“Thank you, Marthe,” I said upon my return from a brisk walk in the garden. She had happily left the crowded kitchen in favor of nanny duty and another of her beloved murder mysteries.
I gave my sleeping son a gentle pat on the back and picked Rebecca up from the cradle. My lips compressed into a thin line at her low weight relative to her brother’s.
“She is hungry.” Marthe’s dark eyes met mine.
“I know.” Rebecca was always hungry and never satisfied. My thoughts danced away from the implications. “Matthew said it’s too early for concern.” I buried my nose in Rebecca’s neck and breathed in her sweet baby smell.
“What does Matthew know?” Marthe snorted. “You are her mother.”
“He wouldn’t like it,” I warned.
“Matthew would like it less if she dies,” Marthe said bluntly.
Still I hesitated. If I followed Marthe’s broad hints without consulting him, Matthew would be furious. But if I asked Matthew for his input, he would tell me that Rebecca was in no immediate danger. That might be true, but she certainly wasn’t brimming over with health and wellness. Her frustrated cries broke my heart.
“Is Matthew still hunting?” If I were going to do this, it had to be when Matthew wasn’t around to fret.
“So far as I know.”
“Shh, it’s all right. Mommy’s going to fix it,” I murmured, sitting down by the fire and undoing my shirt with one hand. I put Rebecca to my right breast, and she latched on immediately, sucking with all her might. Milk dribbled out of the corner of her mouth, and her whimper turned into an outright wail.
She had been easier to feed before my milk came in, as though colostrum were more tolerable to her system.
That was when I’d first started to worry.
“Here.” Marthe held out a sharp, thin knife.
“I don’t need it.” I swung Rebecca onto my shoulder and patted her back. She let out a gassy belch, and a stream of white liquid followed.
“She cannot digest the milk properly,” Marthe said.
“Let’s see how she handles this, then.” I rested Rebecca’s head on my forearm, flicked my fingertips toward the soft, scarred skin at my left elbow where I’d tempted her father to take my blood, and waited while red, life-giving fluid swelled from the veins.
Rebecca was instantly alert.
“Is this what you want?” I curled my arm, pressing her mouth to my skin. I felt the same sense of suction that I did when she nursed at my breast, except that now the child wasn’t fussy—she was ravenous.
Freely flowing venous blood was bound to be noticed in a house full of vampires. Ysabeau was there in moments. Fernando was nearly as quick. Then Matthew appeared like a tornado, his hair disheveled from the wind.
“Everyone. Out.” He pointed to the stairs. Without waiting to see if they obeyed him, he dropped to his knees before me. “What are you doing?”
“I’m feeding your daughter.” Tears stung my eyes.
Rebecca’s contented swallowing was audible in the quiet room.
“Everybody’s been wondering for months what the children would be. Well, here’s one mystery solved: Rebecca needs blood to thrive.” I inserted my pinkie gently between her mouth and my skin to break the suction and slow the flow of blood. “And Philip?” Matthew asked, his face frozen.
“He seems satisfied with my milk,” I said. “Maybe, in time, Rebecca will take to a more varied diet. But for now she needs blood, and she’s going to get it.”
“There are good reasons we don’t turn children into vampires,” Matthew said.
“We have not turned Rebecca into anything. She came to us this way. And she’s not a vampire.
She’s a vampitch. Or a wimpire.” I wasn’t trying to be ridiculous, though the names invited laughter.
“Others will want to know what kind of creature they’re dealing with,” Matthew said.
“Well, they’re going to have to wait,” I snapped. “It’s too soon to tell, and I won’t have people forcing Rebecca into a narrow box for their own convenience.”
“And when her teeth come in? What then?” Matthew asked, his voice rising. “Have you forgotten Jack?”
Ah. So it was the blood rage, more than whether they were vampire or witch, that was worrying Matthew. I passed the soundly sleeping Rebecca to him and buttoned my shirt. When I was finished, he had her tucked tightly against his heart, her head cradled between his chin and shoulder. His eyes were closed, as if to block out what he had seen.
“If Rebecca or Philip has blood rage, then we will