"Niall?"
"I'm here."
"What are you doing?"
"Thinking."
She stood over me, a vague figure in the gloom. "What are you thinking about?"
"Nothing. Just something Garvin said."
She nudged my knee with hers until I shifted along the sofa, leaving room for her to slide in beside me. She sat on the edge, capturing my hand between hers, twining her fingers into mine.
"Niall, am I a burden to you?"
"What?"
"Because if I am, you don't have to stay with me."
"What are you talking about? Of course you're not a burden to me."
"Then why don't you talk to me any more? Ever since Alex died… since you were told she had died… you haven't said a word to me."
"I have. I've been busy, that's all."
"You've spoken to me, but we haven't talked. You're not telling me anything. Have I done something wrong?"
"No! It's not you. It's me."
"If I've done something, you have to tell me what it is."
"You haven't done anything, I promise. I was just so wrapped up in what happened. I'm sorry. I'll try harder."
"You're doing it again."
"What?"
"Pushing me away, closing me out, clamming up."
She tried to stand, but I had her hand and gently pulled her back down. "Stay, please?" She relented and sat back down beside me.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She was right. I had insulated myself from the pain of losing Alex, and in doing so I had isolated myself from everyone, even Blackbird. I think she understood that better than I did. It was hard to admit that the closeness we had found together was so fragile; that it could be undermined so quickly.
"I'm thinking about Alex." I told her what Garvin had said.
"You're not seriously thinking of doing that, are you?"
"Garvin may be right. It may be what's best for her."
"Rubbish!"
"She may not be able to come back to us, and I can't deal with it. I just can't." I shook my head in the twilight.
"You're not thinking straight, Niall. This is your daughter. Did she sound mad?"
"She didn't say much. There wasn't time."
"Was she raving or screaming? Was there violence?"
"No, she just sounded lost and alone."
"Then find her. She's relying on you. You are the only person in the world who can help her. You have to have faith that she is your daughter and nothing-" She leaned forward and cupped my chin in her fingers so she could look straight into my eyes. "Nothing changes that. If she is truly beyond help, deal with it then, don't fail her now."
I stood and paced the floor between the shrouded furniture. "What if Garvin's right? What if she's insane, dangerous even?"
"What if this? What if that? Does it make a difference? You're her father, Niall."
"No, you're right. I have to find her."
"Of course I'm right. She's your daughter."
She got to her feet and came to me, easing into my arms. Between us, there was an answering kick from the bump in her belly.
She looked down and when she lifted her eyes back to mine there was a tiny glint of green fire in them. "I think something is coming between us."
I slumped back on to the sofa and she collapsed backwards into me and rested her head on my shoulder. "I am so fat," she said.
I stroked my hand over the bump that held my son. "It suits you."
"It does not. I look like a python that's swallowed a beach ball."
"A beach ball that kicks."
"A beach ball that's getting bigger. It's going to be touch and go. I could burst before he's cooked."
"He'll come when he's ready."
"And when will that be?"
"I don't know. It's been…" I counted in my head. "Nine months. A little more, maybe?"
Her sigh turned into a groan. "He's so heavy."
"Were you OK walking down to the village?"
"Of course. Tate's funny. He thinks I boss you around."
"You do."
"No, I don't. I make suggestions that are eminently sensible that no rational person could argue with."
"That's what I said."
She pressed her knuckle against my knee joint until I yelped. "Ow! You're mean."
"Don't argue with a pregnant woman. They can be very emotional."
"And violent, apparently."
She relaxed back into me, satisfied that she had won.
"How am I going to find her?" It was a question partly to myself.
"Maybe you'll be able to reach her again, and listen in to what's going on around her."
"No. They were panicking when I reached her the first time. They'll keep her sedated until they're sure I'm not looking for her."
"You may have to be patient."
"Not my strongest point. No, I think I need to find out who's got her. The obvious place to start is with Mr Phillips, the consultant who brought the consent forms. He must have known they were going to take her. Find him and I find a way to her."
"So find him."
"What, now?"
"Is there a better time?"
Over the fireplace there was a large mirror with a dust cloth draped partly across it. Blackbird slid sideways on to the seat and let me rise so I could draw the dust sheet down. It fell in ripples to the fireplace. Even in the gloom I could see the frame was ornate, two herons facing each other across the pool of glass. It was high above the fireplace and difficult to reach, but I didn't need contact to do this. I formed a connection with the well of darkness deep within me and reached into the depths of the mirror with my intention, connecting that focus to the core of power within me.
"Mr Phillips?"
I could feel the link with the mirror. I wondered for a moment how the mirror knew which Mr Phillips I wanted, but then realised that it was linked not to the words but to my image of him.
"Mr Phillips?"
The mirror went opaque as I intensified the connection, the surface glowing like fluorescent milk. There was a small ticking sound, increasing in pace until it was a buzz.
"Where are you, Mr Phillips?" I was beginning to like this. Once I knew where this guy was, I could use him to find my daughter.
Suddenly the sound changed. It was like bad feedback on an untuned guitar, jarring in intensity, full of wrongness. It rose to a deafening roar and the glass crazed and then flew apart in a rain of fine shards. Blackbird and I shielded ourselves and it was a moment before we both realised that the sound had gone.
The frame was empty, the mirror shattered.
FOUR
Fionh appeared in the doorway. She switched on the main light and the guilty carpet of shards glinted around me.
"What were you doing?" she asked.
"I was using the mirror," I tried to explain. "Something went wrong."
Garvin appeared at Fionh's shoulder. He surveyed the room and then entered. "So you decided to try and find her anyway?"
"Blackbird thinks she's not mad, and I agree with her."
"And if she is?"
"If she is, I'll deal with it."
"You told me earlier that you couldn't. You weren't lying."
"I'm not lying now, either."
"What changed your mind?"
"I'm her father, Garvin. I needed to remember that. I'll do what needs to be done, but she's not mad."
"You don't know that."
"Neither do you." It was stalemate.
Into the room bustled an old man. I had seen no one that old among the Feyre. Fionh moved out of his way, as did Garvin. He carried a dustpan and brush and offered his hand to lead me gently from the wreckage of the mirror.
"Mr Garvin, would you be kind enough to ask Mr Dogstar not to break any more of the furnishings if he could manage that?" he said. He went down to his knees and began carefully sweeping up glass. There was no sarcasm in the comment.