Deborah Harkness - Shadow of Night

“These days there’s a steady traffic in manuscripts. Ashmole 782 could be anywhere.”

“Or it could be right here,” I insisted.

“You may be right,” Matthew agreed. But I could tell that his mind was on more immediate concerns than our elusive tome. “I’ll send George out to make inquiries among the booksellers.”

All thoughts of Ashmole 782 fled the next morning, however, when a note arrived from Annie’s aunt, the prosperous midwife. She was back in London.

“The witch will not come to the house of a notorious wearh and spy,” Matthew reported after he had read its contents. “Her husband objects to the plan, for fear it will ruin his reputation. We are to go to her house near St. James’s Church on Garlic Hill.” When I didn’t react, Matthew scowled and continued. “It’s on the other side of town, within spitting distance of Andrew Hubbard’s den.”

“You are a vampire,” I reminded him. “She is a witch. We aren’t supposed to mix. This witch’s husband is right to be cautious.”

Matthew insisted on accompanying Annie and me across town anyway. The area surrounding St. James’s Church was far more prosperous than the Blackfriars, with spacious, well-kept streets, large houses, busy shops, and a tidy churchyard. Annie led us into an alley across from the church. Though dark, it was as neat as a pin.

“There, Master Roydon,” the girl said. She directed Matthew’s attention to the sign with a windmill on it before darting ahead with Pierre to alert the household to our arrival.

“You don’t have to stay,” I told Matthew. This visit was nerve-racking enough without him hovering and glowering.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he replied grimly.

We were met at the door by a round-faced woman with a snub nose, a gentle chin, and rich brown hair and eyes. Her face was serene, although her eyes snapped with irritation. She had stopped Pierre in his tracks. Only Annie had been admitted to the house and stood to one side in the doorway looking dismayed at the impasse.

I also stopped in my tracks, my mouth open in surprise. Annie’s aunt was the spitting image of Sophie Norman, the young daemon to whom we’d waved good-bye at the Bishop house in Madison.

“Dieu ,” Matthew murmured, looking down at me in amazement. “My aunt, Susanna Norman,” Annie whispered. Our reaction had unsettled her. “She says—”

“Susanna Norman ?” I asked, unable to take my eyes from her face. Her name and strong resemblance to Sophie couldn’t be a coincidence.

“As my niece said. You appear to be out of your element, Mistress Roydon,” Mistress Norman said. “And you are not welcome here, wearh .”

“Mistress Norman,” Matthew said with a bow.

“Did you not get my letter? My husband wants nothing to do with you.” Two boys shot out of the door. “Jeffrey! John!”

“Is this him?” the elder said. He studied Matthew with interest, then turned his attention on me. The child had power. Though he was still on the brink of adolescence, his abilities could already be felt in the crackle of undisciplined magic that surrounded him.

“Use the talents God gave you, Jeffrey, and don’t ask idle questions.” The witch looked at me appraisingly. “You certainly made Father Hubbard sit up and take notice. Very well, come inside.” When we moved to do so, Susanna held up her hand. “Not you, wearh . My business is with your wife. The Golden Gosling has decent wine, if you are determined to remain nearby. But it would be better for all concerned if you were to let your man see Mistress Roydon home.”

“Thank you for the advice, mistress. I’m sure I’ll find something satisfactory at the inn. Pierre will wait in the courtyard. He doesn’t mind the cold.” Matthew gave her a wolfish smile.

Susanna looked sour and turned smartly. “Come along, Jeffrey,” she called over her shoulder. Jeffrey commandeered his younger brother, cast one more interested glance at Matthew, and followed. “When you are ready, Mistress Roydon.”

“I can’t believe it,” I whispered as soon as the Normans were out of sight. “She has to be Sophie’s great-grandmother many times over.”

“Sophie must be descended through either Jeffrey or John.” Matthew pulled thoughtfully on his chin. “One of those boys is the missing link in our chain of circumstances that leads from Kit and the silver chess piece to the Norman family and on to North Carolina.”

“The future really is taking care of itself,” I said.

“I thought it would. As for the present, Pierre will be right here and I’ll be close by.” The fine lines around his eyes deepened. He didn’t want to be more than six inches away from me at the best of times.

“I’m not sure how long this will take,” I said, squeezing his arm.

“It doesn’t matter,” Matthew assured me, brushing my lips with his. “Stay as long as you need.”

Inside, Annie hastily took my cloak and returned to the fire, where she had been stooped over something on the hearth.

“Have a care, Annie,” Susanna said, sounding harassed. Annie was carefully lifting a shallow saucepan from a metal stand set over the embers of the fire. “Widow Hackett’s daughter requires that draft to help her sleep, and the ingredients are costly.”

“I can’t figure her out, Mama,” Jeffrey said, looking at me. His eyes were disconcertingly wise for one so young.

“Nor I, Jeffrey, nor I. But that’s probably why she’s here. Take your brother into the other room. And be quiet. Your father is sleeping, and he needs to remain so.”

“Yes, Mama.” Jeffrey scooped up two wooden soldiers and a ship from the table. “This time I’ll let you be Walter Raleigh so you can win the battle,” he promised his brother.

Susanna and Annie stared at me in the silence that followed. Annie’s faint pulses of power were already familiar. But I was not prepared for the steady current of inquiry that Susanna turned my way. My third eye opened. Finally someone had roused my witch’s curiosity.

“That’s uncomfortable,” I said, turning my head to break the intensity of Susanna’s gaze.

“It should be,” she said calmly. “Why do you require my help, mistress?”

“I was spellbound. It’s not what you think,” I said when Annie took an immediate step away from me. “Both of my parents were witches, but neither one understood the nature of my talents. They didn’t want me to come to any harm, so they bound me. The bindings have loosened, however, and strange things are happening.”

“Such as?” Susanna said, pointing Annie to a chair.

“I’ve summoned witchwater a few times, though not recently. Sometimes I see colors surrounding people, but not always. And I touched a quince and it shriveled.” I was careful not to mention my more spectacular outbreaks of magic. Nor did I mention the odd threads of blue and amber in the corners or the way handwriting had started to escape from Matthew’s books and animals flee from Mary Sidney’s shoes.

“Was your mother or father a waterwitch?” Susanna asked, trying to make sense of my story.

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “They died when I was young.”

“Perhaps you are better suited to the craft, then. Though many wish to possess the rough magics of water and fire, they are not easy to come by,” said Susanna with a touch of pity. My Aunt Sarah thought witches who relied on elemental magic were dilettantes. Susanna, on the other hand, was inclined to see spells as a lesser form of magical knowledge. I smothered a sigh at these bizarre prejudices. Weren’t we all witches?

“My aunt was not able to teach me many spells. Sometimes I can light a candle. I have been able to call objects to me.”