A Discovery of Witches(140)

“Poor Gillian,” I whispered. Peter Knox must be furious with her.

“Indeed.” Matthew’s mouth tightened. “But the Congregation has been watching you, too—for reasons that go well beyond the book and have to do with your power.”

“How long?” I wasn’t able to finish my sentence.

“Probably your whole life.”

“Since my parents died.” Unsettling memories from childhood floated back to me, of feeling the tingles of a witch’s attention while on the swings at school and a vampire’s cold stare at a friend’s birthday party. “They’ve been watching me since my parents died.”

Ysabeau opened her mouth to speak, saw her son’s face, and thought better of it.

“If they have you, they’ll have the book, too, or so they think. You’re connected to Ashmole 782 in some powerful way I don’t yet understand. I don’t believe they do either.”

“Not even Peter Knox?”

“Marcus asked around. He’s good at wheedling information out of people. As far as we can tell, Knox is still mystified.”

“I don’t want Marcus to put himself at risk—not for me. He needs to stay out of this, Matthew.”

“Marcus knows how to take care of himself.”

“I have things to tell you, too.” I’d lose my nerve entirely if given a chance to reconsider.

Matthew took both my hands, and his nostrils flared slightly. “You’re tired,” he said, “and hungry. Maybe we should wait until after lunch.”

“You can smell when I’m hungry?” I asked incredulously. “That’s not fair.”

Matthew’s head tipped back, and he laughed. He kept my hands in his, pulling them behind me so that my arms were shaped like wings.

“This from a witch, who could, if she felt like it, read my thoughts as if they were written on ticker tape. Diana, my darling, I know when you change your mind. I know when you’re thinking bad thoughts, like how much fun it would be to jump the paddock fence. And I most definitely know when you’re hungry,” he said, kissing me to make his point clear.

“Speaking of my being a witch,” I said, slightly breathless when he was finished, “we’ve confirmed witchwater on the list of genetic possibilities.”

“What?” Matthew looked at me with concern. “When did that happen?”

“The moment you pulled away from Sept-Tours. I wouldn’t let myself cry while you were here. Once you were gone, I cried—a lot.”

“You’ve cried before,” he said thoughtfully, bringing my hands forward again. He turned them over and examined my palms and fingers. “The water came out of your hands?”

“It came out of everywhere.” I said. His eyebrows rose in alarm. “My hands, my hair, my eyes, my feet—even my mouth. It was like there was no me left, or if there was, I was nothing but water. I thought I’d never taste anything except salt again.”

“Were you alone?” Matthew’s voice turned sharp.

“No, no, of course not,” I said hurriedly. “Marthe and your mother were there. They just couldn’t get near me. There was a lot of water, Matthew. Wind, too.”

“What made it stop?” he asked.

“Ysabeau.”

Matthew gave his mother a long look.

“She sang to me.”

The vampire’s heavy lids dropped, shielding his eyes. “Once she sang all the time. Thank you, Maman.”

I waited for him to tell me that she used to sing to him and that Ysabeau hadn’t been the same since Philippe died. But he told me none of those things. Instead he wrapped me up in a fierce hug, and I tried not to mind that he wouldn’t trust me with these parts of himself.

As the day unfolded, Matthew’s happiness at being home was infectious. We moved from lunch to his study. On the floor in front of the fireplace, he discovered most of the places that I was ticklish. Throughout, he never let me behind the walls he’d so carefully constructed to keep creatures away from his secrets.

Once I reached out with invisible fingers to locate a chink in Matthew’s defenses. He looked up at me in surprise.

“Did you say something?” he asked.

“No,” I said, drawing hastily away.

We enjoyed a quiet dinner with Ysabeau, who followed along in Matthew’s lighthearted wake. But she watched him closely, a look of sadness on her face.

Putting on my sorry excuse for pajamas after dinner, I worried about the desk drawer and whether my scent would be on the velvet that cushioned the seals, and I steeled myself to say good night before Matthew retreated, alone, to his study.

He appeared shortly afterward wearing a pair of loose, striped pajama bottoms and a faded black T-shirt, with no shoes on his long, slender feet. “Do you want the left side or the right?” he asked casually, waiting by the bedpost with his arms crossed.

I wasn’t a vampire, but I could turn my head fast enough when it was warranted.

“If it doesn’t matter to you, I’d prefer the left,” he said gravely. “It will be easier for me to relax if I’m between you and the door.”

“I . . . I don’t care,” I stammered.

“Then get in and slide over.” Matthew took the bedding out of my hand, and I did as he asked. He slid under the sheets behind me with a groan of satisfaction.