Shadow of Night (All Souls Trilogy, #2)(132)

“Ordinary men can pine terribly for a lost child. I am not surprised that a wearh would find it especially difficult. They are possessive, after all.” Goody Alsop reached for something red and gelatinous. “Thank you, Catherine.”

The women waited in silence, hoping I’d take Goody Alsop and Catherine up on their circumspect invitation to tell them how Matthew and I were faring.

“He’ll be fine,” I said tightly.

“He should be here,” Elizabeth said sharply. “I can see no reason why his loss should be more painful than yours!”

“Because Matthew has endured a thousand years of heartbreak and I’ve only endured thirty-three,” I said, my tone equally sharp. “He is a wearh, Elizabeth. Do I wish he were here rather than out with Kit? Of course. Will I beg him to stay at the Hart and Crown for my sake? Absolutely not.” My voice was rising as my hurt and frustration spilled over. Matthew had been unfailingly sweet and tender with me. He’d comforted me as I faced the hundreds of fragile dreams for the future that had been destroyed when I miscarried our child.

It was the hours he was spending elsewhere that had me concerned.

“My head tells me Matthew must have a chance to grieve in his own way,” I said. “My heart tells me he loves me even though he prefers to be with his friends now. I just wish he could touch me without regret.” I could feel it whenever he looked at me, held me, took my hand. It was unbearable.

“I am sorry, Diana,” Elizabeth said, her face contrite.

“It’s all right,” I assured her.

But it wasn’t all right. The whole world felt discordant and wrong, with colors that were too bright and sounds so loud they made me jump. My body felt hollow, and no matter what I tried to read, the words failed to keep my attention.

“We will see you tomorrow, as planned,” Goody Alsop said briskly as the witches departed.

“Tomorrow?” I frowned. “I’m in no mood to make magic, Goody Alsop.”

“I’m in no mood to go to my grave without seeing you weave your first spell, so I shall expect you when the bells ring six.”

That night I stared into the fire as the bells rang six, and seven, and eight, and nine, and ten. When the bells rang three, I heard a sound on the stairs. Thinking it was Matthew, I went to the door. The staircase was empty, but a clutch of objects sat on the stairs: an infant’s sock, a sprig of holly, a twist of paper with a man’s name written on it. I gathered them all up in my lap as I sank onto one of the worn treads, clutching my shawl tight around me.

I was still trying to figure out what the offerings meant and how they had gotten there when Matthew shot up the stairs in a soundless blur. He stopped abruptly.

“Diana.” He drew the back of his hand across his mouth, his eyes green and glassy.

“At least you’ll feed when you’re with Kit,” I said, getting to my feet. “It’s nice to know that your friendship includes more than poetry and chess.”

Matthew put his boot on the tread next to my feet. He used his knee to press me toward the wall, effectively trapping me. His breath was sweet and slightly metallic.

“You’re going to hate yourself in the morning,” I said calmly, turning my head away. I knew better than to run when the tang of blood was still on his lips. “Kit should have kept you with him until the drugs were out of your system. Does all the blood in London have opiates in it?” It was the second night in a row Matthew had gone out with Kit and come home high as a kite.

“Not all,” Matthew purred, “but it is the easiest to come by.”

“What are these?” I held up the sock, the holly, and the scroll.

“They’re for you,” Matthew said. “More arrive every night. Pierre and I collect them before you are awake.”

“When did this start?” I didn’t trust myself to say more.

“The week before— The week you met with the Rede. Most are requests for help. Since you— Since Saturday there have been gifts for you and the baby, too.” Matthew held out his hand. “I’ll take care of them.”

I drew my hand closer to my heart. “Where are the rest?”

Matthew’s mouth tightened, but he showed me where he was keeping them—in a box in the attic, shoved under one of the benches. I picked through the contents, which were somewhat similar to what Jack pulled out of his pockets each night: buttons, bits of ribbon, a piece of broken crockery. There were locks of hair, too, and dozens of pieces of paper inscribed with names. Though they were invisible to most eyes, I could see the jagged threads that hung from every treasure, all waiting to be tied off, joined up, or otherwise mended.

“These are requests for magic.” I looked up at Matthew. “You shouldn’t have kept this from me.”

“I don’t want you performing spells for every creature in the city of London,” Matthew said, his eyes darkening.

“Well, I don’t want you to eat out every night before going drinking with your friends! But you’re a vampire, so sometimes that’s what you need to do,” I retorted. “I’m a witch, Matthew. Requests like this have to be handled carefully. My safety depends on my relations with our neighbors. I can’t go stealing boats like Gallowglass or growling at people.”

“Milord.” Pierre stood at the far end of the attics, where a narrow stair twirled down to a hidden exit behind the laundresses’ giant washtubs.