“That’s up to Phoebe.” Marcus’s tone held a sharp warning.
“No, it’s up to me. I’m her sire,” Miriam retorted. “Phoebe cannot be trusted around warmbloods yet.”
What did they think Phoebe was going to do—siphon the blood out of Edward’s IV and snack on his bones? I was far more worried about the reaction warmbloods would have to her appearance.
“Phoebe,” I said, wading into the conversation, “would you mind very much if I worked a bit of magic on you?”
“Thank God,” Fran?oise said. “I knew you would think of something, madame.”
“I was thinking of a disguising spell, the kind I wore after my powers came in,” I said, studying Phoebe as though I were making her a new outfit. “And I think you should go with her to the hospital, Fran?oise, if that’s all right.”
“Bien s?r. You did not think I would leave Mademoiselle Phoebe to fend for herself? But you will need something very dull,” Fran?oise said, sizing up her charge, “if you wish her to pass as human. It was easier to make you look like an ordinary person. You were still a warmblood, after all.”
Fran?oise had kept me from making hundreds of mistakes—large and small—during my time in the sixteenth century. If she could keep a twenty-first-century feminist from causing an uproar in Elizabethan London and Prague, she could surely manage a young vampire in a hospital. Feeling more optimistic simply because of her stolid presence, I proceeded.
“Everyone will be focused on Edward,” I said. “Perhaps we can get away with something easier to wear, more like a veil than a burlap sack?”
In the end, it was a heavy weaving that was more like a shroud. It not only dimmed Phoebe’s appearance, it also slowed her down. She still didn’t look ordinary, but she would no longer draw every eye.
“One last thing,” I said, touching her gently around the face. Phoebe winced as though my touch was searing.
“Did I hurt you?” I withdrew my hands immediately. “I was just making sure that, if you cry, the tears will appear clear rather than red.”
“Phoebe is quite sensitive,” Freyja explained.
“And we haven’t done the full range of tests to determine those sensitivities.” Miriam shook her head. “This is not a good idea, Marcus.”
“Do you forbid me from taking her to the hospital?” Marcus asked.
“You know me better than that,” Miriam retorted. She turned to Phoebe. “This is your decision.”
Phoebe was out the door in a flash, Fran?oise on her heels.
“We’ll be in touch,” Marcus said, following her.
* * *
—
MATTHEW WAS IN THE HALL with Edward’s chart when we arrived at the hospital. A flock of physicians and nurses were in conference nearby. Through the door, I could see Padma and Stella sitting by Edward, who was connected to machines that monitored his heart and helped with his breathing.
“How is he?” I asked, putting my hand on Matthew’s arm.
“His condition is critical but stable,” Matthew said, closing the chart. “They’re doing everything possible. Where’s Phoebe?”
“On her way with Marcus and Fran?oise,” I replied. “We thought it would be better if I came ahead, in case . . .”
Matthew nodded. “They’re discussing surgical options now.”
The elevator doors opened. Phoebe was inside, with Marcus on her right and Fran?oise on her left. She was wearing dark glasses, her hair dull instead of glossy, and she appeared to be wrapped in an unflattering olive drab coat.
“Disguising spell,” I murmured to Matthew. “A heavy one.”
“Phoebe,” Matthew said as she approached.
“Where’s my dad?” Phoebe’s eyes were streaming with tears. Thankfully, they left nothing but wet traces on her cheeks.
“In here. Your mother and sister are with him,” Matthew said.
“Is he . . .” Phoebe searched Matthew’s face, unable to finish her sentence.
“He’s in critical condition, but stable,” Matthew replied. “His heart sustained considerable damage. They’re discussing surgery now.”
Phoebe took a shuddering breath.
“Are you ready to go in?” Marcus asked gently.
“I don’t know.” Phoebe was gripping Marcus’s hand with such power that it became mottled with bruises, from blue to purple to green. She looked at Marcus in panic. “What if Miriam is right? What if I can’t handle this?”