And everywhere there was a low, constant drumming.
Heartbeats.
The sound was so mesmerizing that Phoebe barely registered when Jason stopped, hands tucked into his pockets. He had been speaking to her.
“Sorry?” Phoebe said, focusing her attention back on her stepbrother.
“Are you okay?” Jason’s eyes were more green than brown, Phoebe noticed on closer inspection. There were faint creases at the corners of his eyes, too, even though he looked no older than she did. Phoebe had seen lines like these before, on friends who sailed and spent lots of time on the water.
“Where are you from?” Phoebe asked.
“You shouldn’t ask,” Jason said, his feet moving forward. “Never ask a vampire their birthplace, age, or real name.”
“But you’re not any vampire. You’re family.” Phoebe caught up with him easily.
“So I am.” Jason laughed. “Still, you need to be careful. The last creature who asked Miriam her age is buried on the bottom of the Bosporus. Your maker’s fierce. Don’t cross her.”
Phoebe had crossed her. In Freyja’s dining room.
“Uh-oh. Your heart rate just spiked,” Jason observed. “What did you do?”
“Challenged her.”
“Did you end up wishing you’d never been born?” Jason’s expression was sympathetic.
“Miriam hasn’t mentioned it since.” Phoebe bit her lip. “Do you think she’s forgiven me?”
“No chance.” Jason smiled cheerfully. “Miriam has the memory of an elephant. Don’t worry. She’ll make you atone. One day.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Phoebe said.
“Miriam will wait until your guard is down. It won’t be pleasant. But at least then it will be over.” Jason turned to face her. “If there’s one thing everybody knows about Miriam, it’s that she doesn’t hold grudges. Not like Marcus’s father.”
“I still don’t feel I understand Matthew,” Phoebe confessed. “Ysabeau, Baldwin, Freyja—even Verin—I feel somehow connected to all of them, but not to Matthew.”
“I doubt Matthew understands himself,” Jason said quietly.
Phoebe was chewing on that tidbit of information when they turned off the Avenue George V and onto the banks of the Seine. The Palais Bourbon across the river was brightly illuminated, as were the bridges that spanned the river. Beyond the Pont Alexandre III, the spokes of the Roue de Paris glowed blue and white.
Phoebe moved toward the bright colors, mesmerized.
“Hang on, Phoebe.” Jason’s hand was on her elbow, his weight an anchor holding her back.
Phoebe tried to shake him off, dazzled by the prospect of all that light. Jason’s hand tightened, his fingers exerting a painful pressure.
“Too fast, Phoebe. People are watching.”
That stopped her in her tracks. Phoebe’s breath was ragged.
“My mother used to say that.” Phoebe’s past and present collided. “When we were out at the ballet. Or the theater. Or playing in the park. ‘People are watching.’”
Jason said something, his voice sounding far away and muffled by the loud drumming of hearts and made inconsequential by the brilliant hues that surrounded them. He spun Phoebe around. She snarled as the lights and color fused into a dizzying whorl.
“You’re lightstruck.” Jason’s eyes were pinwheels of green and gold. He swore.
Phoebe’s knees crumpled and she sagged toward the pavement.
“Too much champagne, darling?” A woman laughed. White. Middle-aged. American, based on the accent. A tourist.
Phoebe lunged.
The tourist’s eyes widened in sudden terror. She screamed.
Passersby—those strolling lovers, seemingly lost in their mutual adoration—stopped and turned.
“Qu’est-ce que c’est?” A National Police officer, fully kitted out in navy and white, was on patrol alone. She planted her feet wide and put her hands to the belt that held her communications device and weapons.
But the question came too late. Phoebe was already at the tourist’s throat, her hands grabbing at her thin sweater.
A flashlight shone directly into Phoebe’s eyes. She winced and let the struggling woman go.
“Are you all right, madame?” the officer asked the tourist.
“Yes. I think so,” the American said, her voice shaking.
“This is outrageous. We were walking back to our hotel when that woman attacked us,” the tourist’s companion said. Now that the danger had passed, he was full of bluff and swagger.