“Can you zoom in on the clipboard?”
On the other side of the world, Nathaniel manipulated the image.
“That’s the kind we used for medical charts. They were on every hospital ward, hanging on the bed rails.” Marcus tilted his head. “It’s an intake form. Benjamin’s done what any doctor would—taken Matthew’s height, weight, blood pressure, pulse.” Marcus paused. “And he’s indicated the medications Matthew is on.”
“Matthew’s not on any medications,” I said.
“He is now,” Marcus said shortly.
“But vampires can only feel the effects of drugs if . . .” I trailed off.
“If they ingest them through a warmblood. Benjamin has been feeding him—or force-feeding him—spiked blood.” Marcus braced his arms against the table and swore. “And the drugs in question are not exactly palliative for a vampire.”
“What is he on?” My mind felt numb, and the only parts of me that seemed to be alive were the cords running through my body like roots, like branches.
“A cocktail of ketamine, opiates, cocaine, and psilocybin.” Marcus’s tone was flat and impassive, but his right eyelid twitched.
“Psilocybin?” I asked. The others I was at least familiar with.
“A hallucinogen derived from mushrooms.”
“That combination will make Matthew insane,” Hamish said.
“Killing Matthew would be too quick for Benjamin’s purposes,” Ysabeau said. “What about this fabric?” She pointed to the screen.
“I think it’s a blanket. It’s mostly out of the picture frame, but I included it anyway,” Nathaniel said.
“There are no landmarks outside,” Baldwin observed. “All you can see is snow and trees. It could be a thousand places in Central Europe at this time of year.”
In the central frame, Matthew’s head turned slightly.
“Something’s happening,” I said, pulling the laptop toward me.
Benjamin led a girl into the room. She couldn’t have been more than four and had on a long white nightgown with lace at the collar and cuffs. The cloth was stained with blood.
The girl wore a dazed expression, her thumb in her mouth.
“Phoebe, take Diana to the other room.” Baldwin’s order was immediate.
“No. I’m staying here. Matthew won’t feed on her. He won’t.” I shook my head.
“He’s out of his mind with pain, blood loss, and drugs,” Marcus said gently. “Matthew’s not responsible for his actions.”
“My husband will not feed on a child,” I said with absolute conviction.
Benjamin arranged the toddler on Matthew’s knee and stroked the girl’s neck. The skin was torn, and blood had caked around the wound.
Matthew’s nostrils flared in instinctive recognition that sustenance was nearby. He turned his head from the girl deliberately.
Baldwin’s eyes never left the screen. He watched his brother first warily, then with amazement. As the seconds ticked by, his expression became one of respect.
“Look at that control,” Hamish murmured. “Every instinct in him must be screaming for blood and survival.”
“Still think Matthew doesn’t have what it takes to lead his own family?” I asked Baldwin.
Benjamin’s back was turned to us, so we couldn’t see his reaction, but the vampire’s frustration was evident in the violent blow he slammed across Matthew’s face. No wonder my husband’s features didn’t look familiar. Then Benjamin roughly grabbed the child and held her so that her neck was directly under Matthew’s nose. The video feed had no sound, but the child’s face twisted as she screamed in terror.
Matthew’s lips moved, and the child’s head turned, her sobs quieting slightly. Next to me Ysabeau began to sing.
“‘Der Mond ist aufgegangen, / Die goldnen Sternlein prangen / Am Himmel hell und klar.’” Ysabeau sang the words in time to the movement of Matthew’s mouth.
“Don’t, Ysabeau,” Baldwin bit out.
“What is that song?” I asked, reaching to touch my husband’s face. Even in his torment, he remained shockingly expressionless.
“It’s a German hymn. Some of the verses have become a popular lullaby. Philippe used to sing it after . . . he came home.” Baldwin’s face was ravaged for a moment with grief and guilt.
“It is a song about God’s final judgment,” Ysabeau said.
Benjamin’s hands moved. When they stilled, the child’s body hung limply, head bent back at an impossible angle. Though he hadn’t killed the child, Matthew hadn’t been able to save her either. Hers was another death Matthew would carry with him forever. Rage burned in my veins, clear and bright.
“Enough. This ends. Tonight.” I grabbed a set of keys that someone had thrown on the table. I didn’t care which car they belonged to, though I hoped it was Marcus’s—and therefore fast. “Tell Verin I’m on my way.”
“No!” Ysabeau’s anguished cry stopped me in my tracks. “The window. Can you enlarge that part of the picture for me, Nathaniel?”
“There’s nothing out there but snow and trees,” Hamish said, frowning.
“The wall next to the window. Focus there.” Ysabeau pointed to the grimy wall on the screen as though Nathaniel could somehow see her. Even though he couldn’t, Nathaniel obligingly zoomed in.
As a clearer picture emerged, I couldn’t imagine what Ysabeau thought she saw. The wall was stained with damp and had not been painted for some time. It might once have been white, like the tiles, but it was grayish now. The image on the screen continued to resolve and sharpen as Nathaniel worked. Some of the grimy smudges turned out to be a series of numbers marching down the wall.
“My clever child,” Ysabeau said, her eyes running red with blood and grief. She stood, her limbs trembling. “That monster. I will tear him to pieces.”
“What is it, Ysabeau?” I asked.
“The clue was in the song. Matthew knows we are watching him,” Ysabeau said.
“What is it, Grand-mère?” Marcus repeated, peering at the image. “Is it the numbers?”
“One number. Philippe’s number.” Ysabeau pointed to the last in the series.
“His number?” Sarah asked.
“It was given to him at Auschwitz-Birkenau. After the Nazis captured Philippe trying to liberate Ravensbrück, they sent him there,” Ysabeau said.