A Discovery of Witches(127)

Alarm bells sounded.

I flung the covers aside and swung my legs out of bed. “The break-in was meant to provoke Matthew. He went to Oxford thinking he could make a good-faith deal with Knox. We have to warn him.”

Ysabeau’s hands were firm on my knees and shoulder, stopping my motion.

“He already knows, Diana.”

That information settled in my mind. “Is that why he wouldn’t take me to Oxford with him? Is he in danger?”

“Of course he is in danger,” Ysabeau said sharply. “But he will do what he can to put an end to this.” She lifted my legs back onto the bed and tucked the covers tightly around me.

“I should be there,” I protested.

“You would be nothing but a distraction. You will stay here, as he told you.”

“Don’t I get a say in this?” I asked for what seemed like the hundredth time since I came to Sept-Tours.

“No,” both women said at the same moment.

“You really do have a lot to learn about vampires,” Ysabeau said once again, but this time she sounded mildly regretful.

I had a lot to learn about vampires. This I knew.

But who was going to teach me? And when?





Chapter 24

From afar I beheld a black cloud covering the earth. It absorbed the earth and covered my soul as the seas entered, becoming putrid and corrupted at the prospect of hell and the shadow of death. A tempest had overwhelmed me,’” I read aloud from Matthew’s copy of Aurora Consurgens.

Turning to my computer, I typed notes about the imagery my anonymous author had used to describe nigredo, one of the dangerous steps in alchemical transformation. During this part of the process, the combination of substances like mercury and lead gave off fumes that endangered the alchemist’s health. Appropriately, one of Bourgot Le Noir’s gargoylelike faces pinched his nose tight shut, avoiding the cloud mentioned in the text.

“Get your riding clothes on.”

My head lifted from the pages of the manuscript.

“Matthew made me promise to take you outdoors. He said it would keep you from getting sick,” Ysabeau explained.

“You don’t have to, Ysabeau. Domenico and the witchwater have depleted my adrenaline supply, if that’s your concern.”

“Matthew must have told you how alluring the smell of panic is to a vampire.”

“Marcus told me,” I corrected her. “Actually, he told me what it tastes like. What does it smell like?”

Ysabeau shrugged. “Like it tastes. Maybe a bit more exotic—a touch of muskiness, perhaps. I was never much drawn to it. I prefer the kill to the hunt. But to each her own.”

“I’m not having as many panic attacks these days. There’s no need for you to take me riding.” I turned back to my work.

“Why do you think they have gone away?” Ysabeau asked.

“I honestly don’t know,” I said with a sigh, looking at Matthew’s mother.

“You have been like this for a long time?”

“Since I was seven.”

“What happened then?”

“My parents were killed in Nigeria,” I replied shortly.

“This was the picture you received—the one that caused Matthew to bring you to Sept-Tours.”

When I nodded in response, Ysabeau’s mouth flattened into a familiar, hard line. “Pigs.”

There were worse things to call them, but “pigs” did the job pretty well. And if it grouped whoever had sent me the photograph with Domenico Michele, then it was the right category.

“Panic or no panic,” Ysabeau said briskly, “we are going to exercise as Matthew wanted.”

I powered off the computer and went upstairs to change. My riding clothes were folded neatly in the bathroom, courtesy of Marthe, though my boots were in the stables, along with my helmet and vest. I slithered into the black breeches, added a turtleneck, and slipped on loafers over a pair of warm socks, then went downstairs in search of Matthew’s mother.

“I’m in here,” she called. I followed the sound to a small room painted warm terra-cotta. It was ornamented with old plates, animal horns, and an ancient dresser large enough to store an entire inn’s worth of plates, cups, and cutlery. Ysabeau peered over the pages of Le Monde, her eyes covering every inch of me. “Marthe tells me you slept.”

“Yes, thank you,” I shifted from one foot to the other as if waiting to see the school principal to explain my misbehavior.

Marthe saved me from further discomfort by arriving with a pot of tea. She, too, surveyed me from head to foot.

“You are better today,” she finally announced, handing me a mug. She stood there frowning until Matthew’s mother put down her paper, and then she departed.

When I was finished with my tea, we went to the stables. Ysabeau had to help with my boots, since they were still too stiff to slide on and off easily, and she watched carefully while I put on my turtle shell of a vest and the helmet. Clearly safety equipment had been part of Matthew’s instructions. Ysabeau, of course, wore nothing more protective than a brown quilted jacket. The relative indestructibility of vampire flesh was a boon if you were a rider.

In the paddock Fiddat and Rakasa stood side by side, mirror images right down to the armchair-style saddles on their backs.