A Discovery of Witches

by Deborah Harkness

  “Stay out of this, Miriam.” I was spitting mad, and my hands were twitching.

  “I’m already in it, Diana. Your relationship with Matthew puts every creature in this room in danger. It’s going to change everything, whether you two have children or not. And now he’s brought the Knights of Lazarus into it.” Miriam was as furious as I was. “The more creatures who sanction your relationship, the likelier it is that there will be war.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. War?” The marks Satu burned into my back prickled ominously. “Wars break out between nations, not because a witch and a vampire love each other.”

  “What Satu did to you was a challenge. Matthew responded just as they hoped he would: by calling on the brotherhood.” Miriam made a sound of disgust. “Since you walked into the Bodleian, he’s lost control of his senses. And the last time he lost his senses over a woman, my husband died.”

  The room was quiet as a tomb. Even my grandmother looked startled.

  Matthew wasn’t a killer, or so I told myself over and over again. But he killed to feed himself, and he killed in angry, possessive rages. I knew both of these truths and loved him anyway. What did it say about me, that I could love such a creature so completely?

  “Calm down, Miriam,” Marcus warned.

  “No,” she snarled. “This is my tale. Not yours, Marcus.”

  “Then tell it,” I said tersely, gripping the edges of the table.

  “Bertrand was Matthew’s best friend. When Eleanor St. Leger was killed, Jerusalem came to the brink of war. The English and the French were at each other’s throats. He called on the Knights of Lazarus to resolve the conflict. We were nearly exposed to the humans as a result.” Miriam’s brittle voice broke. “Someone had to pay for Eleanor’s death. The St. Legers demanded justice. Eleanor died at Matthew’s hands, but he was the grand master then, just as he is now. My husband took the blame—to protect Matthew as well as the order. A Saracen executioner beheaded him.”

  “I’m sorry, Miriam—truly sorry—about your husband’s death. But I’m not Eleanor St. Leger, and this isn’t Jerusalem. It was a long time ago, and Matthew’s not the same creature.”

  “It seems like yesterday to me,” Miriam said simply. “Once again Matthew de Clermont wants what he cannot have. He hasn’t changed at all.”

  The room fell silent. Sarah looked aghast. Miriam’s story had confirmed her worst suspicions about vampires in general and Matthew in particular.

  “Perhaps you’ll remain true to him, even after you know him better,” Miriam continued, her voice dead. “But how many more creatures will Matthew destroy on your behalf? Do you think Satu Järvinen will escape Gillian Chamberlain’s fate?”

  “What happened to Gillian?” Em asked, her voice rising.

  Miriam opened her mouth to respond, and the fingers on my right hand curled instinctively into a loose ball. The index and middle fingers released in her direction with a tiny snap. She grabbed her throat and made a gurgling sound.

  That wasn’t very nice, Diana, my grandmother said with a shake of her finger. You need to watch your temper, my girl.

  “Stay out of this, Grandma—and you too, Miriam.” I gave both of them withering glances and turned to Em. “Gillian’s dead. She and Peter Knox sent me the picture of Mom and Dad in Nigeria. It was a threat, and Matthew felt he had to protect me. It’s instinctive in him, like breathing. Please try to forgive him.”

  Em turned white. “Matthew killed her for delivering a picture?”

  “Not just for that,” said Marcus. “She’d been spying on Diana for years. Gillian and Knox broke in to her rooms at New College and ransacked them. They were looking for DNA evidence so they could learn more about her power. If they’d found out what we now know—”

  My fate would be far worse than death if Gillian and Knox knew what was in my test results. It was devastating that Matthew hadn’t told me himself, though. I hid my thoughts, trying to close the shutters behind my eyes. My aunts didn’t need to know that my husband kept things from me.

  But there was no keeping my grandmother out. Oh, Diana, she whispered. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?

  “I want you all out of my house.” Sarah pushed her chair back. “You, too, Diana.”

  A long, slow shudder started in the house’s old root cellar under the family room and spread throughout the floorboards. It climbed up the walls and shook the panes of glass in the windows. Sarah’s chair shot forward, pressing her against the table. The door between the dining room and the family room slammed shut.

  The house never likes it when Sarah tries to take charge, my grandmother commented.

  My own chair pulled back and dumped me unceremoniously onto the floor. I used the table to haul myself up, and when I was on my feet, invisible hands spun me around and pushed me through the door toward the front entrance. The dining-room door crashed behind me, locking two witches, two vampires, and a ghost inside. There were muffled sounds of outrage.

  Another ghost—one I’d never seen before—walked out of the keeping room and beckoned me forward. She wore a bodice covered with intricate embroidery atop a dark, full skirt that touched the floor. Her face was creased with age, but the stubborn chin and long nose of the Bishops was unmistakable.

  Be careful, daughter. Her voice was low and husky. You are a creature of the crossroads, neither here nor there. ’Tis a dangerous place to be.

  “Who are you?”

  She looked toward the front door without answering. It opened soundlessly, its usually creaky hinges silent and smooth. I have always known he would come—and come for you. My own mother told me so.

  I was torn between the Bishops and the de Clermonts, part of me wanting to return to the dining room, the other part needing to be with Matthew. The ghost smiled at my dilemma.

  You have always been a child between, a witch apart. But there is no path forward that does not have him in it. Whichever way you go, you must choose him.

  She disappeared, leaving fading traces of phosphorescence. Matthew’s white face and hands were just visible through the open door, a blur of movement in the darkness at the end of the driveway. At the sight of him my decision became easy.

  Outside, I drew my sleeves down over my hands to protect them from the chilly air. I picked up one foot . . . and when I put it down, Matthew was directly in front of me, his back turned. It had taken me a single step to travel the length of the driveway.

  He was speaking in furiously fast Occitan. Ysabeau must be on the other end.

  “Matthew.” I spoke softly, not wanting to startle him.

  He whipped around with a frown. “Diana. I didn’t hear you.”

  “No, you wouldn’t have. May I speak to Ysabeau, please?” I reached for the phone.

  “Diana, it would be better—”

  Our families were locked in the dining room, and Sarah was threatening to throw us all out. We had enough problems without severing ties with Ysabeau and Marthe.

  “What was it that Abraham Lincoln said about houses?”

  “‘A house divided against itself cannot stand,’” Matthew said, a puzzled look on his face.

  “Exactly. Give me the phone.” Reluctantly he did so.

  “Diana?” Ysabeau’s voice had an uncharacteristic edge.

  “No matter what Matthew has said, I’m not angry with you. No harm was done.”

  “Thank you,” she breathed. “I have been trying to tell him—it was only a feeling that we had, something half remembered from very long ago. Diana was the goddess of fertility then. Your scent reminds me of those times, and of the priestesses who helped women conceive.”

  Matthew’s eyes touched me through the darkness.

  “You’ll tell Marthe, too?”

  “I will, Diana.” She paused. “Matthew has shared your test results and Marcus’s theories with me. It is a sign of how much they have startled him, that he told your tale. I do not know whether to weep with joy or sorrow at the news.”

&n
bsp; “It’s early days, Ysabeau—maybe both?”

  She laughed softly. “It will not be the first time my children have driven me to tears. But I wouldn’t give up the sorrow if it meant giving up the joy as well.”

  “Is everything all right at home?” The words escaped before I thought them through, and Matthew’s eyes softened.

  “Home?” The significance of the word was not lost on Ysabeau either. “Yes, we are all well here. It is very . . . quiet since you both left.”

  My eyes filled with tears. Despite Ysabeau’s sharp edges, there was something so maternal about her. “Witches are noisier than vampires, I’m afraid.”

  “Yes. And happiness is always louder than sadness. There hasn’t been enough happiness in this house.” Her voice grew brisk. “Matthew has said everything to me that he needs to say. We must hope the worst of his anger has been spent. You will take care of each other.” Ysabeau’s last sentence was a statement of fact. It was what the women in her family—my family—did for those they loved.

  “Always.” I looked at my vampire, his white skin gleaming in the dark, and pushed the red button to disconnect the line. The fields on either side of the driveway were frost-covered, the ice crystals catching the faint traces of moonlight coming through the clouds.

  “Did you suspect, too? Is that why you won’t make love to me?” I asked Matthew.

  “I told you my reasons. Making love should be about intimacy, not just physical need.” He sounded frustrated at having to repeat himself.

  “If you don’t want to have children with me, I will understand,” I said firmly, though part of me quietly protested.

  His hands were rough on my arms. “Christ, Diana, how can you think that I wouldn’t want our children? But it might be dangerous—for you, for them.”

  “There’s always risk with pregnancy. Not even you control nature.”

  “We have no idea what our children would be. What if they shared my need for blood?”

  “All babies are vampires, Matthew. They’re all nourished with their mother’s blood.”

  “It’s not the same, and you know it. I gave up all hope of children long ago.” Our eyes met, searching for reassurance that nothing between us had changed. “But it’s too soon for me to imagine losing you.”

  And I couldn’t bear losing our children.

  Matthew’s unspoken words were as clear to me as an owl hooting overhead. The pain of Lucas’s loss would never leave him. It cut deeper than the deaths of Blanca or Eleanor. When he lost Lucas, he lost part of himself that could never be recovered.

  “So you’ve decided. No children. You’re sure.” I rested my hands on his chest, waiting for the next beat of his heart.

  “I’m not sure of anything,” Matthew said. “We haven’t had time to discuss it.”

  “Then we’ll take every precaution. I’ll drink Marthe’s tea.”

  “You’ll do a damn sight more than that,” he said grimly. “That stuff is better than nothing, but it’s a far cry from modern medicine. Even so, no human form of contraception may be effective when it comes to witches and vampires.”

  “I’ll take the pills anyway,” I assured him.

  “And what about you?” he asked, his fingers on my chin to keep me from avoiding his eyes. “Do you want to carry my children?”

  “I never imagined myself a mother.” A shadow flickered across his face. “But when I think of your children, it feels as though it was meant to be.”

  He dropped my chin. We stood silently in the darkness, his arms around my waist and my head on his chest. The air felt heavy, and I recognized it as the weight of responsibility. Matthew was responsible for his family, his past, the Knights of Lazarus—and now for me.

  “You’re worried that you couldn’t protect them,” I said, suddenly understanding.

  “I can’t even protect you,” he said harshly, fingers playing over the crescent moon burned into my back.

  “We don’t have to decide just yet. With or without children, we already have a family to keep together.” The heaviness in the air shifted, some of it settling on my shoulders. All my life I’d lived for myself alone, pushing away the obligations of family and tradition. Even now part of me wanted to return to the safety of independence and leave these new burdens behind.

  His eyes traveled up the drive to the house. “What happened after I left?”

  “Oh, what you’d expect. Miriam told us about Bertrand and Jerusalem—and let slip about Gillian. Marcus told us who broke in to my rooms. And then there’s the fact that we might have started some kind of war.”

  “Dieu, why can’t they keep their mouths shut?” He ran his fingers through his hair, his regret at concealing all this from me clear in his eyes. “At first I was sure this was about the manuscript. Then I supposed it was all about you. Now I’ll be damned if I can figure out what it’s about. Some old, powerful secret is unraveling, and we’re caught up in it.”

  “Is Miriam right to wonder how many other creatures are tangled in it, too?” I stared at the moon as if she might answer my question. Matthew did instead.

  “It’s doubtful we’re the first creatures to love those we should not, and we surely won’t be the last.” He took my arm. “Let’s go inside. We have some explaining to do.”

  On our way up the drive, Matthew observed that explanations, like medicines, go down easier when accompanied by liquid refreshment. We entered the house through the back door to pick up the necessary supplies. While I arranged a tray, Matthew’s eyes rested on me.

  “What?” I looked up. “Did I forget something?”

  A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “No, ma lionne. I’m just trying to figure out how I acquired such a fierce wife. Even putting cups on a tray, you look formidable.”

  “I’m not formidable,” I said, tightening my ponytail self-consciously.

  “Yes, you are.” Matthew smiled. “Miriam wouldn’t be in such a state otherwise.”

  When we reached the door between the dining room and the family room, we listened for sounds of a battle within, but there was nothing except quiet murmurs and low conversation. The house unlocked the door and opened it for us.

  “We thought you might be thirsty,” I said, putting the tray on the table.

  A multitude of eyes turned in our direction—vampires, witches, ghosts. My grandmother had a whole flock of Bishops at her back, all of them rustling and shifting as they tried to adjust to having vampires in the dining room.

  “Whiskey, Sarah?” Matthew asked, picking up a tumbler from the tray.

  She gave him a long look. “Miriam says that by accepting your relationship we invite war. My father fought in World War II.”

  “So did mine,” Matthew said, pouring the whiskey. So had he, no doubt, but he was silent on that point.

  “He always said whiskey made it possible to close your eyes at night without hating yourself for everything you’d been ordered to do that day.”

  “It’s no guarantee, but it helps.” Matthew held out the glass.

  Sarah took it. “Would you kill your own son if you thought he was a threat to Diana?”

  He nodded. “Without hesitation.”

  “That’s what he said.” Sarah nodded at Marcus. “Get him a drink, too. It can’t be easy, knowing your own father could kill you.”

  Matthew got Marcus his whiskey and poured Miriam a glass of wine. I made Em a cup of milky coffee. She’d been crying and looked more fragile than usual.

  “I just don’t know if I can handle this, Diana,” she whispered when she took the mug. “Marcus explained what Gillian and Peter Knox had planned. But when I think of Barbara Chamberlain and what she must be feeling now that her daughter is dead—” Em shuddered to a stop.

  “Gillian Chamberlain was an ambitious woman, Emily,” said Matthew. “All she ever wanted was a seat at the Congregation’s table.”

  “But you didn’t have to kill her,” Em insisted.

  “Gillian believed abs
olutely that witches and vampires should remain apart. The Congregation has never been satisfied that they fully understood Stephen Proctor’s power and asked her to watch Diana. She wouldn’t have rested until both Ashmole 782 and Diana were in the Congregation’s control.”

  “But it was just a picture.” Em wiped at her eyes.

  “It was a threat. The Congregation had to understand that I was not going to stand by and let them take Diana.”

  “Satu took her anyway,” Em pointed out, her voice unusually sharp.

  “That’s enough, Em.” I reached over and covered her hand with mine.

  “What about this issue of children?” Sarah asked, gesturing with her glass. “Surely you two won’t do something so risky?”

  “That’s enough,” I repeated, standing and banging my hand on the table. Everyone but Matthew and my grandmother jumped in surprise. “If we are at war, we’re not fighting for a bewitched alchemical manuscript, or for my safety, or for our right to marry and have children. This is about the future of all of us.” I saw that future for just a moment, its bright potential spooling away in a thousand different directions. “If our children don’t take the next evolutionary steps, it will be someone else’s children. And whiskey isn’t going to make it possible for me to close my eyes and forget that. No one else will go through this kind of hell because they love someone they’re not supposed to love. I won’t allow it.”

  My grandmother gave me a slow, sweet smile. There’s my girl. Spoken like a Bishop.

  “We don’t expect anyone else to fight with us. But understand this: our army has one general. Matthew. If you don’t like it, don’t enlist.”

  In the front hall, the old case clock began to strike midnight.

  The witching hour. My grandmother nodded.

  Sarah looked at Em. “Well, honey? Are we going to stand with Diana and join Matthew’s army or let the devil take the hindmost?”

  “I don’t understand what you all mean by war. Will there be battles? Will vampires and witches come here?” Em asked Matthew in a shaky voice.

  “The Congregation believes Diana holds answers to their questions. They won’t stop looking for her.”