The Miss Education of Dr. Exeter (21 page)

Until now she had not wished to unduly pressure Exeter. The man was trying to stay alive, while he guided her through the birth of a child. To say nothing of the distraction of being dug out of a pile of limestone. Mia inhaled a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. She had to ask.

 

For the first time in hours, Exeter was able to move his legs. He rocked his toes and stretched his calf muscles to encourage circulation. There was one large slab of stone left on the pile. As soon as the troll lifted the rock off, he wanted to be able to run, not walk, to Prospero’s den.

He caught sight of the troll at work, hoisting the chunk of limestone off the significantly smaller heap of 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?”

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.”

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.

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.

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.

“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 café 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.

E
XETER 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 bundled into warm clothing. Exeter made eye contact with the new father, who shifted his gaze from the chloroform to Prospero’s minions. He acknowledged Phaeton with a nod. If they were to try for a breakout, it would be best to give it a go sooner rather than later. There was a chance the wizard might outwit Ping and return to the den. It was not an impossible idea. None of them knew exactly how clever or devious the man was. No doubt Phaeton would have some insights—but that would have to wait. For now, Prospero remained an enigma.

Exeter stole a glance at Mia, lounging happily beside America. For an instant, he allowed an uncomfortable thought creep into his mind. He wondered what insights Mia had gleaned from her brief encounter with the man. He had found the emerald collar in the man’s private chamber. Absently, she swept up a few wisps of hair and pinned them into her topknot. Sensing his attention, she smiled and nodded.

So they were ready.

And it appeared both minions were leaving—which meant the door would be locked. Exeter called after the guards. “One more thing . . .” He caught the door just as it was about to close. Before either jailer turned, he reached over both their heads and pressed the anesthesia-soaked fabric against their mouths and nostrils. Exeter summoned a bit of potent energy, hoisting the wobbly heads, and flailing appendages into the air. “Easy, lads.” He used a hushed voice, and soon enough the kicking and thrashing ceased as the frail bodies sagged and legs began to dangle. He propped both guards against the door and tossed a ring of keys to Phaeton.

“There’s a code as well.” Phaeton reached through the bars, and pointed to a blinking box attached to the cell door. “Fortunately, I have deduced the cipher.”

Exeter examined the mysterious apparatus attached to the cell door. Following Phaeton’s instructions he pressed buttons marked with letters: P–H–A–E–D–R–A. “Phaedra—the Greek Goddess who hanged herself.” As if he had uttered magic words, the blinking light turned green and the device opened, revealing the original lockbox.

“Libertas.”
Exeter could not help but smile as Phaeton searched for the right key. The man was shaking from the very idea of his imminent freedom. To be able to fully embrace America. Hold his child in his arms for the first time. Exeter dragged both creatures into the cell while Phaeton kissed and embraced and kissed and cooed and coddled. “Ready yourselves, Phaeton, ladies—we are about to make a break for it.”

Exeter locked up the cell and pocketed the key ring. “Off in the land of Nod.” He turned to Mia and reached out. The feel of her hand in his was almost too much to bear. He wanted to pull her close, taste that luscious mouth again. But all of that tempting lovemaking would have to wait.

His gaze moved to America. She cradled the babe, and Phaeton carried both mother and child in his arms. “Don’t drop them.”

“Bugger off. A herd of Prospero’s banshees couldn’t loosen my grip.” The inimitable Phaeton grin had returned, a very good sign. In fact, it appeared to hearten everyone. There was something about the man’s attitude, a tour de force of wit and bravado. Exeter realized he had missed him sorely.

Even so, he narrowed his gaze. “Keep an eye out. Plenty of night dwellers lurking about.” Squinting into the darkness, he led the way out of the ancient dungeon. Brick and mortar was soon replaced by chiseled limestone, yet he resisted calling out for help. Better to wait and see if the troll was still on guard. A test of sorts.

And he had his answer soon enough. Squeezing through the narrow opening, Exeter searched high and low for his rescuer. “His name is Archibald Dunbar Stuart—claims he’s under some sort of enchantment.”

“Trolls all want to believe that.” Phaeton turned slowly, rocking mother and baby in his arms. “Rather convenient, wouldn’t you say? Giant troll pops up in time to dig you out—leads you straight to us—ugly little minions welcome you with open arms . . .” Phaeton didn’t roll his eyes, exactly, but the expression irritated.

Exeter sucked in a deep breath and exhaled. “Let us say, for the sake of argument, that Prospero was behind all this coincidental good fortune; what might be his motive?”

Phaeton’s gaze darkened as all eyes moved to the babe in America’s arms.

Mia was the first to speak. “What if this was never about the Moonstone? I mean, it might have started out that way, and no doubt they all still want to use the Moonstone’s inexhaustible aether.”

“I’m fairly certain we could place Gaspar, Oakley, and Victor in that bunch.” Exeter offered. “But—”

“But perhaps not Prospero.” Mia rolled a bottom lip under her pearly white uppers. “We’re all thinking it. Luna is special, but what if she’s
really
special?”

Exeter knew what they must do. “We have to split up.”

Phaeton shook his head. “There is no safe place from him. America needs to rest—the hotel suite will have to do.”

Exeter pondered, for a moment, the whereabouts of the others. He still had no idea if Jersey Blood had survived the blast in the tunnel. Perhaps there had been additional cave-ins. Exeter shook off the grisly thought. All he really knew was that the Nightshades were missing. “There’s a communicator and a portal maker in the dining room. See if you can’t locate Oakley. Tell him to send Ruby and Cutter over.”

Phaeton nodded. “I’d feel better with a few bodyguards.”

“Mia and I will continue to act as decoys.” Exeter chose the widest, most well-trafficked tunnel and headed toward his best guess at north. Using all of his intuitive feelers, he led them in the general direction of the river. They must have covered a mile of quarry tunnel before they encountered the terrifying sound of—quiet. No more Métro trains traveling at high speed down adjacent tunnels.

“I believe we have passed through a portal.” Phaeton mused aloud. “We are returned to eighteen eighty-nine.”

“Would that be good news, or bad?” America asked.

“Good.” Phaeton mused aloud. “While in captivity, these past long months, I’ve had a chance to study the wizard. He’s not as comfortable in our world. Never stays for long and is knackered upon return.” Phaeton lifted America higher and redistributed the weight in his arms.

“Do you need a rest?” Exeter asked.

“I can go a bit longer—I was allowed a bit of gymnasium every day—confined to the cell block. Kept me from going barking mad.”

Exeter checked over the child, who had begun to fuss. “I recommend we find a defensible spot and take a rest.” A chorus of hisses and growls could be heard behind them. “What is that?”

“Something revived from the dead—ghastly creatures.” A disembodied voice answered, politely.

“Above us.” Exeter nodded upward. Perched in an alcove overhead, two large eyes blinked in the dark. A hairy face plunged forward, tilting a curious chin. Phaeton turned a shoulder to the creature, shielding mother and child, but the troll ignored the rebuff and intruded for a closer look at the infant.

“Careful.” Exeter calmed the defensive father. “He won’t hurt her.”

As if the baby could sense her father’s trepidation, Luna ceased her crying and stared.

For a moment, the hisses quieted as well. “There’s a horde of them,” the troll explained. “Made from catacomb bones, with a few masterful touches by the wizard himself.

“More wraiths?” Mia looked to Exeter.

Exeter had yet to take his eyes off the troll. “You were supposed to keep watch. What happened?”

“Those things—the drones happened. Or wraiths. Whatever you prefer to call them. Wretched creatures like most of his creations.” The troll’s brogue was gone, replaced by proper British speak.

Phaeton pivoted in place, peering down several smaller tunnels. “What’s the fastest way out of here—the closest exit?”

“There’s a passage not far from here that connects to an old drainage pipe. The storm drain leads up to a florist shop.”

Exeter nodded. “Archie, I need you to get these good people up top. Find the Hôtel Claude, on Île de la Cité.” He searched in his pocket and passed the room key over to the only one with a free hand—the troll.

Phaeton’s stare traveled from the key up the lumbering hairy-faced creature and over to Exeter. “Hard to sneak him in, but I like the size of him.”

“Lock yourselves in the sixth-floor suite. Order room service and a bottle of stout for America.” When Phaeton raised a brow, he explained, “Encourages the secretion of milk by the mammary glands.”

 

Mia followed close behind Exeter, who set a blistering pace through a passage that veered off to the east, along the Seine. They did not speak, but concentrated on putting as much distance between themselves and the troll family as they could safely manage. This section of tunnel was older—and piled high with bones. They were headed back into the catacombs. A cold shiver vibrated through her body.

Mia grabbed hold of Exeter’s arm, slowing the pace. “What if Prospero knows about the trap?”

Exeter shortened his stride, pulling her up beside him. “You think he suspects something?”

Her nod quickly turned into a confusing shake. “I’m not sure—it’s more of a feeling than anything he said. There was something odd about the way he spoke of his appointment—as though he wanted me to know where he was going. He mentioned Ping and an address. Eight rue de Talleyrand.”

Exeter stared. “The address of the Contessa Castiglione?”

“Ping and Tim could be in trouble. I say we pay her a visit. We’re invited, are we not?” There was something comforting about his wary gaze. She’d seen it hundreds of times over the years. Ordinarily it meant he was on to her—some bit of mischief she was plotting. But not tonight. Tonight his shaded squint felt reassuring.

Emboldened by his interest, she continued. “If I’m right—we might be able to help Tim and Ping capture him. Prospero can’t fight us all off.”

“We’ll make our way to the Contessa’s home . . . however . . .”

A caveat was coming. “Yes, Exeter?”

“We will not be announced. We’ll find another way in—have a look about. If I deem the situation too dangerous, you will leave immediately.”

“And what about you?” she protested. Exeter laid a finger to his lips. The hissing sounds and low moans were drawing closer. She brightened. “A good sign, is it not?” The wraiths had followed her and Exeter.

“How are you feeling?” She sensed his struggle to read the signs of an impending shift in the dark. The telltale wrinkle in her brow and pain in her eyes. The band of headache radiating from temple to temple. He placed a thumb to her racing pulse, so he could feel the elevation in temperature. No use hiding her symptoms any longer. “She wants out.”

Exeter massaged her temples. Gentle hands, the hands of a healer. “Better?”

Mia closed her eyes and nodded. “A bit.”

“Hold her back, until we arrive at the soiree. We’ll find a spare room—or closet. I’ll take care of you.” She imagined his mouth on a nipple—his fingers slipping inside her. Arousal shuddered pleasantly through her body.

Mia grabbed the lapels of his coat and pulled him back. She kissed him hard, drawing blood. “Don’t make me wait too long.”

He licked his bottom lip. “We must go.”

The hissing noises had grown steadily louder—by the time they found an exit, the wraiths were nearly upon them. Rounding a corner, a bony hand stretched out and grasped at her shoulder. Exeter turned and leveled a blast of energy at the wraith and pushed her up a ladder. “Wait for me topside.”

The wraith hordes had reached the level of a howling storm. “Do not try to fight them off by yourself.” She turned back to see a large round ball of energy grow in his palm. A squadron of skeletons dressed in rags hissed at the sight and retreated.

“Topside, young lady. I’ll just be a moment.” Exeter glanced up at her. “Promise.”

Mia climbed the ladder and turned the wheel of the hatch. Nothing—no release, just a few creaks and groans. She put her shoulder to the stubborn barrier and pushed. Finally, the door swung open. Mia stepped out into the cold night air and marveled briefly at the unlikely spot. The hidden entrance was situated just below the foot of the Pont Neuf.

Exeter climbed out of the small opening. “Shall we make our way to eight rue de Talleyrand?”

Mia picked up her skirts and jumped over a puddle. “The sooner the better.”

Exeter hailed a hansom on the left bank and they were at the Contessa’s palatial maison in minutes. Parting the canvas curtain to have a look ahead, he spoke softly. “There’s a line of carriages at the gate waiting to enter the grounds.” He tapped on the roof and passed the driver a few coins. “We’ll be getting out here.”

Inside the gate, they meandered past low shrubs and through flower beds. The garden path led to an open door under a sign that read
LIVRAISONS
. A swath of gaslight poured out the entrance, illuminating several cases of champagne. Exeter grabbed a bottle and nudged Mia through the delivery door, startling a scullery maid. “We seem to have taken a wrong turn. Might you point us toward the salon?”