Spectacle (Menagerie #2)(80)

I’d been examined?

“At first, I couldn’t figure out how that was possible. Then the oracle told me that you were going to have a baby, and I realized that you were given to us, just like the furiae was given to you.”

“She wasn’t given,” Vandekamp insisted. “I caught her myself. She and all the others were payment for the service I provided the Metzgers.”

His wife frowned at him, then turned back to me. “My point is that this is fate. How else can you explain Willem stumbling across a monster who’s one hundred percent human. For all we know, there isn’t another like you in the entire world. And then you got pregnant, just like the oracle said you would, and it all started to make sense.”

“What oracle?” I asked. “Mirela? Lala?”

“No, the middle one. The one who doesn’t talk much.”

“Rommily.” Shit. I closed my eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. “What did she say, exactly? And I mean exactly.”

“I don’t remember the specific words, but she said something about fury. I thought she was talking about anger until Willem told me about your calling.”

“What else?” Vandekamp said from his perch on the edge of his desk.

“She said fate’s bastard. That’s your baby, obviously, since you’re not married.”

No, fate’s bastard was me, not my unborn child. Rommily had called me that before. It meant “orphan.” But I could see her confusion. “What else did she say?”

“Something about a knife. No, a scalpel. And a belly full of blood.”

I groaned, and when Vandekamp’s gaze met mine, I knew he’d come to the same conclusion.

Tabitha was oblivious. “I assume that means you’ll need a cesarean. Which is no big deal, from what I’ve read...” Her words faded into nothing when she noticed that her husband and I were both staring at her. “What?”

“Rommily is broken, for lack of a better term,” I explained. “Death is just about the only thing she can predict.”

Tabitha smoothed her knee-length gray pencil skirt with one hand. “What does that mean?”

“Dr. Hill just sliced open his own stomach with a scalpel after making physical contact with Delilah,” Vandekamp told her. “Rommily wasn’t predicting Delilah’s pregnancy. She was predicting Dr. Hill’s death by self-evisceration.”

Tabitha blinked. Then she blinked again. “No.” She shook her head, and a strand of hair fell from her neat French twist. “That’s a coincidence.” She smoothed her hair back and sat straighter, and I could practically see her pushing a mental reset button. “What matters is that you’re here and you’re pregnant and that is very fortunate for you. If you’d gotten pregnant anywhere else, your baby would be born in chains, even if it turns out to be human, because no one else understands what you really are. But we understand.” She turned to her husband, evidently expecting some sign of affirmation, but he seemed at a loss for words.

“Meaning what? You’re going to save my baby? How? Throw it into foster care?” As horrified as I was by the thought, wasn’t that better than what I could offer the poor child?

But Tabitha only stared at me, and the look in her eyes made my skin crawl. “You really don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember what?” Vandekamp asked.

I did not remember. But suddenly I understood. “You’re infertile.”

Tabitha flinched.

“You can’t have a baby of your own, so you’re going to take mine.”

“Assuming it’s human,” she admitted. “That was the deal. I agreed to safeguard your pregnancy—I gave you vitamins and exercise, and I took you off the menu for full-contact engagements.”

The fact that there was such a roster and the fact that I’d been on it horrified me in equal parts. How often had I been scheduled? How many possibilities were there for my child’s paternity?

“...and you agreed to keep the pregnancy hidden until we know the baby’s species. If it’s human, Willem and I will raise it.”

“Tabitha.” Vandekamp looked dumbfounded and livid.

I shook my head. “I would never agree to that.” Unless she’d given me no choice. What wouldn’t I have agreed to, to keep my baby alive?

But neither of them were looking at me anymore.

“You promised me a baby ten years ago,” she said. “But it’s obvious that this project is your baby, and I need more than that.”

He stood and pulled her to her feet. “Tabitha, this project—the bill, the collars, all of it—is for us. For the baby we’ll have someday.”

“Then you better work fast, because someday’s coming in seven months.”

My teeth refused to unclench, so I spoke through them. “You can’t have my baby.”

She shrugged out of her husband’s grip and turned on me. “You should be grateful. I’m giving your baby a chance at a real life. He’ll have real parents who can give him everything. Who can shower him with love and opportunity. Even if we were to let you keep him, what would you have to offer the poor child? Chains? Scraps of clothing and food?” She turned back to her husband. “If the baby is human, we’re keeping it. You made me a promise, and you’re damn well going to come through, or I will bring all of this crumbling right down on your head.” Her spread arms seemed to indicate the Savage Spectacle, and everything within it.