“Ysabeau!” Fanny arrived in a whirl of pale blue and green. She was followed at a more sedate pace by Madame de Genlis, who continued to sport the colors of the Revolution and was today dressed in naval blue with golden braid. A model of a ship in full sail was pinned to her wig in lieu of a hat.
“And the Marquise de Lafayette.” Madame de Genlis swept her skirts into one hand and curtseyed. “What brings us this honor?”
Marcus stared at his former patient’s wife. She did not look old enough to have a husband, but then again, Lafayette hadn’t seemed mature enough to be a husband, either.
“I came to thank my husband’s savior.” Adrienne rushed at Marcus, her lips pursed to bestow kisses on him.
“Please, madame. There is no need—” Marcus’s protests were cut off by an enthusiastic embrace.
“How will I ever repay your kindness?” Adrienne wept into his coat, clinging to him for dear life. “Your skill as a physician? Your—”
“I have come to see my grandson,” the veiled woman interrupted, clearly out of patience with Adrienne’s effusiveness. She lifted the scrap of fabric, revealing her face. It was perfectly formed and exquisitely beautiful, but there was a ferocity to her features that would warn any prudent warmblood to stay away.
“Grandmother?” Marcus whispered, taking a step in her direction.
“Marcus is not yet ready—” Fanny began.
A cold glance stopped her.
“If you insist,” Fanny said smoothly, though Marcus could hear that her heart was beating more quickly than usual. “Marcus, this is Ysabeau de Clermont, Matthew’s maker—and your grandmother.”
His grandmother. Marcus’s blood beat out a staccato tattoo of pride and respect. He took one step toward her, then another.
Marcus studied his grandmother as he did, intrigued by the affinity he felt for this stranger. He was struck by the beauty of her face and features, the sharp delicacy of her bones, and the blue-tinged porcelain quality of her skin. Her eyes were the color of jade, and so penetrating that they seemed to flay Marcus to the bone. Her dress was a froth of creamy silk, but the layers of fabric wrapped and puffed around her slender frame did nothing to diminish the woman’s presence. Ysabeau de Clermont was powerful—and powerfully intelligent.
Marcus couldn’t stop himself. He bowed. His grandmother was the finest lady he had ever encountered. Adrienne cooed and clapped in approval, wiping a tear from her eye at the touching domestic scene unfolding in Fanny’s front hall.
Cold, delicate hands touched him on the shoulders, a quiet command to rise.
“Yes. You are Matthew’s son,” Ysabeau said, her eyes holding his. “I hear his bloodsong in your veins. This will fade in time, as you become your own creature. But you are still too young for such independence. It is important that vampires understand who you are until you can protect yourself.”
“Vampire?” Marcus looked to Fanny in confusion.
“We do not use that old-fashioned word ‘wearh’ anymore,” Fanny explained. “Vampire is fresh—modern.”
“It matters little what you are called,” Ysabeau said, her voice dismissive. “All that is important is who you are: Matthew’s son—and a de Clermont.”
23
Thirty
12 JUNE
“Do you have your phone?”
“Yes, Miriam.” Phoebe waited by the window, impatient for her first glimpse of their visitor.
“And some money?”
“In my pocket.” Phoebe patted the hip of her jeans, where a mixture of small bills （for taxis） and large bills （for bribes） was neatly folded.
“And no ID?” Miriam said.
The need to go out hunting without any identification, in case the unimaginable happened and someone was killed, had been drummed into Phoebe.
“Nothing.” Phoebe had even taken off the diamond key her parents had given her on her twenty-first birthday in case the stones were registered and could somehow be traced back to her. The emerald ring that Marcus had slipped on her finger when they were engaged remained where he had put it, however.
“Stop gawping at the window,” Miriam said, sounding peevish.
Phoebe tore herself away from the view of the street. She would be out there soon enough.
She was going for a walk.
In Paris.
At night.
With Jason.
He was a member of Miriam’s family—now Phoebe’s family—a male, and the son of Miriam’s former mate.
Tonight marked Phoebe’s next step in becoming an independent vampire. The significance of this rite of passage had been impressed upon her by every member of the household, including Freyja’s driver, who had taken Phoebe for a ride along the same streets she would be traveling tonight on foot. Miriam told her that if all went as planned, Phoebe might be allowed to hunt with Jason, though not to feed. She was not yet mature enough for that.