surprised, but only for a moment, then he had merely looked smug.
Clearly, Cindy had been seeing the changeling as he was all along, but it had apparently never occurred to her that he was not her son.
Of all the possible outcomes of her plan, Hecaté had not even considered that it would make absolutely no difference at all.
~ Chapter Eight ~
T amar let Stiles handle the interrogation. Well, each to his strengths. She handled the glowering menacingly and the filtering of Finvarra’s lies into an approximation of the truth.
When she thought that they had extracted as much from him as they were going to Tamar reached inside her jacket and pulled from somewhere (probably another dimension) a long iron sword and cut his head off. Before the head had even rolled, the whole body had turned into a gelatinous goo. They watched it seep into the grass.
‘One down,’ she said. ‘Let’s go get the rest.’
‘Why did you do that?’
‘He’d have been as bad as her,’ said Tamar. ‘He’s one of them . What do you think he’s been doing here all these years, painting the flowers, mending shoes? What do you think he meant by “it’s not time yet”? He wanted what she wants. He set himself up as a king over the gypsies didn’t he? They can’t help themselves. But he wanted her out of the way first, and he was waiting for something else too.’
‘What?
‘We’ll never know now, and it doesn’t matter anymore.’
‘But you could have just sent him back.’
‘No! No more Faeries, if she got back through, he might have too – one day. We have to get rid of them all – like … like wasps.’
‘So why did you make him tell us about the stones?’
‘Ha! To see if he would. He was scared. Scared because we knew about the iron. That’s all I wanted to know.’
‘That’s nasty.’
‘It’s going to get nastier.
‘Where did you get that sword anyway? I thought Denny said manifestations wouldn’t work.’
‘I didn’t manifest it. I called for it. Denny’s got a whole collection of this stuff, in the attic. He doesn’t use it anymore, since he got the Athame.’
‘You called for it? I never heard of that before’
Tamar looked smug. ‘Very tough magic that,’ she said, ‘especially when you don’t know where you are. That’s why I usually manifest stuff. It’s much easier.’
Another thought struck Stiles. ‘A whole collection?’ he asked.
Tamar grinned. ‘Yeah.’
‘Can I have one then?’
‘Only if you promise to be careful.’
Stiles gave this some thought. ‘I’ll be careful to kill every Faerie that I see,’ he promised.
‘All right then.’
‘So,’ said Stiles, ‘let’s go and find the nest.’
* * *
‘ She is coming here.’
‘Who?’
‘The raven haired one, the one with the bad temper.’
Denny said nothing.
‘Well?’ she snapped.
‘What?’
‘She is coming for you ?’
‘So I imagine.’
‘Why?’
‘She saw me first.’
* * *
‘But he isn’t your child,’ Hecaté had Cindy by the shoulders and was shaking her.
‘Whose is he then?’ asked Cindy perplexed.
‘He’s a changeling, you know a Faerie child – look at him.’
Cindy looked. ‘He looks like my uncle Ray,’ she said.
‘For Hades’ sake Cindy, he’s got wings !’*
*[ Traditionally the Sidhe do not have wings of the body any more than humans do. But all Faerie children are born with wings, which drop off about age three. No one knows why this should be. ]
‘Apart from that of course.’
‘And you did not wonder about that?’
‘Well, what with Eugene being an angel and everything I just … I don’t know. Are you sure about this?’
‘How do you not fall on your face more?’ asked Hecaté in exasperation.
‘What?’
‘Anyway the few Nephilim that do have wings, have angelic wings, not Faerie wings like those. Do those look like angel’s wings to you? And they do not get them until adulthood
Clearly, Cindy had been seeing the changeling as he was all along, but it had apparently never occurred to her that he was not her son.
Of all the possible outcomes of her plan, Hecaté had not even considered that it would make absolutely no difference at all.
~ Chapter Eight ~
T amar let Stiles handle the interrogation. Well, each to his strengths. She handled the glowering menacingly and the filtering of Finvarra’s lies into an approximation of the truth.
When she thought that they had extracted as much from him as they were going to Tamar reached inside her jacket and pulled from somewhere (probably another dimension) a long iron sword and cut his head off. Before the head had even rolled, the whole body had turned into a gelatinous goo. They watched it seep into the grass.
‘One down,’ she said. ‘Let’s go get the rest.’
‘Why did you do that?’
‘He’d have been as bad as her,’ said Tamar. ‘He’s one of them . What do you think he’s been doing here all these years, painting the flowers, mending shoes? What do you think he meant by “it’s not time yet”? He wanted what she wants. He set himself up as a king over the gypsies didn’t he? They can’t help themselves. But he wanted her out of the way first, and he was waiting for something else too.’
‘What?
‘We’ll never know now, and it doesn’t matter anymore.’
‘But you could have just sent him back.’
‘No! No more Faeries, if she got back through, he might have too – one day. We have to get rid of them all – like … like wasps.’
‘So why did you make him tell us about the stones?’
‘Ha! To see if he would. He was scared. Scared because we knew about the iron. That’s all I wanted to know.’
‘That’s nasty.’
‘It’s going to get nastier.
‘Where did you get that sword anyway? I thought Denny said manifestations wouldn’t work.’
‘I didn’t manifest it. I called for it. Denny’s got a whole collection of this stuff, in the attic. He doesn’t use it anymore, since he got the Athame.’
‘You called for it? I never heard of that before’
Tamar looked smug. ‘Very tough magic that,’ she said, ‘especially when you don’t know where you are. That’s why I usually manifest stuff. It’s much easier.’
Another thought struck Stiles. ‘A whole collection?’ he asked.
Tamar grinned. ‘Yeah.’
‘Can I have one then?’
‘Only if you promise to be careful.’
Stiles gave this some thought. ‘I’ll be careful to kill every Faerie that I see,’ he promised.
‘All right then.’
‘So,’ said Stiles, ‘let’s go and find the nest.’
* * *
‘ She is coming here.’
‘Who?’
‘The raven haired one, the one with the bad temper.’
Denny said nothing.
‘Well?’ she snapped.
‘What?’
‘She is coming for you ?’
‘So I imagine.’
‘Why?’
‘She saw me first.’
* * *
‘But he isn’t your child,’ Hecaté had Cindy by the shoulders and was shaking her.
‘Whose is he then?’ asked Cindy perplexed.
‘He’s a changeling, you know a Faerie child – look at him.’
Cindy looked. ‘He looks like my uncle Ray,’ she said.
‘For Hades’ sake Cindy, he’s got wings !’*
*[ Traditionally the Sidhe do not have wings of the body any more than humans do. But all Faerie children are born with wings, which drop off about age three. No one knows why this should be. ]
‘Apart from that of course.’
‘And you did not wonder about that?’
‘Well, what with Eugene being an angel and everything I just … I don’t know. Are you sure about this?’
‘How do you not fall on your face more?’ asked Hecaté in exasperation.
‘What?’
‘Anyway the few Nephilim that do have wings, have angelic wings, not Faerie wings like those. Do those look like angel’s wings to you? And they do not get them until adulthood
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