“You’re thinking of my father,” Matthew murmured. Our silent rituals of a vampire’s blood-taking and a witch’s kiss had strengthened our ability to gauge each other’s thoughts.
“So are you,” I observed. He had been since we’d crossed over the border into France.
“The chateau has felt empty to me since the day he died. It has provided refuge, but little comfort.” Matthew’s eyes lifted to the castle, then settled back on the road before us. The air was heavy with responsibility and a son’s need to live up to his father’s legacy.
“Maybe it will be different this time. Sarah and Em are there. Marcus, too. Not to mention Sophie and Nathaniel. And Philippe is still here, if only we can learn to focus on his presence rather than his absence.” He would be in the shadows of every room, every stone in the walls. I studied my husband’s beautifully austere face, understanding better how experience and pain had shaped it. One hand curved around my belly, while the other sought him out to offer the comfort he so desperately needed.
His fingers clasped mine, squeezed. Then Matthew released me, and we didn’t speak for a time. My fingers soon beat an impatient tattoo on my thigh in the quiet, however, and I was tempted several times to open the car’s moonroof and fly to the chateau’s front door.
“Don’t you dare.” Matthew’s wide grin softened the warning note in his voice. I returned his smile as he downshifted around a deep curve.
“Hurry, then,” I said, scarcely able to control myself. Despite my entreaties the speedometer stayed exactly where it was. I groaned with impatience. “We should have stuck with Marcus’s car.”
“Patience. We’re almost there.” And there’s no chance of my going any faster, Matthew thought as he downshifted again.
“What did Sophie say about Nathaniel’s driving when she was pregnant? ‘He drives like an old lady.’”
“Imagine how Nathaniel might drive if he actually was an old lady—a centuries-old old lady, like me. That’s how I will drive for the rest of my days, so long as you are in the car.” He reached for my hand again, bringing it to his lips.
“Both hands on the wheel, old lady,” I joked as we rounded the last bend, putting a straight stretch of road and walnut trees between us and the chateau’s courtyard.
Hurry, I begged him silently. My eyes fixed on the roof of Matthew’s tower as it came into view. When the car slowed, I looked at him in confusion.
“They’ve been expecting us,” he explained, angling his head toward the windshield.
Sophie, Ysabeau, and Sarah were waiting, motionless, in the middle of the road.
Daemon, vampire, witch—and one more. Ysabeau held a baby in her arms. I could see its rich brown thatch of hair and chubby, long legs. One of the baby’s hands was wrapped firmly around a strand of the vampire’s honeyed locks, while her other hand stretched imperiously in our direction. There was a tiny, undeniable tingle when the baby’s eyes focused on me. Sophie and Nathaniel’s child was a witch, just as she had foretold.
I unbuckled the seat belt, flung the door open, and sped up the road before Matthew could bring the car to a complete stop. Tears streamed down my face, and Sarah ran to enfold me in familiar textures of fleece and flannel, surrounding me with the scents of henbane and vanilla.
Home, I thought.
“I’m so glad you’re back safely,” she said fiercely.
Over Sarah’s shoulder I watched while Sophie gently took the baby from Ysabeau’s grasp. Matthew’s mother’s face was as inscrutable and lovely as ever, but the tightness around her mouth suggested strong emotions as she gave up the child. That tightness was one of Matthew’s tells, too. They were so much more similar in flesh and blood than the method of Matthew’s making would suggest was possible.
Pulling myself loose from Sarah’s embrace, I turned to Ysabeau.
“I was not sure you would come back. You were gone so long. Then Margaret began to demand that we take her to the road, and it was possible for me to believe that you might return to us safely after all.” Ysabeau searched my face for some piece of information that I had not yet given her.
“We’re back now. To stay.” There had been enough loss in her long life. I kissed her softly on one cheek, then the other.
“Bien,” she murmured with relief. “It will please us all to have you here—not just Margaret.” The baby heard her name and began to chant “D-d-d-d” while her arms and legs moved like eggbeaters in an attempt to get to me. “Clever girl,” Ysabeau said approvingly, giving Margaret and then Sophie a pat on the head.
“Do you want to hold your goddaughter?” Sophie asked. Her smile was wide, though there were tears in her eyes.
“Please,” I said, taking the baby into my arms in exchange for a kiss on Sophie’s cheek. Margaret felt so substantial.
“Hello, Margaret,” I whispered, breathing in her baby smell.
“D-d-d-d.” Margaret grabbed a hank of my hair and began to wave it around in her fist.
“You are a troublemaker,” I said with a laugh. She dug her feet into my ribs and grunted in protest.
“She’s as stubborn as her father, even though she’s a Pisces,” Sophie said serenely. “Sarah went through the ceremony in your place. Agatha was here. She’s gone at the moment, but I suspect she’ll be back soon. She and Marthe made a special cake wrapped up in strands of sugar. It was amazing. And Margaret’s dress was beautiful. You sound different—as if you spent a lot of time in a foreign country. And I like your hair. It’s different, too. Are you hungry?” Sophie’s words came out of her mouth in a disorganized tumble, just like Tom or Jack. I felt the loss of our friends, even here in the midst of our family.
After kissing Margaret on the forehead, I handed her back to her mother. Matthew was still standing behind the Range Rover’s open door, one foot in the car and the other resting on the ground of the Auvergne, as if he were unsure if we should be there.
“Where’s Em?” I asked. Sarah and Ysabeau exchanged a look.
“Everybody is waiting for you in the chateau. Why don’t we walk back?” Ysabeau suggested. “Just leave the car. Someone will get it. You must want to stretch your legs.”
I put my arm around Sarah and took a few steps. Where was Matthew? I turned and held out my free hand. Come to your family, I said silently as our eyes connected. Come be with the people who love you.
He smiled, and my heart leaped in response.
Ysabeau hissed in surprise, a sibilant noise that carried in the summer air more surely than a whisper. “Heartbeats. Yours. And . . . two more?” Her beautiful green eyes darted to my abdomen and a tiny red drop welled up and threatened to fall. Ysabeau looked to Matthew in wonder. He nodded, and his mother’s blood tear fully formed and slid down her cheek.
“Twins run in my family,” I said by way of explanation. Matthew had detected the second heartbeat in Amsterdam, just before we’d climbed into Marcus’s Spyder.
“Mine, too,” Ysabeau whispered. “Then it is true, what Sophie has seen in her dreams? You are with child—Matthew’s child?”
“Children,” I said, watching the blood tear’s slow progress.
“It’s a new beginning, then,” Sarah said, wiping a tear from her own eye. Ysabeau gave my aunt a bittersweet smile.
“Philippe had a favorite saying about beginnings. Something ancient. What was it, Matthieu?” Ysabeau asked her son.
Matthew stepped fully out of the car at last, as if some spell had been holding him back and its conditions had finally been met. He walked the few steps to my side, then kissed his mother softly on the cheek before reaching out and clasping my hand.
“‘Omni fine initium novum,’” Matthew said, gazing upon the land of his father as though he had, at last, come home.
“‘In every ending there is a new beginning.’”