Magic and Loss

“It is going to be difficult to coerce even the moderate members of the Aristocracy to accept a hybrid Heir Apparent,” Lady Syra said worriedly. “And that doesn’t even include the host of problems that will arise once news of your amputation spreads.”

“The child has been born, my hand has been lost—these things cannot be changed, no more than we can alter the outcome of the Sufferance or undo the slaughter of the dragons,” Hexe said firmly. “Golgotham is on the verge of great change—whether for good or bad depends on whether we embrace the future or fight to reclaim the past. I believe that is why Esau has returned, and why he has worked so hard to destroy me—and my son.”

“I agree,” Syra said. “But none of this will be easy. There are a number of aristos who would have no problem following your uncle into the bowels of hell over something like this.”

As I listened to Hexe and his mother discuss the ramifications of our child’s birth, I found my attention starting to drift and my eyes growing heavy. The next thing I knew my head was bobbing up and down like one of the CONGRATULATIONS! balloons tied to the giant teddy bear.

“All of this can wait, for the time being,” Lady Syra said. “It’s best your father and I leave, and allow Tate some time to rest. You must be exhausted, poor girl,” she said, bending down to kiss my forehead. She then smiled at her grandson, curled in the crook of my arm. “And as for you, young man: Welcome to the Royal Family.”

Once his parents left, Hexe took the baby from me and placed him back in the bassinette. “He’s sound asleep,” he whispered. “I’m going to step out for a few minutes and find something to eat. I’ll be right back.”

I looked over and smiled at the sight of my son, lying buttered-side up, oblivious to the chaos his arrival in the world would soon start. I placed a gentle hand on one of his feet, marveling at how tiny and perfectly formed it was. I must have dozed off at some point, because the next thing I knew the baby’s foot was no longer in my hand and he was making a mewling sound like a kitten. I looked up to see one of the pink-robed Daughters of Nana lifting my son out of the bassinette.

“What are you doing with my child?” I asked.

“I’m just taking him to be bathed and change his diaper,” the priestess replied, turning her cowled head in such a way that I did not have a clear view of her face. Although she did not appear to be either Zena or Tipi, there was something familiar about her voice.

“Why can’t you do those things here in the room?” I asked suspiciously.

Instead of answering me, the priestess simply turned and fled to the door, clutching my son to her breast. As she ran, the cowl on the robe fell away, revealing slate-blue hair.

“Bring back my baby!” I screamed as I clambered out of bed, only to discover that my legs had been replaced by bundles of cooked noodles. I was able to take only five or six steps before stumbling and falling to the floor. “Somebody, please, stop her! She stole my baby!”

The next thing I knew Hexe was there, helping me back onto my feet. “Tate—what’s happened? Are you all right?”

I frantically shook my head as I clung to Hexe. “It was her! I mean, it was him! Uncle Esau kidnapped our baby!”

Chapter 31

“I’ve got all available units scouring the streets in search of Erys,” Captain Horn said, trying his best to sound confident and in charge as he watched his son pace furiously back and forth in the front parlor. “I’ve got my best dowsers on the case. They should be able to draw a bead on her general location. Then we’ll cordon off the area and do a house-by-house search.”

It was less than an hour after the kidnapping, and Hexe and I were already home. I had downed a panacea at the Temple of Nana in order to restore my stamina before leaving, and was now feeling back to normal, if somewhat sore. Hexe and I, along with his parents, were gathered in the front parlor, waiting to hear from the kidnapper.

“I wouldn’t bet on your dowsers turning up anything of use,” Hexe said bitterly. “Esau’s too good a wizard to be tracked that easily.”

“Esau?” Horn frowned. “I thought you said it was Madam Erys who took the baby. And what could your uncle possibly have to do with all this? The man was murdered by Skua’s useless punk of a son, Skal, over six months ago.”

Hexe halted his pacing to scowl at his mother. “I thought you said you told him the truth about Esau and the Sons of Adam?”

Lady Syra shifted about uncomfortably, looking embarrassed. “No, I said was going to tell him. When the time was right.”

“Tell me the truth about what?” Horn demanded, giving Syra a stern look.

Syra lowered her eyes, unable to meet his gaze. “Well . . . uhm . . .”

“That Esau grew the Sons of Adam in his alchemy workshop,” I explained, “and, on top of that, he was secretly going around murdering people so they wouldn’t figure it out. He was also the one who sent that demon to kill me, so he could start a race riot and become mayor and purge all the humans from Golgotham and try to start a new Unholy War. Oh, and he murdered Skal, not the other way around, and was going to do the same thing to me and Hexe, except I stole the junk jewelry he was using to control a demon, and ordered it to return to the Infernal Court—and take Esau with him.”

“And why am I just now hearing this story?” Horn asked as he massaged his forehead.

“Because I was afraid of what might happen if it was discovered a member of the Royal Family had manipulated both Golgothamites and humans to generate racial unrest,” Lady Syra admitted grudgingly. “Ever since Lord Bexe and General Vlad, the Royal Family has a tradition of taking personal responsibility for the rogues within its ranks. I deemed it best that Hexe and I kept Esau’s involvement in creating and operating the Sons of Adam between ourselves—and Tate, of course.”

“Heavens and hells, Syra! I realize you’re the justicar, and accustomed to making rulings and judgment calls without having to defer to anyone else—but do you always have to be so chuffing secretive about it?”

“I’m sorry, my dear,” she replied. “It’s a family tradition—and not one of our finer ones.”

“It turns out the old cack-hander has been behind everything from the start. As if trying to drive me mad and murder Tate wasn’t enough, he’s gone after our son as well!” Hexe fumed. “I’m going to make him wish he’d stayed in hell!”

“Now you’re talking, boss!” Scratch growled from his perch on the mantelpiece.

Suddenly there came a tapping, as if someone was gently rapping, on the parlor window. I lifted back the curtain and was surprised to spy a raven on the windowsill, staring intently at me with a ruby-red eye, a piece of folded parchment held in its jet-black beak. Scratch arched his back, spreading his leathery wings to make himself even bigger and more imposing.

“That’s Esau’s familiar, Edgar!” he hissed. “I’d know that filthy feather duster anywhere!”

As Captain Horn opened the window, the raven flapped into the room, landing in the center of the floor. Scratch leapt from the mantelpiece, placing himself between the familiar and Hexe. The raven opened its beak and dropped the note it was carrying on the floor. Then, with an abrasive caw, it once more took wing, flapping its way out of the open window.

Hexe snatched up the parchment and unfolded it, reading it aloud for the benefit of the rest of us.

Greetings, Nephew:

Congratulations on you and your nump whore bringing forth an abomination whose very existence is an affront to our hallowed bloodline. It would please me beyond measure to rid the world of the ill- born freak you have spawned. However, seeing as we are family, I am prepared to be merciful. If you wish to ever see your brat again, you and your traitorous mother must formally abdicate as Heir Apparent and Witch Queen, respectively. If you do not agree to these terms, I will hand the infant over to the trolls living under the Brooklyn