Chapter Twenty-Eight
Four months later, Paris
“Jonathan!” Felicity yelled for what felt like the hundredth time, but her husband, mate, and maker was nowhere to be seen. She juggled the heavy crates in her arms. When she found him, she would give him a good whap across the head.
Starting a museum using the vampiric artifacts from her exhibit had been Jonathan’s idea.
She’d wanted to restore them to their original owners, but that had proven nearly impossible, given the age of some of the relics.
They’d been so focused on transporting all the items from London and finding a new place to live that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Winifred or the other members of her nest.
Without warning, her burden was lifted from her arms by the object of her current frustration.
“There you are,” she said. “Where have you been?”
Jonathan set the crates aside. “I have a surprise for you.”
“Now? I still have the Mesopotamia section to organize.”
A bolt of impatience shot through their connection. He’d gone to extraordinary effort to ensure everything was in place just so. If they waited any longer—Jonathan’s thoughts abruptly cut off, but the giddy anticipation that had accompanied them was infectious.
“What is it?” she asked. She probed their connection, but he kept it sealed shut.
He tapped her nose with his index finger. “No cheating.” Then he clasped her hand and led her up the stairs. When he opened the door to the kitchen and she saw who was waiting, her breath hitched.
Winifred was perched on the edge of a spindle-back mahogany chair with her elbows on Felicity’s dining table and her hands clenched tightly together.
She wore an eminently practical long-sleeved, white cotton shirtwaist and a red-and-black checkered skirt.
Her unruly hair had been ruthlessly gathered into a bun at the back of her neck, while her slipper-clad toes tapped the floor in a steady rhythm.
“You came,” Felicity whispered.
Winifred sprang from the chair. “Fel!” A brilliant smile lit up her face before she gathered her skirts and dashed forward.
Felicity opened her arms and enveloped her cousin through a haze of tears.
Several minutes and plenty of happy tears later, Felicity convinced her guest to relocate to the receiving room, rather than bluster about the kitchen.
“It was Marcus’s idea,” Winifred said before sipping lukewarm blood out of a delicate teacup. “He knew how much I wanted to be here for opening night.”
Jonathan crossed his legs and stretched his arm along the back of the sofa. “I told him they could express their appreciation by paying admission, but—”
She swatted his knee. “Be polite.” Then she turned back to Winifred. “You are welcome, of course.”
Winifred set her teacup down. “I bring news of our family.”
Felicity rubbed her palms on her skirt. “Are they still determined to find us?” She had grown strong enough that she was confident she’d survive a fight with her great-uncle, but she would delay that day as long as possible.
“They are.” Winifred sniffed. “Helena has kept them busy with false trails. Marcus provided her with a concoction we developed that confuses werewolves’ senses.”
Felicity bit her lower lip. “Is your husband…?” She’d forgiven Marcus for his role in the deaths of Vincent and Uncle Ethan, but seeing him was an uncomfortable reminder of the years she’d spent obsessed with revenge.
The best way to describe her relationship with the eldest vampire in the nest was an uneasy truce.
“He had to stay behind to watch over the experiments,” Winifred said. “We have further distilled the divided blood to increase the purity. It’s not a cure, but it’s an effective treatment.”
“I remember,” Felicity said. The substance had been critical in easing her cravings after her transformation, when Jonathan had been so weak that he hadn’t been able to control her.
“We’ve improved the flavor,” Winifred offered. “And we keep a supply in the icebox in case of, ah, emergencies.”
She did not need to clarify. They’d both attempted to counsel Lucina, Helena, and Seraphina on the signs that might mean they’d found their fated mates, with varying degrees of success.
Felicity secretly suspected Seraphina would be the last to form the bond, as she seemed to be challenging Queen Victoria for time spent in mourning.
The brightest outfit Felicity had ever seen her severe nest sister wear was a charcoal blouse and black skirt.
“I’m here!” Lucina called as she bounded into the room, cheerful as ever.
She wore a pink tea gown with wide, gauzy sleeves and a square neckline that showed off her ample bosom.
She leaped over the couch before descending into a float that ended in an impressive pirouette.
When she rose, she glanced around the room with eyes so wide and shiny that Felicity almost asked what was wrong, until she realized who was missing.
Helena. In the months since being turned, it had become clear to Felicity that the two vampires were quite close. Seeing them apart was very unusual.
“They had a fight,” Winifred whispered. “Don’t ask.”
Lucina dipped into a curtsy. “I am honored to attend.” Then she straightened and clapped. “Can we see the exhibit now?”
Felicity laughed. “If you insist.”
Lucina was the first down the stairs, followed by Winifred.
Felicity trailed behind and watched in pleased silence as the two women made sounds of admiration.
They’d boarded over the windows to prevent any sunlight from penetrating the space and hung gas-powered chandeliers from the ceiling instead.
Keeping the fixtures clean and lit was the responsibility of a dozen human familiars that had been hand-selected by the Wild Hunt.
The same familiars also operated the museum during daylight hours for the benefit of their human guests.
Evenly distributed throughout the space were fourteen tables of artifacts organized by vampiric family. She hoped that doing so would make it easier for guests to find the artifacts of their ancestors.
Lucina stopped in front of a painting that was shrouded in black fabric. “What’s this one?”
Felicity threaded her fingers with Jonathan’s. Should we show them?
He squeezed. Yes. It’s time.
“A surprise,” Felicity said. Then she walked over and tugged the fabric.
Winifred gasped.
Lucina floated halfway to the ceiling.
Felicity leaned into Jonathan. The painting depicted a hauntingly beautiful woman with bright-green eyes and coal-black hair sitting on a chair with her head tilted upward and lips slightly curved.
The calculating expression had come out exactly as Felicity had requested, although the artist who had done the piece had been quite confused when she’d given him references of Marguerite wearing clothing from several different time periods.
Lucina pointed to the blond, broad-shouldered man standing behind Marguerite. “Who is he?”
“Her mate,” Felicity said.
It had taken weeks of searching to find a portrait of the man.
He’d been a French comte who had married Marguerite in 1691, after which he’d commissioned a pair of portraits.
Felicity had found Marguerite’s first, in a small shop in Montmartre.
When she’d realized it was half of a matching set, she’d convinced the shop owner to let her peruse his warehouse.
Finding it had required nearly a month of digging through old trunks, but it hadn’t felt right to paint Marguerite without her Bertrand.
At least in death, they could be together again.
“She is beautiful,” Winifred whispered.
Jonathan nodded. “Yes, she was.”