“What about you, Andrew?” Chris called across the room.
“I believe the saying is ‘Un pour tous, tous pour un,’ not ‘All for one and all that jazz.’”
Matthew winced. The words were right enough, but Hubbard’s Cockney accent made them practically unintelligible. Philippe should have delivered a French tutor along with the cello.
Hubbard’s gaunt hand was the last to join the pile. Matthew saw his thumb move top to bottom, then right to left, as the priest bestowed his blessing on their strange pact. They were an unlikely band, Matthew thought: three creatures related by blood, a fourth bound by loyalty, and a fifth who had joined them for no apparent reason other than that he was a good man.
He hoped that, together, they would be enough to help Jack heal.
In the aftermath of his furious activity, Jack had wanted to talk. He sat with Matthew and Hubbard in the living room, surrounded by his past, and shifted the burden of some of his harrowing experiences onto Matthew’s shoulders. On the subject of Benjamin, however, he was mute. Matthew wasn’t surprised.
How could words convey the horror Jack had endured at Benjamin’s hands?
“Come on, Jackie,” Gallowglass interrupted, holding up Lobero’s leash. “Mop needs a walk.”
“I’d like a bit of fresh air, too.” Andrew unfolded from a strange red chair that looked like a piece of modern sculpture but that Matthew had discovered was surprisingly comfortable. As the front door closed, Chris sauntered into the living room with a fresh cup of coffee. Mathew didn’t know how the man survived with so much caffeine in his veins.
“I talked to your son tonight—your other son, Marcus.” Chris took up his usual seat in the plantation chair. “Nice guy. Smart, too. You must be proud of him.”
“I am,” Matthew said warily. “Why did Marcus call?”
“We called him.“ Chris sipped at his coffee. “Miriam thought he should see the video. Once he had, Marcus agreed we should take some more blood from Jack. We took two samples.”
“You what?” Matthew was aghast.
“Hubbard gave me permission. He is Jack’s next of kin,” Chris replied calmly.
“You think I’m worried about informed consent?” Matthew was barely able to keep his temper in check. “Drawing blood from a vampire in the grip of blood rage—you could have been killed.”
“It was a perfect opportunity to monitor the changes that take place in a vampire’s body chemistry at the onset of blood rage,” Chris said. “We’ll need that information if we want to have a shot at coming up with a medicine that might lessen the symptoms.”
Matthew frowned. “Lessen the symptoms? We’re looking for a cure.”
Chris reached down and picked up a folder. He offered it to Matthew. “The latest findings.”
Both Hubbard and Jack had been swabbed and given blood samples. They’d been rushed through processing, and their genome report was due any day. Matthew took the folder with nerveless fingers, afraid of what he might find inside it.
“I’m sorry, Matthew,” Chris said with heartfelt regret.
Matthew’s eyes raced over the results, flipping the pages.
“Marcus identified them. No one else would have. We weren’t looking in the right place,” Chris said.
Matthew couldn’t absorb what he was seeing. It changed . . . everything.
“Jack has more of the triggers in his noncoding DNA than you do.” Chris paused. “I have to ask, Matthew. Are you sure you can trust Jack around Diana?”
Before Matthew could respond, the front door opened. There was none of the usual chatter that accompanied Jack’s appearance, or Gallowglass’s cheerful whistling, or Andrew’s pious sermonizing.