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added as Stiles looked doubtfully at her. 
    ‘It’s hard to explain,’ said Denny.  ‘But it’s different … you just know.’
    ‘Pity you can’t do me then,’ said Stiles glumly.
    ‘Maybe just a little bolt,’ said Tamar.  ‘Might work. Probably knock you out for a while but …’
    ‘No!’ said Denny.  ‘Too risky, he’s human.’
    ‘More risky than not being in control of your own mind?’ said Stiles. ‘Do it.’
    ‘It could kill you,’ said Denny. 
    ‘I’ll risk it,’
    ‘Look I just …’
    ‘Oh, I’ll do it,’ interrupted Tamar. And, before Denny could stop her, she had. 
     

~ Chapter Six ~
    T hey were here many millennia ago. The fair folk, the lordly ones, the Faeries. And in some ways, the land has never forgotten them. 
    They spawned a million myths and legends and had a hundred different names, but no one remembers the truth. 
    Vague echoes of the truth have filtered down through the centuries.  People talk of mischief, of tricks and pranks.  People educated in Faerie lore might mention the courts, theSeelie Court and the Unseelie Court, the homes respectively of the good and the bad faeries.
      But there were only ever the bad faeries – only ever theUnseelie Court.  And its real name is forgotten.
    But Hecaté remembered. 
    As she ploughed through the many written works that Denny had found on Faeries and their counterparts, recollections of the truth filtered back to her.  
     
    They were afraid of iron (iron to bind.)
    They loved music (music to maze.)
    They were beautiful.
    They were elegant.
    They were cruel.
    They were vicious.
    They were murderers.
     
    But she still did not know where they had gone, had never known as a matter of fact. As a goddess, the doings of the Sidhe had not been of much interest to her at the time, and when they had vanished, she had barely noticed.  It really had not mattered much.  It mattered now.
    There was one person who could tell her what she wanted to know.  The problem was she was terrified of him.
    “Changelings” she read.  “Often fairies would take a human child and replace it with a fairy child.” Well, they had got that right at least, but nowhere did it say why the fairies were supposed to have done this although there were numerous speculations.  Hecaté did not have to speculate, she knew why –   Infiltration.  And she realised, with a jolt, that this time it was happening on a wide scale – Stiles’s missing baby cases.  Denny had evidently worked this much out according to his notes on the subject.  But he had not figured out all of it. 
    He had not seen the changeling right under his nose.
     
    * * *
     
    ‘Is he all right?’ 
    ‘He’s fine,’ said Tamar impatiently, ‘just knocked out.’
    ‘Now what?’  Denny did not waste time on recriminations, there was no point, Tamar would not have listened anyway. 
    ‘I’ll wake him and we can … can … get the hell out of here anyway.  We need to talk.’ 
     
    They limped, hobbled and dragged themselves back to the gypsy camp.  None of them had ever been in such a bad way before; it was unnerving. Just a few hours in this cursed forest and they were wrecks of their former selves. 
    ‘But,’ said Tamar, ‘at least our minds are our own again.’ 
     
    The gypsies scolded them for running off into the woods, particularly Denny whose injury was very bad they said.
    Denny was mildly surprised – he had forgotten his wounded leg in all the excitement, and then he realised why.  He looked down at his blood soaked trousers and saw that the blood had dried – there was no more leaking out.  He stomped his leg on the ground, and there was no pain.  His leg was sound.
    ‘We can beat them,’ he said.  ‘It was all in our minds.  I was healed.  You healed me just fine but I didn’t believe it – they weren’t letting me.’
    ‘What has power like that?’ mused Tamar. 
    ‘Actually, power over the mind isn’t all that special,’