“There’s always Baldwin’s collection to catalog, I suppose,” Phoebe replied. “Not to mention making an inventory of Pickering Place. And Sept-Tours.”
“You can make a list of everything in my house when you are finished with those. And don’t forget to take a look Matthew’s house in Amsterdam. The attics are filled with the most enormous canvases covered with dead white men in ruffs.”
Having seen some of the places where Matthew kept his art, which included the downstairs loo at the Old Lodge, Phoebe wasn’t surprised.
“But you must do more than hunt for treasure, Phoebe dear,” Freyja warned. “You cannot save the world or everyone in it, but you must find a way to make a difference. My father always said that was what vampires were put on earth to do.”
34
Life Is But a Breath
16 JULY
We were just finishing up with the twins’ baths when Marcus rocketed into the room. Marthe was steps behind, looking concerned.
“Edward Taylor’s in the hospital,” Marcus said to Matthew. “Freyja says it’s a heart attack. She won’t tell me where he is, or his condition.”
Matthew handed Philip’s towel to Marcus before taking out his phone.
“Miriam?” Matthew asked when it connected. He put it on speaker so we could all listen in.
“Freyja shouldn’t have called you, Marcus,” Miriam said sourly.
“Where is Edward now?” Matthew asked.
“The Salpêtrière,” Miriam replied. “It was closest to the flat.”
“His condition?” Matthew said.
Miriam fell silent.
“His condition, Miriam,” Matthew repeated.
“It’s too early to say. It was a major episode. Once we know more, we’ll decide whether or not to tell Phoebe,” Miriam said.
“Phoebe has a right to know that her father is gravely ill!” Marcus said.
“No, Marcus. Phoebe has no rights when it comes to her human family—and I have a responsibility to make sure that my daughter is not a danger to herself or others. A hospital? She’s sixty days old!” Miriam replied. “And she’s still lightstruck. The Salpêtrière is lit up like a Christmas tree at all hours of the day and night. She wouldn’t be safe there.”
“Can Edward be moved?” Matthew was thinking outside of the box of ordinary warmblooded medical options. If need be, he would transform Freyja’s house into a clinic, outfit it with the finest equipment, hire the most advanced cardiac surgeon in the world, and make Edward the facility’s sole patient.
“Not without killing him,” Miriam said bluntly. “Padma already asked. She wanted him moved to London. The doctors refused.”
“I’m coming to Paris.” Marcus tossed Philip’s towel aside, leaving the baby standing, naked and pink after his bath, holding a plastic duck. Marthe hurried toward him and helped him into his pajamas.
“You’re not welcome here, Marcus,” Miriam said.
“Story of my life,” Marcus replied. “But Edward is Phoebe’s father, so you can imagine how little a warm reception from you matters at this moment.”
“We’ll be there in four hours,” Matthew said.
“We?” Miriam swore. “No, Matthew. That’s not—”
Matthew disconnected the call and looked to me. “Are you coming, mon coeur? We might need your help.”
I had finished getting Becca into her pajamas, and handed her off to Marthe.
“Let’s go,” I said, taking Matthew by the hand.
* * *
—
MARCUS’S CONCERN FOR PHOEBE, and Matthew’s steady foot on the accelerator carried us to the outskirts of Paris in a little over three hours. Once there, Matthew zipped along streets that no tourist ever found, taking every shortcut until we reached the ancient university quarter near the Sorbonne and the Salpêtrière hospital. Matthew turned off the engine and spun around to face his son in the backseat.
“What’s the plan?” he asked.
We’d had none up to this point—other than reaching Paris as quickly as possible. Marcus looked startled.
“I don’t know. What do you think we should do?”
Matthew shook his head. “Phoebe is your mate, not mine. It’s up to you.”
I loved Matthew with all my heart, and was often proud of the quiet perseverance with which he handled the many challenges that faced him. But I had never been so overwhelmed with pride as I was in this moment, idling on a Paris street in the 13th arrondissement, waiting for his son to make his own decision.