Deborah Harkness - A Discovery of Witches

“The candy’s on the counter,” Em instructed. “And my costume is hanging on the back of the stillroom door. It will fit you fine. Don’t forget the stockings. The kids love the stockings.”

“I won’t forget them,” I assured her, “or the hat, though it’s perfectly ridiculous.”

“Of course you’ll wear the hat!” Sarah said indignantly. “It’s tradition. Make sure the fire is out before you leave. Tabitha is fed at four o’clock sharp. If she isn’t, she’ll start barfing.”

“We’ve got this covered. You left a list,” I said, patting her on the shoulder.

“Can you call us at the Hunters’, let us know Miriam and Marcus have left?” Em asked.

“Here. Take this,” Matthew said, handing them his phone with a lopsided smile. “You call Marcus yourself. There won’t be reception where we’re going.”

“Are you sure?” Em asked doubtfully. We all thought of Matthew’s phone as an extra limb, and it was strange to see it out of his hand.

“Absolutely. Most of the data has been erased, but I’ve left some contact numbers on it for you. If you need anything—anything at all—call someone. If you feel worried or if something strange happens, get in touch with Ysabeau or Hamish. They’ll arrange for you to be picked up, no matter where you are.”

“They have helicopters,” I murmured to Em, slipping my arm through hers.

Marcus’s phone rang. “Nathaniel,” he said, looking at the screen. Then he stepped away to finish his call in a new gesture of privacy, one that was identical to what his father always did.

With a sad smile, Matthew watched his son. “Those two will get themselves into all kinds of trouble, but at least Marcus won’t feel so alone.”

“They’re fine,” Marcus said, turning back to us and disconnecting the phone. He smiled and ran his fingers through his hair in another gesture reminiscent of Matthew. “I should let Hamish know, so I’ll say my good-byes and call him.”

Em held on to Marcus for a long time, her eyes spilling over. “Call us, too,” she told him fiercely. “We’ll want to know that you’re both all right.”

“Be safe.” Sarah’s eyes scrunched tight as she gathered him in her arms. “Don’t doubt yourself.”

Miriam’s farewell to my aunts was more composed, my own far less so.

“We’re very proud of you,” Em said, cupping my face in her hands, tears now streaming down her face. “Your parents would be, too. Take care of each other.”

“We will,” I assured her, dashing the tears away.

Sarah took my hands in hers. “Listen to your teachers—whoever they are. Don’t say no without hearing them out first.” I nodded. “You’ve got more natural talent than any witch I’ve ever seen—maybe more than any witch who’s lived for many, many years,” Sarah continued. “I’m glad you’re not going to waste it. Magic is a gift, Diana, just like love.” She turned to Matthew. “I’m trusting you with something precious. Don’t disappoint me.”

“I won’t, Sarah,” Matthew promised.

She accepted our kisses, then bolted down the steps to the waiting car.

“Good-byes are hard for Sarah,” Em explained. “We’ll talk to you tomorrow, Marcus.” She climbed into the front seat, waving over her shoulder. The car spluttered to life, bumped its way across the ruts in the driveway, and turned toward town.

When we went back into the house, Miriam and Marcus were waiting in the front hall, bags at their feet.

“We thought you two should have some time alone,” Miriam said, handing her duffel bag to Marcus, “and I hate long good-byes.” She looked around. “Well,” she said briskly, heading down the porch stairs, “see you when you get back.”

After shaking his head at Miriam’s retreating figure, Matthew went into the dining room and returned with an envelope. “Take it,” he said to Marcus, his voice gruff.

“I never wanted to be grand master,” Marcus said.

“You think I did? This was my father’s dream. Philippe made me promise the brotherhood wouldn’t fall into Baldwin’s hands. I’m asking you to do the same.”

“I promise.” Marcus took the envelope. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“I’m sorry, Marcus.” I swallowed the lump in my throat and rested my warm fingers lightly on his cold flesh.

“For what?” His smile was bright and true. “For making my father happy?”

“For putting you in this position and leaving behind such a mess.”

“I’m not afraid of war, if that’s what you mean. It’s following along in Matthew’s wake that worries me.” Marcus cracked the seal. With that deceptively insignificant snap of wax, he became the grand master of the Knights of Lazarus.

“Je suis à votre commande, seigneur,” Matthew murmured, his head bowed. Baldwin had spoken the same words at La Guardia. They sounded so different when they were sincere.

“Then I command you to return and take back the Knights of Lazarus,” Marcus said roughly, “before I make a complete hash of things. I’m not French, and I’m certainly no knight.”

“You have more than a drop of French blood in you, and you’re the only person I trust to do the job. Besides, you can rely on your famous American charm. And it is possible you might like being grand master in the end.”

Marcus snorted and punched the number eight on his phone. “It’s done,” he said briefly to the person on the other end. There was a short exchange of words. “Thank you.”

“Nathaniel has accepted his position,” Matthew murmured, the corners of his mouth twitching. “His French is surprisingly good.”

Marcus scowled at his father, walked away to say a few more words to the daemon, and returned.

Between father and son there was a long look, the clasp of hand to elbow, the press of a hand on the back—a pattern of leave-taking based on hundreds of similar farewells. For me there was a gentle kiss, a murmured “Be well,” and then Marcus, too, was gone.

I reached for Matthew’s hand.

We were alone.

It’s just us and the ghosts now.” My stomach rumbled.

“What’s your favorite food?” he asked.

“Pizza,” I said promptly.

“You should have it while you can. Order some, and we’ll pick it up.”

We hadn’t been beyond the immediate environs of the Bishop house since our arrival, and it felt strange to be driving around the greater Madison area in a Range Rover next to a vampire. We took the back way to Hamilton, passing south over the hills into town before swinging north again to get the pizza. During the drive I pointed out where I’d gone swimming as a child and where my first real boyfriend had lived. The town was covered with Halloween decorations—black cats, witches on brooms, even trees decorated in orange and black eggs. In this part of the world, it wasn’t just witches who took the celebration seriously.

When we arrived at the pizza place, Matthew climbed out with me, seemingly unconcerned that witches or humans might see us. I stretched up to kiss him, and he returned it with a laugh that was almost lighthearted.

The college student who rang us up looked at Matthew with obvious admiration when she handed him the pie.

“Good thing she isn’t a witch,” I said when we got back into the car. “She would have turned me into a newt and flown off with you on her broomstick.”

Fortified with pizza—pepperoni and mushroom—I tackled the mess left in the kitchen and the family room. Matthew brought out handfuls of paper from the dining room and burned them in the kitchen fireplace.

“What do we do with these?” he asked, holding up my mother’s letter, the mysterious three-line epigram, and the page from Ashmole 782.