Her mention of the ravens reminded me of the bird at Tower Bridge this morning, and the one bobbing its head at me from the stone archway outside Old Scotland Yard. He/she/they had to be something to do with ‘Jane Bird’, it was too much of a coincidence otherwise. But I realised the raven—easier to think of it as only one bird—couldn’t be from the Tower: the Tower ravens agreed to have their wings clipped when they took the job and couldn’t fly for the duration of their contracts. Although that didn’t mean ‘Jane Bird’ wasn’t a relative. Something definitely to look into, I decided, and flipped open the file. The top sheet had Hugh’s signature on it.
‘That’s everything I’ve been able to obtain so far,’ Victoria Harrier said, her efficient tone suggesting that I should find it impressive. It was, sort of, if I hadn’t known that Hugh would’ve given me the same info soon anyway. ‘I’ve also arranged for you to meet with the Raven Master and the ravens tomorrow lunchtime. I will, of course, be with you, to forestall any future problems with your Conditional Caution and DI Crane’s own investigation.’
A meeting with the Raven Master? Nice! Victoria Harrier’s practical help was, well, practical, except … I tapped the file as I narrowed my eyes at her. ‘You have to know that DI Crane doesn’t like me’—an understatement, but I was being polite—‘and while I noticed you and she don’t get on … well, to be blunt, you’re a witch, and you detest vamps, so how do I know you’re not just stitching me up in some way?’ Okay, so maybe I wasn’t being that polite.
‘A valid question, Ms Taylor.’ She smiled. ‘I hope I can put your mind at rest, if you’ll bear with me. I take it you’ve heard of the Merlin Foundation. But do you know what it does?’
The Merlin Foundation financed the HOPE clinic where I volunteered, and others like it, plus it was into schools and other things. Its bureaucracy was something you had to experience to believe when it came to asking for funds: the doctors at HOPE were forever complaining about it. ‘I’ve heard it described as a sort of Magical Masonic Society devoted to charitable works,’ I said, going for diplomatic.
She laughed. ‘I know it’s sometimes seen as secretive, but then, it’s been around a long time. And you’re quite right that it’s devoted to a tremendous amount of valuable charitable work, but it is the older, more private side of the Foundation that I want to tell you about.’ She smiled, and proceeded to give me a history lesson. ‘The Foundation came into being back in the fourteenth century, when the witch persecutions were at their worst. The Witches’ Council devised a plan: a select number of witches would marry into the higher echelons of our country’s ruling classes and produce sons—more wizards, of course: Great Wizards, who would grow up to occupy positions of influence, able to protect their witch relatives, and who would also marry witches chosen by the Witches’ Council, to ensure our magical legacy would continue. That tradition still carries on today, albeit in a somewhat different form.’
I had a vague memory of my old boss, Stella, mentioning the Witches’ Council had approached her about marrying a wizard when she’d been younger, and offering to pay her a Bride-Price, a kind of huge reverse dowry, but she hadn’t liked the guy—he was a stuffy prig—so she’d said no.
‘Now the Foundation is far-reaching, and with its backing, and that of their own families, many of its members occupy positions of power throughout the government, financial and legal sectors.’
‘In other words, nepotism rules.’
‘Exactly, Ms Taylor,’ she said. ‘My husband is a wizard, as are my sons. With their connections in the Foundation and my own in both the magical and legal communities, I can assure you that Helen Crane will not cause you any more problems, even if she didn’t have her youthful indiscretion to count against her.’
It sounded good, but— ‘What youthful indiscretion?’
Chapter Thirteen
‘Helen’s son, of course,’ Victoria Harrier said, ‘the one Mr Panos was talking about. Like me, Helen Crane is from a powerful witch family; she was chosen to marry a wizard, but instead she— Well, Helen developed an infatuation with some boy, and in the age-old way she found herself pregnant. The boy apparently took fright at the responsibility, and once Helen’s son was born, her family, backed by the Witches’ Council and the Foundation, agreed she should give him up to the sidhe.’
I frowned. ‘But her son was still a wizard?’
‘One with no significant family connections. So you see, she’s not looked upon kindly by the Foundation.’
Part of me was starting to feel some reluctant sympathy for the teenage Helen, if not the current one. Another part of me was still trying to assess just what Victoria Harrier’s true priorities were.
‘I hope that reassures you, Ms Taylor, that I have your best interests at heart when it comes to dealing with any problems you might meet, especially if they pertain to the fertility curse. I have my grandchildren to consider.’
There was still something not quite right about what she was saying; I just couldn’t pin down what it was.
‘Now,’ she said, ‘I understand that despite not being able to tell us why, you are convinced that “Jane Bird’s” death is to do with the curse?’
‘Yes.’ Damn goddess and her gag clause.
‘And of course, I understand your reluctance to leave the investigation of “Jane Bird’s” tragic death to the police, so I will do all I can to help you with it. The sooner her cause of death is discovered and settled, the sooner you’ll be free to move onto other more certain solutions to stop the curse.’
The penny finally dropped, with a loud splash. She didn’t just want to help; she was a fully paid-up member of the ‘get the sidhe pregnant’ brigade. And with her daughter-in-law being part water fae …
‘Let me guess. Lady Meriel is one of your connections in the magical community?’
She leaned forwards and patted my knee in what I was supposed to believe was motherly concern. ‘Lady Meriel appreciates that it is only natural for you to be worried about having a child under the circumstances, and that you are not going to make the decision to become pregnant until you’ve exhausted all other avenues. If I can help expedite those avenues for you, maybe it will make the final decision easier and quicker for you.’
The limo slowed to a halt and I glanced out the window. Trafalgar Square again. The driver had to be deliberately going in circles so Victoria Harrier could take her time talking to me on Lady Meriel’s behalf. Figured. Absently I scowled at the crowd of tourists gathered round one of huge bronze lions. They were roaring with laughter at the pixie pack dancing a jig along the lion’s broad back. Automatically, I made a mental note: about a dozen of them. Another week and Trafalgar Square would be overrun and the council would be calling Spellcrackers to banish them. Pixies are sort of ugly-cute, even if they are a pain to catch, and I always got the job— Except this time I wouldn’t. Not now I’d resigned. A sick feeling roiled in my stomach. But it wasn’t only the loss of my job making me feel ill, it was the goddess’ command: You will give them a new life.
If the fae knew that, I’d probably end up pregnant within the hour. Now that was a scary thought. But they didn’t, and ironically, it was thanks to the goddess’ totally wonderful gag clause.
I grimaced and turned back to Victoria Harrier. ‘In that case, why don’t we start by looking into those other avenues now, seeing as I’m not going anywhere?’ I said, drily, and settled back against the seat—it was either that or force my way out of the limo. I was saving that option for later.