I had had it, too. I turned my hands heavenward and splayed my fingers wide. Brightly colored strands appeared, snaking down each finger, across my palms, and around my wrists.

“With knot of one, the spell’s begun,” I said.

“This is what happens when you don’t answer your e-mail!” Baldwin said, shaking his finger at me.

“With knot of two, the spell be true.” I touched the tips of my thumb and little finger together. A silver star emerged from where the two met.

“Don’t speak to Diana like that, Baldwin,” Matthew warned.

“With knot of three, the spell is free,” I said, releasing the star into the sky.

“Cool,” Sarah said, watching my every move.

“With knot of four, the power is stored.” My ring finger glowed with an inner, golden light, and the silver star grew in size, floating toward the knot of men in the hall.

“Does anyone smell something burning?” Marcus wrinkled his nose.

“With knot of five, the spell will thrive.” I touched the green thumb on my right hand to my middle finger, uniting the energy of the goddess as mother with the spirit of justice.

“Well, well,” Fernando said, looking at the five-pointed silver star that was hovering above him. “I don’t believe anyone’s ever put a spell on me.”

“With knot of six, this spell I fix.”

The star descended in a whoosh, tangling Matthew, a startled Baldwin and Marcus, and a bemused Fernando in its loops and twirls. With a flick of my fingers, I tightened the star so that it held them fast. Then I gave it an extra twist so that the more they struggled against the bonds, the more snug they would become.

“You lassoed us!” Marcus exclaimed.

“Diana went to camp in Montana one summer,” Sarah said. “She wanted to be a cowgirl. I had no idea they taught her how to do that.”

“You wanted to talk to me, Baldwin?” I said, advancing slowly on the group. “I’m all ears.”

“Let me go,” Baldwin said through clenched teeth.

“Not fun, is it, to be all tied up?” I asked.

“You’ve made your point,” my brother-in-law said.

“Oh, come on,” I said. “Since when has it been that easy to change your mind? As you see, Baldwin, I’m not against tying people up when they deserve it. But this branch of the family is done with turning their children into puppets and wrapping them in knots.”

“If Rebecca has blood rage—”

“If Becca has blood rage. If Philip is a weaver. If, if, if,” I interrupted. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”

“I told you to run tests,” Baldwin said, trying to grab Matthew. The movement forced the bindings tighter, just as I intended.

Ysabeau arrived with a wicker hamper filled with bottles. She surveyed the scene and smiled.

“How I’ve missed family gatherings,” she said. “What have you done this time, Baldwin?”

“All I’m trying to do is keep this family from self-destructing,” Baldwin shouted. “Why is it so impossible for the rest of you to see the trouble Rebecca might cause? The child cannot go around biting people. If she has blood rage, she could give it to others.”

Jack entered the room with Becca in his arms. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her arms were wrapped tightly around Jack’s neck. She had been crying.

“Stop it. All of you, just stop it,” Jack said fiercely. “You’re upsetting Becca.”

Jack’s voice was rough with emotion, but miraculously there was no sign of blood rage in his eyes. The children were often stabilizing influences on Jack, as though being responsible for their well-being trumped any other emotions or concerns he might have.

“Becca is a baby,” Jack said. “She couldn’t hurt anybody. She’s soft, and sweet, and trusting. How could you think Becca needs to be punished for being who she is?”

“Well said, Jack.” Agatha was beaming with pride.

“Dad keeps telling me what happened to me as a child wasn’t my fault. That the man who was supposed to take care of me didn’t hurt me because I was bad, or evil, or a whore’s son, or any of the things that he told me,” Jack continued.

Becca looked up at Jack as though she understood every word he said. She reached out with one of her small, fragile fingers and touched him lightly on the lips.

Jack took the time to give her a reassuring smile before resuming.

“Mum and Dad trust me,” Jack said. “Which means for the first time in my life, I feel like I can trust myself. That’s what families are supposed to do—not order each other around and make promises nobody should have to keep.”

I was so moved by Jack’s speech that I forgot to hold on to my binding spell. It fell to the floor, making a bright and gleaming star around the feet of the de Clermont men.

The youngest male in the family, on whose small shoulders so many hopes and expectations already rested, toddled down the stairs, holding on to Marthe with one hand and Apollo’s tail with the other. The three of them made a small but united pack.

“Nunkle!” Philip said, delighted to see Baldwin.

“We have a celebration planned for Independence Day,” I said. “Are you staying for the fireworks, Baldwin?”

Baldwin hesitated.

“You and I could take a ride while we wait for the fun to start,” Matthew said to his stepbrother. “It would be like old times.”

Becca squirmed to be put down. Once Jack placed her feet on the floor, she ran straight to Baldwin, her steps sure and her face determined as she trod on the fading remains of my spell.

“Horsey?” she said, looking up at her uncle with a winsome smile.

Baldwin took her hand in his. “Of course, cara. Whatever you wish.”

* * *

—

BALDWIN WAS DEFEATED, and knew it. But the look he gave me promised that our struggles over the children weren’t over yet.

At 10:37 P.M.—for it turned out that our fireworks display, like all others, was not ready precisely on time—the show began.

Marcus and I had devised a perfect division of labor. I provided the fire. He provided the work.

As the family climbed into the waiting boats so that they could drift on the moat and watch the display from every angle, Marcus dashed around the field making sure all of the man-made fireworks were ready. He plugged the string of lights into an extended line of cords that led back to the house. Once they were lit, the trees sparkled as though a hundred fireflies had settled onto the branches. Then he turned on the music. It was a rousing combination of Handel and military tunes from the American Revolution as well as the French.

“Ready?” Marcus asked, coming up behind me.

“As I’ll ever be,” I said.

I stood on a stack of hay bales and took the stance of an archer, tall and straight. I extended my left arm forward and drew my right arm back. A shimmering bow appeared, along with a silver-tipped arrow.

From the moat, only those with vampire sight would be able to detect my outline in the darkness. The rest would see only a bow and arrow, illuminated against the night sky.

I released my fingers and the arrow shot forth, traveling in a blazing arc toward the first of Marcus’s fireworks: a set of spinning Catherine wheels mounted on long poles in the ground. The arrow went straight through them, lighting each one in turn. They began to spin and spit fire, their colors bright and cheerful.

Oohs and aahs of delight as well as the enthusiastic clapping of the twins provided the backdrop while Marcus sped among his Roman candles. Each one shot into the air and burst into a thousand stars with a mild pop that didn’t seem to bother Apollo or the children. I’d put a silencing spell on them to keep the noise down and the animals calm.

At last it was time for the finale. Marcus and I had decided to use my power over fire and water to create something that would amaze not only the children, but the adults as well. I nocked another bolt of fire and pointed it straight above me into the sky.

The ball of flame climbed higher and higher. As it flew, a fiery green tail appeared. The tail stretched and grew, and the ball began to take the form of a firedrake.