“What are you going to do?” Stella asked softly. “Bite me?”
Phoebe wanted to. She also wanted to wipe that superior expression from her sister’s face and scare the piss out of her friends.
“You’re not my type,” Phoebe replied.
Stella’s eyes widened.
“Don’t fuck with me, Stella,” Phoebe warned her sister, dropping her voice. “As you can see, I’m not the same good girl I used to be.”
Phoebe turned her back on Stella. It felt freeing, as though she were saying farewell to the ways of the past in favor of a new, shiny future.
She walked away, the sky-high heels of her boots clicking on the pavement. Jason caught up with her and slowed her walk to what felt like a crawl.
“Easy there, Phoebe,” Jason said.
They walked in silence for hours, until the moon had fully risen and the lights of Paris came on full blast, forcing Phoebe to put her sunglasses back on.
“Tonight didn’t go very well, did it?” Phoebe asked Jason.
“You were supposed to hunt and feed from a live human,” Jason said. “Instead, you fought with your warmblooded sister in full view of her friends. On balance, I’d say it was mildly disastrous.”
“Miriam is going to be furious.”
“She is,” Jason agreed.
Phoebe caught her lip in her teeth, anxious. “And I’m still hungry.”
“You should have had Margot while you had the chance,” Jason commented.
A middle-aged white woman strolled by, texting madly on her phone. She stopped, and dug in her purse.
“Do either of you have a light?” she asked, barely looking up from the screen.
“Sure,” Jason replied, tossing his lighter to Phoebe with a smile.
29
Their Portion of Freedom
1 JULY
I began to unravel a few days after Matthew’s birthday party. As with most crises, I didn’t notice the warning signs. It was not until the first of July that I knew I was in trouble.
The day began well enough.
“Good morning, team!” I said brightly to Matthew when I finished showering and dressing. I slipped my feet into my waiting sneakers. “Time to rise and shine!”
Matthew glowered and then pulled me back into bed.
Our latest family project—managing two Bright Born children entering the terrible twos slightly ahead of schedule, one with a griffin and one who liked to bite—had proved far more difficult than finding Ashmole 782 and its missing pages, or facing down the Congregation and its ancient prejudices. Both of us were utterly exhausted.
After an energizing tussle under the canopy, Matthew and I went to the nursery to rouse the twins. Though the sun had barely risen, the rest of Team Bishop-Clairmont was awake and ready for action.
“Hungry.” Becca’s lower lip trembled.
“Sleeping.” Philip pointed to Apollo. “Shh.”
The griffin had abandoned the fireplace and somehow managed to climb into Philip’s cradle. His weight caused it to list alarmingly, his long tail spilling out over the side. The cradle swayed gently in time to his snores.
“I think we should consider making the switch from cradle to cot,” Matthew said, lifting Philip free of his blanket and the griffin’s wings.
Apollo opened one eye. He stretched and then sprang into the air. Just when I thought he might hit the ground with a thud, he spread his wings and gently glided the remaining distance to the floor. Apollo pecked at his chest feathers and shook his wings into better order. His long tongue lapped around his eyes and mouth as if he were washing the sleepy dust away.
“Oh, Apollo,” I said, unable to stifle a laugh at the griffin equivalent of the twins’ morning routine: hair smoothing, pajama straightening, face washing.
Apollo bleated out a plaintive sound and hopped toward the stairs. He was ready for act two—breakfast.
Becca was chattering amiably to her spoon while pushing blueberries into her mouth with her fingers when Philip began to fuss.
“No. Down.” He was twisting and thrashing in his booster seat while Matthew tried to clip him securely into place.
“If you would stay put while you eat, we wouldn’t have to tie you to your chair,” Matthew said.
With those words, something inside me snapped.
It had been well hidden, twisted tight in a dark part of my soul that I chose not to notice.
The pottery bowl containing my breakfast of cereal and fruit fell from my hands. It shattered when it hit the hard flagstone floor, sending ceramic shards and berries flying.
A chair. Small. Pink. There was a purple heart painted on the back of it.