I am about to say something placating and evasive when I am interrupted by a shrill ringing. All three of us look to the nightstand in surprise at the telephone. I stand up and make my way over to it. It has been a really long time since anyone contacted me by phone and even longer since I was contacted via an actual landline.
“What’s that?” Delinda asks, pointing to it.
“A telephone,” I say and pick it up cautiously. Who could it possibly be?
“Lizzie?” Devon’s voice comes down the line when I don’t say anything.
“Dev,” I say in relief. “What on Earth are you doing calling me?” I scrunch up my face.
“Well, I didn’t know if it was safe to Astraport back or not?” he says as if I am dense.
“Oh, ha,” I say with a chuckle. “Where are you anyway?”
“The New York apartment,” he says. “I didn’t know where else to go with a baby in tow.”
“Good thinking,” I praise him. I can almost feel the beam of pride emanating across the country.
I feel him pop up in front of me and I hang up the phone. “Hi,” I say with a smile at him holding my baby like a football. “Give her to me.”
Devon hands her over gratefully and frowns down at the dead body on the floor and then at the unconscious Pyleah on the bed.
“Fun times,” he drawls.
“You could say that,” I say, cooing at Thia.
Delinda, not one to miss out, leaps onto the bed and jumps up and down, jostling Pyleah around. “Thia! Thia! Thia!” she shouts.
“Shush,” I try to quieten her down.
“Thia! Thia! Thia!” she bellows in my ear and then launches herself off the bed, straight at Devon, who thankfully catches her before she plummets to the floor.
He beams down at her and she is smitten. She cuddles him, resting her head on his shoulder.
“Err,” Frederick says, turning his attention away from the probably weird spectacle in front of him. “The Faerie is gone.”
“Huh?” I ask, looking up from Thia and towards the bed. It’s empty. “Dammit! Was no one watching her?”
Frederick just shrugs. “She’s gone. One less thing to worry about.”
“Yeah, for now,” I say a bit annoyed that we weren’t even paying attention to our captive.
Thia chooses this moment to let out a loud cry and Marguerite comes running in with three bottles in her hand. She holds up the white one. “Milk.” The red one. “Blood.” And a gross-looking pink one. “Half and half,” she says with a shrug and a half smile.
“I’ll try the half and half,” I say with a grateful smile at her. “Thank you.”
She bobs her head and glares at the men to leave us alone.
Devon and Frederick slink off and I sink into a big comfy armchair to attempt this feeding business.
Chapter 11
Los Angeles, November 2014 - Aefre
I wave the bottle under Thia’s nose and she opens her mouth straight away, latching onto it and sucking with a vengeance.
“Hmm, excellent call,” I say to Marguerite, who is sitting with Delinda and watching.
“Does she have fangs?” Delinda asks, curiously.