“Of course,” I said, still a bit short of breath.
“And you, Jack?” Matthew rested a hand on Jack’s shoulder. It was not the typical de Clermont embrace. This was a father greeting his son after a long separation—a father who feared that his child had been through hell.
“I’m better now,” Jack could always be relied upon to tell the truth when asked a direct question. “I overreact when I’m surprised.”
“So do I.” Matthew’s grip on him tightened a fraction. “I’m sorry. You had your back turned, and I wasn’t expecting ever to see you again.”
“It’s been . . . difficult. To stay away.” The faint vibration in Jack’s voice suggested it had been more than difficult.
“I can imagine. Why don’t we go inside and you can tell us your tale?” This was not a casual invitation; Matthew was asking Jack to bare his soul. Jack looked worried at the prospect.
“What you say is your choice, Jack,” Matthew assured him. “Tell us nothing, tell us everything, but let’s go inside while you do it. Your latest Lobero is no quieter than your first. He’ll have the neighbors calling the police if he keeps barking.”
Jack nodded.
Matthew’s head cocked to the side. The gesture made him look a bit like Jack. He smiled. “Where has our little boy gone? I don’t have to crouch down anymore to meet your eyes.”
The remaining tension left Jack’s body with Matthew’s gentle teasing. He grinned shyly and scratched Lobero’s ears.
“Father Hubbard will come with us. Could you take the car, Gallowglass, and park it somewhere where it’s not blocking the road?” Matthew asked.
Gallowglass held out his hand, and Hubbard put the keys into it.
“There’s a briefcase in the trunk,” Hubbard said. “Bring it back with you.”
Gallowglass nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line. He gave Hubbard a blistering look before stalking toward the car.
“He never has liked me.” Hubbard straightened the lapels on his austere black jacket, which he wore over a black shirt. Even after more than six hundred years, the vampire remained a cleric at heart.
He nodded to me, acknowledging my presence for the first time. “Mistress Roydon.”
“My name is Bishop.” I wanted to remind him of the last time we’d seen each other and the agreement that he’d made—and broken, based on the evidence before me.
“Dr. Bishop, then.” Hubbard’s strange, multicolored eyes narrowed.
“You didn’t keep your promise,” I hissed. Jack’s agitated stare settled on my neck.
“What promise?” Jack demanded from behind me.
Damn. Jack had always had excellent hearing but I’d forgotten he was now gifted with preternatural senses, too.
“I swore that I’d take care of you and Annie for Mistress Roydon,” Hubbard said.
“Father Hubbard kept his word, mistress,” Jack said quietly. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
“And we’re grateful to him.” Matthew looked anything but. He tossed me the keys to the house.
Gallowglass still had my bag, and without its contents I had no way to open the door.
Hubbard caught them instead and turned the key in the lock.
“Take Lobero upstairs and get him some water, Jack. The kitchen’s on the first floor.” Matthew plucked the keys from Hubbard’s grasp as he went past and put them in a bowl on the hall table.
Jack called to Lobero and obediently started up the worn, painted treads. “You’re a dead man, Hubbard—and so is the one who made Jack a vampire.” Matthew’s voice was no more than a hollow murmur. Jack heard it nonetheless.