Deborah Harkness - A Discovery of Witches

“Thank you, Hamish.” The words were cordial enough, but Matthew was clearly displeased at having his arrangements altered.

“Speaking of explanations, it’s a damn good thing the French don’t care about the exportation of English national treasures. Have you any idea of the paperwork that would have been required to get this out of England? If they’d let me remove it at all, which I doubt.”

Matthew took the briefcases from Hamish’s fingers, gripped him by the elbow, and pulled his friend inside. “Later,” he said hastily. “Marcus, take Hamish and introduce him to Diana’s family while I put these away.”

“Oh, it’s you,” said Sophie with delight, coming out of the dining room. The bulge of her belly showed plainly underneath a stretched University of North Carolina sweatshirt. “You’re like Nathaniel, not scatterbrained like me. Your face is on one of my pots, too.” She beamed at Hamish, who looked both charmed and startled.

“Are there more?” he asked me, with a cock of his head that made him resemble a tiny, bright-eyed bird.

“Many more,” Sophie replied happily. “You won’t see them, though.”

“Come and meet my aunts,” I said hastily.

“The witches?” It was impossible to know what Hamish was thinking. His sharp eyes missed nothing, and his face was nearly as impassive as Matthew’s.

“Yes, the witches.”

Matthew disappeared upstairs while Marcus and I introduced Hamish to Em. He seemed less annoyed with her than he was with Matthew and me, and she immediately started fussing over him. Sarah met us at the stillroom door, wondering what the commotion was about.

“We’re a proper conventicle now, Sarah,” Sophie observed as she reached for the pyramid of freshly baked cookies on the kitchen island. “All nine—three witches, three daemons, and three vampires—present and accounted for.”

“Looks like it,” Sarah agreed, sizing up Hamish. She watched her partner buzzing around the kitchen like a bewildered bee. “Em, I don’t think our new guest needs tea or coffee. Is the whiskey in the dining room?”

“Diana and I call it the ‘war room,’” Sophie confided, grabbing Hamish familiarly by the forearm, “though it seems unlikely we could fight a war without the humans finding out. It’s the only place big enough to hold us now. Some of the ghosts manage to squeeze in, too.”

“Ghosts?” Hamish reached up and loosened his tie.

“The dining room.” Sarah gripped Hamish’s other elbow. “Everybody in the dining room.”

Matthew was already there. The aroma of hot wax filled the air. When all of us had grabbed our chosen drink and found a seat, he took charge.

“Hamish has questions,” Matthew said. “Nathaniel and Sophie, too. And I suppose this is my tale to tell—mine and Diana’s.”

With that, Matthew took a deep breath and plunged in. He included everything—Ashmole 782, the Knights of Lazarus, the break-ins at Oxford, Satu and what happened at La Pierre, even Baldwin’s fury. There were poppets and earrings and face jugs as well. Hamish looked at Matthew sharply when he discussed timewalking and the three objects I would need to travel back to a particular time and place.

“Matthew Clairmont,” Hamish hissed, leaning across the table. “Is that what I brought from Sept-Tours? Does Diana know?”

“No,” Matthew confessed, looking slightly uncomfortable. “She’ll know on Halloween.”

“Well, she’d have to know on Halloween, wouldn’t she?” Hamish let out an exasperated sigh.

Though the exchange between Hamish and Matthew was heated, there were only two moments when the tension threatened to escalate into outright civil war. Both of them, not surprisingly, involved Matthew and Nathaniel.

The first was when Matthew explained to Sophie what this war would be like—the unexpected attacks, the long-simmering feuds between vampires and witches that would come to a boil, the brutal deaths that were bound to occur as creature fought creature using magic, witchcraft, brute strength, speed, and preternatural cunning.

“That’s not how wars are fought anymore.” Nathaniel’s deep voice cut through the resulting chatter.

Matthew’s eyebrow floated up, and his face took on an impatient expression. “No?”

“Wars are fought on computers. This isn’t the thirteenth century. Hand-to-hand combat isn’t required.” He gestured at his laptop on the sideboard. “With computers you can take down your enemy without ever firing a shot or shedding a drop of blood.”

“This may not be the thirteenth century, Nathaniel, but some of the combatants will have lived through those times, and they have a sentimental attachment to destroying people the old-fashioned way. Leave this to me and Marcus.” Matthew thought this was the end of the matter.

Nathaniel shook his head and stared fixedly at the table.

“Do you have something else to say?” Matthew asked, an ominous purring starting in the back of his throat.

“You’ve made it perfectly clear you’ll do what you want in any case.” Nathaniel lifted his frank brown eyes in challenge, then shrugged. “Suit yourself. But you’re making a mistake if you think your enemies won’t use more modern methods to destroy you. There are humans to consider, after all. They’ll notice if vampires and witches start fighting one another in the streets.”

The second battle between Matthew and Nathaniel had to do not with war but with blood. It began innocently enough, with Matthew talking about Nathaniel’s relationship to Agatha Wilson and about Sophie’s witch parents.

“It’s imperative that their DNA be analyzed. The baby’s, too, once it’s born.”

Marcus and Miriam nodded, unsurprised. The rest of us were somewhat startled.

“Nathaniel and Sophie bring into question your theory that daemonic traits result from unpredictable mutations rather than heredity,” I said, thinking aloud.

“We have so little data.” Matthew eyed Hamish and Nathaniel with the dispassionate gaze of a scientist examining two fresh specimens. “Our current findings might be misleading.”

“Sophie’s case also raises the issue of whether daemons are more closely related to witches than we’d thought.” Miriam directed her black eyes at the daemon’s belly. “I’ve never heard of a witch giving birth to a daemon, never mind a daemon giving birth to a witch.”

“You think I’m going to hand over Sophie’s blood—and my child’s blood—to a bunch of vampires?” Nathaniel looked perilously close to losing control.

“Diana isn’t the only creature in this room the Congregation will want to study, Nathaniel.” Matthew’s words did nothing to soothe the daemon. “Your mother appreciated the danger your family was facing, or she wouldn’t have sent you here. One day you might discover your wife and child gone. If you do, it’s highly unlikely you’ll ever see them again.”

“That’s enough,” Sarah said sharply. “There’s no need to threaten him.”

“Keep your hands off my family,” Nathaniel said, breathing heavily.

“I’m not a danger to them,” Matthew said. “The danger comes from the Congregation, from the possibility of open hostility between the three species, and above all from pretending this isn’t happening.”

“They’ll come for us, Nathaniel. I’ve seen it.” Sophie’s voice was purposeful, and her face had the same sudden sharpness that Agatha Wilson’s had back in Oxford.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Nathaniel said.

“I started to tell Agatha, but she stopped me and ordered me not to say another word. She was so frightened. Then she gave me Diana’s name and the address for the Bishop house.” Sophie’s face took on its characteristic fuzzy look. “I’m glad Matthew’s mother is still alive. She’ll like my pots. I’ll put her face on one of them. And you can have my DNA whenever you want it, Matthew—the baby’s, too.”