The Miss Education of Dr. Exeter

rubble. “What’s your name, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Gobb Filkins since the spell.”

“And your real name?”

“Archibald Dunbar Stuart, formerly the Earl of Moray.” The troll tossed a football-sized rock aside.

“Doctor Jason Exeter.” There was no doubt the troll could toss a caber or two. “Peerage of Scotland. You’re a long way from home.”

“That I am, doctor.” Archibald peered over the pile of stone. “And how’s the bairn coming?

“She’s about to be born.”

So far, the birthing had been textbook. Place your hand against the area below the vaginal opening and apply gentle pressure during each contraction. The pressure would prevent the baby from coming too fast. He instructed her to place her other hand above the baby’s head. This will help you control how quickly the baby’s head comes out of the vaginal opening.

Archibald clapped the dust off his hands. “There now—shall we get you out from under this hill of rock?”

The large troll wrapped his arms under Exeter’s and pulled. After a huge exhale and grunt, the beastly character had moved him only a few inches. “Once more, laddie, and see if you can’t spare a bit of your power this time.” Odd, but he was sure the troll’s speech had changed from refined English gentlemen to a brawny Scot with a brogue.

Exeter summoned whatever potent force he had left. “Ready?”

The baby’s head is nearly out, Exeter.

Support the baby’s head with your hands. And tell America to stop pushing. With the next contraction, the baby should slip out of America. He was vaguely aware that he heard Mia call out to Phaeton. “Look.”

Exeter—her head is covered with a—filmy substance . . .

He smiled. I’m not surprised. He pictured a thin transparent membrane over the child’s face, remnants of the amniotic sac. A veil, some called it—the child would have powers and was destined for greatness. Fitting for a child of Phaeton Black and America Jones. You may remove the caul and begin to clean the baby’s mouth and nose—preferably with the suction bulb in my kit.

Just one more contraction, Mia.

The troll ran his arms around his upper torso and tightened his grip. “Give us all you got, laddie.” Exeter unleashed the potent energy, loosening rock and stone until he felt a sudden release. Archibald landed on his backside as he pulled him free of the rubble.

She is born. Mia’s thought was one of awe. He could feel her tears of happiness.

Newborns are slippery, so hold the baby with a towel. Exeter patted the troll’s arm. “Good man, Archie.” He sucked in a deep breath of air, and let the oxygen fill his lungs.

Archibald scrambled to his feet and pulled Exeter upright. “Can you stand?” The troll held him upright and headed down the passageway. “No need asking—you’ll want me to show you the way to the wizard’s den.”

Even though he could not see the tears of joy on Mia’s face, he ought to feel them. An intuition sent a cold chill through his body. Talk to me, Mia.

Oh Exeter, she is not breathing!

Mia—DO NOT CUT THE CORD! I will be there shortly. He looked up at the troll. “As quickly as we can.” Archibald kept him upright long enough to gain some coordination over stiff joints and wobbly legs.

Stimulate the baby by rubbing her back.

“Up ahead, sir—the narrow passage to your right. Slip through there and you’ll come across a cell block— the remains of an old dungeon.”

Exeter turned back. “You’re not coming?”

“Someone has to keep watch. If you require my services, a shout will suffice.”

“Thank you, Archie.” Exeter made his way down the dark corridor, feeling his way in the dark. I’m almost there, Mia. Lower the baby’s head and slap the soles of her feet.

Exeter found a door—then another—this one opened. He stepped inside an empty bedchamber. Where are you, Mia? No one is here. A sparkle of green caught this eye. The emerald collar lay on top of a coil of leash. The very idea of Mia alone with Prospero caused a number of lethal thoughts. He stuffed the jewels into his pocket and pictured the randy wizard being sucked into Tim Noggy’s trap—the portable black box. As he made his way back down the hallway, a large iron door opened and one of those odd creatures from the cafe waved him forward.

Mia straddled a kind of makeshift bed, hunched over the infant, while America and Phaeton anxiously looked on. Exeter fell on his knees beside her and turned the baby over—not horribly blue. “My aspirator.” Mia handed him the syringe. Prying open the little mouth, he suctioned out any blood or mucus. Clear—Mia had done her work well. Exeter covered the newborn’s face with his mouth—two quick, gentle puffs of air into her nose and mouth. “Come on, Luna, breathe.”

In between breaths, Mia rubbed the infant with a towel.

Propped on her elbows, America beamed. “Breathe for your papa—”

A shake of tiny fists answered, as if to say “I have arrived” in infant speak. Next came a huge yawn, and a wailing good cry. Hard to discern how loud the babe was, as a number of cheers and cries went up around the room. Even the wizard’s minions appeared cheerful. Exeter placed the infant on America’s belly and tied off the umbilical cord. A swab or two of tincture and a snip of his surgical scissors finished the job.

He nodded to one of the guards at the door. “More warm water—if you would.” Scanning the small room, Phaeton’s expression stopped him momentarily. Never had he seen an expression quite like it. Phaeton was in love—smitten by the scrawny, pink little girl in America’s arms.

Smiling, he turned to Mia. Tears glistened in her eyes. “She is beautiful, Exeter.” A few errant drops rolled down her cheeks.

His arms went around her. “You are a marvel, my dear.” He rubbed her back and she loosed tears of relief mixed with joy. The feel of her in his arms again, the warmth of her—good God, even the scent of her reminded him how much he adored her, and how much trouble they were still in. Nuzzling her neck, he stole a peek at the hideous creature that remained in the room.

America groaned. “Another pain,” she puffed.

He turned to the new mother. “You are sloughing off the placenta. This last contraction should not be too painful.” Afterward, he assigned duties. Mia would clean baby Luna and wrap her in bunting. Exeter would care for America. The other identically hideous guard arrived carrying a pitcher of steaming hot water. Stepping inside the cell block, the poor wretch turned and closed the door. He noted a mighty clunk, but there was no sound of a latch, nor the tumble of locks. It would seem the door could only be barred from the outside.

Exeter quickly formulated an escape plan.

Chapter Twenty-one

EXETER EYEBALLED THE WIZARD’S MEAGER STAFF. “I understand you are charged with the aid and comfort of these ladies.” He poured fresh water into a basin and splashed his face. “I would like to suggest a bit of refreshment—hot tea and something light, perhaps a few biscuits and finger sandwiches.”

He washed his hands and arms up to the elbow and toweled off. The two horrid little monsters made gurgling and hissing noises at one another—squabbling, he supposed, over who was to be sent off on the errand.

“He thinks you want fingers—actual fingers—in your sandwiches.” An amused Phaeton explained to the guards. “Dainty morsels, Tweez, made with butter and jam—with the crusts cut off.”

Exeter folded two clean cloths, and removed a bottle of chloroform from his kit. Across the room, Mia sat beside America, cooing and fussing over baby Luna. Everyone, including Phaeton, had been scrubbed clean and