Page 227 of Bedeviled

The two of us are in a witch-run midwifery clinic, and have been for nearly a day now. It’s closing in on the witching hour, and the friends and family who were here earlier have long since left. It’s only me, Memnon, and the midwife who is checking on me every hour, but who is otherwise dozing. Even Nero is with my parents at the moment.

There’s soothing music playing from speakers, bushels of lavender tucked away in the corners of the room, crystals of amethyst and rose quartz, and images of the mother goddess.

I’m too miserable to appreciate any of it.

Memnon leans against the hospital bed and smooths back my hair, taking my hand into his. “I can numb the pain again.”

That’s what he has been doing, as has the midwife who’s been tending to me, though her efforts in particular have been in vain.

But even Memnon’s spells don’t hold for very long. Either it’s because the pain is too great for magic to muffle for long periods of time, or because this is a rude glitch in mother nature.

I think I want an epidural.

“It’s too late for that, I’m afraid,” says Tracy, the midwife, as she breezes into the room.

I hadn’t realized I’d voiced that desire.

“But I can try to relieve the pain again,” she says, echoing Memnon’s words from a moment ago. She peers at the very non-magical monitor checking my vitals and the baby’s.

“Pain relief would be nice,” I say, a bit defeated. Because of the nuances between fae and earthly magic, I already know it won’t take. But I also haven’t shared this tidbit of information with Tracy, so I go along with her offer.

From the nearby drawer she pulls out a tincture, then has me sit up. She parts the back of my thin cotton gown and rubs the goop onto my spine and murmurs the same soft spell she has been for every hour.

“By night by day, through blood and bone, remove the pain, let peace be sewn.”

I exhale through the building sensation of another contraction.

“Better?” Tracy asks as Memnon watches it all like a hawk. A muscle in his jaw keeps fluttering, and across our bond I sense his own tension at my state.

I nod, swallowing. It is not even a little bit better.

“Any changes in labor?” she asks.

“It hurts more,” I say honestly.

She gives me a soft look. “That does happen toward the end of it.”

“How much longer will she have to endure this?” Memnon asks, his tone commanding. Only I hear the pleading edge to it.

Tracy comes around to my front and gives my leg a squeeze. “Not too long now.”

Last time she checked, I’d been seven centimeters dilated and eighty percent effaced, for what good those terms did me.

She doesn’t check now, however.

Tracy glances over at Memnon. “When she starts needing to push, things will happen quickly. Please be aware that if you get lightheaded or queasy, you should make sure to take a seat or step out of the room. We wouldn’t want you fainting on us.”

Memnon’s eyes flick to mine. I have fought in battles, cut down countless enemies, and she thinks my child’s birth will frighten me?

To the midwife he simply says, “I will be fine.”

I brace myself for the inevitable moment where everyone in the room will get an eyeful of my pussy.

It’s a pretty pussy, Memnon comments.

We’ll see if he says the same thing when it becomes a gaping portal in a little while.

“There’s water on the side table,” Tracy reminds me, “and you can hit the call button on the bed whenever you need me.