Time's Convert
Phoebe bit into Marcus’s flesh, and her mouth was flooded with the scent-taste of heaven—of the man she loved and would always love. His blood sang within her, the notes echoed in his heart’s slow cadence.
Evermore.
Marcus’s thoughts and feelings coursed through her veins like quicksilver, a flash of light and fire that brought a kaleidoscope of images along with it. There were too many for Phoebe to acknowledge never mind absorb. It would take her centuries to understand the tales that Marcus’s blood told.
Evermore, Marcus’s heart sang.
But there was one constant in the endless changing barrage of information: Phoebe herself. Her voice, as Marcus heard it. Her eyes, as Marcus saw them. Her touch, as Marcus felt it.
Phoebe heard her own heart answer his, the harmony perfect.
Evermore.
Phoebe lifted her head and looked into Marcus’s eyes, knowing that he would see himself reflected in hers.
Evermore.
37
A Fence Against the World
13 AUGUST
“My God, that’s a griffin!” Chris Roberts stood in the doorway to the kitchen in New Haven, holding a birthday cake and staring at Apollo.
“Yes, he is,” I said, taking a tray of roasted vegetables from the oven. “He’s called Apollo.”
“Does he bite?” Chris asked.
“He does, but I have some of Sarah’s Peace Water in case he gets anxious.” The bottle in my pocket was filled with layers of different-colored blue liquids. I took it out and gave it a shake. “Come, Apollo.”
Apollo obediently bounded over.
“Good boy.” I pulled the stopper on the bottle and dabbed a bit of liquid on the griffin’s forehead and its breastbone.
Ardwinna stalked by with her bone. She gave Chris a sniff, then settled down to gnaw on it.
“And what the hell is that?” Chris demanded.
“A dog. She’s my birthday present from Matthew—a Scottish deerhound. Her name is Ardwinna.”
“Ard—whatta? Willa?” Chris shook his head and studied the gangly puppy, who was all legs and eyes at the moment with tufts of gray hair sticking out all over her. “What’s wrong with her? She looks like she’s starving.”
“Hello, Chris. I see you’ve met Ardwinna and Apollo.” Matthew had Philip by the hand. The moment Philip saw Chris, he began to dance around him, babbling a mile a minute. Every third word was intelligible. Based on those I understood, he was telling Chris about his summer.
“Blocks. Granny. Boat. Marcus,” Philip said, reeling off the high points while he hopped in place. “Jack. Griff’n. Gammer. Aggie.”
“Deerhounds are supposed to look that way,” I said, trying to answer Chris’s question. “And don’t you dare give her a nickname. Ardwinna is perfect, just as she is.”
Ardwinna looked up from her bone when her name was mentioned, and thumped her tail before returning her attention to her treat.
“Chris!” Becca bellowed, barreling through the house like a Tasmanian devil. She flung herself at Chris’s knees.
“Whoa. Easy there. Hello, Becca. Did you miss me?”
“Yes.” Becca was squeezing Chris so tightly I was afraid she might cut off his circulation.
“Me, too.” Philip bounced up and down like an energetic tennis ball. Chris high-fived him, which pleased my son to no end.
Matthew divested Chris of the cake, which made him an easy target for more of Becca’s attention.
“Up!” Becca demanded, holding her arms in the air so Chris could do her bidding.
“Please,” Matthew said automatically, reaching for the bottle of wine on the table.
“Pleeeeaaaassseee,” Becca said in a wheedling tone.
I was going to go stark raving mad if she didn’t stop doing that. Before I could say anything, though, Matthew kissed me.
“Let’s settle for exaggerated courtesy tonight,” Matthew said when he was through. “Beer, Chris?”
“Sounds good.” Chris looked around at our new house. “Nice place. A bit gloomy, though. You could paint the woodwork, brighten it up a bit.”
“We’d have to ask our landlord first. It belongs to Marcus,” I said. “He thought it would be a good place for the twins, now that they’re bigger.”
Since Apollo arrived, it had become clear that our growing family would not fit into my old place on Court Street. We needed a backyard—not to mention better laundry facilities. Marcus had insisted we use his sprawling mansion near campus while we looked for a place that was a little farther away from the hustle and bustle of New Haven, somewhere the children and animals could run. It was not precisely our style. Marcus had bought it in the nineteenth century when formality had been in fashion. There was carved wood everywhere you looked, and more downstairs reception rooms than I knew what to do with, but it was fine for now.
“Miriam hates this house, you know.” Chris’s lips curved up at the mention of Phoebe’s maker. The precise nature of their relationship was something that Matthew and I speculated about endlessly.
“She doesn’t have to live here, then,” I said tartly, feeling a bit defensive on behalf of our new home.
“True. If she does come back to the lab, Miriam can bunk with me. I’ve got plenty of room.” Chris took a sip of beer.
I looked at my husband in triumph. Matthew owed me ten dollars and a foot massage. I planned on collecting it as soon as Chris left.
“Has anyone seen the box with the cutlery in it? I’m sure I labeled it.” I rummaged around in the piles by the sink.
Chris reached into the box nearest to him and produced a spoon. “Ta-da!”
“Yay you! Magic!” Philip bounced up and down.
“No, sport, just an old Boy Scout trick: open boxes, look in boxes, find stuff. Simple.” Chris handed Philip his spoon and looked at Matthew and me. “Isn’t he a bit young to know that word?”
“We no longer think so,” I said, stirring some bits of raw meat into Philip’s beet puree.
“Short of spellbinding, there is no way to keep the twins away from magic, or magic away from the twins,” Matthew explained. “Philip and Becca don’t fully understand what magic is—yet—or the responsibilities that come with it, but they will. In time.”
“Those children will be spellbound over my dead body,” Chris said roughly. “And I’m one of their godparents, so you can take that as a serious threat.”
“Only Baldwin thought it was a good idea,” I assured him.
“That guy has got to learn to relax,” Chris said. “Now that I’m a knight, and have to talk to him occasionally, I’ve learned he has no life outside of what he thinks is his duty to his father’s memory.”
“We talked a lot about fathers and sons this summer,” I said. “And mothers and daughters, too. In the end, even Baldwin came around on the twins’ spellbinding. As for the magic, well, story time is really fun at our house.” I wiggled my fingers in the air in an imitation of how humans thought witches worked their magic.
“You mean—you’re doing magic in front of them?” Chris looked shocked. Then he smiled. “Cool. So is the griffin yours? Did you conjure him up for the children to play with?”
“No, he belongs to Philip.” I looked at my son with pride. “He seems to be an early bloomer, magic-wise. And a promising witch, too.”
“And how did you get Apollo here?” Chris said, concerned only with the practicalities, not the bigger question of how a mythological creature came to be living in New Haven. “Does he have his own passport?”
“It turns out you can’t send a griffin on commercial aircraft,” I said, indignant. “I checked both cat and bird on the form, and they just returned it to me and told me to correct my mistakes.”
“Sore subject,” Matthew murmured to Chris, who nodded in sympathy.
“We could get Ardwinna onto a plane, and she’s twice his size. I don’t see why we couldn’t just smuggle him on board in a dog carrier,” I grumbled.
“Because he’s a griffin?” Chris said. I glared at him. “Just a suggestion.”