Shadow of Night (All Souls Trilogy, #2)(118)

Annie’s expression while she opened the shutters and doors was full of apology and dread, and I gave her an encouraging nod. The poor child was in no position to stand up to Hubbard and had done what she had to in order to survive. With one more frightened look at Matthew, whose attitude toward her was distinctly chilly, she left.

At last, the house quiet and drafts swirling around my ankles and shoulders, Matthew spoke. He was still propped up against the door, his black clothes absorbing what little light there was in the room.

“Can you help us, Goody Alsop?” His courteous tone bore no resemblance to his high-handed treatment of Widow Beaton.

“I believe so, Master Roydon,” Goody Alsop replied.

“Please take your ease,” Susanna said, gesturing Matthew toward a nearby stool. There was, alas, little chance of a man of Matthew’s size being comfortable on a small three-legged stool, but he straddled it without complaint. “My husband is sleeping in the next room. He mustn’t overhear the wearh, or our conversation.”

Goody Alsop plucked at the gray wool and pearly linen that covered her neck and drew her fingers away, pulling something insubstantial with them. The witch stretched out her hand and flicked her wrist, releasing a shadowy figure into the room. Her exact replica walked off into Susanna’s bedchamber.

“What was that?” I asked, hardly daring to breathe.

“My fetch. She will watch over Master Norman and make sure we are not disturbed.” Goody Alsop’s lips moved, and the drafts stopped. “Now that the doors and windows are sealed, we will not be overheard either. You can rest easy on that score, Susanna.”

Here were two spells that might prove useful in a spy’s household. I opened my mouth to ask Goody Alsop how she’d managed them, but before I could utter a word, she held up her hand and chuckled.

“You are very curious for a grown woman. I fear you’ll try Susanna’s patience even more than Jeffrey does.” She sat back and regarded me with a pleased expression. “I have waited a long time for you, Diana.”

“Me?” I said doubtfully.

“Without question. It has been many years since the first auguries foretold your arrival, and with the passing of time some among us gave up hope. But when our sisters told us of the portents in the north, I knew to expect you.” Goody Alsop was referring to Berwick and the strange occurrences in Scotland. I sat forward, ready to question her further, but Matthew shook his head slightly. He still wasn’t sure the witch could be trusted. Goody Alsop saw my husband’s silent request and chuckled again.

“So I was right, then,” Susanna said, relieved.

“Yes, child. Diana is indeed a weaver.” Goody Alsop’s words reverberated in the room, potent as any spell.

“What’s that?” I whispered.

“There is much we don’t understand about our present situation, Goody Alsop.” Matthew took my hand. “Perhaps you should treat us both like Jeffrey and explain it as you would to a child.”

“Diana is a maker of spells,” Goody Alsop said. “We weavers are rare creatures. That is why the goddess sent you to me.”

“No, Goody Alsop. You’re mistaken,” I protested with a shake of my head. “I’m terrible with spells. My Aunt Sarah has great skill, but not even she has been able to teach me the craft of the witch.”

“Of course you cannot perform the spells of other witches. You must devise your own.” Goody Alsop’s pronouncement went against everything I’d been taught. I looked at her in amazement.

“Witches learn spells. We don’t invent them.” Spells were passed from generation to generation, within families and among coven members. We jealously guarded that knowledge, recording words and procedures in grimoires along with the names of the witches who mastered their accompanying magic. More experienced witches trained the younger members of the coven to follow in their footsteps, mindful of the nuances of each spell and every witch’s past experience with it.

“Weavers do,” Goody Alsop replied.

“I’ve never heard of a weaver,” Matthew said carefully.

“Few have. We are a secret, Master Roydon, one that few witches discover, let alone wearhs. You are familiar with secrets and how to keep them, I think.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief.

“I’ve lived many years, Goody Alsop. I find it hard to believe that witches could keep the existence of weavers from other creatures all that time.” He scowled. “Is this another of Hubbard’s games?”

“I am too old for games, Monsieur de Clermont. Oh, yes, I know who you really are and what position you occupy in our world,” Goody Alsop said when Matthew looked surprised. “Perhaps you cannot hide the truth from witches as well as you think.”

“Perhaps not,” Matthew purred in warning. His growling further amused the old woman.

“That trick might frighten children like Jeffrey and John and moontouched daemons like your friend Christopher, but it does not scare me.” Her voice turned serious. “Weavers hide because once we were sought out and murdered, just like your father’s knights. Not everyone approved of our power. As you well know, it can be easier to survive when your enemies think you are already dead.”

“But who would do such a thing, and why?” I hoped that the answer wouldn’t lead us back to the long-standing enmity between vampires and witches.