Fae surrogate mothers would be too risky, too inclined to keep what they grew, with birth rates so low. It made more sense that the burden would fall onto the coven to supply their own wombs if they expected a return on their nine-month investment.
The wrinkle in my nose scrunched tighter. “What higher purpose does that leave for the guys?”
“Cannon fodder. Ritual sacrifices. Political scapegoats.” He made a thoughtful noise. “They likely neuter male children to avoid producing inferior witches to tax the coven’s resources later on.”
“Following that logic,” I reasoned, “Liz is pregnant by a fae of some type.”
“There’s every reason to think so, yes.”
“Even if Liz is as fertile as the average witch, her fae blood would half her chances of reproducing.” I let a sigh escape me. Biology, like foreign languages, just wasn’t my thing. But there was no Duolingo for this. “If she’s been waiting all this time for a male fae to get the job done, the odds get cut in half again, and that’s before you factor in damage from black magic that made her womb a hostile environment.”
“The fertility treatments might have been real,” Linus agreed. “Liz may have required that much help.”
As often as Linus was right, I didn’t discount him now. Neither did I doubt this news would destroy Ares.
It was one thing to accept the need for a donor in order for her wife to conceive, but it was another to learn Liz might have had a lover—or lovers—who delivered the required genetic material in person.
Before I forgot, I texted Abbott about which way we were leaning paternity-wise, in case it mattered.
“Once we begin,” Linus cautioned, “there can be no interruptions without dangerous consequences.”
“Okay.” Knuckles gone white where I gripped the phone, I held my voice steady. “Let’s do this.”
All I could do was cross my fingers that the years I had spent bonded to Ambrose had forged magical conduit channels that would allow me to play High Society for a few hours without kissing the floor.
The OPA had decisions to make before I got down to the business of warding, or attempting to ward, the Faraday. We had to decide where, other than the holding cells and the infirmary, rated the protection. We also had strategic choices as to how we diverted the coven’s attention with dud rooms.
Midas and my apartment topped the list, and not because it was the cherry atop the building.
There was roof access in our hall, which we had to block, and those were our private quarters.
An enemy who didn’t know us better might suspect we would hole up there. One who did might suspect we would squirrel away their prize behind the strongest wards in the building. Except Midas and I hadn’t lived there long enough to take precautions. The treatment it got tonight was long overdue.
Remy volunteered her new apartment for the cause. Poor thing. It had already been through so much.
We marked the apartment Ares had shared with Liz as well. Five enforcers loaned out theirs. Eleven residents away on vacation agreed to cooperate, and three-dozen evacuees offered up their homes too.
Within an hour of placing the initial call to Linus, I had my plan, my equipment, and my spotter.
One might argue having one’s gwyllgi mate act in that capacity ran counter to the no-distractions rule.
One might also become lunch if they brought such concerns up to said mate’s face, so near his teeth.
“We start at the top and work our way down.” I slung a bag over my shoulder. “Ready?”
Midas ground his teeth. “Yep.”
“You don’t have to sound so happy about it.” I elbowed him. “Come on, Stud. It won’t be that bad.”
“That is not my new nickname.”
“Admit it.” I grinned up at him. “It was funny.”
“No.” He followed me into the elevator. “It was not.”
Funny or not, needling him kept him distracted from what I was about to attempt, which was the point.
As I stepped into our private hall, I redialed Linus and then mashed the button to enable video chat.
For the sake of my concentration, Midas sat on the couch facing me rather than hovering at my elbow.
“Excellent,” Linus said by way of greeting. “Midas is with you?”
Sliding my gaze to my mate, I smiled at his grumpy expression. “Always.”
The screen flickered to life, and Linus’s imposing features stared out at me. He had done prep work too, but on a smaller scale. He held a paintbrush in one hand, and an ornate inkpot sat on a stack of thick papers on his desk. A yellow parakeet with bright-red eyes had made a nest on top of his head, and it continued to arrange long strands of his dark-auburn hair, but I pretended not to notice his new hat.
The bird was Grier’s childhood pet, and her familiar, but Keet was…well…an odd duck for a parakeet.
I hear that happens to animals who get resuscitated one too many times.
I had also heard him called a zombie parakeet more than once, but Grier was in denial over that one.
“All right.” Linus kept his tone cool and professional, and times like these, I had no problem picturing him lecturing at Strophalos University. “You have the ink?”
“I do.” I pulled out a glass bottle that sloshed with crimson liquid. “It was where you said it would be.”
Abbott kept two small bottles of Linus’s personal mix in refrigerated storage for emergencies.
Most practitioners brewed their own, their recipes closely guarded secrets, but I would forever be dependent upon premixed. I didn’t have the natural power in my blood to create my own.
Honestly, it was probably for the best. I was nowhere near skilled enough to create heirloom-worthy ink.
It’s not like I had taken Necromancy 101. There had been no reason to teach me magic theory when I had none. Now I had the power, but not the smarts to use it. The gaps in my education were Grand Canyon-esque these days.
“You need to start on the right-hand side of the door,” Linus instructed. “Kneel on the floor and copy the sigils I draw as best you can.”
I wasn’t going to win any art contests with my stumbling efforts, but I got the basic sequence down well enough to finish the design along the baseboards of our apartment without too many hiccups.
When I was done, I walked the perimeter with the camera facing out, allowing him to inspect my work.
Ambrose, who had been no help whatsoever up to this point, decided to show interest, probably to impress Linus. That, or to give the impression he was as good as his word, that he only meant to help.
“Well done.” Linus beamed with approval. “Now for the hard part.”
From his spot on the couch, Midas tensed and leaned forward, his muscles rippling with anticipation.
“That wasn’t it?” I glanced down at my knees, the delicate skin smooshed flat and red. “Seriously?”
“You’ve laid the foundation.” Linus leaned back in his chair. “It’s time to build on it.”
Unable to sit still as we hashed out the details, Midas rose and prowled into the kitchen. He passed me a bottle of water when he came back, concern heavy in his features, and I drained it in three long pulls.
“Midas,” Linus called to him. “Are you ready?”