Deborah Harkness: The Book of Life

“Why me?” I asked.

You have the Book of Life now. You no longer need my help. Philippe’s gaze met mine.

“The covenant—” I started.

I heard. I hear most things. Philippe’s grin widened. I am proud that it was one of my children that destroyed it. You have done well.

“Is seeing you my reward?” I said, fighting back the tears.

One of them, Philippe said. In time you will have the others.

“Emily.” The moment I said her name, Philippe’s form began to fade. “No! Don’t go. I won’t ask questions. Just tell her I love her.”

She knows that. So does your mother. Philippe winked. I am utterly surrounded by witches. Do not tell Ysabeau. She would not like it.

I laughed.

And there is my reward for years of good behavior. Now, I want no more tears, do you understand?

His finger rose. I am heartily sick of them.

“What do you want instead?” I wiped at my eyes.

More laughter. More dancing. His expression was mischievous. And more grandchildren.

“I had to ask,” I said with another laugh.

But the future will not be all laughter, I fear. Philippe’s expression sobered. Your work is not done, daughter. The goddess asked me to give this back to you. He held out the same gold-and-silver arrow that I had shot into Benjamin’s heart.

“I don’t want it.” I backed away, my hand raised to ward off this unwanted gift.

I didn’t want it either, and yet someone must see that justice is done. His arm extended further.

“Diana?” Matthew called from outside.

I would not be hearing my husband’s voice if not for the goddess’s arrow.

“Coming!” I called back.

Philippe’s eyes filled with sympathy and understanding. I touched the golden point hesitantly. The moment my flesh made contact with it, the arrow vanished and I felt its heavy weight at my back once more.

From the first moment we met, I knew you were the one, Philippe said. His words were a strange echo of what Timothy Weston had told me at the Bodleian last year, and again at his house.

With a final grin, his ghost began to dissipate.

“Wait!” I cried. “The one what?”

The one who could bear my burdens and not break, Philippe’s voice whispered in my ear. I felt a subtle press of lips on my cheek. You will not carry them alone. Remember that, daughter.

I bit back a sob at his departure.

“Diana?” Matthew called again, this time from the doorway. “What’s happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I had, but this was not the time to tell Matthew about it. I felt like weeping, but Philippe wanted joy, not sorrow.

“Dance with me,” I said, before a single tear could fall. Matthew folded me into his arms. His feet moved across the floor, sweeping us out of the salon and into the great hall. He asked no questions, even though the answers were in my eyes.

I trod on his toe. “Sorry.”

“You’re trying to lead again,” he murmured. He pressed a kiss to my lips, then whirled me around.

“At the moment your job is to follow.”

“I forgot,” I said with a laugh.

“I’ll have to remind you more often, then.” Matthew swung me tight to his body. His kiss was rough enough to be a warning and sweet enough to be a promise.

Philippe was right, I thought as we walked out into the garden. Whether leading or following, I would never be alone in a world that had Matthew in it.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Professor Bishop.”

I looked up from my manuscript. The Royal Society’s reading room was flooded with summer sunshine. It raked through the tall, multipaned windows and spilled across the generous reading surfaces.

“One of the fellows asked me to give this to you.” The librarian handed me an envelope with the Royal Society’s insignia on it. Someone had written my name across the front in a dark, distinctive scrawl. I nodded in thanks.

Philippe’s ancient silver coin—the one he sent to make sure that someone returned home or obeyed his commands—was inside. I’d found a new use for it, one that was helping Matthew manage his blood rage while I returned to a more active life. If Matthew felt his need for me rising to dangerous levels, all he had to do was send me this coin, and I would join him right away.

I returned the bound manuscripts I’d been consulting to the attendant on the desk and thanked him for their help. It was the end of my first full week back in the archives—a trial run to see how my magic responded to repeated contact with so many ancient texts and brilliant, though dead, intellects. Matthew was not the only one struggling for control, and I’d had a few tricky moments when it seemed it might be impossible for me to return to the work I loved, but each additional day made that goal more achievable.

Since facing the Congregation in April, I had come to understand myself as a complicated weaving and not just a walking palimpsest. My body was a tapestry of witch, daemon, and vampire. Some of the threads that made me were pure power, as symbolized by Corra’s shadowy form. Some were drawn from the skill that my weaver’s cords represented. The rest were spun from the knowledge contained in the Book of Life. Every knotted strand gave me the strength to use the goddess’s arrow for justice rather than the pursuit of vengeance or power.

Matthew was waiting for me in the foyer when I descended the grand staircase from the library to the main floor. His gaze cooled my skin and heated my blood, just as it always had. I dropped the coin into his waiting palm.

“All right, mon coeur ?” he asked after kissing me in greeting.

“Fine.” I tugged on the lapel of his black jacket, a small sign of possessiveness. Matthew had dressed the part of the distinguished professor today with his steel gray trousers, crisp white shirt, and fine wool jacket. I’d picked out his tie. Hamish had given it to him this past Christmas, and the green and-gray Liberty print picked up the changeable colors of his eyes. “How did it go?”

“Interesting discussion. Chris was brilliant, of course,” Matthew said, modestly giving my friend center stage.

Chris, Matthew, Miriam, and Marcus had been presenting research findings that expanded the limits of what was considered “human.” They showed how the evolution of Homo sapiens included DNA from other creatures, like Neanderthals, previously thought to have been a different species.

Matthew had been sitting on most of the evidence for years. Chris said Matthew was as bad as Isaac Newton when it came to sharing his research with others.

“Marcus and Miriam performed their usual charmer-and-curmudgeon routine,” Matthew said, releasing me at last.

“And what was the fellows’ reaction to this bit of news?” I unpinned Matthew’s name tag and slipped it into his pocket. PROFESSOR MATTHEW CLAIRMONT, it read, FRS, ALL SOULS (OXON), YALE UNIVERSITY (USA). Matthew had accepted a one-year visiting research appointment in Chris’s lab.