I turned to Ricou and Sylvia, still hovering attentively on my heels. Sylvia was making a show of adjusting her pink cycle helmet and pointedly ignoring what I’d just done. Ricou, a.k.a. Professor of Spells, was now wearing a slightly rumpled Johnny Depp Glamour, one with a loud-checked jacket, dark glasses and a trilby—Sylvia’s current favourite, apparently, from among the multitude of Glamour spell tattoos that decorated the insides of both his scaly arms. He was also watching me over the top of the sunglasses with an assessing expression. Was he going to be a problem? ‘Look, why don’t you two … hang out together for a bit or something?’

‘Gosh, what a good idea.’ Sylvia grabbed Ricou’s hand. ‘Come on, lover boy, I know just the place. See you later, Genny.’

I looked at Finn and indicated the car. ‘You want to talk, don’t you?’ Because I was damn sure I did.

He nodded sharply and we got in. I touched the chauffeur’s hand and (surprisingly easily) gave him the same orders as Victoria Harrier, then the limo door shut with a soft clunk, cutting off the noise, bustle and bells of Covent Garden and enclosing us in the cosseted smell of leather and luxury. The limo looked similar to the previous day’s, with its L-shaped seat, the blacked-out screen between us and the driver and the half-dozen Privacy-spell crystals dotted around, except this one still had the bar installed instead of the James Bond-type office. Briefly I wondered if maybe I’d fried some of her equipment in the other limo, then put it from my mind. Finn had taken the back seat, and if my little mind-control party piece had Ricou reassessing me, it had etched the worry lines deeper into Finn’s face.

‘Hell’s thorns, Gen, what are you playing at? The woman’s a witch! Using magic like that could get you the death sentence.’

As the limo moved quietly into the busy traffic I flattened my palms on the leather seat and studied him, to give my anger and hurt a chance to cool down. He was in his usual human-looking Glamour, and he looked good. His dark blond hair waved to his shoulders, his sharp, triangular horns were tight to his head and almost hidden. His brown suit was dark enough that it was verging on black. The suit looked dressier than usual, and fitted his athletic, muscular body like it was hand-tailored. His fine cotton shirt was open at his throat, the soft cream contrasting nicely with the darker tan of his skin. It dawned on me he looked more than good: he always looked great, but today he’d made an extra effort … maybe the bastard thought it would gain him points. My hands curled into tight fists in anger. It didn’t.

‘When were you going to tell me about your child, Finn?’ I said, forcing my voice into calmness. ‘The one you fathered with Helen? After all, it’s not like we’ve known each other very long, right? I mean it’s only been—what? Ten fucking months?’ Okay, so maybe I wasn’t as calm as I could be. ‘And it’s not like we don’t work together on a daily basis or anything, is it, Finn? Or that we didn’t talk about you having kids with Helen only yesterday, did we?’

He let out a breath and pushed his hands through his hair, his moss-green eyes sombre and, oddly, filled with something that looked more like relief than guilt at being caught out.

‘I’m sorry, Gen. I really didn’t want you to find out from someone else,’ he said quietly.

‘Then why didn’t you tell me yourself?’ I demanded. ‘Or did you think maybe you’d just wait until I gave birth before introducing me to my future child’s brother?’

‘Sister,’ he said.

‘ What?’

‘Helen and I have a daughter. Her name is Nicola.’

I stared at him in disbelief, my anger momentarily forgotten in the face of something that went against everything about fae ‘facts of life’ I’d had drummed into me by Grianne. ‘That’s just not possible. Witches alwayshave sons—faelings—if the dad is a lesser fae. That’s the way the magic works.’

‘Why do you think I was chosen to court you, Gen?’ Finn said, an old note of resignation in his voice. ‘My daughter might be faeling, but she’s the nearest to a full-blood fae born in the last century. If I didn’t know different, even I’d say she was satyr, and that Helen couldn’t possibly be her mother. But I know she is. I watched Nicky being born. I know it’s not supposed to happen. Hell’s thorns, Helen shouldn’t have been able to get pregnant anyway! Most ninth-generation witches never have more than one child, and we weren’t even taking part in the fertility rite proper; we just ended up fooling around nearby.’ Faint colour stained his angular cheekbones. ‘The witches’ rites get a bit wild at times,’ he said more quietly. ‘You know how it is.’

I didn’t, never having been to one. I wasn’t sure I wanted to, either.

‘Of course, once we both realised, we were thrilled. We jumped the broom.’ He paused. ‘We broke up when Nicky was nine, but we’ve always stayed friends.’ Because of Nicky.He didn’t say it, but it was as obvious as the worried look on his face. And, of course he was too much of a good guy notto stay friends with his daughter’s mother— that explained why Helen was his number one speed-dial. My heart did its little leap again. Even if his comment about ‘fooling around’ meant Nicky’s advent hadn’t been planned. Although, if it wasn’t for what he’d said about Helen being a ninth-generation witch, I’d have bet money she’d trapped him. The thoughts kept a lid on my anger.

‘Why didn’t you tell me about Nicky?’ I asked.

He gave me a rueful look. ‘I couldn’t, Gen.’ He shook his head as he saw my questioning look. ‘No, not a magical gag, but I gave my word to Helen that I wouldn’t speak of Nicky to you unless you specifically asked me if she and I had kids. This was before I met you.’

He’d given his word. Fae don’t give or break their word lightly; the magic demands too great a price. My anger redirected itself at Helen. She’d been determined to put a spoke in mine and Finn’s relationship wheel from the beginning … except she hadn’t known me.

I frowned at him. ‘Why would she make you promise something like that?’

‘Helen’s always been … conflictedabout the sidhe,’ he said, leaning forwards. ‘It stems from a problem with her father. For some reason he visited. Most of them don’t.’

Right. Witches were the ultimate single parents by necessity. Sidhe dads don’t stick around much after the fertility rites, which isn’t such a wonderful endorsement for the male of my species, but it’s not like the covens haven’t been encouraging the sidhe to keep coming back for centuries, so it wasn’t all one-sided. But it sounded like Helen’s sidhe father was an exception and, sadly, not a good one. I sighed. I so didn’t want to start feeling sorry for her again.

‘She had a good relationship with him,’ Finn said, as if he’d heard my thoughts, ‘but then when Helen was eight, her mother fostered a little girl: a relative of her father’s.’ He paused. ‘A sidhe. The two girls were the same age and became great friends, even thought of each other as sisters most of the time, except whenever Helen’s father visited after that, he was more concerned with the sidhe, and’—his mouth tightened with disgust—‘he virtually ignored Helen, his own daughter.’

I stared at him, remembering the family tree and the horrific story the Librarian and Sylvia had told me, and pieces of the puzzle dropped into the bigger picture. ‘Helen’s foster sister was Brigitta, wasn’t she? The one whose mother’—Angel—‘was kidnapped and raped by the Old Donn? And you all insisted on keeping Brigitta in London when her mother was sent back to the Fair Lands because you all wanted to breed from her to break the curse, just like you do me,’ I added accusingly. ‘Brigitta’s father was the fossegrim. Her daughter is a faeling called Ana’—I waved at the privacy screen between us and the front of the limo—‘and she’s married to my solicitor’s son.’