They said their good-byes. Before the call ended, Phoebe dared to ask one final question.
“What was your mother’s name, Marcus?”
“My mother?” Marcus sounded surprised. “Catherine.”
“Catherine.” Phoebe liked it. It was timeless, as common today as it had been when it was bestowed on a baby daughter in the first half of the eighteenth century. She repeated it, feeling how it sat on her tongue, imagining responding to it. “Catherine.”
“It’s a Greek name, and it means pure,” Marcus explained.
More importantly, it meant something to Marcus. That was all that mattered to Phoebe.
After they hung up, Phoebe took a sheet of paper from the desk drawer.
Phoebe Alice Catherine Taylor.
She looked at the paper critically. Her mother had chosen Phoebe when she was born. Alice was her paternal grandmother’s name. Catherine belonged to Marcus. And she wanted to retain Taylor, in honor of her father.
Satisfied with her choices, Phoebe returned the paper to the drawer for safekeeping.
Then she returned to bed, to daydream further about her reunion with Marcus.
19
Twenty-One
2 JUNE
For Phoebe’s twenty-first birthday as a warmblood, her parents had given her a small key-shaped pendant encrusted with tiny diamonds, and a party for a hundred friends. The key was to unlock her future, her mother explained, and Phoebe had worn it every day since. The party, which included a sit-down dinner under a marquee and dancing in the garden, was to launch her into her adult life and give her a memorable day to look back on when she was older.
For Phoebe’s twenty-first day as a vampire, she got another key and a much more intimate dinner celebration.
“It’s a key to your room,” Freyja said when she gave the small brass item to Phoebe.
Like many of the gifts Phoebe had received from vampires thus far, the key was symbolic, a sign of trust rather than a way of ensuring any real privacy in a household where any door could be broken down with a single push.
“Thank you, Freyja,” Phoebe said, pocketing the key.
“Now, when you lock your door, we will know that you wish some time alone and we will not disturb you,” Freyja said, “not even Fran?oise.”
Fran?oise had walked in on Phoebe while she was in the bathtub thinking of Marcus and trying to satisfy one of her more persistent itches. Fran?oise had put down the clean laundry and disappeared from the room without saying a word. Phoebe would prefer to avoid more moments like that one if she could.
“Miriam is waiting for you downstairs in the kitchen,” Freyja said. “Don’t worry. Everything will be completely fine.”
Until that moment, Phoebe had been unconcerned about whatever her maker had planned for her twenty-first, but the combination of Freyja’s words and the location of their meeting suggested this was no ordinary present.
Her first glimpse of Miriam’s gift confirmed Phoebe’s suspicions.
Sitting by the chopping block, a glass of champagne before her, was a middle-aged Caucasian woman. Miriam was with her.
They were talking about E. coli.
“Vegetables. I wouldn’t have thought they were the culprit,” the woman said, reaching for a carrot.
“I know. The cases in Bordeaux came from contaminated sprouts,” Miriam said.
“Exciting times for epidemiologists,” the woman replied. “Shiga toxins in an EAEC strain. Who would have imagined it?”
“Come in, Phoebe, and meet Sonia,” Miriam said, pouring another glass of champagne and offering it to her. “She’s a colleague at the World Health Organization. Sonia is joining you for dinner.”
“Hello, Phoebe. I’ve heard so much about you.” Sonia smiled and took a sip of her champagne.
Phoebe looked from Sonia to Miriam and back to Sonia again. Her mouth was as dry as dust.
“Sonia and I have known each other for more than twenty years,” Miriam said.
“Twenty-three, to be exact,” Sonia replied. “In Geneva, remember? Daniel introduced us.”
Sonia was old enough to be Phoebe’s mother.
“I’d forgotten you’ve been with him so long,” Miriam said. She turned to Phoebe. “Daniel Fischer is a Swiss vampire, and a very good chemist.”
“He put me through graduate school,” Sonia said, “in exchange for feeding him.”
“Oh.” Phoebe didn’t know where to look. Her wine? Sonia? Miriam? The floor?
“There’s no need to feel awkward. This is all quite normal—at least for me,” Sonia said. “Miriam tells me I’m your first.”