For the first time in her life, Phoebe left the kitchen reluctantly. It seemed a place of comfort and safe harbor now, with Fran?oise and the laundry, the clean glasses, and the hiss of the iron. Upstairs there was nothing but peril and whatever fresh tests her sadistic vampire schoolmistresses could devise.
As the baize-covered door to the kitchen swung shut behind her, Phoebe finally arrived at the answer to Fran?oise’s question.
“Yes. I’m glad.” Phoebe was back in the kitchen before she had fully formulated a plan to return. Miriam and Freyja were right: thinking of where she wanted to be really was sufficient cause to get her there.
“I thought so. Go now. Don’t keep your maker waiting,” Fran?oise advised, brandishing the heavy iron in the direction of the door as though it weighed no more than a feather.
Phoebe returned to Miriam’s side. As the baize door flapped its way closed, she heard the strangest sound, something between a cough and a chortle.
It was Fran?oise—and she was laughing.
14
A Life of Trouble
25 MAY
“Sit. Stay. Wait.” My son’s piping voice carried through the open window, uttering a stream of nonsense that exactly imitated the instructions I gave Hector and Fallon every time we attempted to get back into the house without my getting knocked over. The kitchen door creaked open. There was a pause. “Wait. Stay. Okay.”
Apollo bounded into the room, looking extremely pleased with himself—but not nearly as proud as Philip, who toddled after him holding Fallon’s dog leash, hand in hand with Matthew.
Alarmingly, Fallon’s leather lead was not attached to the griffin.
“Mommy!” Philip hurled himself at my legs. Apollo joined in the embrace, wrapping his wings around us both, cooing with delight.
“Did you have a nice walk?” I smoothed down Philip’s hair, which was inclined to stand straight up at the slightest breeze.
“Very nice.” Matthew gave me a lingering kiss. “You taste of almonds.”
“We’ve been having some breakfast.” I pointed to Becca, whose face was partially obscured by jam and nut butter. Her smile of welcome for her father and brother was unmistakable, however. “Becca has been sharing.”
This was uncharacteristic behavior for our daughter. Becca tracked her food carefully, and had to be reminded that not everything put on the table was solely for her.
Apollo hopped over to Becca’s chair. He sat, long tongue lolling expectantly, his beady eyes fixed on the table, where the remnants of her feast remained. Becca narrowed her eyes at him in warning.
“I see that Rebecca and Apollo are still working out their relationship,” Matthew commented. He poured himself a steaming cup of coffee and sat down with the paper.
“Come. Sit. Okay.” Philip kept rattling off commands to the griffin while jiggling the leash enticingly. “Come, ’Pollo. Sit.”
“Let’s get your bib on and some breakfast in you.” I snagged the leash and put it on the table. “Marthe made oatmeal. Your favorite!”
Philip’s preferred breakfast was pale pink goo—a splash of quail blood, some oats, and lumps of berries—with plenty of milk. We called it oatmeal, though food critics might not recognize the dish as such.
“Apollo. Here!” Philip’s patience was running out and his tone was decidedly peevish. “Here!”
“Let Apollo visit with Becca,” I said, trying to distract him by picking him up and tumbling him upside down. All I succeeded in doing, however, was alarming the griffin.
Apollo screeched in horror and launched himself into the air, clucking around Philip and comforting him with pats of his tail. It was not until Philip was right-side up and in his booster seat that the griffin settled back down to earth.
“Have you seen Marcus this morning?” Matthew cocked his head, listening for a sound from his grown son.
“He came through the kitchen while you were out. Said something about taking a run.” I handed Philip a spoon, which he would use to fling the oatmeal around rather than feed himself, and picked up my cup of tea. “He seems on edge.”
“He’s expecting an update from Paris,” Matthew explained.
The phone calls came every few days. Freyja spoke to Ysabeau, and then Matthew’s mother relayed the information to her grandson. So far, Phoebe was doing brilliantly. There had been a few hiccups, Freyja acknowledged, but nothing that wasn’t expected during a vampire’s first weeks. The stalwart Fran?oise was supporting Phoebe every step of the way, and I knew from my own experience that she would be dogged in her pursuit of Phoebe’s success. Still, Marcus couldn’t help worrying.