A Discovery of Witches: A Novel (All Souls Trilogy)

by Deborah Harkness

  Matthew had not exaggerated the difference between his way of hunting and his mother’s. For Ysabeau it was primarily about filling a biological need. She needed blood, the animals had it, and she took it from them as efficiently as possible without feeling remorse that her survival required the death of another creature. For her son, however, it was clearly more complicated. He, too, needed the physical nourishment that their blood provided. But Matthew felt a kinship with his prey that reminded me of the tone of respect I’d detected in his articles about the wolves. For Matthew, hunting was primarily about strategy, about pitting his feral intelligence against something that thought and sensed the world as he did.

  Remembering our play in bed that morning, my eyes closed against a sudden jolt of desire. I wanted him as badly here in the forest when he was about to kill something as I had this morning, and I began to understand what worried Matthew about hunting with me. Survival and sexuality were linked in ways I’d never appreciated until now.

  He exhaled softly and left my side without warning, his body prowling through the edges of the forest. When Matthew loped across the ridge, the stag raised his head, curious to see what this strange creature was.

  It took the stag only a few seconds to assess Matthew as a threat, which was longer than it would have taken me. My hair was standing on end, and I felt the same pull of concern for the stag that I had for Ysabeau’s deer. The stag sprang into action, leaping down the hillside. But Matthew was faster, and he cut the animal off before it could get too close to where I was hiding. He chased it up the hill and back across the ridge. With every step, Matthew drew closer and the stag became more anxious.

  I know that you’re afraid, I said silently, hoping the stag could hear me. He needs to do this. He doesn’t do this for sport, or to harm you. He does it to stay alive.

  Rakasa’s head swung around, and she eyed me nervously. I reached down to reassure her and kept my hand on her neck.

  Be still, I urged the stag. Stop running. Not even you are fast enough to outrun this creature. The stag slowed, stumbling over a hole in the ground. He was running straight for me, as if he could hear my voice and was following it to its source.

  Matthew reached and grabbed the stag’s horns, twisting his head to one side. The stag fell on his back, his sides heaving with exertion. Matthew sank to his knees, holding its head securely, about twenty feet from the thicket. The stag tried to kick his way to his feet.

  Let go, I said sadly. It’s time. This is the creature who will end your life.

  The stag gave a final kick of frustration and fear and then quieted. Matthew stared deep into the eyes of his prey, as if waiting for permission to finish the job, then moved so swiftly that there was nothing more than a blur of black and white as he battened onto the stag’s neck.

  As he fed, the stag’s life seeped away and a surge of energy entered Matthew. There was a clean tang of iron in the air, though no drops of blood fell. When the stag’s life force was gone, Matthew remained still, kneeling quietly next to the carcass with his head bowed.

  I kicked Rakasa into a walk. Matthew’s back stiffened at my approach. He looked up, his eyes pale gray-green and bright with satisfaction. Taking the crop out of my boot, I threw it as far as I could in the opposite direction. It sailed into the underbrush and became hopelessly entangled in the gorse. Matthew watched with interest, but the danger that he might mistake me for a doe had clearly passed.

  Deliberately I took off my helmet and dismounted with my back turned. Even now I trusted him, though he didn’t trust himself. Resting my hand lightly on his shoulder, I dropped to my knees and put the helmet down near the stag’s staring eyes.

  “I like the way you hunt better than the way Ysabeau does it. So does the deer, I think.”

  “How does my mother kill, that it is so different from me?” Matthew’s French accent was stronger, and his voice sounded even more fluid and hypnotic than usual. He smelled different, too.

  “She hunts out of biological need,” I said simply. “You hunt because it makes you feel wholly alive. And you two reached an agreement.” I motioned at the stag. “He was at peace, I think, in the end.”

  Matthew looked at me intently, snow turning to ice on my skin as he stared. “Were you talking to this stag as you talk to Balthasar and Rakasa?”

  “I didn’t interfere, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I said hastily. “The kill was yours.” Maybe such things mattered to vampires.

  Matthew shuddered. “I don’t keep score.” He dragged his eyes from the stag and rose to his feet in one of those smooth movements that marked him unmistakably as a vampire. A long, slender hand reached down. “Come. You’re cold kneeling on the ground.”

  I placed my hand in his and stood, wondering who would get rid of the stag’s carcass. Some combination of Georges and Marthe would be involved. Rakasa was contentedly eating grass, unconcerned by the dead animal lying so close. Unaccountably, I was ravenous.

  Rakasa, I called silently. She looked up and walked over.

  “Do you mind if I eat?” I asked hesitantly, unsure what Matthew’s reaction would be.

  His mouth twitched. “No. Given what you’ve seen today, the least I can do is watch you have a sandwich.”

  “There’s no difference, Matthew.” I undid the buckle on Rakasa’s saddlebag and said a silent word of thanks. Marthe, bless her, had packed cheese sandwiches. The worst of my hunger checked, I brushed the crumbs from my hands.

  Matthew was watching me like a hawk. “Do you mind?” he asked quietly.

  “Mind what?” I’d already told him I didn’t mind about the deer.

  “Blanca and Lucas. That I was married and had a child once, so long ago.”

  I was jealous of Blanca, but Matthew wouldn’t understand how or why. I gathered my thoughts and emotions and tried to sort them into something that was both true and would make sense to him.

  “I don’t mind one moment of love that you’ve shared with any creature, living or dead,” I said emphatically, “so long as you want to be with me right at this moment.”

  “Just at this moment?” he asked, his eyebrow arching up into a question mark.

  “This is the only moment that matters.” It all seemed so simple. “No one who has lived as long as you have comes without a past, Matthew. You weren’t a monk, and I don’t expect you to have no regrets about who you’ve lost along the way. How could you not have been loved before, when I love you so much?”

  Matthew gathered me to his heart. I went eagerly, glad that the day’s hunting had not ended in disaster and that his anger was fading. It still smoldered—it was evident in a lingering tightness in his face and shoulders—but it no longer threatened to engulf us. He cupped my chin in his long fingers and tilted my face up to his.

  “Would you mind very much if I kissed you?” Matthew glanced away for a moment when he asked.

  “Of course not.” I stood on tiptoes so that my mouth was closer to his. Still, he hesitated, so I reached up and clasped my hands behind his neck. “Don’t be idiotic. Kiss me.”

  He did, briefly but firmly. The final traces of blood were still on his lips, but it was neither frightening nor unpleasant. It was just Matthew.

  “You know there won’t be any children between us,” he said while he held me close, our faces nearly touching. “Vampires can’t father children the traditional way. Do you mind that?”

  “There’s more than one way to make a child.” Children were not something I’d thought about before. “Ysabeau made you, and you belong to her no less than Lucas belonged to you and Blanca. And there are a lot of children in the world who don’t have parents.” I remembered the moment when Sarah and Em told me mine were gone and never coming back. “We could take them in—a whole coven of them, if we wanted to.”

  “I haven’t made a vampire for years,” he said. “I can still manage it, but I hope you don’t intend that we have a large family.”

  “My family has doubled i
n the past three weeks, with you, Marthe, and Ysabeau added. I don’t know how much more family I can take.”

  “You need to add one more to that number.”

  My eyes widened. “There are more of you?”

  “Oh, there are always more,” he said drily. “Vampire genealogies are much more complicated than witch genealogies, after all. We have blood relations on three sides, not just two. But this is a member of the family that you’ve already met.”

  “Marcus?” I asked, thinking of the young American vampire and his high-tops.

  Matthew nodded. “He’ll have to tell you his own story—I’m not as much of an iconoclast as my mother, despite falling in love with a witch. I made him, more than two hundred years ago. And I’m proud of him and what he’s done with his life.”

  “But you didn’t want him to take my blood in the lab,” I said with a frown. “He’s your son. Why couldn’t you trust him with me?” Parents were supposed to trust their children.

  “He was made with my blood, my darling,” Matthew said, looking patient and possessive at the same time. “If I find you so irresistible, why wouldn’t he? Remember, none of us is immune to the lure of blood. I might trust him more than I would a stranger, but I’ll never be completely at ease when any vampire is too close to you.”

  “Not even Marthe?” I was aghast. I trusted Marthe completely.

  “Not even Marthe,” he said firmly. “You really aren’t her type at all, though. She prefers her blood from far brawnier creatures.”

  “You don’t have to worry about Marthe, or Ysabeau either.” I was equally firm.

  “Be careful with my mother,” Matthew warned. “My father told me never to turn my back on her, and he was right. She’s always been fascinated by and envious of witches. Given the right circumstances and the right mood . . . ?” He shook his head.

  “And then there’s what happened to Philippe.”

  Matthew froze.

  “I’m seeing things now, Matthew. I saw Ysabeau tell you about the witches who captured your father. She has no reason to trust me, but she let me in her house anyway. The real threat is the Congregation. And there would be no danger from them if you made me into a vampire.”

  His face darkened. “My mother and I are going to have a long talk about appropriate topics of conversation.”

  “You can’t keep the world of vampires—your world—away from me. I’m in it. I need to know how it works and what the rules are.” My temper flared, seething down my arms and toward my nails, where it erupted into arcs of blue fire.

  Matthew’s eyes widened.

  “You aren’t the only scary creature around, are you?” I waved my fiery hands between us until the vampire shook his head. “So stop being all heroic and let me share your life. I don’t want to be with Sir Lancelot. Be yourself—Matthew Clairmont. Complete with your sharp vampire teeth and your scary mother, your test tubes full of blood and your DNA, your infuriating bossiness and your maddening sense of smell.”

  Once I had spit all that out, the blue sparks retreated from my fingertips. They waited, somewhere around my elbows, in case I needed them again.

  “If I come closer,” Matthew said conversationally, as though asking for the time or the temperature, “will you turn blue again, or is that it for now?”

  “I think I’m done for the time being.”

  “You think?” His eyebrow arched again.

  “I’m perfectly under control,” I said with more conviction, remembering with regret the hole in his rug in Oxford.

  Matthew had his arms around me in a flash.

  “Oof,” I complained as he crushed my elbows into my ribs.

  “And you are going to give me gray hairs—long thought impossible among vampires, by the way—with your courage, your firecracker hands, and the impossible things you say.” To make sure he was safe from the last, Matthew kissed me quite thoroughly. When he was finished, I was unlikely to say much, surprising or otherwise. My ear rested against his sternum, listening patiently for his heart to thump. When it did, I gave him a satisfied squeeze, glad not to be the only one whose heart was full.

  “You win, ma vaillante fille,” he said, cradling me against his body. “I will try—try—not to coddle you so much. And you must not underestimate how dangerous vampires can be.”

  It was hard to put “danger” and “vampire” into the same thought while pressed so firmly against him. Rakasa gazed at us indulgently, the grass sprouting out of both sides of her mouth.

  “Are you finished?” I angled back my head to look at him.

  “If you’re asking if I need to hunt more, the answer is no.”

  “Rakasa is going to explode. She’s been eating grass for quite some time. And she can’t carry both of us.” My hands took stock of Matthew’s hips and buttocks.

  His breath caught in his throat, making a very different kind of purring sound from the one he made when he was angry.

  “You ride, and I’ll walk alongside,” he suggested after another very thorough kiss.

  “Let’s both walk.” After hours in the saddle, I was not eager to get back up on Rakasa.

  It was twilight when Matthew led us back through the château gates. Sept-Tours was ablaze, every lamp illuminated in silent greeting.

  “Home,” I said, my heart lifting at the sight.

  Matthew looked at me, rather than the house, and smiled. “Home.”

  Chapter 28

  Safely back at the château, we ate in the housekeeper’s room before a blazing fire.

  “Where’s Ysabeau?” I asked Marthe when she brought me a fresh cup of tea.

  “Out.” She stalked back toward the kitchen.

  “Out where?”

  “Marthe,” Matthew called. “We’re trying not to keep things from Diana.”

  She turned and glared. I couldn’t decide if it was directed at him, his absent mother, or me. “She went to the village to see that priest. The mayor, too.” Marthe stopped, hesitated, and started again. “Then she was going to clean.”

  “Clean what?” I wondered.

  “The woods. The hills. The caves.” Marthe seemed to think this explanation was sufficient, but I looked at Matthew for clarification.

  “Marthe sometimes confuses clean and clear.” The light from the fire caught the facets of his heavy goblet. He was having some of the fresh wine from down the road, but he didn’t drink as much as usual. “It would seem that Maman has gone out to make sure there are no vampires lurking around Sept-Tours.”

  “Is she looking for anyone in particular?”

  “Domenico, of course. And one of the Congregation’s other vampires, Gerbert. He’s also from the Auvergne, from Aurillac. She’ll look in some of his hiding places just to make sure he isn’t nearby.”

  “Gerbert. From Aurillac? The Gerbert of Aurillac, the tenth-century pope who reputedly owned a brass head that spoke oracles?” The fact that Gerbert was a vampire and had once been pope was of much less interest to me than was his reputation as a student of science and magic.

  “I keep forgetting how much history you know. You put even vampires to shame. Yes, that Gerbert. And,” he warned, “I would like it very much if you’d stay out of his way. If you do meet him, no quizzing him about Arabic medicine or astronomy. He has always been acquisitive when it comes to witches and magic.” Matthew looked at me possessively.

  “Does Ysabeau know him?”

  “Oh, yes. They were thick as thieves once. If he’s anywhere near here, she’ll find him. But you don’t have to worry he’ll come to the château,” Matthew assured me. “He knows he’s not welcome here. Stay inside the walls unless one of us is with you.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t leave the grounds.” Gerbert of Aurillac was not someone I wanted to stumble upon unexpectedly.

  “I suspect she’s trying to apologize for her behavior.” Matthew’s voice was neutral, but he was still angry.

  “You’re going to have to forgive her,” I said again. “Sh
e didn’t want you to be hurt.”

  “I’m not a child, Diana, and my mother needn’t protect me from my own wife.” He kept turning his glass this way and that. The word “wife” echoed in the room for a few moments.

  “Did I miss something?” I finally asked. “When were we married?”

  Matthew’s eyes lifted. “The moment I came home and said I loved you. It wouldn’t stand up in court perhaps, but as far as vampires are concerned, we’re wed.”

  “Not when I said I loved you, and not when you said you loved me on the phone—it only happened when you came home and told me to my face?” This was something that demanded precision. I was planning on starting a new file on my computer with the title “Phrases That Sound One Way to Witches but Mean Something Else to Vampires.”

  “Vampires mate the way lions do, or wolves,” he explained, sounding like a scientist in a television documentary. “The female selects her mate, and once the male has agreed, that’s it. They’re mated for life, and the rest of the community acknowledges their bond.”

  “Ah,” I said faintly. We were back to the Norwegian wolves.

  “I’ve never liked the word ‘mate,’ though. It always sounds impersonal, as if you’re trying to match up socks, or shoes.” Matthew put his goblet down and crossed his arms, resting them on the scarred surface of the table. “But you’re not a vampire. Do you mind that I think of you as my wife?”

  A small cyclone whipped around my brain as I tried to figure out what my love for Matthew had to do with the deadlier members of the animal kingdom and a social institution that I’d never been particularly enthusiastic about. In the whirlwind there were no warning signs or guideposts to help me find my way.

  “And when two vampires mate,” I inquired, when I could manage it, “is it expected that the female will obey the male, just like the rest of the pack?”

  “I’m afraid so,” he said, looking down at his hands.

  “Hmm.” I narrowed my eyes at his dark, bowed head. “What do I get out of this arrangement?”

  “Love, honor, guard, and keep,” he said, finally daring to meet my eyes.