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Time's Convert: A Novel(174)

Author:Deborah Harkness

“Freyja called me because I’m a doctor,” Marcus said, staring up at the bulk of the hospital. “So are you. One of us should go check on Edward, and make sure that he is being taken care of properly.”

I thought it unlikely that a British diplomat, taken by ambulance to one of the finest hospitals in the world, would be treated improperly, but held my tongue.

“And I don’t give a toss what Miriam thinks. Phoebe needs to know what’s happened. And she needs to be here, at her father’s side,” Marcus said, “just in case.”

Still, Matthew waited.

“You deal with the doctors,” Marcus said, hopping out of the backseat. “Diana and I will tell Phoebe.”

“Wise decision,” Matthew said, yielding his place behind the wheel to his son.

Matthew circled the car. I pushed the button, and the window went down.

“Take care of him,” Matthew murmured before he pressed his lips to mine.

* * *

MIRIAM WAS WAITING FOR US on the front step when we arrived at Freyja’s house. I had never been there before, and was struck by its grandeur as well as its privacy.

“Where’s Phoebe?” Marcus asked, cutting right to the heart of the matter.

Miriam stood her ground before the door. “This breaks all the rules, Marcus. We had an agreement.”

“Edward falling ill wasn’t part of the plan,” Marcus replied.

“Warmbloods get sick and die,” Miriam said. “Phoebe needs to learn she can’t go running to hospital every time they do.”

“Edward is Phoebe’s father,” Marcus said, his fury evident. “This isn’t just any warmblood.”

“It’s too soon to expose her to that kind of loss.” Miriam’s eyes were filled with warnings that I didn’t understand. “You know that.”

“I do,” Marcus said. “Let me in, Miriam, or I’ll break down the fucking door.”

“Fine. If there’s a disaster, it will be on your conscience—not mine.” Miriam stepped aside.

Fran?oise, whom I had not seen since leaving sixteenth-century London, opened the door. She bobbed a curtsy.

Phoebe was waiting in the foyer, Freyja at her side with an arm around her in a protective arc. Phoebe looked pale, and there were streaks of pink on her cheeks from her blood tears.

She already knew about her father. There had been no need for us to rush to Paris to tell her. Our only reason for speed was to reunite two lovers as quickly as possible.

“You knew Marcus would come,” I said softly to Miriam.

Miriam nodded. “How could he not?”

Marcus rushed toward Phoebe, then stopped, remembering that it was the female who must choose and not the male. He gathered his composure.

“Phoebe. I’m so sorry,” he began, his voice raw with emotion. “Matthew is with Edward now—”

Phoebe was in his arms with a speed that proved just how young and inexperienced she was. Her arms tightened around Marcus as she sobbed out her worry and fear.

It was the first time I’d seen such a young vampire, and the sight was dazzling. Phoebe was like a freshly minted coin, strong and shining. There was no way a human wouldn’t stop and stare if she passed by on a Parisian catwalk, let alone a hospital corridor. How were we going to get her into Edward’s room, glowing with so much life and vitality?

“If he dies, I don’t know what I’ll do,” Phoebe said. Her blood tears flowed once more.

“I know, sweetheart. I know,” Marcus murmured, his fingers laced through her hair and her body cradled against his.

“Freyja says I can go and see him, but Miriam doesn’t think it’s a good idea.” Phoebe sniffed back the tears. For the first time, she seemed to realize that I was there. “Hello, Diana.”

“Hello, Phoebe,” I said. “I’m sorry about Edward.”

“Thank you, Diana. I’m sure there’s something I ought to do or say, meeting you for the first time since I became a vampire, but I don’t know what it is.” Phoebe sniffed, then burst into tears again.

“It’s okay. Let it out,” Marcus said, gently rocking her in his arms, his face ravaged with concern. “Don’t worry about protocol. Diana doesn’t care.”

No, but I was pretty sure that the staff of the hospital would care if someone showed up with blood streaming out of her eyes.

“You see why Phoebe can’t go to the Salpêtrière and sit at her father’s bedside,” Miriam said with her habitual bluntness.