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.

Oh Exeter, she is not breathing!

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.

Stimulate the baby by rubbing her back.

“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.

Chapter Twenty-one

EXETER 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.