Page 135 of When the Sky Breaks

“Anywhere safe,” the younger girl said softly. “Anywhere away.”

I nodded and called for Cavan and Neal. Once we were alone—the girls off to the inn and then to the mainland—I started rattling off orders.

“I need you to get them booked at the inn and then find them passage down to Bath,” I instructed. “Then I need you to get a telegram to Ansel. Tell him it’s urgent and to come back at once. Then write to Marta—I need two sets of records. First—every time a human has come to the Outer Court seeking aid. Then—every time we’ve confirmed and documented that Iksura killed a local for interference with the supernatural. I don’t want hearsay. Understood?”

Cavan nodded and made for the door.

“What happened, love?” Neal asked when the younger man left.

“Iksura burned a cottage with kids inside,” I said. “Because a man was telling ghost stories.”

Neal sighed as I slipped out from behind my desk and tucked myself into his chest.

“Which means me and baby are more important than ever,” I murmured.

The next morning Neal had a mug of raspberry leaf tea waiting for me the moment I got out of bed.

“If you and baby are more important now than ever,” he explained, “then we do everything right. You take someone with you when you go wander with the sheep. We have Kadish come every other week instead of once a month. And you drink this, because according to eight books I read while we were in Edinburgh it’ll strengthen your womb.”

“What does that mean exactly?” I asked.

“Just drink it, love.” Neal pressed the mug into my hands.

“Ansel will be here in three days,” Cavan said. “Marta will need a few weeks for research. And the girls are off to Bath.”

“Then the only thing left to do is pray that they aren’t the first of many,” I replied.

No other humans came fleeing the Inner Court that week, but one of Ansel’s intelligence agents did arrive with a series of memos about new portal cults forming—one in Sicily, one near Kyoto, and another in Persia. The pattern of highly religious areas remaining largely immune seemed to be fracturing.

Ansel moved in full-time again and Kadish promised to visit every other week—just in case.

Then that following Monday another letter came, this one postmarked in Prussia.

A traveling priest told us to write to you for aid. Five in our village have recently been put to the sword or the flames by a powerful noble who lives in the forest nearby. For generations she served as a guardian and protector, with few but strict rules. But lately her rules grow harder to follow, harder to define. Many are seeking shelter and asylum elsewhere, but few have the funds to flee. Mrs. MacCairn, if you have any way to send help please do so.

There were fifty-four names signed at the bottom.

So I sat down and started writing to Outer Court contacts in Prussia, Russia, Denmark—anywhere nearby. We couldn’t fund full-scale relocation. And with how erratically Iksura was behaving even the attempt might cause more harm than good, might encourage her to expand her reach and wreak more havoc. Besides, I couldn’t focus resources there, not right now. Because whether or not Iksura was growing frustrated by my pregnancy and beginning a tyrannical rampage—she was no longer directly threatening the Outer Court. And as such, was no longer the priority. Because no tyrant—immortal and vicious or not—could compare with the devastation of cults unleashing monsters from hell.

Sixty-Five

Neal

It was well after midnight when I felt Sorcha shift in bed beside me. I assumed, for a precious, fleeting moment that she was just getting up to get water, to go use the outhouse. But a moment later I felt her weight shift on the mattress again, heard her gag, and then heard something wet splatter onto the floor.

“Love?” I mumbled, fumbling for the lantern. “Sorcha?”

“Neal, I don’t feel right,” Sorcha replied.

“Okay.” I finally got the lamp lit. “Okay, let me help you.”

“I thought this part was over,” Sorcha whimpered, vomiting over the edge of the bed again.

“Come here,” I said gently, taking her shoulders and getting a look at her face—sweat streaked, pale, dark circles blossoming under her eyes. Sorcha curled her arms around her belly, and I felt her shoulders shake. She was crying. Hard.

“You stay right here,” I said. “Okay? I’m going to go wake my da and Cavan and Ansel. And we’ll find something for you to take. You’ll be fine. Baby will be fine.”

I pulled her close, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and felt her body jerk as she vomited bile directly into my lap.