‘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 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 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.’
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, Finn,’ I said, determined. ‘Someone’s used her blood and her connection to the child to open a gate between here and the Fair Lands. That same someone has let another sidhe into London.’
‘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, Finn. Who else would have access to it?’
He grabbed his phone, pressed a button and clamped it to his ear. After a few seconds, he asked, ‘Helen, when was the last time you used blood in a spell?’
I pressed my lips together; nice to see his ex was on speed-dial, and that she answered him almost faster than the speed of light.
‘No, I need the answer first, then I’ll tell you.’ He snagged a pen and pulled his pad towards him. ‘That was the Seek-Out spell you did at Old Scotland Yard, wasn’t it? And before that?’ He listened. ‘More than a month ago, right. And what about the Witches’ Council Blood Bank?’
I raised my eyebrows. The council kept a Blood Bank for spells?
‘Okay.’ His face turned thoughtful. ‘Who would have access to it?’ He scribbled a couple of names on the pad in front of him. ‘Yes.’ He met my gaze briefly and admitted, ‘She’s with me.’
Damn, he just had to tell her, didn’t he? On the other hand, he couldn’t lie outright, and if he’d been evasive she’d have twigged.
‘No, I will not—and neither will you, not until after I ring you back, okay?’ His knuckles whitened as he gripped his pen. ‘Helen, it’s to do with what happened in the past, with the changeling.’ Another longer pause, then, ‘Five minutes, no more, and I’ll phone you back.’
He thumbed the phone off and looked at me, his eyes unreadable. ‘She says there’s no blood stored at the police station; they use it too infrequently. They call in a police doctor as and when they need it. So there’s no possibility of anyone stealing it from there.’
‘And the witches’ Blood Bank?’
‘The council takes donations from all working witches for use in the more complicated spells; it’s easier than trying to get them all together at casting time. Helen gives once a month.’
I could see the benefits. Most Witches’ Council spells took a whole coven—thirteen witches—which was why they were so damned expensive. ‘When did she last donate?’ I asked.
He tapped his pen. ‘A week ago yesterday.’
Yes! Now we were getting somewhere. I jerked my head towards the scribbles in front of him. ‘Who’s got access?’
He flipped the pad round to face me. ‘These three are the administrators.’
I didn’t recognise the first two, but the third—‘Sandra Wilcox is one of my neighbours.’
‘I know, and she’s also a highly respected member of the Witches’ Council, and not only that, she’s over eighty years old. Somehow I can’t see her stealing blood and persuading a sidhe to kill someone.’
‘She’s also a paranoid old witch who’s been campaigning like mad for the last month to get me evicted. Can Helen check and see if her blood’s still there?’
‘It won’t be. Blood is destroyed if it’s not used within five days. It loses its potency.’
‘Destroyed by the administrators, no doubt,’ I said drily. ‘So the old witch could’ve used it and no one would be any the wiser.’ I stood. ‘I’m going over there to find out what she knows.’
‘Gen, I’m really not sure that’s a good idea. Let me fill Helen in and she can arrange to talk to her.’
‘C’mon, Finn,’ I sighed, ‘no way am I going to let my fate hang on two witches, not when both of them are fully-paid-up members of the Get Rid of the Sidhe Club. And Helen’s got every reason to keep this under wraps, ’cause she’s hardly likely to want giving up her child to the sidhe to become public knowledge, is she?’