“Reclining is easiest,” Miriam said, following her unspoken train of thought, “but not always desirable, nor practical. Traditionally, the vampire knelt. It was considered a sign of respect, as well as gratitude, to the one who gave them nourishment.”

It wouldn’t be the first time Phoebe had knelt as a vampire. Something told her it wouldn’t be her last, either. Before her knees could hit the floor, however, Miriam had kicked a low, square stool out from underneath the counter. Françoise used it to reach items on high shelves. Apparently, that was not its only use in a vampire’s kitchen.

Once she had knelt down, Phoebe was at the ideal height to take blood from the soft skin inside Sonia’s elbow. Blue veins were close to the surface. Phoebe’s mouth watered.

Sonia rested one hand, palm up, on her knee. She picked up her champagne with the other.

“Did you hear the latest about Christophe?” Sonia asked Miriam.

The adults were going to continue their conversation while she ate. Feeling like a toddler on her low stool, Phoebe waited for some gesture of permission—an acknowledgment of what she was about to do.

It didn’t come.

“He’s taken up with Jette—again!” Sonia took a sip of her wine. “Can you imagine?”

“No!” Miriam sounded shocked. “But she sold his house while he was away on business. That’s not the kind of thing a vampire forgets—or forgives.”

Phoebe could hear Sonia’s maddening pulse and smell the tang of minerals in her blood. She could wait no longer.

“Thank you,” she whispered before closing her eyes.

She lowered her mouth and blindly bit down. Phoebe’s sharp teeth cut into Sonia’s skin, releasing the fluid of life into her mouth.

Phoebe moaned, the taste intensely pleasurable. This was nothing like sipping blood and wine from a glass. Feeding straight from the vein was intoxicating. She sucked as gently as she could, but the pull was insistent. Someone would surely stop her before she’d had too much.

“And his possessions, too,” Sonia said. “Perhaps Phoebe could help him reclaim some of what he’s lost. Baldwin told Daniel she is quite good.”

Normally the prospect of dealing in fine art would have had her complete attention, but Phoebe could think only of feeding.

“I’ll give Christophe a call. It would give Phoebe something to do until her ninety days are up,” Miriam said, as though Phoebe were not there.

“Poor thing. It’s a long time to wait. Daniel was shocked that you were being so traditional. It’s not like Marcus to take the old-fashioned route.” Sonia laughed.

Phoebe’s skin prickled and her hackles rose. What right did Sonia have to second-guess their plans?

“It was Phoebe’s decision,” Miriam said. “Ysabeau had a lot to do with it, of course.”

“Still at Sept-Tours?” Sonia tried to sound casual, but there was no disguising the curiosity in her tone.

“Yes, she is. Not that it’s any business of yours,” Phoebe said as she licked the blood from her lips, making sure to get the drop that was pooled in the corner. She bit her thumb and swiped it across Sonia’s arm to help the teeth marks heal.

“I meant no offense,” Sonia said mildly.

“Sonia’s a warmblood, Phoebe, not a vampire,” Miriam reminded her. “And your guest. The usual rules about personal information don’t apply.”

“And Ysabeau is my mate’s grandmother.” Phoebe’s veins were thundering with fresh blood, and she felt a bit tipsy. She eyed the champagne bottle. It was nearly empty.

“She’s loyal, I see, as well as polite.” Sonia rolled her sleeve down. “She said thank you before she took a bite. And she was able to stop herself from feeding. I’m impressed.”

Phoebe stood and poured the last of the wine into the waiting glass. Once again, she had passed some kind of test. She felt that a drink was in order.

After that, Phoebe sincerely hoped there would be an offer of dessert.

* * *

—

TWO BOTTLES OF CHAMPAGNE LATER, Miriam put Sonia in a cab. There had been dessert, thanks to Sonia’s generosity and due in no small part to the excellence of Freyja’s wine cellar.

Freyja returned home shortly after Sonia left. She cast an eye over her upholstery, saw Persephone was purring by the fire, and let out a sigh of relief.

“It all went according to plan,” Miriam assured her, looking over the lid of her laptop.

“Just as we thought.” Freyja smiled. “And the other matter?”

“What other matter?” Phoebe said, still glowing from drinking blood laced with champagne.

“Must there really be five names, Freyja?” Miriam wondered. “It seems a bit excessive.”

“It is common among de Clermonts,” Freyja said, “not to mention useful. We are a long-lived family, and it saves trouble later. This way there is no last-minute legal scramble if property needs to change hands.”

“I’ve already picked four,” Phoebe said, scrambling in her pocket for the slip of paper. She had anticipated that this all-important matter of names would be sprung on her without warning. “Phoebe Alice Catherine Taylor. What do you think?”

“Alice?” Miriam frowned. “But that’s German! What about Yara?”

“Taylor?” Freyja looked shocked. “I don’t think that’s appropriate, Phoebe dearest. People will think you are in trade. I’ve been wondering if Maren would suit you. I had a great friend named Maren, and you remind me of her.”

“I like Taylor,” Phoebe said.

Freyja and Miriam took no notice of her, and continued to argue for the relative merits of Illi and Gudrum and Agnete.

“As a matter of fact, I like all of my names. So does Baldwin,” Phoebe said, raising her voice slightly.

“Baldwin?” Miriam’s eyes narrowed.

“I wrote him last week,” Phoebe said.

“But it’s not up to Baldwin,” Miriam said, her voice purring in her throat. “You’re my daughter. Naming you is my job.”

Wisely, Phoebe kept silent. A few moments passed. Miriam sighed.

“The de Clermont family will be the death of me one day,” she said. “Keep your names, then. And add Najima.”

“Phoebe Alice Najima Catherine Taylor de Clermont.” Freyja considered the string of names. “That’s settled, then.”

Phoebe pressed her lips together to keep from smiling.

She had won her first battle against her maker.

Now she just had to tell Baldwin, in case Miriam suspected she was lying and called to check up on her story. Phoebe felt sure Baldwin would cover for her.

“And how was your twenty-first day as a vampire?” Freyja asked. It had become part of the household ritual—and part of her education—for Phoebe to share how she had gotten on that day.

“Perfect,” Phoebe said, finally able to smile openly without showing her maker any sign of disrespect. “Absolutely perfect.”

20

As the Twig Is Bent

5 JUNE

It was ten days before Matthew’s rebirthday, and we were in the library reviewing the arrangements for this summer’s party. Although I’d promised him there would be no large event like last year, I couldn’t let the day go without some kind of celebration. We had finally settled on having a small family affair—just Sarah and Agatha, Marcus, Ysabeau, Marthe and Alain and Victoire, and Jack and Fernando, in addition to me and the children.

“That’s nine other people,” Matthew said with a scowl, looking at the guest list. “You promised it was going to be small.”

“Ten, if you include Baldwin.”

Matthew groaned.

“I couldn’t very well leave him out,” I said.

“Fine,” Matthew said hastily, wanting to stem any additional invitations. “When are they all coming?”

Just then a towheaded young man with long, gangly legs and wide shoulders walked in.

“Hi, Mum,” he said. “Hey, Dad.”

“Jack!” I said, surprised. “We didn’t expect you so soon!”