Gallowglass held out his hand, and Hubbard put the keys into it.
“There’s a briefcase in the trunk,” Hubbard said. “Bring it back with you.”
Gallowglass nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line. He gave Hubbard a blistering look before stalking toward the car.
“He never has liked me.” Hubbard straightened the lapels on his austere black jacket, which he wore over a black shirt. Even after more than six hundred years, the vampire remained a cleric at heart. He nodded to me, acknowledging my presence for the first time. “Mistress Roydon.”
“My name is Bishop.” I wanted to remind him of the last time we’d seen each other and the agreement that he’d made—and broken, based on the evidence before me.
“Dr. Bishop, then.” Hubbard’s strange, multicolored eyes narrowed.
“You didn’t keep your promise,” I hissed. Jack’s agitated stare settled on my neck.
“What promise?” Jack demanded from behind me.
Damn. Jack had always had excellent hearing but I’d forgotten he was now gifted with preternatural senses, too.
“I swore that I’d take care of you and Annie for Mistress Roydon,” Hubbard said.
“Father Hubbard kept his word, mistress,” Jack said quietly. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
“And we’re grateful to him.” Matthew looked anything but. He tossed me the keys to the house. Gallowglass still had my bag, and without its contents I had no way to open the door.
Hubbard caught them instead and turned the key in the lock.
“Take Lobero upstairs and get him some water, Jack. The kitchen’s on the first floor.” Matthew plucked the keys from Hubbard’s grasp as he went past and put them in a bowl on the hall table.
Jack called to Lobero and obediently started up the worn, painted treads.
“You’re a dead man, Hubbard—and so is the one who made Jack a vampire.” Matthew’s voice was no more than a hollow murmur. Jack heard it nonetheless.
“You can’t kill him, Master Roydon.” Jack stood at the top of the stairs, his fingers wrapped tightly around Lobero’s collar. “Father Hubbard is your grandson. He’s my maker, too.”
Jack turned away, and we heard the cabinet doors open, then water running from an open tap. The sounds were oddly homely considering that a conversational bomb had just gone off.
“My grandson?” Matthew looked at Hubbard in shock. “But that means . . .”
“Benjamin Fox is my sire.” Andrew Hubbard’s origins had always been shrouded in obscurity. London legends said that he had been a priest when the Black Death first visited England in 1349. After Hubbard’s parishioners all succumbed to the illness, Hubbard had dug his own grave and climbed into it. Some mysterious vampire had brought Hubbard back from the brink of death—but no one seemed to know who.
“As far as your son was concerned, I was only a tool—someone he made to further his aims in England. Benjamin hoped I would have blood rage,” Hubbard continued. “He also hoped I would help him organize an army to stand against the de Clermonts and their allies. But he was disappointed on both counts, and I’ve managed to keep him away from me and my flock. Until now.”
“What’s happened?” Matthew asked brusquely.
“Benjamin wants Jack. I can’t let him have the boy again,” was Hubbard’s equally abrupt reply.
“Again?” That madman had been with Jack. I turned blindly toward the stairs, but Matthew caught me by the wrists and trapped me against his chest.
“Wait,” he commanded.
Gallowglass came through the door with a large black briefcase and my book bag. He surveyed the scene and dropped what he was carrying.
“What’s happened now?” he asked, looking from Matthew to Hubbard.
“Father Hubbard made Jack a vampire,” I said as neutrally as I could. Jack was listening after all.
Gallowglass slammed Hubbard against the wall. “You bastard. I could smell your scent all over him. I thought—”
It was Gallowglass’s turn to be tossed against something—in his case it was the floor. Hubbard pressed one polished black shoe against the big Gael’s sternum. I was astonished that someone who looked so skeletal could be so strong.
“Thought what, Gallowglass?” Hubbard’s tone was menacing. “That I’d violated a child?”
Upstairs, Jack’s rising agitation soured the air. He’d learned from an early age how quickly ordinary quarrels could turn violent. As a boy he’d found even a hint of disagreement between Matthew and me distressing.
“Corra!” I cried, instinctively wanting her support.
By the time my firedrake swooped down from our bedroom and landed on the newel post, Matthew had averted any potential bloodshed by picking up Gallowglass and Hubbard by the scruffs of their necks, prying them apart, and shaking them until their teeth rattled.
Corra gave an irritated bleat and fixed a malevolent stare on Father Hubbard, suspecting quite rightly that he was to blame for her interrupted nap.
“I’ll be damned.” Jack’s fair head peeked over the railing. “Didn’t I tell you Corra would survive the timewalking, Father H?” He gave a hoot of delight and pounded on the painted wood. Jack’s behavior reminded me so strongly of the joyous boy he had once been that I had to fight back the tears.
Corra let out an answering cry of welcome, followed by a stream of fire and song that filled the entrance with happiness. She took flight, zooming up and latching her wings around Jack. Then she tucked her head atop his and began to croon, her tail encircling his ribs so that the spade-shaped tip could gently pat his back. Lobero padded over to his master and gave Corra a suspicious sniff. She must have smelled like family, and therefore a creature to be included among his many responsibilities. He dropped down at Jack’s side, head on his paws but eyes still watchful.
“Your tongue is even longer than Lobero’s,” Jack said, trying not to giggle as Corra tickled his neck. “I can’t believe she remembers me.”
“Of course she remembers you! How could she forget someone who spoiled her with currant buns?” I said with a smile.
By the time we were settled in the living room overlooking Court Street, the blood rage had receded from Jack’s veins. Aware of his low position in the house’s pecking order, he waited until everyone else took a chair before choosing his own seat. He was ready to join the dog on the floor when Matthew patted the sofa cushion.
“Sit with me, Jack.” Matthew’s invitation held a note of command. Jack sat, pulling at the knees of his jeans.