Deborah Harkness - A Discovery of Witches

“Why do vampires have such a strange attitude toward time?” I mused aloud, still caught in a bewildering mix of past and present. The word “love” had sent feelings of possessiveness through me, however, drawing me to the here and now. “Witches don’t have centuries to fall in love. We do it quickly. Sarah says my mother fell in love with my father the moment she saw him. I’ve loved you since I decided not to hit you with an oar on the City of Oxford’s dock.” The blood in my veins began to hum. Marthe looked startled, suggesting she could hear it, too.

“You don’t understand.” It sounded as if Matthew, like the bow, might snap in two.

“I do. The Congregation will try to stop me, but they won’t tell me who to love.” When my parents were taken from me, I was a child with no options and did what people told me. I was an adult now, and I was going to fight for Matthew.

“Domenico’s overtures are nothing compared to what you can expect from Peter Knox. What happened today was an attempt at rapprochement, a diplomatic mission. You aren’t ready to face the Congregation, Diana, no matter what you think. And if you did stand up to them, what then? Bringing these old animosities to the surface could spin out of control, expose us to humans. Your family might suffer.” Matthew’s words were brutal, meant to make me stop and reconsider. But nothing he said outweighed what I felt for him.

“I love you, and I’m not going to stop.” Of this, too, I was certain.

“You are not in love with me.”

“I decide who I love, and how, and when. Stop telling me what to do, Matthew. My ideas about vampires may be romantic, but your attitudes toward women need a major overhaul.”

Before he could respond, his phone began to hop across the ottoman. He swore an oath in Occitan that must have been truly awe-inspiring, because even Marthe looked shocked. He reached down and snagged the phone before it could skitter onto the floor.

“What is it?” he said, his eyes fixed on me.

There were faint murmurs on the other end of the line. Marthe and Ysabeau exchanged worried glances.

“When?” Matthew’s voice sounded like a gunshot. “Did they take anything?” My forehead creased at the anger in his voice. “Thank God. Was there damage?”

Something had happened in Oxford while we were gone, and it sounded like a robbery. I hoped it wasn’t the Old Lodge.

The voice on the other end of the phone continued. Matthew passed a hand over his eyes.

“What else?” he asked, his voice rising.

There was another long silence. He turned away and walked to the fireplace, his right hand splayed flat against the mantel.

“So much for diplomacy.” Matthew swore under his breath. “I’ll be there in a few hours. Can you pick me up?”

We were going back to Oxford. I stood.

“Fine. I’ll call before I land. And, Marcus? Find out who else besides Peter Knox and Domenico Michele are members of the Congregation.”

Peter Knox? The pieces of the puzzle began to click into place. No wonder Matthew had come back to Oxford so quickly when I’d told him who the brown wizard was. It explained why he was so eager to push me away now, too. We were breaking the covenant, and it was Knox’s job to enforce it.

Matthew stood silently for a few moments after the line went dead, one hand clenched as if he were resisting the urge to beat the stone mantel into submission.

“That was Marcus. Someone tried to break in to the lab. I need to go back to Oxford.” He turned, his eyes dead.

“Is everything all right?” Ysabeau shot a worried look in my direction.

“They didn’t make it through the security controls. Still, I need to talk to the university officials and make sure whoever it was doesn’t succeed the next time.” Nothing that Matthew was saying made sense. If the burglars had failed, why wasn’t he relieved? And why was he shaking his head at his mother?

“Who were they?” I asked warily.

“Marcus isn’t sure.”

That was odd, given a vampire’s preternaturally sharp sense of smell. “Was it humans?”

“No.” We were back to the monosyllabic answers.

“I’ll get my things.” I turned toward the stairs.

“You aren’t coming. You’re staying here.” Matthew’s words brought me to a standstill.

“I’d rather be in Oxford,” I protested, “with you.”

“Oxford’s not safe at the moment. I’ll be back when it is.”

“You just told me we should return there! Make up your mind, Matthew. Where is the danger? The manuscript and the witches? Peter Knox and the Congregation? Or Domenico Michele and the vampires?”

“Were you listening? I am the danger.” Matthew’s voice was sharp.

“Oh, I heard you. But you’re keeping something from me. It’s a historian’s job to uncover secrets,” I promised him softly. “And I’m very good at it.” He opened his mouth to speak, but I stopped him. “No more excuses or false explanations. Go to Oxford. I’ll stay here.”

“Do you need anything from upstairs?” Ysabeau asked. “You should take a coat. Humans will notice if you’re wearing only a sweater.”

“Just my computer. My passport’s in the bag.”

“I’ll get them.” Wanting a respite from all the de Clermonts for a moment, I pelted up the stairs. In Matthew’s study I looked around the room that held so much of him.

The armor’s silvery surfaces winked in the firelight, holding my attention while a jumble of faces flashed through my mind, the visions as swift as comets through the sky. There was a pale woman with enormous blue eyes and a sweet smile, another woman whose firm chin and square shoulders exuded determination, a man with a hawkish nose in terrible pain. There were other faces, too, but the only one I recognized was Louisa de Clermont, holding dripping, bloody fingers in front of her face.

Resisting the vision’s pull helped the faces fade, but it left my body shaking and my mind bewildered. The DNA report had indicated that visions were likely to come. But there’d been no more warning of their arrival than there had been last night when I floated in Matthew’s arms. It was as if someone had pulled the stopper on a bottle and my magic—released at last—was rushing to get out.

Once I was able to jerk the cord from the socket I slid it into Matthew’s bag, along with the computer. His passport was in the front pocket, as he’d said it would be.

When I returned to the salon, Matthew was alone, his keys in his hands and a suede barn jacket draped across his shoulders. Marthe muttered and paced in the great hall.

I handed him his computer and stood far away to better resist the urge to touch him once more. Matthew pocketed his keys and took the bag.

“I know this is hard.” His voice was hushed and strange. “But you need to let me take care of it. And I need to know that you’re safe while I’m doing that.”

“I’m safe with you, wherever we are.”

He shook his head. “My name should have been enough to protect you. It wasn’t.”

“Leaving me isn’t the answer. I don’t understand all of what’s happened today, but Domenico’s hatred goes beyond me. He wants to destroy your family and everything else you care about. Domenico might decide this isn’t the right time to pursue his vendetta. But Peter Knox? He wants Ashmole 782, and he thinks I can get it for him. He won’t be put off so easily.” I shivered.

“He’ll make a deal if I offer him one.”

“A deal? What do you have to trade?”

The vampire fell silent.

“Matthew?” I insisted.

“The manuscript,” he said flatly. “I’ll leave it—and you—alone if he promises the same. Ashmole 782 has been undisturbed for a century and a half. We’ll let it remain that way.”