Matthew relocated in a flash from the bedroom window to the stairs and began his swift descent.
“Mama!” Becca wailed in the nearby nursery, capturing my attention. “Ow! Loud. Loud.”
“Coming, sweetie.” My daughter had her father’s keen hearing. Her first word had been “mama,” her second “papa,” and her third “Pip” for her brother Philip. “Blood,” “loud,” and “doggy” had followed quickly thereafter.
“Lightning bug, lightning bug, make me a match.” I didn’t flick on the lights, choosing instead to gently illuminate the tip of my index finger with a simple spell inspired by a song from an old album of show tunes I’d found in a cupboard. My gramarye—the ability to put my knotted magic into words—was coming along.
In the nursery, Becca was sitting up, tiny hands clapped to her ears and her face twisted in distress. Cuthbert, the overstuffed elephant Marcus gave to her, and a wooden zebra named Zee were prancing around her heavy, medieval cradle. Philip stood inside his own, gripping the sides and looking at his sister with concern.
In dreamtime, the magic in the twins’ half-witch, half-vampire blood bubbled to the surface, disturbing their shallow sleep. Though I found their nocturnal activities a bit worrying, Sarah said we could thank the goddess that thus far the twins’ magic had been confined to rearranging the nursery furniture, making white clouds out of baby powder, and constructing impromptu mobiles out of stuffed animals.
“Owie,” Philip said, pointing to Becca. He was already following in Matthew’s medical footsteps, minutely inspecting every creature at Les Revenants—two legged, four legged, winged, or finned—for scrapes, blemishes, and insect bites.
“Thank you, Philip.” I narrowly avoided collision with Cuthbert and headed for Becca. “Would you like a cuddle, Becca?”
“Cuthbert, too.” Becca was already a skilled negotiator thanks to spending time with her two grandmothers. I feared that Ysabeau and Sarah were bad influences.
“Just you and Philip, if he’d like to join us,” I said firmly, rubbing Becca’s back.
Cuthbert and Zee hit the ground with petulant thuds. It was impossible to know which of the children was responsible for the flying animals, or why the magic had left them. Was it Becca who had set them aloft, and the backrub had brought her enough comfort that she didn’t need the animals anymore? Or was it Philip, who was quieter now because his sister was no longer in distress? Or was it because I had said no?
In the distance, the pounding stopped. Ysabeau was in the house.
“Gam—” Becca began. Then she hiccupped.
“Mer,” Philip finished, his expression brightening.
Anxiety wove a tight knot in my stomach. I suddenly realized that something had to be very wrong for Ysabeau to come in the middle of the night without a phone call.
The soft murmurs downstairs were too faint for my witch’s ears to catch, though the twins’ cocked heads suggested that they could follow the conversation between their father and grandmother. Unfortunately, they were too young to relay its substance to me.
I eyed the slick steps as I shifted Becca to one side and picked up Philip with my free arm. Normally, I clung to the rope that Matthew strung up on the curved wall to keep warmbloods from falling. I’d been limiting the magic I used in the children’s presence for fear that they would try to imitate me. Tonight would have to be an exception.
Come with me, the wind whispered, snaking around my ankles in a lover’s caress, and I will fulfill your desire.
The elemental call was maddeningly clear. Why, then, couldn’t it carry Ysabeau’s words to me? Why did it want me to join Matthew and her?
But power could be sphinxlike. If you didn’t ask the right question, it simply refused to respond.
Cuddling the children closer, I surrendered to the allure of the air, and my feet lifted from the floor. I hoped the children wouldn’t notice we were inches above the stone, but something ancient and wise had sparked to life in Philip’s gray-green eyes.
A silver moonbeam sliced across the wall, making its way through one of the tall, narrow windows. It captured Becca’s attention as we floated down the stairs.
“Pretty,” she crooned, reaching for the slash of light. “Pretty babies.”
For a moment the light bent toward her, defying the laws of physics as humans understood them. Gooseflesh rose on my arms, followed by letters that shone under the surface of my skin in red and gold. There was magic in the moonlight, but even though I was a witch and a weaver, I did not always see what my mixed-blood children were able to perceive.