“Get the babies over here,” he ordered.
Marthe plopped one baby on me, and Sarah deposited the other. The babies’ limbs were all hitched up and their faces puce with irritation. As soon as I felt the weight of my son and daughter on my chest, the shaking stopped.
“That’s the one downside to a birthing stool when there are twins,” Dr. Sharp said, beaming.
“Mums can get a bit shaky from the sudden emptiness, and we don’t get a chance to let you bond with the first child before the second one needs your attention.”
Marthe pushed Matthew aside and wrapped both babies in blankets without ever seeming to disturb their position, a bit of vampire legerdemain that I was sure was beyond the capacity of most midwives, no matter how experienced. While Marthe tended to the babies, Sarah gently massaged my stomach until the afterbirth came free with a final, constrictive cramp.
Matthew held the babies for a few moments while Sarah gently cleaned me. A shower, she told me, could wait until I felt like getting up—which I was sure would be approximately never. She and Marthe removed the sheets and replaced them with new ones, all without my being required to stir. In no time I was propped up against the bed’s downy pillows, surrounded by fresh linen.
Matthew put the babies back into my arms. The room was empty.
“I don’t know how you women survive it,” he said, pressing his lips against my forehead.
“Being turned inside out?” I looked at one tiny face, then the other. “I don’t know either.” My voice dropped. “I wish Mom and Dad were here. Philippe, too.”
“If he were, Philippe would be shouting in the streets and waking the neighbors,” Matthew said.
“I want to name him Philip, after your father,” I said softly. At my words our son cracked one eye open. “Is that okay with you?”
“Only if we name our daughter Rebecca,” Matthew said, his hand cupping her dark head. She screwed up her face tighter.
“I’m not sure she approves,” I said, marveling that someone so tiny could be so opinionated.
“Rebecca will have plenty of other names to choose from if she continues to object,” Matthew said.
“Almost as many names as godparents, come to think of it.”
“We’re going to need a spreadsheet to figure that mess out,” I said, hitching Philip higher in my arms. “He is definitely the heavy one.”
“They’re both a very good size. And Philip is eighteen inches long.” Matthew looked at his son with pride.
“He’s going to be tall, like his father.” I settled more deeply into the pillows.
“And a redhead like his mother and grandmother,” Matthew said. He rounded the bed, gave the fire a poke, then lay next to me, propped up on one elbow.
“We’ve spent all this time searching for ancient secrets and long-lost books of magic, but they’re the true chemical wedding,” I said, watching while Matthew put his finger in Philip’s tiny hand. The baby gripped it with surprising strength.
“You’re right.” Matthew turned his son’s hand this way and that. “A little bit of you, a little bit of me. Part vampire, part witch.”
“And all ours,” I said firmly, sealing his mouth with a kiss.
“I have a daughter and a son,” Matthew told Baldwin. “Philip and Rebecca. Both are healthy and well.”
“And their mother?” Baldwin asked.
“Diana got through it beautifully.” Matthew’s hands shook whenever he thought of what she’d been through.
“Congratulations, Matthew.” Baldwin didn’t sound happy.