The Miss Education of Dr. Exeter (Paranormal Investigator)

by Jillian Stone

  Mia squinted. “How did you get hold of Exeter’s bag?”

  He set the satchel down next to her. “I used my wizarding ways.” His sly grin and narrowed gaze lingered for a moment. A shiver traveled through her—his essence—an exotic, subtle kind of magic that felt . . . Mia caught her breath. He studied her reaction with interest. “I collected one of your evening gowns and a few unmentionables.” He nodded to the folded pile beside the kit.

  She was being drawn to him. No doubt a spell of some kind, just like in the shower. She steeled herself and was aided by the interruption of another contraction.

  Phaeton strained to hold America through the bars. “I’m here, darling.”

  “Don’t you dare darling me,” America gasped as the contraction grew stronger. “You did this to me.”

  Undaunted by Prospero’s wide stance and dark glare, Mia pleaded with the wizard. “Please let him out. He should be by her side—hold the baby, once she arrives.”

  “Phaeton stays where he is. You can move her closer to the cell, if you wish.” Prospero directed the two bulbous-headed droolers to unlock the cuffs on America’s wrists. He then lifted America up in his arms. “What are you waiting for? Move the bench.” The smallish creatures pushed the heavy wooden seat against the cell bars and Mia covered it with a blanket and sheet, quickly propping several pillows at one end. Prospero set her down gently and turned for the door. “I won’t be long.”

  Mia placed America’s hand in Phaeton’s. “Squeeze.”

  A sudden feeling of abandonment came over her—not that this man was much comfort, but he was a wizard. He could make things happen. “Wait. Who are you meeting with?” She was well aware of the audacity of her question. “In case I need to get ahold of you.”

  He stopped abruptly. “. . . Eight rue de Talleyrand. I have an engagement with a Mr. Julian Ping.” He pivoted back to her slowly. “Know him?”

  Mia shot upright and stared. She neither confirmed nor denied any knowledge of Ping, but even so she suspected he saw through her silence. A wry, thin smile tugged at the ends of Prospero’s mouth. He glanced at America, who was beginning to puff again. “Miss Jones, I leave you in capable hands.” He nodded to his henchmen. “Make every effort to provide Miss Chadwick with whatever she needs.” The moment the iron door slammed shut, Mia dressed in a hurry.

  Prospero knows he’s headed into a trap. Her heart fluttered with fear and, oddly, relief—for everyone concerned. Ping was a powerful jinni. He and Tim Noggy would capture the wizard—put a stop this madness—finally get some answers. And the Moonstone, under Phaeton’s direction, would restore Gaspar and repair the unraveling worlds of the Outremer.

  Mia settled beside America and listened to the man inside her head, who described a huge hairy bloke, a troll, who had begun to move the larger stones and rubble away. Patience, Mia, I shall not be long.

  America read her expression. “It is Exeter—you are experiencing thought transference.”

  Mia nodded. Tell me what to do.

  All right then. Having a child is the most natural thing in the world. Reassure America that I am here and will assist you both.

  Mia sat upright. “Assist us?” Exeter, I don’t think I can do this.

  Actually, you have very little to do. America does the hard work. His thoughts were labored, and still he found the strength to tease her—ease her worry. One wrong breath and he could die. Mia, you can do this. His whispered coax served to rally her nerves.

  All right then, I’m no sissy-baby. She unbuttoned the sleeves of her gown and rolled them back. “Exeter wants me to tell you that he is here with us.”

  How far apart are the contractions—in minutes and seconds? Very important, Mia.

  “Does anyone have a timepiece?” She glanced up at Phaeton, who shook his head.

  One of their guards took out his pocket watch.

  “I need to know how long each pain lasts as well as the elapsed time between her contractions—do you understand, Tweez?”

  “Weez not dunces, miss-is—and the name’s Dee,” the creature harrumphed.

  Mia’s gaze moved from Tweez to Dee. “Oh dear, you must stop moving about or I shall never manage to keep you apart.”

  Get America settled somewhere comfortable—angled in a reclining position.

  Mia nodded. I padded a bench and there’s a clean sheet and pillows—it’s the best we can do.

  Wash your hands well with soap and water. Mia poured warm water into a hand basin and scrubbed the way she’d seen the doctor clean his hands a thousand times before. Over the next hour he kept her busy with preparations. It was if he wanted to fill her brain with chores, so that she wouldn’t have time to be fearful.

  Remove any uncomfortable clothing—along with her pantalettes.

  Support America’s head and back with pillows, and have her lie on her side.

  Periodically, Exeter would ask them to time a contraction. “How long?” Mia asked Dee.

  “The pain lasted nearly one an’ thirty. With two and few between, miss-is.”

  Mia relayed the times and waited for his reaction. There was a long pause. What is it?

  She is already in the active labor. As he thought the words, she sensed curiosity in his tone. Ask her how long she has been feeling these pains.

  It took Mia a while to drag it out of her, but America finally admitted she had felt twinges early in the afternoon. Good Christ. Mia, you’ll need to have a look at her cervix.

  “I wanted to help find Phaeton. If I had said anything . . .” America’s lower lip formed a pout. “There would have been a change in plans.”

  She was right, of course. And she would have been better off right now—they all would, Phaeton being the exception. Exeter would have remained at the hotel—to attend her. He wouldn’t be buried under a pile of rubble, near death.

  Don’t say it, Mia—Phaeton, either.

  Mia shot a warning glance at Phaeton, and shook her head. “Yes, well, we must all make the best of it now.” She followed Exeter’s every instruction to the letter, and he kept them coming nonstop. Occasionally, she allowed herself a moment to marvel. The way a woman’s body was so splendidly made for birthing. And how resilient America was, as well as brave.

  At the time of delivery, she should lie on her back with her knees bent and spread apart.

  I believe we can manage that. The bench America lay on was crude—but as wide as a cot.

  Now, have America take deep, slow breaths, particularly during contractions.

  Mia looked up at Phaeton, who was doing rather well for a first-time father. He sat in his cell, with his arms extended through the bars. At the start of a contraction he helped America sit up and crooned sweet words, encouraging her to push. Between pains, he rubbed her shoulders.

  America’s limbs began to tremble—so much so, Mia had to hold onto her feet.

  “Is that normal?” From out of the blue, a bit of panic appeared to grip Phaeton. “Honey, I’m not sure I’m cut out for—”

  “There now, America.” Mia interrupted Phaeton’s moment of weakness. Wiping the brow of the mother, she turned to the expectant father. “Phaeton, the leg trembling is nothing to worry over.” Mia leaned closer to the cell bars and whispered. “Exeter insists that you not fret out loud—worries the mother.”

  More than a bit dazed, Phaeton nodded. “Sorry.”

  She wiped the perspiration off his brow with a cool cloth. “You’re both doing wonderfully well—chin up.” Mia winked at him.

  “Ready to be a papa, Papa?” America smiled at Phaeton and he brought her hand to his lips. Mia smiled at the sight of Phaeton speechless, in awe of America, worried about their circumstances. He was going to be a wonderful father—protective, caring—who would have guessed?

  She estimated the cervix opening for Exeter.

  The baby is coming fast for a first child—be sure to keep massaging her perineum—we are going to try for no tearing, which means we will bring the baby out gent
ly. And as if his comment wasn’t worrisome enough, Exeter let loose a litany of do not’s:

  DO NOT allow America to push vigorously until you see her vagina bulging with the baby’s head. Pushing too early, before she is completely dilated, might tear the cervix.

  DO NOT pull the child from the vagina.

  DO NOT tug on the umbilical cord.

  DO NOT cut the umbilical cord—wait for me. I promise I will be there shortly.

  Exeter even had an order for America, which Mia passed along to the young mother: “DO NOT push between contractions.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief when the head crowned during a contraction. Mia and Phaeton encouraged America to push. Have her take a deep breath, hold it, and push for a count of ten.

  Until now she had not wished to unduly pressure Exeter. The man was trying to stay alive, while he guided her through the birth of a child. To say nothing of the distraction of being dug out of a pile of limestone. Mia inhaled a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. She had to ask.

  When, Exeter?

  Time to bring this baby into the world, love.

  For the first time in hours, Exeter was able to move his legs. He rocked his toes and stretched his calf muscles to encourage circulation. There was one large slab of stone left on the pile. As soon as the troll lifted the rock off, he wanted to be able to run, not walk, to Prospero’s den.

  He caught sight of the troll at work, hoisting the chunk of limestone off the significantly smaller heap of rubble. “What’s your name, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Gobb Filkins since the spell.”

  “And your real name?”

  “Archibald Dunbar Stuart, formerly the Earl of Moray.” The troll tossed a football-sized rock aside.

  “Doctor Jason Exeter.” There was no doubt the troll could toss a caber or two. “Peerage of Scotland. You’re a long way from home.”

  “That I am, doctor.” Archibald peered over the pile of stone. “And how’s the bairn coming?

  “She’s about to be born.”

  So far, the birthing had been textbook. Place your hand against the area below the vaginal opening and apply gentle pressure during each contraction. The pressure would prevent the baby from coming too fast. He instructed her to place her other hand above the baby’s head. This will help you control how quickly the baby’s head comes out of the vaginal opening.

  Archibald clapped the dust off his hands. “There now—shall we get you out from under this hill of rock?”

  The large troll wrapped his arms under Exeter’s and pulled. After a huge exhale and grunt, the beastly character had moved him only a few inches. “Once more, laddie, and see if you can’t spare a bit of your power this time.” Odd, but he was sure the troll’s speech had changed from refined English gentlemen to a brawny Scot with a brogue.

  Exeter summoned whatever potent force he had left. “Ready?”

  The baby’s head is nearly out, Exeter.

  Support the baby’s head with your hands. And tell America to stop pushing. With the next contraction, the baby should slip out of America. He was vaguely aware that he heard Mia call out to Phaeton. “Look.”

  Exeter—her head is covered with a—filmy substance . . .

  He smiled. I’m not surprised. He pictured a thin transparent membrane over the child’s face, remnants of the amniotic sac. A veil, some called it—the child would have powers and was destined for greatness. Fitting for a child of Phaeton Black and America Jones. You may remove the caul and begin to clean the baby’s mouth and nose—preferably with the suction bulb in my kit.

  Just one more contraction, Mia.

  The troll ran his arms around his upper torso and tightened his grip. “Give us all you got, laddie.” Exeter unleashed the potent energy, loosening rock and stone until he felt a sudden release. Archibald landed on his backside as he pulled him free of the rubble.

  She is born. Mia’s thought was one of awe. He could feel her tears of happiness.

  Newborns are slippery, so hold the baby with a towel. Exeter patted the troll’s arm. “Good man, Archie.” He sucked in a deep breath of air, and let the oxygen fill his lungs.

  Archibald scrambled to his feet and pulled Exeter upright. “Can you stand?” The troll held him upright and headed down the passageway. “No need asking—you’ll want me to show you the way to the wizard’s den.”

  Even though he could not see the tears of joy on Mia’s face, he ought to feel them. An intuition sent a cold chill through his body. Talk to me, Mia.

  Oh Exeter, she is not breathing!

  Mia—DO NOT CUT THE CORD! I will be there shortly. He looked up at the troll. “As quickly as we can.” Archibald kept him upright long enough to gain some coordination over stiff joints and wobbly legs.

  Stimulate the baby by rubbing her back.

  “Up ahead, sir—the narrow passage to your right. Slip through there and you’ll come across a cell block—the remains of an old dungeon.”

  Exeter turned back. “You’re not coming?”

  “Someone has to keep watch. If you require my services, a shout will suffice.”

  “Thank you, Archie.” Exeter made his way down the dark corridor, feeling his way in the dark. I’m almost there, Mia. Lower the baby’s head and slap the soles of her feet.

  Exeter found a door—then another—this one opened. He stepped inside an empty bedchamber. Where are you, Mia? No one is here. A sparkle of green caught this eye. The emerald collar lay on top of a coil of leash. The very idea of Mia alone with Prospero caused a number of lethal thoughts. He stuffed the jewels into his pocket and pictured the randy wizard being sucked into Tim Noggy’s trap—the portable black box. As he made his way back down the hallway, a large iron door opened and one of those odd creatures from the café waved him forward.

  Mia straddled a kind of makeshift bed, hunched over the infant, while America and Phaeton anxiously looked on. Exeter fell on his knees beside her and turned the baby over—not horribly blue. “My aspirator.” Mia handed him the syringe. Prying open the little mouth, he suctioned out any blood or mucus. Clear—Mia had done her work well. Exeter covered the newborn’s face with his mouth—two quick, gentle puffs of air into her nose and mouth. “Come on, Luna, breathe.”

  In between breaths, Mia rubbed the infant with a towel.

  Propped on her elbows, America beamed. “Breathe for your papa—”

  A shake of tiny fists answered, as if to say “I have arrived” in infant speak. Next came a huge yawn, and a wailing good cry. Hard to discern how loud the babe was, as a number of cheers and cries went up around the room. Even the wizard’s minions appeared cheerful. Exeter placed the infant on America’s belly and tied off the umbilical cord. A swab or two of tincture and a snip of his surgical scissors finished the job.

  He nodded to one of the guards at the door. “More warm water—if you would.” Scanning the small room, Phaeton’s expression stopped him momentarily. Never had he seen an expression quite like it. Phaeton was in love—smitten by the scrawny, pink little girl in America’s arms.

  Smiling, he turned to Mia. Tears glistened in her eyes. “She is beautiful, Exeter.” A few errant drops rolled down her cheeks.

  His arms went around her. “You are a marvel, my dear.” He rubbed her back and she loosed tears of relief mixed with joy. The feel of her in his arms again, the warmth of her—good God, even the scent of her reminded him how much he adored her, and how much trouble they were still in. Nuzzling her neck, he stole a peek at the hideous creature that remained in the room.

  America groaned. “Another pain,” she puffed.

  He turned to the new mother. “You are sloughing off the placenta. This last contraction should not be too painful.” Afterward, he assigned duties. Mia would clean baby Luna and wrap her in bunting. Exeter would care for America. The other identically hideous guard arrived carrying a pitcher of steaming hot water. Stepping inside the cell block, the poor wretch turned and closed the door. He noted a mighty clun
k, but there was no sound of a latch, nor the tumble of locks. It would seem the door could only be barred from the outside.

  Exeter quickly formulated an escape plan.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  EXETER EYEBALLED THE WIZARD’S MEAGER STAFF. “I understand you are charged with the aid and comfort of these ladies.” He poured fresh water into a basin and splashed his face. “I would like to suggest a bit of refreshment—hot tea and something light, perhaps a few biscuits and finger sandwiches.”

  He washed his hands and arms up to the elbow and toweled off. The two horrid little monsters made gurgling and hissing noises at one another—squabbling, he supposed, over who was to be sent off on the errand.

  “He thinks you want fingers—actual fingers—in your sandwiches.” An amused Phaeton explained to the guards. “Dainty morsels, Tweez, made with butter and jam—with the crusts cut off.”

  Exeter folded two clean cloths, and removed a bottle of chloroform from his kit. Across the room, Mia sat beside America, cooing and fussing over baby Luna. Everyone, including Phaeton, had been scrubbed clean and bundled into warm clothing. Exeter made eye contact with the new father, who shifted his gaze from the chloroform to Prospero’s minions. He acknowledged Phaeton with a nod. If they were to try for a breakout, it would be best to give it a go sooner rather than later. There was a chance the wizard might outwit Ping and return to the den. It was not an impossible idea. None of them knew exactly how clever or devious the man was. No doubt Phaeton would have some insights—but that would have to wait. For now, Prospero remained an enigma.

  Exeter stole a glance at Mia, lounging happily beside America. For an instant, he allowed an uncomfortable thought creep into his mind. He wondered what insights Mia had gleaned from her brief encounter with the man. He had found the emerald collar in the man’s private chamber. Absently, she swept up a few wisps of hair and pinned them into her topknot. Sensing his attention, she smiled and nodded.

  So they were ready.