Chapter Four

The morning brought with it clear thought. At least that was Tamara Swift's perception. She had woken before sunrise, then lain in the soft feather bed until she heard the clanging of pots and pans from the kitchen below. She knew that time spent alone with her thoughts was vital and precious. It was in these moments that she was able to work through problems with acuity and clarity.

The question that vexed her this morning: What in God's good name is Wild Edric doing with all those human babies he had stolen? For Tamara knew in her soul that the ghostly hunter from the previous evening was also the seducer of Blackbriar's innocents.

Now she sat at the breakfast table in the vast kitchen of The Rose and Thorn, and she watched Betsy Gilroy hunch over the stove, sullenly slopping porridge into wooden bowls. The girl's lank hair was the colour of straw and her eyes - which might once have been the blue of a summer's day - were now opaque and empty. She was gaunt and pale, the skin of her face stretched tautly over bone.

The girl's a walking wraith, Tamara thought darkly. Yet once she had been beautiful. Any fool could see that. Was that the connection? Did the phantom lover choose only the most beautiful prey?

Tamara ruminated on this as she sipped her tea and tried not to stare at the changeling child lying stiffly in his wooden bassinet. William walked into the kitchen and glanced around. He frowned.

"Is Mrs. Gilroy about?" he asked.

"She'll be back in a moment," Tamara replied.

Hesitant, William turned to Betsy. "Have you got any more milk?"

The girl seemed not to hear him. William sighed but did not bother asking again. This was obviously the response he had expected. He started across the kitchen toward his sister, passing by the bassinet. He paused just a moment to stare sadly down into the yellow eyes of the hideous infant... and the changeling baby erupted in a shriek of pleasure, followed by a rush of gurgled laughter. Tamara watched, fascinated, as her brother reached out a shaky hand and carefully patted its head between the tiny nubs of horns.

She arched an eyebrow. Will wonders never cease?

The baby had thrown him. William hadn't known that he was going to touch the thing until he had done it. He had felt pity for the poor withered creature and that very same pity had made him, on impulse, try and comfort it. Well, this was not a mistake he was going to repeat again. After he had patted the baby on the head, it had tried to eat his hand.

Tamara swore that it was only trying to lick him, but he knew damn well that it was gunning for a bit of William-hand breakfast. Even if the inn was homey, their beds soft and inviting, and Mrs. Gilroy's cooking heavenly, William was loath to spend any more time than absolutely necessary in Blackbriar village. He hoped that they could solve their mystery quickly and with as little bother as possible, and then be on their way.

Late in the morning Farris brought the carriage around and they departed for the home of Doctor Nichols. The village was small, really more a clump of houses that became sparser as the carriage trundled down the hard-packed earth road toward the Doctor's residence. William couldn't imagine an extended stay in this dreary place, let alone year-round habitation. He missed the dirty, crowded streets of London more than he would have thought possible.

Farris pulled the reigns taut and called for the horses to stop. With a bit of whinnying, they slowed to a walk and then finally halted. Tamara smiled at her brother, then poked her head out of the carriage window to get the first glimpse of the Nichols home. William envied her enthusiasm, for he could muster none for himself. Tamara had a sense of adventure that allowed her to put more conventional concerns aside, to throw herself fully into each moment, each mystery. William could never quite forget that they had responsibilities elsewhere, to the family business and their household. And he certainly did not relish the prospect of encountering another one of the changeling babies. Simply being in their presence made his stomach churn. He was aware that others might think his attitude cruel, but he could not help what he felt. The way his sister behaved, it was almost as though she liked the little monsters.

Tamara stared out the carriage window at the quaint little wattle-and-daub cottage ringed by a well-tended herb and wildflower garden. She surmised that the garden was the work of Doctor Nichols' daughter-in-law, or perhaps even his granddaughter, prior to her mysterious pregnancy. Either way, the place had the feel of a woman's hand at work.

At the approach of the carriage, the door to the cottage opened and a tall, thin woman with streaks of gray in her hair emerged to stand at the threshold. She had a long face with wide brown eyes and thick, rosy lips. It was clear that she had been handsome once, but now she glowed with the steadfast benevolence of one used to raising children.

The woman caught Tamara's eye and smiled tightly, anxiously, then hurried to help them from the carriage.

"You're expected. I'm Julia Nichols. My father-in-law said you would be coming to help us. He's sorry that he could not be here to greet you, but he was called to the Widow Larkin's very early this morning." Julia's voice was low and melodic, but there was a trace of nervousness beneath it, along with something else that Tamara could not quite put her finger on. Not at first. When she did at last identify the undercurrent in the woman's voice, she felt an immediate surge of sympathy for Julia Nichols.

Hopelessness, Tamara thought. She doesn't believe anyone can help her. We'll see about that.

Tamara took Farris's hand as he helped her out of the carriage, then stepped aside so that William could follow.

"Tamara Swift," she said, by way of introduction. "And this is my brother, William."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Nichols," William said as he took the woman's hand and kissed it. Mrs. Nichols seemed unsure how to respond to the chivalrous gesture. After a moment, she gave William a small curtsey.

Tamara rolled her eyes. Leave it to William to try and play squire to the local gentry.

Mrs. Nichols did not keep them waiting on the threshold long. Nor did she linger over her choice of words. "Come inside, then. My daughter is waiting."

William took Tamara's arm and together they followed Mrs. Nichols inside.

The kitchen was large and filled with the smell of freshly baked bread. The hearth, on which the loaves were now cooling, was made from the same stone as the floor and gave the whole room a very primitive feeling. The walls had been white washed recently and they glowed almost opalescent in the firelight. There was a long wooden table covered with a thin white cloth in the middle of the room. Yet it was not the table that drew William's attention, but the girl who sat at its head.

Sarah Nichols had her mother's wide mouth and deep brown eyes, but they were set in a small, delicate face that was made of pure English cream. She was one of the most beautiful creatures William had ever set eyes on. His mouth went dry and his heart gave an involuntary flutter.

The girl looked up at him, then, and the expression on her face could have turned blood to ice. William's momentary fantasy of becoming her knight in shining armor was thrown to the wayside. The young woman was beyond any help he could offer, and it pained him to acknowledge that awful truth.

Sarah's brown eyes burned with possession. Madness emanated from every pore. She let out a chilling, high-pitched giggle and for the first time William noticed bits of dead leaf stuck in her thick brown hair.

Mrs. Nichols noticed his gaze and nodded to the window.

"She spends most nights out there ranging around like some animal. Father tried to follow her once, but she did not want the company."

William and Tamara glanced at one another, and he believed that in that moment their thoughts echoed one another. Father.

Their possessed father behaved in a manner quite similar to that of Sarah Nichols. Had they not confined him to his room, he, too, would probably be wandering the streets of London in search of his master. The siblings and their friends had banished the demon lord Balberith back to his hellish home, but they had been unable to find a way to evict Oblis, a minor demon in service to Balberith, from their father's body. Would the same be true for Sarah Nichols? For her family's sake, William hoped not. The pain he felt whenever he looked into his father's hollow eyes was not one he would ever wish on another. But at least now he understood the Doctor's extreme worry and terror. All of his thoughts of returning home were gone from his head.

Whatever was going on in Blackbriar, it had to be set right.

Suddenly, the girl's eyes rolled back and she fell forward onto the table, slamming her forehead hard against the wood.

Mrs. Nichols flew to her daughter's side. "Sarah, no!"

The girl sat back up and pushed her mother rudely away, a line of blood trickling from a cut at her scalp. "Leave me alone!" she screamed, her voice tight and shrill. "Do not touch me, you shrew! You seek to keep my lovers from my breast!"

Mrs. Nichols shook her head. "No! Hush now, Sarah! It isn't you talking!"

The girl turned and spat at her mother, then abruptly switched her attention to Tamara. She stuck out a long, pointy finger and shook it.

"You! You think you can have him, but you cannot! He belongs to me! One day he and his men will ride to me again and they shall take me away from my suffering!" The girl's mouth twitched, bits of spittle pooling in the corners. "He is mine!"

With an abrupt shriek, Sarah shot to her feet, knocking her chair over with a clatter, and flew from the room. The front door slammed behind her.

Mrs. Nichols stared after her, then the woman's face crumpled in upon itself and Tamara ran to help her into a chair.

"My daughter. Oh, that is not my daughter..."

William watched his sister minister to the distraught woman. He never knew quite what to do in such emotional situations so he averted his eyes respectfully while the woman sobbed with uncontrollable anguish. He was at a loss, and as he tried not to make the situation more awkward, he turned his attention to the room around them.

It was a well cared for room. Mrs. Nichols must have spent most of her days keeping the cottage neat and tidy for her daughter and father-in-law. Now, the cleaning probably acted as a release for the worry and terror she felt for her child.

Child. Where is the baby? William knew that the family was in possession of one of the changelings, an infant that had been switched for young Sarah's own child, yet he had seen nothing to indicate that there was a child in the cottage.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Nichols, but the Doctor said that there was a... child?"

"Mrs. Nichols flinched at the word, took a shaky breath and nodded. "Yes. Yes, of course. Just a moment."

The woman left the room, presumably to fetch the changeling.

"William," Tamara said. "It was kind of you to divert her attention. Something like this could drive the poor woman to madness if she did not have someone to care for, something else to concentrate on. There are times when you are far more perceptive and far more thoughtful than ever I give you credit for."

William took the praise, though he knew in his heart that it was not entirely deserved. A moment later Mrs. Nichols returned with the changeling baby and Tamara's compliment seemed a distant memory. William stared at Mrs. Nichols as the woman lovingly cradled the changeling child against her breast.

"This child may not be my flesh and blood, but it is a child and deserves our love, nonetheless," Mrs. Nichols announced. The look in her eyes defied either of them, or anyone else for that matter, to contradict her.

"You are very right indeed, Mrs. Nichols," Tamara said.

"Would you care to hold her?"

William blanched. "It is a she?"

Mrs. Nichols arched an admonishing eyebrow but nodded. She held the child out for Tamara to take but the baby began to squall.

"Poor thing. I don't think I'd better," Tamara said. William could tell that his sister was not frightened of the baby; that her reluctance stemmed from her compassion. The child did not want to be parted from Mrs. Nichols, and Tamara did not want to distress the hideous little beast any further.

Mrs. Nichols moved toward William, who tried to indicate with raised hands that he was definitely not interested in the experience. She thrust the baby into his arms regardless of his gesticulations. He began to protest, tried to return the changeling to its caretaker, but then he paused and glanced down at the ugly, delicate creature in his arms. The child had calmed down the instant it was placed into his arms, and now began to gently hum in a strange keening fashion.

"She likes you," Mrs. Nichols said matter-of-factly.

William stared down into the child's yellow eyes. He couldn't believe that he had found himself coddling a faerie child not once, but twice in one day.

"I think you make a very convincing mother, Will," Tamara said, raising a hand behind which to hide a giggle.

He glared at his mirthful sister, but her amusement was infectious and very soon all three of them were grinning. Well, at least my embarrassment had a positive effect, William thought. Anything that would allow Mrs. Nichols to forget her troubles for a few moments was worthwhile.

The carriage had only just departed the Nichols residence, with Farris snapping the reins to urge the horses on, when Bodicea appeared in their midst. Once upon a time, Tamara mused, they would have been startled by her arrival, but now she and her brother only looked up expectantly. The warrior queen's spectral body seemed more solid in the shadows of the carriage, but where the light streamed through the windows, she was so translucent as to be nearly invisible.

Bodicea held something within her cupped hands that buzzed furiously.

"What is that?" Tamara inquired curiously. Whatever Bodicea was keeping prisoner had to be supernatural. Ghosts could not lay hands upon natural, living things in such fashion.

In response, Bodicea opened her hands to reveal a tiny, very angry woodland sprite. The sprite had spiky red hair and glittery blue skin, its eyes like miniature rubies fixed in its head. Tamara gasped as it lurched out of Bodicea's hands and slammed into the carriage wall. It fell back against the plush seat of the carriage and stopped buzzing, unconscious.

"My goodness," Tamara chirped. "It was terrified. It is a sprite, isn't it?"

Bodicea nodded. "I have captured her so that you may hear from her very lips the rumors of the woods."

William stared stupidly at the little faerie creature.

"That's a what?" He squeaked.

"A sprite, silly," Tamara chimed back. "Isn't it beautiful?"

"Beautiful?" William blustered. "I think not. Frightening more like it. Are you sure it's not some kind of bizarre, exotic bird?"

The sprite had regained consciousness and now at this criticism she sat up and stuck her tongue out at William.

"I am not a bird!" The sprite's voice was squeaky and shrill. It flew up into the air, its tiny, colourful wings beating like a hummingbird's, and tried to escape through the carriage window.

"Maleficus," Tamara snapped, raising an arm to send the spell on its way. The little sprite once more found itself prostrate on the carriage seat. It glared at Tamara, but did not try to escape again.

"Ye are mighty powerful witches and we will not fight ye," the little sprite intoned in its trilling voice. "We will give ye what the ghost asks, but nothing more, no nothing more..."

"What is your name, sprite?" Tamara asked courteously. She knew from many hours spent poring over magical texts that it was hopeless to rely upon a sprite unless she had befriended it first. A sprite would talk in circles for hours, leading you to one dead end after another, if you let it. She only wished she had thought of that before hexing it.

The sprite tensed, then gave Tamara a cunning smile. "We are called Serena, my lady witch. And if it be rumors that ye seek, than we shall tell ye every one." The sprite began to launch into a telling of all the woodland gossip, but Bodicea cleared her throat and the sprite shut its mouth.

"We shall have no tomfoolery. You shall tell the Swifts what you have told me, nothing more. Is that understood?" Bodicea's tone brooked no argument. The sprite swallowed hard and nodded, mortally terrified of Bodicea. Tamara understood how one could feel intimidated by the warrior queen. She was not to be trifled with.

"There be a tree, like the great Yggdrasil in the far North-"

"You mean an Ash tree?" Tamara queried.

The sprite nodded. "Ay, my lady witch. Like the great mother tree in the North, it is. At this tree we woodland folk have seen a great faerie queen and her sisters gather. They sing together a song of magick, strong magick it be, too. We stay far from this place and its powerful magick, lest we be caught in the spell that has been woven there."

"Can you show us this tree?" William asked.

The sprite glared at him. "Ye? Ye who insult us? We shall not show ye this place. Not 'pon our life."

Tamara tried to hide a smile, but failed miserably. "I think you ought to apologise, Will."

The sprite nodded its agreement, folding its arms in contempt.

William took a long breath and exhaled sharply. Then he forced a look of contrition onto his face. "You have my apologies, lady sprite," he said, with an attempt at gallantry that fell quite short.

The sprite narrowed its eyes. "We are not believing ye."

William looked fit to be tied. "That's all the apology you will receive from me, sprite. You should count your blessings that I did not say you resembled a dead bird."

Bodicea shot William a warning glance then turned her attention to the sprite. "You have not told them of the children."

The sprite bowed to Bodicea. "Ay, there be human children, human babies in this tree. Most times one faerie sister stays there to care for them. Most times, but not all times."

"Wait a moment. I thought Wild Edric took the babies," William began. "I know we haven't come to any conclusions yet, but I had just assumed he was behind the whole nasty affair."

Tamara nodded. "Yes, Will. I had come to the same conclusion. Though there were always flaws with that theory."

The sprite frowned and spat on the seat of the carriage. "Piff! Wild Edric not be taking those babies, ye daft witch! He rides the night. What would he do with human babies?" The sprite giggled, shaking her head, then straightened up and put on a helpful air. "We shall take ye to this tree, my lady witch, if ye wish us to."

Tamara nodded her thanks. "We would appreciate any help that you would offer us, Serena."

The sprite bowed to Bodicea and the Swifts. "The forest is thick and brambly, and the tree hides in magick from anyone who doesn't know where to look. On foot we must go."

"Then by foot we go," William said. He called to Farris to halt the carriage, and it rocked and squeaked as the loyal butler drew them to a stop.

Tamara opened the door, the dark forest beyond, and glanced at the sprite, trying to hide her suspicion of the creature.

"Lead on."