—but instead met my own amber-coloured eyes, saw my own shocked face staring back at me, my sweat-drenched hair flat against my scalp, as if I were looking in a mirror. Blood-tinged tears snaked down my face, dripped off my chin and splattered on my pregnant stomach. My double reached out, the chain chinking on her wrist, and grasped Tavish’s hand, pressing it to her blood-smeared belly.
And I felt his touch on my own body. I looked down in stunned disbelief to find myself as naked as my double, my own abdomen swollen in pregnancy, my bladder painful with the pressure between my legs, my breasts aching and lactating blood. Something moved inside me and I stared in mute horror as the skin of my stomach bulged: a hoofed foot kicked low on the left side; a two-fingered clawed hand pushed out high on the right; the point of a sharp horn poked out above my belly button.
‘Little sidhe.’ The husky voice calling my name jerked my attention back to my pseudo-reflection, who stood with her legs spread wide and her arms outstretched, fingers gripping either side of the doorway, her head thrown back as she grimaced in pain. Tavish’s hand was splayed low, dark against the paler colour of her swollen belly, as if he could help support the heavy burden. I stared as smoke spiralled out from between his fingers and the oversweet smell of cinnamon clogged the air. My double writhed and screamed, her mouth opening wide to reveal four needle-sharp vampire fangs. Blood gushed from between her legs and pain, sudden and jagged, sliced inside me. I huddled over, clutching my own stomach and cold, viscous liquid slid down my own legs.
Then Tavish was there, the weight of his hand on my own stomach burning into my skin as I struggled, panting with terror and shock, feeling it starting to push out between my legs. I doubled over in agony, scratching at his hand, desperate to get him away from me, desperate to escape—
‘’Tis this that she wants tae show you, doll,’ he whispered, his breath scorching my ear. ‘’tis this that could occur.’
My legs gave way and I fell forward, thudding onto my hands and knees. I screamed again as the molten burn of his hand sank into my flesh, eclipsing even the hot, tearing pain between my legs.
‘She would have me rip the babe from your belly and steal both its soul and your ain.’
I had to stop him; I had to save it— I had to save the baby.
Sobbing, I groped blindly at his legs, shredding his hose, raking bloody furrows in his calves, anything to make him stop—
‘So, ’tis a warning, tae nae let any of them plant their seed in your body.’
Fire blazed in my stomach, licked vicious, all-consuming flames through my body, and he roared in anguish. ‘I cannae gainsay her, dolclass="underline" she has taken my reins, and you are nae tae trust me, for I am nae longer my ain master!’
—my fingers snagged on something cold and hard. The gold chain. I grabbed it where it trailed from his ankle, yanking at it with both hands, pulling his leg out from under him, feeling the little gold keys cutting into my palms, feeling his hand slide from my flesh as I collapsed, weeping, into the cold blood spreading beneath me.
‘Sidhe,’ the soft, husky voice murmured as sharp claws punctured the soft skin under my jaw and lifted my chin, ‘open your eyes and look at me, sidhe.’
I was frozen in the same nightmare state as before and I couldn’t refuse her order. I opened my eyes and stared into her acid-yellow ones.
‘Losing a child is … painful. The heart cracks and shatters into sharp, splintered pieces; pieces that are disparaged by the indifference of others.’ A curious expression crossed her wrinkled green face, and then her tongue flicked out and delicately licked a hot line across my face. ‘You, sidhe, you are not indifferent; you feel my pain in your tears. You will remember.’ She brought her face so close to mine that she was nothing more than a blur of green. Our lips met; her tongue slithered into and out of my mouth, leaving behind a taste of something bitter and sad. ‘You will remember.’
I swallowed, and the bitterness ran like sour juice down my throat, until it hit my stomach—
And I disappeared into a furnace of remembered pain.
Chapter Fifteen
There was a banging noise in my head; it meant something … The noise rolled around my mind like waves breaking on a shore, loud and close, then fading away … A rank butcher’s shop smell of spoiled blood wrinkled my nose. And the noise came back, this time shrieking like a storm wind battering through the trees. I half-opened my eyes and peered in confusion at the scattered pile of books next to me, and at my kitchen area beyond them. Why was I lying on the floor in my flat? Quiet footsteps tapped and scuffed on wood …
Memory caught up with consciousness and hit me like a Beater goblin’s baseball bat— The baby. I curled into a ball, protectively hugging my stomach, a whimper of terror escaping from my mouth … then, as I felt my belt buckle dig in at my waist and registered the absence of actual pain, reality began to reassert itself. Pulse leaping with frantic hope, I ran my hands over my body, checking, and finally lay back and stared blindly at my beaded chandelier in heartfelt relief.
I wasn’t pregnant, and I hadn’t lost a child.
And if there was no child—what the fuck was the whole Ellen Ripley/Alien baby show all about?
The quiet footsteps stopped and something white blurred my view of the ceiling.
‘Fiddlesticks! Mother’s going to snap my twigs off if you’re broken,’ an annoyed voice muttered.
I squinted at a pair of feet in strappy silver sandals standing in the congealing blood next to my face: one heel was broken and half the pink-painted toenails were chipped. The feminine feet didn’t look threatening—but looks aren’t what matter; whoever it was had forced their way through my protective Wards, so chipped pink toenails or not, they could probably take me. My gaze skimmed over the shoes, past the thin ankles and up the slim, badly scratched legs that disappeared into white stretchy shorts. I stopped at the tattered edge of a pink and white flowered skirt that tented above me. Something about the way the material flared up was odd … like there should be an up-breeze to go with the movement. Then the skirt’s owner flattened the material as she bent down to study me, her bright eyes shining like polished green conkers, her lack of eyebrows giving her face an unfinished look. A scratched pink cycle helmet perched askew on her clipped scalp, the broken strap dangling by her left cheek.
Another dryad—and going by the eyes, I’d say it was Sylvia, Lady Isabella’s own daughter. Last time we’d met she’d tried to kidnap me.
This time I suspected her intentions were ‘friendlier’, as in ‘Nominated Go-Between’ … I really hoped so; I wasn’t sure I was up to dealing with much else right now.
‘Are you hurt, Ms Taylor?’ she shrieked, giving my shoulder a hard poke.
I winced at the noise—did she think I was deaf or something?—and smacked her hand away. ‘Not as much as you’re going to be if you touch me again. And hel-lo’—I pointed at my face—‘eyes open here?’
‘Just because your eyes are open doesn’t mean you’re awake, or even alive.’ She straightened, hands keeping the skirt under control.
‘I was moving! Dead people don’t move.’ Not usually anyway.
‘You were convulsing,’ she stated. ‘It’s not the same as moving. And you’re covered in blood.’
‘Lamb’s blood,’ I muttered, irritatedly eyeing the flattened Rosy Lea Café takeaway cup and my uncomfortable, blood-drenched jeans. Note to self: next time someone sics an Alien-inspired illusion spell on you, put the cup of blood down first. ‘It was dinner,’ I added with a sigh.