A Discovery of Witches(221)

“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.

“Where did you get that?” Matthew sounded strange, and his face had gone gray again.

Sophie shrugged. “Nobody knows. The Normans have always had it. It’s been passed down in the family from witch to witch. ‘When the time comes, give it to the one who has need of it.’ That’s what my granny told my father, and my father told me. It used to be written on a little piece of paper, but that was lost a long time ago.”

“What is it, Matthew?” Marcus looked uneasy. So did Nathaniel.

“It’s a chess piece,” Matthew’s voice broke. “The white queen.”

“How do you know that?” Sarah looked at the figurine critically. “It’s not like any chess piece I ever saw.”

Matthew had to force the words out from behind tight lips. “Because it was once mine. My father gave it to me.”

“How did it end up in North Carolina?” I stretched my fingers toward the silver object, and the figurine slid across the table as if it wanted to be in my possession. The stag’s antlers cut into my palm as my hand closed around it, the metal quickly warming to my touch.

“I lost it in a wager,” Matthew said quietly. “I have no idea how it got to North Carolina.” He buried his face in his hands and murmured a single word that made no sense to me. “Kit.”

“Do you remember when you last had it?” Sarah asked sharply.

“I remember precisely.” Matthew lifted his head. “I was playing a game with it many years ago, on All Souls’ Night. It was then that I lost my wager.”

“That’s next week.” Miriam shifted in her seat so that she could meet Sarah’s eyes. “Would timewalking be easier around the feasts of All Saints and All Souls?”

“Miriam,” Matthew snarled, but it was too late.

“What’s timewalking?” Nathaniel whispered to Sophie.

“Mama was a timewalker,” Sophie whispered back. “She was good at it, too, and always came back from the 1700s with lots of ideas for pots and jugs.”

“Your mother visited the past?” Nathaniel asked faintly. He looked around the room at the motley assortment of creatures, then at his wife’s belly. “Does that run in witches’ families, too, like second sight?”