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

by Deborah Harkness

  “Holy God,” Marcus said, taking in Juliette’s charred body and Matthew’s bloody form.

  “The bleeding won’t stop,” I said. “Where is it all coming from?”

  “I need to examine him to know, Diana.” Marcus took a tentative step toward me.

  Tightening my arms around my husband, I felt my eyes turn cold. The wind began to rise where I sat.

  “I’m not asking you to let go of him,” Marcus said, instinctively understanding the problem, “but I have to look at his chest.”

  He crouched next to us and tore gently at his father’s black sweater. With a horrible rending noise, the fabric gave way. A long gash crossed from Matthew’s jugular vein to his heart. Next to the heart was a deep gouge where Juliette had tried to punch through to the aorta.

  “The jugular is nearly severed, and the aorta has been damaged. Not even Matthew’s blood can work fast enough to heal him in both places.” Marcus spoke quietly, but he didn’t need to speak at all. Juliette had given Matthew a death blow.

  My aunts were here now, Sarah puffing slightly. Miriam appeared, white-faced, behind them. After only a glance, she turned on her heel, dashing back to the house.

  “It’s my fault.” I sobbed, rocking Matthew like a child. “I had a clear shot, but I hesitated. I’ve never killed anyone before. She wouldn’t have reached his heart if I’d acted sooner.”

  “Diana, baby,” Sarah whispered. “It’s not your fault. You did what you could. You’re going to have to let him go.”

  I made a keening sound, and my hair rose up around my face. “No!” Fear bloomed in the eyes of vampire and witch as the forest grew quiet.

  “Get away from her, Marcus!” shouted Em. He jumped backward just in time.

  I’d become someone—something—who didn’t care about these creatures, or that they were trying to help. It had been a mistake to hesitate before. Now the part of me that had killed Juliette was intent on only one thing: a knife. My right arm shot out toward my aunt.

  Sarah always had two blades on her, one dull and black-handled, the other sharp and white-handled. At my call the white blade cut through her belt and flew at me point first. Sarah put up a hand to call it back, and I imagined a wall of blackness and fire between me and the surprised faces of my family. The white-handled knife sliced easily through the blackness and floated gently down near my bent right knee. Matthew’s head lolled as I released him just enough to grasp the hilt.

  Turning his face gently toward mine, I kissed his mouth long and hard. His eyes fluttered open. He looked so tired, and his skin was gray.

  “Don’t worry, my love. I’m going to fix it.” I raised the knife.

  Two women were standing inside the barrier of flames. One was young and wore a loose tunic, with sandals on her feet and a quiver of arrows slung across her shoulders. The strap was tangled up in her hair, which was dark and thick. The other was the old lady from the keeping room, her full skirt swaying.

  “Help me,” I begged.

  There will be a price, the young huntress said.

  “I will pay it.”

  Don’t make a promise to the goddess lightly, daughter, the old woman murmured with a shake of her head. You’ll have to keep it.

  “Take anything—take anyone. But leave me him.”

  The huntress considered my offer and nodded. He is yours.

  My eyes were on the two women as I raised the knife. Twisting Matthew closer to my body so that he couldn’t see, I reached across and slashed the inside of my left elbow, the sharp blade cutting easily through fabric and flesh. My blood flowed, a trickle at first, then faster. I dropped the knife and tightened my left arm until it was in front of his mouth.

  “Drink,” I said, steadying his head. Matthew’s eyelids flickered again, and his nostrils flared. He recognized the scent of my blood and struggled to get away. My arms were heavy and strong as oak branches, connected to the tree at my back. I drew my open, bleeding elbow a fraction closer to his mouth. “Drink.”

  The power of the tree and the earth flowed through my veins, an unexpected offering of life to a vampire on the verge of death. I smiled in gratitude at the huntress and the ghost of the old woman, nourishing Matthew with my body. I was the mother now, the third aspect of the goddess along with the maiden and the crone. With the goddess’s help, my blood would heal him.

  Finally Matthew succumbed to the instinct to survive. His mouth fastened onto the soft skin of my inner arm, teeth sharp. His tongue lightly probed the ragged incision, pulling the gash in my skin wider. He drew long and hard against my veins. I felt a short, sharp burst of terror.

  His skin began to lose some of its pallor, but venous blood would not be enough to heal him completely. I was hoping that a taste of me would drive him beyond his normal range of control so that he would take the next step, but I felt for the white-handled knife just in case.

  Giving the huntress and the witch one last look, I returned my attention to my husband. Another shock of power ran into my body as I settled more firmly against the tree.

  While he fed, I began to kiss him. My hair fell around his face, mixing my familiar scent with that of his blood and mine. He turned his eyes to me, pale green and distant, as if he weren’t sure of my identity. I kissed him again, tasting my own blood on his tongue.

  In two fast, smooth moves that I couldn’t have stopped even had I wanted to, Matthew grabbed the hair at the nape of my neck. He tilted my head back and to the side, then lowered his mouth to my throat. There was no terror then, just surrender.

  “Diana,” he said with complete satisfaction.

  So this is how it happens, I thought. This is where the legends come from.

  My spent, used blood had given him the strength to want something fresh and vital. Matthew’s sharp upper teeth cut into his lower lip, and a bead formed there. His lips brushed my neck, sensuous and swift. I shivered, unexpectedly aroused at his touch. My skin went numb as his blood touched my flesh. He held my head firmly, his hands once again strong.

  No mistakes, I prayed.

  There were tiny pricks along my carotid arteries. My eyes opened wide in surprise when the first drawing pressure told me Matthew had reached the blood he sought.

  Sarah turned away, unable to watch. Marcus reached for Em, and she went to him without hesitation, crying into his shoulder.

  I pressed Matthew’s body into mine, encouraging him to drink more deeply. His relish when he did so was evident. How he’d hungered for me, and how strong he’d been to resist.

  Matthew settled into the rhythms of his feeding, pulling on my blood in waves.

  Matthew, listen to me. Thanks to Gerbert, I knew that my blood would carry messages to him. My only worry was that they would be fleeting, and my power to communicate would be swallowed up.

  He startled against my throat, then resumed his feeding.

  I love you.

  He gave another start of surprise.

  This was my gift. I am inside you, giving you life.

  Matthew shook his head as if to dislodge an annoying insect and kept drinking.

  I am inside you, giving you life. It was harder to think, harder to see through the fire. I focused on Em and Sarah, tried to tell them with my eyes not to worry. I looked for Marcus, too, but couldn’t move my eyes enough to find him.

  I am inside you, giving you life. I repeated the mantra until it was no longer possible.

  There was a slow pulsing, the sound of my heart starting to die.

  Dying was nothing at all like I’d expected it to be.

  There was a moment of bone-deep quiet.

  A sense of parting and regret.

  Then nothing.

  Chapter 38

  In my bones there was a sudden boom as of two worlds colliding.

  Something stung my right arm, accompanied by the odor of latex and plastic, and Matthew was arguing with Marcus. There was cold earth below me, and the tang of leaf mold replaced the other scents. My eyes were open, but I
saw nothing except blackness. With effort I was able to pick out the half-bare branches of trees crisscrossing above me.

  “Use the left arm—it’s already open,” said Matthew with impatience.

  “That arm’s useless, Matthew. The tissues are full of your saliva and won’t absorb anything else. The right arm is better. Her blood pressure is so low I’m having a hard time finding a vein, that’s all.” Marcus’s voice had the unnatural quietness of the emergency-room physician who sees death regularly.

  Two thick strands of spaghetti spooled onto my face. Cold fingers touched my nose, and I tried to shake them off, only to be held down.

  Miriam’s voice came from the darkness to my right. “Tachycardia. I’ll sedate her.”

  “No,” Matthew said roughly. “No sedatives. She’s barely conscious. They could put her into a coma.”

  “Then keep her quiet.” Miriam’s tone was matter-of-fact. Tiny, cold fingers pressed against my neck with unexpected firmness. “I can’t stop her from bleeding out and hold her still at the same time.”

  What was happening around me was visible only in disconcerting slices—what was directly above, what could be glimpsed from the corners of my eyes, what could be tracked through the enormous effort of swiveling them in their sockets.

  “Can you do anything, Sarah?” Matthew’s voice was anguished.

  Sarah’s face swam into view. “Witchcraft can’t heal vampire bites. If it could, we’d never have had anything to fear from creatures like you.”

  I began drifting to somewhere peaceful, but my progress was interrupted by Em’s slipping her hand into mine, holding me firmly in my own body.

  “We’ve got no choice, then.” Matthew sounded desperate. “I’ll do it.”

  “No, Matthew,” said Miriam decidedly. “You’re not strong enough yet. Besides, I’ve done it hundreds of times.” There was a tearing sound. After Juliette’s attack on Matthew, I recognized that it was vampire flesh.

  “Are they making me a vampire?” I whispered to Em.

  “No, mon coeur.” Matthew’s voice was as decided as Miriam’s had been. “You lost—I took—a great deal of blood. Marcus is replacing it with human blood. Now Miriam needs to see to your neck.”

  “Oh.” It was too complicated to follow. My brain was fuzzy—almost as fuzzy as my tongue and throat. “I’m thirsty.”

  “You’re craving vampire blood, but you’re not going to get it. Lie very still,” Matthew said firmly, holding my shoulders so tightly it was painful. Marcus’s cold hands crept past my ears to my jaw, holding my mouth closed, too. “And, Miriam—”

  “Stop fussing, Matthew,” Miriam said briskly. “I was doing this to warmbloods long before you were reborn.”

  Something sharp cut into my neck, and the smell of blood filled the air.

  The cutting sensation was followed by a pain that froze and burned simultaneously. The heat and cold intensified, traveling below the surface tissues of my neck to sear the bones and muscles underneath.

  I wanted to escape the icy licks, but there were two vampires holding me down. My mouth was firmly closed, too, so all I could do was let out a muffled, fearful sound.

  “Her artery is obscured,” Miriam said quietly. “The wound has to be cleared.” She took a single, audible sip, drawing the blood away. The skin was numbed momentarily, but sensation returned full force when she withdrew.

  The extreme pain sent adrenaline coursing through my system, and panic followed in its wake. The gray walls of La Pierre loomed around me, my inability to move putting me back within Satu’s hands.

  Matthew’s fingers dug into my shoulders, returning me to the woods outside the Bishop house. “Tell her what you’re doing, Miriam. That Finnish witch made her afraid of what she can’t see.”

  “It’s just drops of my blood, Diana, falling from my wrist,” Miriam said calmly. “I know it hurts, but it’s all we have. Vampire blood heals on contact. It will close your artery better than the sutures a surgeon would use. And you needn’t worry. There’s no chance such a small amount, applied topically, will make you one of us.”

  After her description it was possible to recognize each deliberate drop falling into my open wound. There it mingled with my witch’s flesh, forcing an instantaneous buildup of scar tissue. It must require enormous control, I thought, for a vampire to undertake such a procedure without giving in to hunger. At last the drops of searing coldness came to an end.

  “Done,” Miriam said with a touch of relief. “All I have to do now is sew the incision.” Her fingers flew over my neck, tugging and stitching the flesh back together. “I tried to neaten the wound, Diana, but Matthew tore the skin with his teeth.”

  “We’re going to move you to the house now,” Matthew said.

  He cradled my head and shoulders while Marcus supported my legs. Miriam walked alongside carrying the equipment. Someone had driven the Range Rover across the fields, and it stood waiting with its rear door open. Matthew and Miriam switched places, and he disappeared into the cargo area to ready it for me.

  “Miriam,” I whispered. She bent toward me. “If something goes wrong—” I couldn’t finish, but it was imperative she understand me. I was still a witch. But I’d rather be a vampire than dead.

  She stared into my eyes, searched for a moment, then nodded. “Don’t you dare die, though. He’ll kill me if I do what you ask.”

  Matthew talked nonstop during the bumpy ride back to the house, kissing me softly whenever I tried to sleep. Despite his gentleness, it was a wrench each time.

  At the house, Sarah and Em sped around collecting cushions and pillows. They made a bed in front of the keeping room’s fireplace. Sarah lit the pile of logs in the grate with a few words and a gesture. A blaze began to burn, but still I shivered uncontrollably, cold to the core.

  Matthew lowered me onto the cushions and covered me with quilts while Miriam pressed a bandage onto my neck. As she worked, my husband and his son muttered in the corner.

  “It’s what she needs, and I do know where her lungs are,” Marcus said impatiently. “I won’t puncture anything.”

  “She’s strong. No central line. End of discussion. Just get rid of what’s left of Juliette’s body,” Matthew said, his voice quiet but commanding.

  “I’ll see to it,” Marcus replied. He turned on his heel, and the front door thudded behind him before the Range Rover sprang once more into life.

  The ancient case clock in the front entrance ticked the minutes as they passed. The warmth soaked into my bones, making me drowsy. Matthew sat at my side, holding one hand tightly so that he could tug me back whenever I tried to escape into the welcome oblivion.

  Finally Miriam said the magic word: “stable.” Then I could give in to the blackness flitting around the edges of my consciousness. Sarah and Em kissed me and left, Miriam followed, and at last there was nothing but Matthew and the blessed quiet.

  Once silence descended, however, my mind turned to Juliette.

  “I killed her.” My heart raced.

  “You had no choice.” His tone said no further discussion was required. “It was self-defense.”

  “No it wasn’t. The witchfire . . .” It was only when he was in danger that the bow and arrow had appeared in my hands.

  Matthew quieted me with a kiss. “We can talk about that tomorrow.”

  There was something that couldn’t wait, something I wanted him to know now.

  “I love you, Matthew.” There hadn’t been a chance to tell him before Satu snatched me away from Sept-Tours. This time I wanted to be sure it was said before something else happened.

  “I love you, too.” He bent his head, his lips against my ear. “Remember our dinner in Oxford? You wanted to know how you would taste.”

  I moved my head in acknowledgment.

  “You taste of honey,” he murmured. “Honey—and hope.”

  My lips curved, and then I slept.

  But it was not restful slumber. I was caught between waking and slee
ping, La Pierre and Madison, life and death. The ghostly old woman had warned me of the danger of standing at a crossroads. There were times that death seemed to be standing patiently at my side, waiting for me to choose the road I wanted to take.

  I traveled countless miles that night, fleeing from place to place, never more than a step ahead of whoever was pursuing me—Gerbert, Satu, Juliette, Peter Knox. Whenever my journey brought me back to the Bishop house, Matthew was there. Sometimes Sarah was with him. Other times it was Marcus. Most often, though, Matthew was alone.

  Deep in the night, someone started humming the tune we’d danced to a lifetime ago in Ysabeau’s grand salon. It wasn’t Marcus or Matthew—they were talking to each other—but I was too tired to figure out where the music was coming from.

  “Where did she learn that old song?” Marcus asked.

  “At home. Christ, even in sleep she’s trying to be brave.” Matthew’s voice was desolate. “Baldwin is right—I’m no good at strategy. I should have foreseen this.”

  “Gerbert counted on your forgetting about Juliette. It had been so long. And he knew you’d be with Diana when she struck. He gloated about it on the phone.”

  “Yes, he knows I’m arrogant enough to think she was safe with me at her side.”

  “You’ve tried to protect her. But you can’t—no one could. She’s not the only one who needs to stop being brave.”

  There was something Marcus didn’t know, something Matthew was forgetting. Snatches of half-remembered conversation came back to me. The music stopped to let me speak.

  “I told you before,” I said, groping for Matthew in the dark and finding only a handful of soft wool that released the scent of cloves when crushed, “I can be brave enough for both of us.”

  “Diana,” Matthew said urgently. “Open your eyes and look at me.”

  His face was inches from mine. He was cradling my head with one hand, the other cool on my lower back, where a crescent moon swept from one side of my body to the other.