‘Yes!’ I shouted.

I looked at the broken ends of the gold chain, one end in each hand. One linked to Tavish … the other to the Morrígan.

I pulled the left one, the one nearest my heart.

A strong wind buffeted me whipping my hair into my eyes, a thundering noise filled my ears and darkness descended around me. Sharp talons closed around my arms, piercing my skin and then I was lifted, dangling, into the air. Yelping with shock and fear, I looked up. A huge raven had me by the wrists.

The Morrígan’s boon.

And my trip to the Tower—but I didn’t want to go yet, not without Malik.

It flapped its wings, and as we started to ascend, I looked down at the grassy ground and bronze pool receding into the distance. A long black figure was now lying half-in, half-out of the pool. Was it the eel? Or—?

The figure flung its arms out.

It was Tavish.

Heartfelt relief and guilt filled me. He was free—if you could call being stuck in a blood-circle in the middle of nowhere in Betweenfreedom. Now all I had to do was hope he’d leave the Old Donn’s horn where it was, or I’d be the one with something I didn’t want thrust inside me. My stomach curdled, a combination of that thought and what I’d done to Tavish.

Space wavered as the raven flew us out of the blood-circle.

Nothingness closed round me, leaching into my eyes, drifting up my nose, crawling down my throat. Unseen hands with odd-shaped fingers and claws grabbed at me, pinching, pulling and yanking. Something jerked at my legs, and one of the bird’s talons ripped through the skin of my left wrist, its grip loosening— Then I was hanging by only one arm and I screamed, the sound muffled in my own ears as fleshy, muddy-tasting lips stole the scream out of my mouth. Above me the raven gave a loud croaking caw, half warning, half desperation …

Space wavered again.

And we flew into the night sky over London, the heavy feeling in my bones telling me this was the humans’ world. Stars glittered in the sky above, rain splattered my face, and the cold spring wind cut through me, raising goosebumps over my body.

Beneath me the Tower of London came into view.

My throat constricted with trepidation. It was where I wanted to go … but the boon had been for two trips, one for me, the other for Malik. Without him, I had no back-up.

The raven sped towards the Tower, its talons digging painfully into my wrist as the noisy downdraught from its wings buffeted me, and sent me twisting in its grip.

Briefly closing my eyes against the vertigo, I shoved my hand in my jeans pocket, clutching for the feathers. There was only one left.

I peered down. We were over the grassy moat.

I rubbed the feather over my bloody neck and dropped it, shouting out with my mind for Malik to find it, to use it.

The thick grey stone of the Tower’s curtain wall flashed beneath us, then we were above the open space of the interior.

I shouted for Malik again.

The raven flew straight at the bluey-grey walls of the White Tower, the oldest part of the castle, and I swallowed, half-wanting to close my eyes, as the solid stone filled my vision—

—and as we passed through the wall as if it didn’t exist, the sudden lightness of my body told me we’d once again left the humans’ world and were now back in Between.

The raven dropped me.

The stone flagged floor hurtled up to meet me, too fast. I tried to tuck myself into a ball and roll, but instead landed hard on my shoulder. Pain shot down my arm and across my back, the breath whooshed out of my lungs, and a whole Milky Way of stars spun in my vision.

A hand touched my face—

And the memory rushed into me.

Chapter Forty-Eight

‘ Here’s your little man, dear,’ Witch Harrier smiled. ‘All bathed and ready for his new mummy.’

Behind Witch Harrier came Dr Craig, his bald patch shining pale as a fish’s belly in the overhead lights, and his messy brown curls crowding his jug-handled ears.

She squirmed lower in the bed, the memory of Old Big Ears doingit to her as disgusting as ever—but for once she was tired and desperate enough that she almost didn’t care that he was here, didn’t care that his face held that same suspicious expression it had ever since she’d told him she was expecting after that one time. She’d put up with him if it meant keeping her baby.Nothing was going to stop her keeping her baby.

She took him carefully, nerves and excitement making her tremble. What if she dropped him, or held him too tight? Then as he settled in her arms, her nerves turned to happy eagerness. She gently pushed back the blanket and traced his little scrunched-up face, still flushed from the birth. Her heart stuttered with awe. He was beautiful, perfect, incredible. His nose was hers, and his chin looked like his father’s, and his ears were neat and flat to his head—not like Old Big Ears’ monstrosities—and his eyes were screwed tight shut … but she knew they’d be blue.

She pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, breathing in his soft baby scent with a deep-felt joy. He wriggled, and she loosened the blanket some more, tucking her finger inside his tiny hand as he waved it. The baby’s own fingers tightened, clutching at her with a strength that surprised her, his little mouth puckering up with a quiet whimper.

‘He needs feeding, dear,’ Witch Harrier told her encouragingly. ‘Just point him in the right direction and you’ll be fine.’ She sent an indulgent smile Old Big Ears’ way. ‘I was with my two boys.’

She glanced from one to the other in embarrassment. It didn’t matter that they’d both watched avidly as she’d given birth, or that Old Big Ears had doneit to her. She didn’t want them watching now. She rocked the baby, too fearful to ask them to leave, but hoping they’d get the hint and go anyway.

But deep down, she knew they wouldn’t. Witch Harrier wasn’t going to be denied any moment of her new ‘grandson’, and Old Big Ears was the school doctor. All the girls in her class knew what he was like, they’d all commiserated with her when he’d bought her Bride-Price, and gossiped with relief behind her back. Of course, she’d always known someone would buy it; she was a ninth-generation witch, the most powerful in her year. She hadn’t worried about it much, not after her mother had told her what to do so they wouldn’t have to give the money back if she didn’t get pregnant within the year, like a lot of the girls had to; wizards were more infertile than witches a lot of the time. But why did it have to be Old Big Ears, that disgusting pervert? When she’d found out, she’d decided to put her mother’s alternative into action straight away. She hadn’t wanted Old Big Ears doingit to her more than was necessary. He was even worse than the other girls knew, too; he’d spent the last week ‘instructing’ her with hands-on demos; pinching and squeezing, until she’d wanted to cry. She hadn’t, though, but now she hunched her shoulders at the memory. With that and the awful sickly-sweet fenugreek tea Witch Harrier had made her drink to bring her milk on, her breasts were like two aching, swollen boulders sitting on her chest.

The baby whimpered again, more demanding.

She shushed him.

‘Did you want some help, dear?’ Witch Harrier leaned forward, her face solicitous. ‘Breastfeeding is so important, not just for his health, but it will make the magic come much more easily to him.’

She knew that, she’d been told it often enough: wizards weren’t just born, they were breastfed.

‘Maybe, I should help you this first time, Helen?’ Old Big Ears said with a lascivious look.

She shook her head, then quickly tugged at the bow on her nightdress, trying not to let them see. Witch Harrier was right, the baby knew what to do; he latched on straight away, no hesitating. She flinched at the slight sting, then the small pain and the soreness and aching dissolved in relief, her worries disappeared and love flooded out of her into her son. She didn’t care about the audience any more, this was just perfect. He was her baby. Her wonderful beautiful baby son.