“There are ways to share them anonymously, and for a fixed period of time,” she told Matthew.
“Expect to see the picture of Margaret More from the Old Lodge’s upstairs loo on display at the National Portrait Gallery very soon.” I squeezed Matthew’s hand encouragingly.
“Why didn’t someone warn me it would be so difficult to have historians in the family?” he asked Marcus, looking a trifle dazed. “And how did we end up with two?”
“Good taste,” Marcus said, giving Phoebe a smoldering glance.
“Indeed.” Matthew’s mouth twitched at the obvious double entendre.
When it was just the four of us like this, Matthew and Marcus would talk for hours about the new scion—though Marcus preferred to call it “Matthew’s clan” for reasons that had as much to do with his Scottish grandfather as with his dislike of applying botanical and zoological terms to vampire families.
“Members of the Bishop-Clairmont scion—or clan if you insist—will have to be especially careful when they mate or marry,” Matthew said one evening over dinner. “The eyes of every vampire will be on us.”
Marcus did a double take. “Bishop-Clairmont?”
“Of course,” Matthew said with a frown. “What did you expect us to be called? Diana doesn’t use my name, and our children will bear both. It’s only right that a family composed of witches and vampires has a name that reflects that.”
I was touched by his thoughtfulness. Matthew could be such a patriarchal, overprotective creature, but he had not forgotten my family’s traditions.
“Why, Matthew de Clermont,” Marcus said with a slow smile. “That’s downright progressive for an old fossil like you.”
“Hmph.” Matthew sipped at his wine.
Marcus’s phone buzzed, and he looked at his display. “Hamish is here. I’ll go down and let him in.”
Muted conversation floated up the stairs. Matthew rose. “Stay with Diana, Phoebe.”
Phoebe and I exchanged worried looks.
“It will be so much more convenient when I’m a vampire, too,” she said, trying in vain to hear what was being said downstairs. “At least then we’ll know what’s going on.”
“Then they’ll just take a walk,” I said. “I need to devise a spell—one that will magnify the sound waves. Something using air and a bit of water, perhaps.”
“Shh.” Phoebe tilted her head and made an impatient sound. “Now they’ve lowered their voices.
How maddening.”
When Matthew and Marcus reappeared with Hamish in tow, their faces told me that something was seriously wrong.
“There’s been another message from Benjamin.” Matthew crouched before me, his eyes level with mine. “I don’t want to keep this from you, Diana, but you must stay calm.”
“Just tell me,” I said, my heart in my throat.
“The witch that Benjamin captured is dead. Her child died with her.” Matthew’s eyes searched mine, which filled with tears. And not only for the young witch but for myself, and my own failure. If I hadn’t hesitated, Benjamin’s witch would still be alive.
“Why can’t we have the time we need to sort things out and deal with this huge mess we seem to have made? And why do people have to keep dying while we do it?” I cried.
“There was no way to prevent this,” Matthew said, stroking my hair away from my forehead. “Not this time.”
“What about next time?” I demanded.
The men were grim and silent.