All Souls Trilogy, page 66
This was precisely the point that Em now wanted to argue.
“There must be another way,” she protested.
“I tried to think of one, Emily,” Matthew said apologetically.
“Where—or should I say when—are you planning on going? Diana won’t exactly blend into the background. She’s too tall.” Miriam looked down at her own tiny hands.
“Regardless of whether Diana could fit in, it’s too dangerous,” Marcus said firmly. “You might end up in the middle of a war. Or an epidemic.”
“Or a witch-hunt.” Miriam didn’t say it maliciously, but three heads swung around in indignation nonetheless.
“Sarah, what do you think?” asked Matthew.
Of all the creatures in the room, she was the calmest. “You’ll take her to a time when she’ll be with witches who will help her?”
“Yes.”
Sarah closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them. “You two aren’t safe here. Juliette Durand proved that. And if you aren’t safe in Madison, you aren’t safe anywhere.”
“Thank you.” Matthew opened his mouth to say something else, and Sarah held up her hand.
“Don’t promise me anything,” she said, voice tight. “You’ll be careful for her sake, if not for your own.”
“Now all we have to worry about is the timewalking.” Matthew turned businesslike. “Diana will need three items from a particular time and place in order to move safely.”
Sarah nodded.
“Do I count as a thing?” he asked her.
“Do you have a pulse? Of course you’re not a thing!” It was one of the most positive statements Sarah had ever made about vampires.
“If you need old stuff to guide your way, you’re welcome to these.” Marcus pulled a thin leather cord from the neck of his shirt and lifted it over his head. It was festooned with a bizarre assortment of items, including a tooth, a coin, a lump of something that shone black and gold, and a battered silver whistle. He tossed it to Matthew.
“Didn’t you get this off a yellow-fever victim?” Matthew asked, fingering the tooth.
“In New Orleans,” Marcus replied. “The epidemic of 1819.”
“New Orleans is out of the question,” Matthew said sharply.
“I suppose so.” Marcus slid a glance my way, then returned his attention to his father. “How about Paris? One of Fanny’s earbobs is on there.”
Matthew’s fingers touched a tiny red stone set in gold filigree. “Philippe and I sent you away from Paris, and Fanny, too. They called it the Terror, remember? It’s no place for Diana.”
“The two of you fussed over me like old women. I’d been in one revolution already. Besides, if you’re looking for a safe place in the past, you’ll have a hell of a time finding one,” Marcus grumbled. His face brightened. “Philadelphia?”
“I wasn’t in Philadelphia with you, or in California,” Matthew said hastily before his son could speak. “It would be best if we head for a time and place I know.”
“Even if you know where we’re going, Matthew, I’m not sure I can pull this off.” My decision to stay clear of magic had caught up with me again.
“I think you can,” Sarah said bluntly, “you have been doing it your whole life. When you were a baby, as a child when you played hide-and-seek with Stephen, and as an adolescent, too. Remember all those mornings we dragged you out of the woods and had to clean you up in time for school? What do you imagine you were doing then?”
“Certainly not timewalking,” I said truthfully. “The science of this still worries me. Where does this body go when I’m somewhere else?”
“Who knows? But don’t worry. It’s happened to everybody. You drive to work and don’t remember how you got there. Or the whole afternoon passes and you don’t have a clue what you did. Whenever something like that happens, you can bet there’s a timewalker nearby,” explained Sarah. She was remarkably unfazed at the prospect.
Matthew sensed my apprehension and took my hand in his. “Einstein said that all physicists were aware that the distinctions between past, present, and future were only what he called ‘a stubbornly persistent illusion.’ Not only did he believe in marvels and wonders, he also believed in the elasticity of time.”
There was a tentative knock at the door.
“I didn’t hear a car,” Miriam said warily, rising to her feet.
“It’s just Sammy collecting the newspaper money.” Em slid from her chair.
We waited silently while she crossed the hall, the floorboards protesting under her feet. From the way their hands were pressed flat against the table’s wooden surface, Matthew and Marcus were both ready to fly to the door, too.
Cold air swept into the dining room.
“Yes?” Em asked in a puzzled voice. In an instant, Marcus and Matthew rose and joined her, accompanied by Tabitha, who was intent on supporting the leader of the pack in his important business.
“Not the paperboy,” Sarah said unnecessarily, looking at the empty chair next to me.
“Are you Diana Bishop?” asked a deep male voice with a familiar foreign accent of flat vowels accompanied by a slight drawl.
“No, I’m her aunt,” Em replied.
“Is there something we can do for you?” Matthew sounded cold, though polite.
“My name is Nathaniel Wilson, and this is my wife, Sophie. We were told we might find Diana Bishop here.”
“Who told you that?” Matthew asked softly.
“His mother—Agatha.” I stood, moving to the door.
His voice reminded me of the daemon from Blackwell’s, the fashion designer from Australia with the beautiful brown eyes.
Miriam tried to bar my way into the hall but stepped aside when she saw my expression. Marcus was not so easily dealt with. He grabbed my arm and held me in the shadows by the staircase.
Nathaniel’s eyes nudged gently against my face. He was in his early twenties and had familiar fair hair and chocolate-colored eyes, as well as his mother’s wide mouth and fine features. Where Agatha had been compact and trim, however, he was nearly as tall as Matthew, with the broad shoulders and narrow hips of a swimmer. An enormous backpack was slung over one shoulder.
“Are you Diana Bishop?” he asked.
A woman’s face peeped out from Nathaniel’s side. It was sweet and round, with intelligent brown eyes and a dimpled chin. She was in her early twenties as well, and the gentle, insidious pressure of her glance indicated she, too, was a daemon.
As she studied me, a long, brown braid tumbled over her shoulder. “That’s her,” the young woman said, her soft accent betraying that she was born in the South. “She looks just as she did in my dreams.”
“It’s all right, Matthew,” I said. These two daemons posed no more danger to me than did Marthe or Ysabeau.
“So you’re the vampire,” Nathaniel said, giving Matthew an appraising look. “My mother warned me about you.”
“You should listen to her,” Matthew suggested, his voice dangerously soft.
Nathaniel seemed unimpressed. “She told me you wouldn’t welcome the son of a Congregation member. But I’m not here on their behalf. I’m here because of Sophie.” He drew his wife under his arm in a protective gesture, and she shivered and crept closer. Neither was dressed for autumn in New York. Nathaniel was wearing an old barn jacket, and Sophie had on nothing warmer than a turtleneck and a hand-knit cardigan that brushed her knees.
“Are they both daemons?” Matthew asked me.
“Yes,” I replied, though something made me hesitate.
“Are you a vampire as well?” Nathaniel asked Marcus.
Marcus gave him a wolfish grin. “Guilty.”
Sophie was still nudging me with her characteristic daemonic glance, but there was the faintest tingle on my skin. Her hand crept possessively around her belly.
“You’re pregnant!” I cried.
Marcus was so surprised that he loosened his grip on me. Matthew caught me as I went by. The house, agitated by the appearance of two visitors and Matthew’s sudden lunge, made its displeasure clear by banging the keeping room’s doors tightly closed.
“What you feel—it’s me,” Sophie said, moving an inch closer to her husband. “My people were witches, but I came out wrong.”
Sarah came into the hall, saw the visitors, and threw up her hands. “Here we go again. I told you daemons would be showing up in Madison before long. Still, the house usually knows our business better than we do. Now that you’re here, you might as well come inside, out of the cold.”
The house groaned as if it were heartily sick of us when the daemons entered.
“Don’t worry,” I said, trying to reassure them. “The house told us you were coming, no matter what it sounds like.”
“My granny’s house was just the same.” Sophie smiled. “She lived in the old Norman place in Seven Devils. That’s where I’m from. It’s officially part of North Carolina, but my dad said that nobody bothered to tell the folks in town. We’re kind of a nation unto ourselves.”
The keeping-room doors opened wide, revealing my grandmother and three or four more Bishops, all of whom were watching the proceedings with interest. The boy with the berry basket waved. Sophie shyly waved back.
“Granny had ghosts, too,” she said calmly.
The ghosts, combined with two unfriendly vampires and an overly expressive house, were too much for Nathaniel.
“We aren’t staying longer than we have to, Sophie. You came to give something to Diana. Let’s get it over with and be on our way,” Nathaniel said. Miriam chose that minute to step out of the shadows by the dining room, her arms crossed over her chest. Nathaniel took a step backward.
“First vampires. Now daemons. What next?” Sarah muttered. She turned to Sophie. “So you’re about five months along?”
“The baby quickened last week,” Sophie replied, both hands resting on her belly. “That’s when Agatha told us where we could find Diana. She didn’t know about my family. I’ve been having dreams about you for months. And I don’t know what Agatha saw that made her so scared.”
“What dreams?” Matthew said, his voice quick.
“Let’s have Sophie sit down before we subject her to an inquisition.” Sarah quietly took charge. “Em, can you bring us some of those cookies? Milk, too?”
Em headed toward the kitchen, where we could hear the distant clatter of glasses.
“They could be my dreams, or they could be hers.” Sophie gazed at her belly as Sarah led her and Nathaniel deeper into the house. She looked back over her shoulder at Matthew. “She’s a witch, you see. That’s probably what worried Nathaniel’s mom.”
All eyes dropped to the bump under Sophie’s blue sweater.
“The dining room,” Sarah said in a tone that brooked no nonsense. “Everybody in the dining room.”
Matthew held me back. “There’s something too convenient about their showing up right now. No mention of timewalking in front of them.”
“They’re harmless.” Every instinct confirmed it.
“Nobody’s harmless, and that certainly goes for Agatha Wilson’s son.” Tabitha, who was sitting next to Matthew, mewled in agreement.
“Are you two joining us, or do I have to drag you into this room?” Sarah called.
“We’re on our way,” Matthew said smoothly.
Sarah was at the head of the table. She pointed at the empty chairs to her right. “Sit.”
We were facing Sophie and Nathaniel, who sat with an empty seat between them and Marcus. Matthew’s son split his attention between his father and the daemons. I sat between Matthew and Miriam, both of whom never took their eyes from Nathaniel. When Em entered, she had a tray laden with wine, milk, bowls of berries and nuts, and an enormous plate of cookies.
“God, cookies make me wish like hell I was still warmblooded,” Marcus said reverently, picking up one of the golden disks studded with chocolate and holding it to his nose. “They smell so good, but they taste terrible.”
“Have these instead,” Em said, sliding him a bowl of walnuts. “They’re covered in vanilla and sugar. They’re not cookies, but they’re close.” She passed him a bottle of wine and a corkscrew, too. “Open that and pour some for your father.”
“Thanks, Em,” Marcus said around a mouthful of sticky walnuts, already pulling the cork free from the bottle. “You’re the best.”
Sarah watched intently as Sophie drank thirstily from the glass of milk and ate a cookie. When the daemon reached for her second, my aunt turned to Nathaniel. “Now, where’s your car?” Given all that had happened, it was an odd opening question.
“We came on foot.” Nathaniel hadn’t touched anything Em put in front of him.
“From where?” Marcus asked incredulously, handing Matthew a glass of wine. He’d seen enough of the surrounding countryside to know that there was nothing within walking distance.
“We rode with a friend from Durham to Washington,” Sophie explained. “Then we caught a train from D.C. to New York. I didn’t like the city much.”
“We caught the train to Albany, then went on to Syracuse. The bus took us to Cazenovia.” Nathaniel put a warning hand on Sophie’s arm.
“He doesn’t want me to tell you that we caught a ride from a stranger,” Sophie confided with a smile. “The lady knew where the house was. Her kids love coming here on Halloween because you’re real witches.” Sophie took another sip of milk. “Not that we needed the directions. There’s a lot of energy in this house. We couldn’t have missed it.”
“Is there a reason you took such an indirect route?” Matthew asked Nathaniel.
“Somebody followed us as far as New York, but Sophie and I got back on the train for Washington and they lost interest,” Nathaniel bristled.
“Then we got off the train in New Jersey and went back to the city. The man in the station said tourists get confused all the time about which way the train is going. They didn’t even charge us, did they, Nathaniel?” Sophie looked pleased at the warm reception they’d received from Amtrak.
Matthew continued with his interrogation of Nathaniel. “Where are you staying?”
“They’re staying here.” Em’s voice had a sharp edge. “They don’t have a car, and the house made room for them. Besides, Sophie needs to talk to Diana.”
“I’d like that. Agatha said you’d be able to help. Something about a book for the baby,” Sophie said softly. Marcus’s eyes darted to the page from Ashmole 782, the edge of which was peeking from underneath the chart laying out the Knights of Lazarus’s chain of command. He hastily drew the papers into a pile, moving an innocuous-looking set of DNA results to the top.
“What book, Sophie?” I asked.
“We didn’t tell Agatha my people were witches. I didn’t even tell Nathaniel—not until he came home to meet my dad. We’d been together for almost four years, and my dad was sick and losing control over his magic. I didn’t want Nathaniel spooked. Anyway, when we got married, we thought it was best not to cause a fuss. Agatha was on the Congregation by then and was always talking about the segregation rules and what happened when folks broke them.” Sophie shook her head. “It never made any sense to me.”
“The book?” I repeated, gently trying to steer the conversation.
“Oh.” Sophie’s forehead creased with concentration, and she fell silent.
“My mother is thrilled about the baby. She said it’s going to be the best-dressed child the world has ever seen.” Nathaniel smiled tenderly at his wife. “Then the dreams started. Sophie felt trouble was coming. She has strong premonitions for a daemon, just like my mother. In September she started seeing Diana’s face and hearing her name. Sophie said people want something from you.”
Matthew’s fingers touched the small of my back where Satu’s scar dipped down.
“Show them her face jug, Nathaniel. It’s just a picture. I wanted to bring it, but he said we couldn’t carry a gallon jug from Durham to New York.”
Her husband obediently took out his phone and pulled up a picture on the screen. Nathaniel handed the phone to Sarah, who gasped.
“I’m a potter, like my mama and her mother. Granny used witchfire in her kiln, but I just do it the ordinary way. All the faces from my dreams go on my jugs. Not all of them are scary. Yours wasn’t.”
Sarah passed the phone to Matthew. “It’s beautiful, Sophie,” he said sincerely.
I had to agree. Its tall, rounded shape was pale gray, and two handles curved away from its narrow spout. On the front was a face—my face, though distorted by the jug’s proportions. My chin jutted out from the surface, as did my nose, my ears, and the sweep of my brow bones. Thick squiggles of clay stood in for hair. My eyes were closed, and my mouth smiled serenely, as if I were keeping a secret.
“This is for you, too.” Sophie drew a small, lumpy object out of the pocket of her cardigan. It was wrapped in oilcloth secured with string. “When the baby quickened, I knew for sure it belonged to you. The baby knows, too. Maybe that’s what made Agatha so worried. And of course we have to figure out what to do, since the baby is a witch. Nathaniel’s mom thought you might have some ideas.”
We watched in silence while Sophie picked at the knots. “Sorry,” she muttered. “My dad tied it up. He was in the navy.”
“Can I help you?” Marcus asked, reaching for the lump.
“No, I’ve got it.” Sophie smiled at him sweetly and went back to her work. “It has to be wrapped up or it turns black. And it’s not supposed to be black. It’s supposed to be white.”
Our collective curiosity was now thoroughly aroused, and there wasn’t a sound in the house except for the lapping of Tabitha’s tongue as she groomed her paws. The string fell away, followed by the oilcloth.
“There,” Sophie whispered. “I may not be a witch, but I’m the last of the Normans. We’ve been keeping this for you.”
It was a small figurine no more than four inches tall and made from old silver that glowed with the softly burnished light seen in museum showcases. Sophie turned the figurine so that it faced me.
“Diana,” I said unnecessarily. The goddess was represented exactly, from the tips of the crescent moon on her brow to her sandaled feet. She was in motion, one foot striding forward while a hand reached over her shoulders to draw an arrow from her quiver. The other hand rested on the antlers of a stag.
