Jack entered the room with Becca in his arms. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her arms were wrapped tightly around Jack’s neck. She had been crying.
“Stop it. All of you, just stop it,” Jack said fiercely. “You’re upsetting Becca.”
Jack’s voice was rough with emotion, but miraculously there was no sign of blood rage in his eyes. The children were often stabilizing influences on Jack, as though being responsible for their well-being trumped any other emotions or concerns he might have.
“Becca is a baby,” Jack said. “She couldn’t hurt anybody. She’s soft, and sweet, and trusting. How could you think Becca needs to be punished for being who she is?”
“Well said, Jack.” Agatha was beaming with pride.
“Dad keeps telling me what happened to me as a child wasn’t my fault. That the man who was supposed to take care of me didn’t hurt me because I was bad, or evil, or a whore’s son, or any of the things that he told me,” Jack continued.
Becca looked up at Jack as though she understood every word he said. She reached out with one of her small, fragile fingers and touched him lightly on the lips.
Jack took the time to give her a reassuring smile before resuming.
“Mum and Dad trust me,” Jack said. “Which means for the first time in my life, I feel like I can trust myself. That’s what families are supposed to do—not order each other around and make promises nobody should have to keep.”
I was so moved by Jack’s speech that I forgot to hold on to my binding spell. It fell to the floor, making a bright and gleaming star around the feet of the de Clermont men.
The youngest male in the family, on whose small shoulders so many hopes and expectations already rested, toddled down the stairs, holding on to Marthe with one hand and Apollo’s tail with the other. The three of them made a small but united pack.
“Nunkle!” Philip said, delighted to see Baldwin.
“We have a celebration planned for Independence Day,” I said. “Are you staying for the fireworks, Baldwin?”
Baldwin hesitated.
“You and I could take a ride while we wait for the fun to start,” Matthew said to his stepbrother. “It would be like old times.”
Becca squirmed to be put down. Once Jack placed her feet on the floor, she ran straight to Baldwin, her steps sure and her face determined as she trod on the fading remains of my spell.
“Horsey?” she said, looking up at her uncle with a winsome smile.
Baldwin took her hand in his. “Of course, cara. Whatever you wish.”
* * *
—
BALDWIN WAS DEFEATED, and knew it. But the look he gave me promised that our struggles over the children weren’t over yet.
At 10:37 P.M.—for it turned out that our fireworks display, like all others, was not ready precisely on time—the show began.
Marcus and I had devised a perfect division of labor. I provided the fire. He provided the work.
As the family climbed into the waiting boats so that they could drift on the moat and watch the display from every angle, Marcus dashed around the field making sure all of the man-made fireworks were ready. He plugged the string of lights into an extended line of cords that led back to the house. Once they were lit, the trees sparkled as though a hundred fireflies had settled onto the branches. Then he turned on the music. It was a rousing combination of Handel and military tunes from the American Revolution as well as the French.
“Ready?” Marcus asked, coming up behind me.
“As I’ll ever be,” I said.
I stood on a stack of hay bales and took the stance of an archer, tall and straight. I extended my left arm forward and drew my right arm back. A shimmering bow appeared, along with a silver-tipped arrow.
From the moat, only those with vampire sight would be able to detect my outline in the darkness. The rest would see only a bow and arrow, illuminated against the night sky.
I released my fingers and the arrow shot forth, traveling in a blazing arc toward the first of Marcus’s fireworks: a set of spinning Catherine wheels mounted on long poles in the ground. The arrow went straight through them, lighting each one in turn. They began to spin and spit fire, their colors bright and cheerful.
Oohs and aahs of delight as well as the enthusiastic clapping of the twins provided the backdrop while Marcus sped among his Roman candles. Each one shot into the air and burst into a thousand stars with a mild pop that didn’t seem to bother Apollo or the children. I’d put a silencing spell on them to keep the noise down and the animals calm.