Hunting Daylight (9781101619032) (30 page)

“You’re not leaving, are you?” I asked.

Sabine followed my gaze. “Yes.”

I rested my palms on my lap. “Were you going to tell me?”

“No.”

Unbelievable. The gall of this woman. “Where are you taking my daughter?”

“I’d rather not say.” She moved away from the counter and shut the door.

“I need phone numbers and an address.”

She poured a cup of coffee and carried it to the table, her slippers brushing over the floor. She pulled out a chair but didn’t sit down.

“Do you want this information locked inside your head?” she asked. “Any vampire could pluck them. Without meaning to, you could put Vivi at risk.”

“She’s my daughter.”

“I understand your fears. I’ve got them, too. My penthouse is relatively safe, but it’s noisy. Vivi herself expressed concern about the traffic. The first part of her training is critical. If she masters the early lessons, the rest will move faster. Isn’t this what you want?”

I rubbed my hands on my dress, leaving damp streaks on the fabric. “Yes.”

“We’ll return to Paris at the end of August. Then you can visit.”

I stared into my coffee. A decade’s worth of fear and uncertainty churned inside me. I resisted an urge to straighten my spoon. If I took Vivi to Raphael’s house, I would agonize about her out-of-control talent, yet the thought of being away from my only child was unbearable. Did I really have a choice?

Sabine sat down across from me. “Yes, you do.”

I lifted my coffee cup, then put it down. “Please don’t read my mind. And I’d prefer if you stayed in Paris. Just in case there’s an emergency—at your end or mine. We need to be in contact.”

Marie-Therese leaped onto the table and began licking her paw. Sabine took off her glasses and polished the lenses with a napkin. Her movements were calm and deliberate, almost identical to the cat’s.

“Caro, have you ever spent any time around artists?”

“No.”

“A painter believes his time must be guarded,” Sabine said. “They put up walls. God help the fool who tries to break through. If you try, the painter becomes disoriented. He loses focus. Whatever force was guiding the artist’s hand is gone. And it may never return.”

I waited for her to continue, but I could already see where this lecture was headed.

Sabine put her glasses back on. “Vivi needs an artist’s discipline and focus. Her training will move faster if she isn’t distracted by her emotions. Each time she sees you, she will get homesick. And the process will take longer.”

I stared at the table. My spoon was crooked. And the
tongs in the sugar bowl jutted out at a weird angle. Everything on Sabine’s table was bunched together and messy. What did she know about mothers and daughters?

“Maybe she’ll be homesick anyway,” I said.

“It will be worse if you’re nearby.” Sabine poured cream into her coffee. “Tell me about your parents. Was your mother a vampire?”

I watched her spoon move in circles. If she was really a member of the Grimaldi clan, she already knew what had happened to my family. Why would she ask a hurtful question? Did she think I was mentally fragile? That I couldn’t talk about my family without crying?

“Mother was human. Dad was a vampire. Philippe Grimaldi. Your mother’s cousin.”

“Your parents died when you were a little girl, didn’t they?”

“Vampires murdered them. Do you know the rest of the story?”

“I want to hear it from you,” she said.

I spoke in a calm, clear voice. When I finished, I opened my hand and pointed to a half-moon scar on my palm. Some part of me could still feel the shape of the doorknob and the rush of heat.

Sabine took a long drink of coffee. “How old was Vivi when her father went missing?”

“Three.”

“Does she remember him?”

I shook my head. Then I felt a sudden urge to talk about Jude. “Vivi looks just like him. A female version.”

“He must have been handsome.”

“Yes. He was.” I could see him so clearly, the way he’d
turn and smile, his chin dimpling, his T-shirt stretched over his wide shoulders.

“Your daughter might resemble her father physically. But she’s assimilated your personality traits. Both of you are guarded. Cautious. You’ve erected so many walls.”

“Caution is a survival trait.”

“It won’t allow you to enjoy that beautiful frock.” Sabine waved her hand at my dress. “Is it a Carolina Herrera? Love the sparrows. A bird in flight means that troubles are leaving. A real sparrow is brown, of course. I’m sure that Ms. Herrera didn’t intend for the color red to symbolize anything. Certainly not the blood ties between a bird and her offspring. By the way, a sparrow is an excellent mother. Just as you’ve been to Vivi.”

I sat up a little straighter. The compliment caught me by surprise.
Was
it a compliment? “Thank you,” I said. “I think.”

“One thing worries me,” Sabine said. “You don’t have an identity, other than being an orphan, a widow, and a mother.”

A fluttering noise filled my head, as if all those sparrows had ripped away from my dress and were soaring into the air. “I came here to return your cat,” I said. “Not to get a personality analysis.”

“Well, I’m giving you one anyway. You’ve lost your parents and your husband, but you’ve allowed those tragedies to define you. Now you’re losing your child. Never mind that it’s temporary. You feel nothing but loss. You can’t feel joy when Raphael gives you a present.”

“I did, too.”

“You’re a frugal soul, whether from necessity or choice. And his extravagance always bothers you. Perhaps it makes you feel miserly.”

Sabine had spoken barely above a whisper, but her words sliced across the table. I hadn’t been thinking about Raphael. How had she known about the dress? Had she dug into my subconscious thoughts? I had a sudden image of Sabine holding long, sharp tweezers, digging through the moldy parts of my brain.

“How do you know that he gave me this dress?”

“I read his mind last night. He’d ordered the dress from his iPhone—he e-mailed Ms. Herrera herself. Raphael knew the dress wouldn’t make you happy, but that’s all he knew to do.”

“You don’t know anything,” I said.

“I know too much. Raphael has been my friend for thirty years. He has a big heart and a vast disposable income. I wouldn’t be a physician if he hadn’t financed my education. But like any man, he has flaws. I’ve never known a time when a beautiful woman hasn’t been hanging on his arm. Never the same one, of course. Not that serial dating is wrong, unless you happen to be on the wrong side of the relationship. Taming him would be a Sisyphean task.”

She’d hit a tender place, one I didn’t like to examine too closely. Like Uncle Nigel always said, vampires and fidelity go together like tiramisu and turnips.

“You’re meddling,” I said.

“I’m offering insight.”

“I don’t want your help. If you keep going, I won’t let you help Vivi, either.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Do you have any idea why he has invested so heavily in real estate? And in this economy?”

“That’s his business.”

“In all the years I’ve known him, he’s owned two homes, one in Australia and one in Italy. Then about ten years ago, he started buying houses and resorts all over the world. Now I know why. He bought them so you and Vivi would have safe places to stay. Have you ever wondered why he went to all this trouble?”

Trouble.
That word summed up my fears. I didn’t want to be an encumbrance. He’d felt obligated to help me. Maybe because he’d known my parents, and he was Vivi’s godfather.

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at.” I drank the rest of my coffee.

“Haven’t you wondered why he keeps putting himself at risk? He could have dinner with a different Chanel model every night. But he’s chosen to escort you two all over the world. He took you to Longyearbyen—during the polar day.”

“I didn’t ask him to do that.”

“Are you being deliberately obtuse? I saw how he watched you last night. He’s in love with you.”

I set down the empty cup a little too hard, then bent over to see if I’d cracked the saucer.

“Caro, you’re falling in love with him.”

“What does this have to do with Vivi? Are you trying to distract me? To make me look inward?”

“A little introspection wouldn’t hurt. Caution has
become your default reaction to everything. It’s out of control, just like Vivi’s Induction.”

“You’re as much fun as a lobotomy.”

“Prudence won’t keep anyone safe. It’s better to be emotionally flexible. Knowing when to run and when to be still. And when to take a risk.”

“I’ve lived on the edge so long, I can’t afford to be careless.”

Sabine reached across the table, lifted my hands, and spread them apart. “Your left hand represents caution. Your right signifies recklessness. Two extremes. With a huge spectrum in between.”

She paused, as if waiting for me to comment. When I didn’t, she slid my left hand an inch closer to the right. “Move a few degrees away from caution and you arrive at watchfulness. The middle of the spectrum is perspicacity.”

I exhaled. “How can I get there?”

“You’ve already started.”

“I hope you’re right.” I glanced toward the closed door. Just beyond that lay the suitcases. “Vivi’s clothes are at Raphael’s.”

“You knew you were coming here. Why didn’t you bring them?”

“I was focused on the cat.”

“No, no. You came here to make an exchange—Marie-Therese for Vivi.”

I could feel her peeking into my deepest thoughts. I blocked her. “She needs clothes, Sabine.”

“You’re still trying to take control,” she said. “This
afternoon Lena is going shopping at Moschino Teen. Vivi gave her a list—she loves pink the way I love white. I’ll make sure she doesn’t wear anything that will draw attention. And don’t try to pay me.”

I lifted my cup and started to take a sip, when I realized it was empty.

“I need more coffee, too.” Sabine pushed away from the table. She went to the counter and lifted the pot. “You might want to take a cleansing breath. Vivi is awake. She will be down here any second.”

Sabine was a witch. She knew everything.

She’d just finished refilling our cups when footsteps pounded in the hallway. Vivi swung into the kitchen, one hand caught on the door frame. She wore a white cotton nightgown that I’d never seen before. Her mouth opened wide when she caught sight of me.

“Mom!”

My heart stuttered as I looked into my daughter’s eyes. So much like Jude’s, the same deep blue, with defiant brown specks in her left iris.

“Sabine told me you’d be here today,” she said.

“I returned Marie-Therese.”

“Awesome.” Vivi swirled into the room, the gown flowing around her ankles. She gave me a peck on the cheek, then plopped down into an empty chair.

Sabine lifted the pot. “Would you like coffee or juice?”

“Juice, please,” Vivi said.

Sabine opened the refrigerator and lifted a carton. I glanced back at Vivi. She looked rested and happy.

“Everything will be fine,” Sabine said. She placed a tall
glass of juice in front of Vivi. Then she left the room, Marie-Therese trotting behind her.

Vivi took a sip of juice. “Is that a new dress?”

I nodded.

“It’s pretty. And it totally shows off your boobs.”

I put my elbow on the table and leaned toward her. “Where is Sabine taking you?”

“It’s a secret. The next time you see me, I’ll be cured. You and Raphael won’t have to worry.”

“I’m not worried. I have faith in you.”

“Then don’t look so freaked out. Sabine knows what she’s doing.”

“Super.”

“Oh, Mom. Nobody but dweebs and noobs say
super
.”

“I’ve always been dweeby.”

She sprang out of her chair and dove at me. “I’m gonna miss you.”

I pulled her close, smoothing her hair and breathing in the smells of herbal shampoo and soap, along with a deeper fragrance that was uniquely Vivi—milk and buttered rice. “I love you beyond all else, Meep.”

“Forevs,” she whispered.

On the way to the front door, she pulled me into a creamy library and stopped in front of a framed etching. “I hate to say this, Mom. But you remind me of this picture.”

“How am I like a ruined château?”

“Well, the walls are standing, but the best parts are gone.”

“That’s not so.” I pulled her into my arms. “You’re the best part of me.”

As I walked out of Sabine’s building, I noticed that the black Jaguar had been replaced with a silver Audi. I climbed into the backseat and wrapped my arms around my waist. Morning sunlight streamed into the car as it rushed down Avenue George V, toward Pont de l’Alma, then angled into a parking garage on Quai Branley. I sat there a moment, blinking in the dim light. I’d completely lost track of time. On the Jaguar’s dashboard, the digital display read: J
ULY
14.

Raphael had shown up in Scotland eight days ago—or was I mistaken? Maybe it was seven or nine days ago. The whole month of July was a blur. I had no idea where we would be eight days from now.

Sabine’s words floated up:
He’s in love with you.
But was he really?