Gradually she subsided, her breathing becoming regular and rhythmic, as she clung to him until she could open her eyes. She looked up into his face.
"Shelley," he said again.
She stared up at him. "I dreamed," she said slowly, her voice cracked from salt and coughing. "I dreamed you swam down for me."
He smiled down into her face and there was the hint of an answering smile there. He stood easily, lifting her in his arms like a child, holding her gently. "You are chilled through," he said. "Come. There is a warm pool. It will ease you."
He turned and walked away towards the gap in the cliff where the caves were. Neither of them acknowledged me in the slightest. I might as well not have existed. For a second I wondered whether I had done the right thing. I wondered whether this was really what Shelley needed, but then I realised that, more than anything else, Shelley needed a chance at life.
I picked myself up and brushed the shingle from my trousers. My jacket was already stiffening with sea-water and sweat. I would need to find Greg, but not until I had at least showered off the salt. I wondered whether my spare clothes had come back from the laundry yet. I trudged across the shingle, only noticing at the last minute the shadow that lingered near the bank up to the road.
"Why," I asked, "do you always turn up when I am soaking wet, cold and tired?"
Raffmir stepped forwards into the light and smiled. He wore a long Edwardian jacket and a white ruffled shirt, making him appear oddly out of time, but he wore it comfortably and easily.
"Perhaps that is the wrong question," he said. "Perhaps the question should be, why are you always tired, cold and wet whenever we meet? For the life of me, I cannot think of a good reason for it."
"If all you've come for is to gloat, Raffmir, you know where you can stuff it."
I climbed the bank up to the road, using tufts of coarse grass to pull myself up.
"Gloating is furthest from my mind, I assure you. I came for you."
I stopped and turned. He stepped lithely up the bank towards me. In his hand was the long black scabbard of a sword.
"You swore an oath not to harm me."
"So I did, and I intend to keep it." He held out the sword. "You will be needing this."
I turned away. "It's a bit late for that now."
"On the contrary, it is exactly the time for it. Come, we must depart immediately. We cannot be late."
"Late? What for?"
"We have an appointment that must be kept or all will come awry."
"Raffmir, I'm cold and wet. I need a shower. I need fresh clothes and dry boots and some hot food inside me. After that you can tell me about appointments. OK?"
"No. Now is the moment of choice. The midnight of the solstice is upon us. There is barely enough time. Either you come with me now and I will keep my promise to return your daughter to you…"
The grin had gone. He held out the scabbard, hilt vertical, for me to take.
"…or your daughter will die tonight."
TWENTY-TWO
It was an unexpected kindness, Blackbird thought, for Ben Highsmith to collect her from the station. It meant she didn't have to bother with hitching a ride or finding a late bus. She didn't usually carry more than coins, having little use for money, and the train ticket had cost her most of her reserves.
When she'd called from the payphone she'd been worried she would run out of change, but Ben had insisted on calling her straight back and then said he would collect her inside half an hour. She wondered what she had done to deserve such good treatment, when she was already feeling guilty at bringing them the trouble that would surely follow. Still, once she had the broken Quick Knife, the blade she and Niall had left in Ben's keeping last year, she would be safe. No fey could stand against it. They could barely abide its presence.
When she told Ben what she wanted on the phone, he'd been reluctant to part with it, but had agreed to collect her all the same. He said they could talk about it over some tea.
The tea was on the table and the whole family gathered round, but the conversation still hadn't turned to the knife. Lisa sat close to Ben, her grandfather, ever happy in his shadow. She was a little taller and if anything a little leaner than she had been when they'd been here last year. James, her older brother, had filled out since Blackbird had last seen him and lost some of his puppy fat. He still had the downturned mouth of his mother, but had acquired some of his father's bulk. Their parents, Jeff and Meg, sat across the table, steaming mugs of tea in their hands.
Jeff had barely spoken since her arrival. When he'd asked Ben where Blackbird was going to sleep, Ben had just shrugged and said, "You tell me."
It was one of the questions they hadn't yet addressed. This house was filled with iron. It was in the walls, nailed into the beams and built into the fabric. It was the safest place Blackbird could think of, given who was coming after her, but she wasn't comfortable here either. It wasn't her magic that was reacting – she knew it was dormant and would not return until the baby was born – but even so the house felt unwelcoming to her, as if it hummed a sour note. It made the ache in her back worse, the skin on her elbows itch. She wasn't sure if she could rest here.
She realised that she'd missed a question from Meg, but it didn't matter as she continued her monologue without need of confirmation.
"Running about in that condition, what's that man of yours thinking?" said Meg.
"It's not his fault." Blackbird defended Niall. "He's been sent away on business."
"A fine business that means leaving a pregnant woman to look after herself. Must be due any day, surely?"
"It certainly feels like it," she agreed.
Meg must have caught the fleeting expression of trepidation in her eyes because she reached across and patted her hand.
"It's always scary the first time. It'll be over before you know and you'll have the babe in your arms. A boy, you say? Did that show up on the scan?"
"Not exactly," said Blackbird.
She could see the questions forming on Meg's face – when was the scan? What had it shown, who was her doctor? All questions she couldn't answer.
Slam! The kitchen door rattled in its frame at some heavy impact.
The room went deathly quiet. Everyone stared at the door.
"What the hell…?" Ben and Jeff were on their feet.
"What was that?" said Lisa, sounding suddenly small and nervous.
"Jeff?" said Meg.
"Dunno," said Jeff. "The dogs are out, aren't they? They'd bark if someone came." He went to the door.
"Don't open it," said Meg.
"I agree with her," said Blackbird.
Jeff hooked an iron chain across the back of the door before cracking the door open. "Oh shit!"
He closed the door, slipped off the chain, then opened the door again. A body sprawled across the threshold, fur the colour of burnt toffee, eyes dark and open wide, neck at an odd angle.
"Oh shit! It's Topaz. Look what they've done to him!"
He picked the dog up, cradling it in his arms. "Look, Meg."
Lisa ran to her father, tears streaming down her face. Jeff kicked the door closed behind him and laid the dog on the kitchen table. A pink tongue lolled out between its teeth.
Lisa stroked the dog's ear back from over his eyes. "What happened to him, Dad? Who would do that?"
"It's Deefnir. He's here," said Blackbird. "Ben, get me the knife."
Meg interrupted, "Where's the other one? Where's Tasha?"
"Don't worry about the bloody dog," said Blackbird. "Get me the Quick Knife."
"What do you want with it?" asked Ben. "It won't save the dogs now."
Blackbird stood up. "It's a message, the oldest kind. He wants me, and he'll go through all of you to get me."
"What are you going to do?"