Four and Twenty Blackbirds (Eden Moore 1)

Both men offered me blank, perplexed stares. "How on earth do you know that?" Harry asked, his eyes scanning the paper again. "It doesn't say that on here. It only says that the woman gave birth. "

"It was a girl," I insisted quietly. "And they named her Miabella. "

They went quiet. "How do you know?"

"She was his pretty one. That's Italian, though, isn't it? I wonder where he heard it. "

I stood and went to the teapot Marcus had set back on the cool burner, looking more to avoid them than to pour another cup. They let me stand without protest, but talked behind me in lower tones as if I'd left the room or I couldn't hear them.

"Harry, is she—I mean, is Eden—is she like the rest of them?"

"I think so. If she says it was a girl, we may as well believe her. "

"But a name? I don't see how she . . . unless she's considerably stronger than the rest of them, I don't see how she could possibly know that. Even the other one, the girl on the other side of the family—the poor little th

ing who died . . . "

"I don't think it's just that she's stronger. I think it's more than that. I think . . . no, I'm not sure enough to say it. "

"Say it anyway. "

"If this girl, Miabella, is still there and in contact with Eliza, then maybe—"

Without turning around, I cut him off. I rallied every ounce of energy I had remaining and shaped it into my next words, trying to sound ordinary. Trying to sound rational and confident. Not altogether failing, but not succeeding as well as I would have liked, either.

"It's not her. Whoever it is that's been sending mysterious potions to my batty old aunt, it's not that baby. She's dead. She's been dead for years. " I reached for the teapot, but when I extended my hands they were badly quivering, so I pulled them back and crossed them against my chest. I stayed there, facing the stove, probably looking somewhat stupid to the two men behind me.

"Eden, are you all right?" Harry asked it, and I heard a chair scoot away from the table.

"Yes," I lied. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me. I'm just, I'm just not feeling well. Still. I mean, from sleeping . . . from sleeping in the car. And my stomach was upset anyway when we started. "

"Would you like to go lie down?" Marcus's voice.

Behind him I heard Harry whisper a sentence or two that contained the word "poisoned. " Oh yes, the draught of sickly drink. Now that they mentioned it, I had felt strange ever since first I sipped it. Somehow I managed to disagree, though I didn't care enough to argue. Eliza's brew was no poison. It was something more . . . helpful. I hoped.

"Would you like to lie down?" Marcus asked again.

This time I nodded. "I would, yes. I think that would be good. "

Miabella.

"Yes?" It was my own voice. Who was calling? And who was I to answer?

Miabella.

"Yes. "

Harry joined in. "Eden?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm all right. " But I wasn't, not really. My hands, crossed against my chest. I held them out before me to watch them shake, and they were not my own. They wavered before me more distant and hazy than any oasis. And they were covered with blood.

"Harry?" I said in barely a whisper. "Harry?"

He was beside me then, an arm around my shoulders.

My hands were not my own.

They were covered in blood.