifled a relieved sigh as he unlocked the shackle. It fell on the stone floor with a clang.
‘Proof enough?’ he asked. ‘Now, has my mother told you?’
‘If we’re talking about the Fertility spell, then yes.’
He took a deep breath, then asked earnestly, ‘Do you have it?’
I went to open my mouth . . . and then gave him a horrified look.
‘By the goddess.’ He raked his hands through his blond hair in frustration. ‘She promised she would tell you if you agreed.’
I grabbed his jumper. ‘Tell me what?’
‘There’s a Protection spell on it,’ he said, clenching his fists, ‘one that ensures anyone who knows about the Fertility spell can never find it, even if they’re staring right at it. And they can’t use force to get her to give the spell up, otherwise it will destroy the fertility in the spell.’
‘Fine, I get the picture,’ I interrupted. So that was how the Witch-bitch had managed to keep hold of it all this time: she’d booby-trapped it. And why no one, like the goddesses, or Tavish and Malik, would talk to me (I mentally forgave them both), and why the only clues anyone would give me were as cryptic as Hell’s worst crossword.
It also explained the pendant’s highly confusing flickering in and out of sight during the dozen tries it’d taken for me to remove it from Helen’s own neck – and why I couldn’t see – or see – the pendant even though it was nestling between my breasts, unless I concentrated on the sad memory of Helen losing the baby Jack. But Jack was Helen’s son and the Morrígan’s bird, so I kept all that to myself.
‘Crap,’ I muttered. ‘How the hell did she manage to cast such a complicated spell? It must have taken her years. But there has to be a way to get it.’ I glowered at Helen, lying on the stone floor. ‘She has to have at least a hundred spells on her.’ Blinging herself up like a goblin queen had no doubt been extra camouflage. ‘It’ll take days to go through them all. But if you can fly her out’ – I looked hopefully at Jack – ‘and take her to the police, then—’
‘I’m sorry, my lady, I can’t. I have to procure my sister’s safety first, then I have to answer the Morrígan’s call to bring your friend here, as soon as the Time-sync spell runs its course.’ He reached out and touched Helen’s hand, suddenly looking very young again. ‘Why didn’t she tell you, when she promised she would?’
‘Ah,’ I said, grimacing, ‘maybe because I didn’t agree to do what she wanted.’
‘You didn’t agree?’ His mouth gaped in shock.
‘I couldn’t give my word,’ I said, and told him about the Chastity/Contraceptive spell.
He hunched over and hugged himself as he thought it through. I contemplated calling a Stun spell from one of the shackles, but decided he might be more useful awake. So instead I kept a cautious eye on him, in case he decided to regain the upper wing – sorry, hand – and knock me out so he could still swap me for Nicky. Although, to be honest, I had him pegged as more the follow-the-plan sort than a decide-what-to-do-next-when-things-go-wrong type of guy.
‘But what about my sister?’ he said finally with a plaintive look. ‘I gave my word to mother to help her. How am I supposed to get her to safety now if you can’t be traded in her place?’
Mentally I heaved a relieved sigh: I’d guessed right about him. ‘Okay,’ I said to Jack, trying to be reassuring for both of us, ‘it’s not all bad’ – yet – ‘and I’ve got a plan worked out’ – hopefully – ‘so here’s what we’ll do.’
After I’d finished telling him, I made a carry-pack out of Helen’s cardigan for the shackles with their Stun spells and tied it round my waist, Jack tagged my injured shoulder and arm with another of his mother’s Pain-Numbing spells, then I left him with her in the circle. There was nothing he could do until Nicky put in an appearance.
I headed for the far end of the room, hugging close to the stone wall, and skirting round the various suits of armour that had appeared from nowhere (or maybe the magic had picked them out of my head?), until I reached the Look-Away veil. Behind it was a pair of metal double doors that looked like they’d be more at home on
a modern lock-up instead of in the Tower of London. They had a thick wooden beam across them holding them shut, and a large shiny-steel padlock. I looked, and saw the black bars of a Knock-Back Ward buzzing across their metal surface. Lined up by the side of them were half a dozen empty hospital beds like those the smiling Stepford mums-to-be were happily and quietly lying on.
Relief and hope filled me. I’d found the way out.
Now to sort out the time problem.
I made my way quietly to the grandfather clock. Behind the door next to it came the sound of soft snoring. I cracked the door open to find a rosy-cheeked nurse asleep with her feet up in an easy chair: the duty nurse Jack had told me about. Tiptoeing in, I called one of the shackles’ Stun spells and tapped it on her head. It flashed green mint-scented lightning, and she jerked, then subsided into unconsciousness, putting her out of it for a good couple of hours.
I turned back to contemplate the grandfather clock. Cracking the spells on the doors and the clock was a non-starter with twenty-odd pregnant females and half a dozen babies in the room. It would be like exploding a bomb in the place, and they were too close to ground zero. Absorbing the spells was a no-go too; rescuing anyone while you’re unconscious is one of those impossible-to-do things. And teasing the magic apart was too time-consuming (no pun intended).
But if I could get the clock to finish its chime, get everything back in sync and convince the magic to open the doors somewhere useful in the humans’ world, then I could absorb the Wards and take the hit. Trouble was, someone, like Dr Craig or one of his minions was going to notice what I was doing sooner or later. So I needed . . . an emergency bolt hole.
Wincing, I bit into my wrist and cast a circle of blood drops on the flagstone floor in front of the clock and smeared them together: my own mini blood-Ward, just large enough for me to kneel in. I opened the clock’s long door and pursed my lips at the two hanging weights, neither of which had a handy label. Reaching up I opened the clock face door, then, sending a prayer to both the goddesses who I hoped were listening, I started physically moving the large hand.
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