One day I hope God will forgive me for giving birth to the idea that came next. Because I never will. I knew how angry she was. I knew how afraid she was. Her child was about to die only inches beyond her reach, and what I did to her was as good as murder. I focused my thoughts and sent them to Susan. Susan! Think! Who knew who the baby’s father was? Who could have told them? Her lips peeled away from her teeth. His knife can’t hurt you, I thought, though I knew damned well that no faerie magic could blithely ignore the touch of steel. “Martin,” Susan said, her voice low and very quiet, “did
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