Deborah Harkness - Shadow of Night

“My name is Diana Bishop, and my parents were both powerful witches. Other witches killed them when they were far from home, when I was still a child. Before they died, they spellbound me. My mother was a seer, and she knew what was to come.”

Philippe’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. I understood his caution. It was still difficult for me to understand why two people who loved me had broken the witches’ ethical code and placed their only daughter in magical shackles.

“Growing up, I was a family disgrace—a witch who couldn’t light a candle or perform a spell properly. I turned my back on the Bishops and went to university.” With this revelation Matthew began to shift uneasily in his seat. “I studied the history of alchemy.”

“Diana studies the art of alchemy,” Matthew corrected, shooting me a warning glance. But his convoluted half-truths wouldn’t satisfy his father.

“I’m a timewalker.” The word hung in the air between the three of us. “You call it a fileuse de temps .”

“Oh, I am well aware of what you are,” Philippe said in the same lazy tone. A fleeting look of surprise touched Matthew’s face. “I have lived a long time, madame , and have known many creatures. You are not from this time, nor the past, so you must be from the future. And Matthaios traveled back with you, for he is not the same man he was eight months ago. The Matthew I know would never have looked twice at a witch.” The vampire drew in a deep breath. “My grandson warned me that you both smelled very odd.”

“Philippe, let me explain—” But Matthew was not destined to finish his sentences this evening.

“As troubling as many aspects of this situation are, I am glad to see that we can look forward to a sensible attitude toward shaving in the years to come.” Philippe idly scratched his own neatly clipped beard and mustache. “Beards are a sign of lice, not wisdom, after all.”

“I’m told Matthew looks like an invalid.” I drew a tired sigh. “But I don’t know a spell to fix it.”

Philippe waved my words away. “A beard is easy enough to arrange. You were telling me of your interest in alchemy.”

“Yes. I found a book—one that many others have sought. I met Matthew when he came to steal it from me, but he couldn’t because I’d already let it out of my hands. Every creature for miles was after me then. I had to stop working!”

A sound that might have been suppressed laughter set a muscle in Philippe’s jaw throbbing. It was, I discovered, hard to tell with lions whether they were amused or about to pounce.

“We think it’s the book of origins,” Matthew said. His expression was proud, though my calling of the manuscript had been completely accidental. “It came looking for Diana. By the time the other creatures realized what she’d found, I was already in love.”

“So this went on for some time, then.” Philippe tented his fingers in front of his chin, resting his elbows on the edges of the table. He was sitting on a simple four-legged stool, even though a splendid, thronelike eyesore sat empty next to him.

“No,” I said after doing some calculations, “just a fortnight. Matthew wouldn’t admit to his feelings for the longest time, though—not until we were at Sept-Tours. But it wasn’t safe here either. One night I left Matthew’s bed and went outside. A witch took me from the gardens.”

Philippe’s eyes darted from me to Matthew. “There was a witch inside the walls of Sept-Tours?”

“Yes,” said Matthew tersely.

“Down into them,” I corrected gently, capturing his father’s attention once more. “I don’t believe any witch’s foot ever touched the ground, if that’s important. Well, mine did, of course.”

“Of course,” Philippe acknowledged with a tip of his head. “Continue.”

“She took me to La Pierre. Domenico was there. So was Gerbert.” The look on Philippe’s face told me that neither the castle nor the two vampires who had met me inside it were unfamiliar.

“Curses, like chickens, come home to roost,” Philippe murmured.

“It was the Congregation who ordered my abduction, and a witch named Satu tried to force the magic from me. When she failed, Satu threw me into the oubliette.”

Matthew’s hand strayed to the small of my back as it always did when that night was mentioned. Philippe watched the movement but said nothing.

“After I escaped, I couldn’t stay at Sept-Tours and put Ysabeau in danger. There was all this magic coming out of me, you see, and powers I couldn’t control. Matthew and I went home, to my aunts’ house.” I paused, searching for a way to explain where that house was. “You know the legends told by Gallowglass’s people, about lands across the ocean to the west?” Philippe nodded. “That’s where my aunts live. More or less.”

“And these aunts are both witches?”

“Yes. Then a manjasang came to kill Matthew—one of Gerbert’s creatures—and she nearly succeeded. There was nowhere we could go that would be beyond the Congregation’s reach, except the past.” I paused, shocked at the venomous look that Philippe gave Matthew. “But we haven’t found a haven here. People in Woodstock know I’m a witch, and the trials in Scotland might affect our lives in Oxfordshire. So we’re on the run again.” I reviewed the outlines of the story, making sure I hadn’t left out anything important. “That’s my tale.”

“You have a talent for relating complicated information quickly and succinctly, madame . If you would be so kind as to share your methods with Matthew, it would be a service to the family. We spend more than we should on paper and quills.” Philippe considered his fingertips for a moment, then stood with a vampiric efficiency that turned a simple movement into an explosion. One minute he was seated, and then, the next, his muscles sprang into action so that all six feet of him suddenly, and startlingly, loomed over the table. The vampire fixed his attention on his son.

“This is a dangerous game you are playing, Matthew, one with everything to lose and very little to gain. Gallowglass sent a message after you parted. The rider took a different route and arrived before you did. While you’ve been taking your time getting here, the king of Scotland has arrested hundreds of witches and imprisoned them in Edinburgh. The Congregation no doubt thinks you are on your way there to persuade King James to drop this matter.”

“All the more reason for you to give Diana your protection,” Matthew said tightly.

“Why should I?” Philippe’s cold countenance dared him to say it.

“Because I love her. And because you tell me that’s what the Order of Lazarus is for: protecting those who cannot protect themselves.”

“I protect other manjasang , not witches!”

“Maybe you should take a more expansive view,” Matthew said stubbornly. “ Manjasang can normally take care of themselves.”

“You know very well that I cannot protect this woman, Matthew. All of Europe is feuding over matters of faith, and warmbloods are seeking scapegoats for their present troubles. Inevitably they turn to the creatures around them. Yet you knowingly brought this woman—a woman you claim is your mate and a witch by blood—into this madness. No.” Philippe shook his head vehemently. “You may think you can brazen it out, but I will not put the family at risk by provoking the Congregation and ignoring the terms of the covenant.”

“Philippe, you must—”

“Don’t use that word with me.” A finger jabbed in Matthew’s direction. “Set your affairs in order and return whence you came. Ask me for help there—or better yet, ask the witch’s aunts. Don’t bring your troubles into the past where they don’t belong.”