‘No, messed up because I discovered you weren’t in control of the magic,’ he said, his own voice firm, ‘and between the magic encouraging you and the salaich sìol, and you not having dated recently, well, it probably meant you weren’t thinking straight.’
In other words, because I hadn’t had sex recently, I was supposed to be gagging for it and anyone would do. Fucking sidhe sex myth; it was the stupid reason behind most of my current problems.
‘And I didn’t want to take advantage,’ he finished quietly.
So Grace was sort of right about why he’d backed off; not that his ‘not wanting to take advantage’ made me feel any better, not now.
‘I admit the salaich sìol and your parentage came as a surprise, ’ he carried on. ‘The elders didn’t tell me about either, and I haven’t asked them if they even know. But as you said yourself, it’s not really relevant: you’re sidhe, and your child will have whatever genetics you want it to. It’s a choice the sidhe have always made when they breed with Others.’ A muscle twitched along his jaw. ‘All I was supposed to do was get your agreement to the child being satyr—which was okay when I thought you understood what was going on, but then I realised you didn’t, so I backed off.’
A hollow, empty feeling settled beneath my breastbone. I didn’t know if I wanted a Happy Ever After with Finn—or anyone else—right now, but I had wanted a chance at Happy for Now with him. But the whole curse solution thing turned all that upside down; Happy for Now didn’t work when it was my child-bearing ability he wanted and not just me. Not to mention it all sounded even more depressingly premeditated now—particularly the fact that the whole set-up with Finn and Spellcrackers had been organised by his herd so he’d be in with a shot at getting me pregnant. I stared out of the window, looking at the heavy, grey rain clouds darkening the October sky, locked the hurt and disappointment away and tried to look at it logically. Okay, with the curse hanging over their heads, I could understand why—hell, if breaking the curse involved just me, then I wouldn’t even have to think about it—but it would mean bringing a child into the world for something other than its natural purpose. The magic is capricious and fickle at the best of times; throw in a curse and who knew what grief the child would have to bear.
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 Finn had agreed to it all before he’d even met me—
‘Fuck, Finn.’ I curled my hands into fists. ‘Doesn’t it bother you that they pimped you out as a stud?’
‘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, Finn, that’s a fait accompli.’
‘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 my choice, 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,’ Finn said sadly, crouching down in front of me, ‘even if all of London’s fae did give you that choice, I’m not sure the magic would.’
‘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 pregnant was 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 encourage me ... 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 Finn’s ‘where do we go from here’ was him asking for a decision about him. And I wasn’t yet ready to make that decision—not to mention the real question hanging over me: what would happen if the curse attached itself to the child? That wasn’t one Finn—or, I suspected anyone else, for that matter—could or would answer. And magic aside, while they’d all got it into their heads that a sidhe-born child would break the curse, I wasn’t convinced ... But no matter where that left me, Finn or any of them, it wasn’t going to be resolved here and now.
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 Finn’s and straightened in the chair. ‘What happened when you and Helen went to see the florist’s lad last night?’
‘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.’