The Book of Life

32

“The twins are ten days old. Don’t you think they’re a bit young to be made members of a chivalric order?” I yawned and walked up and down the second-floor hallway with Rebecca, who was resentful of being removed from her cozy fireside cradle.

“All new members of the de Clermont family become knights as soon as possible,” Matthew said, passing me with Philip. “It’s tradition.”

“Yes, but most new de Clermonts are grown women and men! And we have to do this at Sept Tours?” My thought processes had slowed to a crawl. As he had promised, Matthew took care of the children during the night, but so long as I was breast-feeding, I was still awakened every few hours.

“There or Jerusalem,” Matthew said.

“Not Jerusalem. In December? Are you mad?” Ysabeau appeared on the landing, silent as a ghost.

“The pilgrims are twelve deep. Besides, the babies should be christened at home, in the church their father built, not in London. Both ceremonies can take place on the same day.”

“Clairmont House is our home at the moment, Maman.” Matthew scowled. He was growing weary of the grandmothers and their constant interference. “And Andrew has volunteered to christen them here, if need be.”

Philip, who had already exhibited an uncanny sensitivity to his father’s mercurial moods, arranged his features in a perfect imitation of Matthew’s frown and waved one arm in the air as if calling for a sword so they could vanquish their enemies together.

“Sept-Tours it is, then,” I said. While Andrew Hubbard was no longer a constant thorn in my side, I was not eager for him to take on the role of the children’s spiritual adviser.

“If you’re sure,” Matthew said.

“Will Baldwin be invited?” I knew Matthew had told him about the twins. Baldwin had sent me a lavish bouquet of flowers and two teething rings made of silver and horn for Rebecca and Philip.

Teething rings were a common gift for newborns, of course, but in this case I felt sure it was a none-too subtle reminder of the vampire blood in their veins.

“Probably. But let’s not worry about that now. Why don’t you take a walk with Ysabeau and Sarah—get out of the house for a little while. There’s plenty of milk if the babies get fussy,” Matthew suggested.

I did as Matthew suggested, though I had the uncomfortable feeling that the babies and I were being positioned on a vast de Clermont chessboard by creatures who had been playing the game for centuries.

That feeling grew stronger with each passing day as we prepared to go to France. There were too many hushed conversations for my peace of mind. But my hands were full with the twins, and I had no time for family politics at the moment.

“Of course I invited Baldwin,” Marcus said. “He has to be there.”

“And Gallowglass?” Matthew asked. He had sent his nephew pictures of the twins, along with their full and rather imposing monikers. Matthew had hoped that Gallowglass might respond when he found out that he was Philip’s godfather and that the baby bore one of his names.

“Give him time,” Marcus said.

But time had not been on Matthew’s side lately, and he had no expectation it would cooperate now.

“There’s been no further word from Benjamin,” Fernando reported. “He’s gone silent. Again.”

“Where the hell is he?” Matthew drove his fingers through his hair.

“We’re doing our best, Matthew. Even as a warmblood, Benjamin was devious to a fault.”

“Fine. If we can’t locate Benjamin, then let’s turn our attention to Knox,” Matthew said. “He’ll be easier to smoke out than Gerbert—and the two of them are providing information to Benjamin. I’m sure of it. I want proof.”

He wouldn’t rest until every creature who posed a danger to Diana or the twins was found and destroyed.

“Ready to go?” Marcus chucked Rebecca under the chin, and her mouth made a perfect O of happiness.

She adored her older brother.

“Where’s Jack?” I said, frazzled. No sooner did I get one child situated than another wandered off.

A simple leave-taking had become a logistical nightmare roughly equivalent to sending a battalion off to war.

“Going for a walk with the beast. Speaking of which, where is Corra?” Fernando asked.

“Safely tucked away.” In fact, Corra and I were having a difficult time of it. She had been restless and moody since the twins’ birth and didn’t appreciate getting wedged back into me for a journey to France. I wasn’t happy with the arrangement myself. Being in sole possession of my body again was glorious.

A series of loud barks and the sudden appearance of the world’s largest floor sweeper heralded Jack’s return.

“Come on, Jack. Don’t keep us waiting,” Marcus called. Jack trotted up to his side, and Marcus held out a set of keys. “Think you can manage to get Sarah, Marthe, and your grandmother to France?”

“Course I can,” Jack said, grabbing at the key ring. He hit the buttons on the key fob, and they unlocked another large vehicle, this one outfitted with a dog bed rather than infant seats.

“How exciting to be setting off for home.” Ysabeau slipped her arm through Jack’s elbow. “I am reminded of the time Philippe asked me to take sixteen wagons from Constantinople to Antioch. The roads were terrible, and there were bandits all along the route. It was a most difficult journey, full of dangers and the threat of death. I had a splendid time.”

“As I recall, you lost most of the wagons,” Matthew said with a dark look. “The horses, too.”

“Not to mention a fair amount of other people’s money,” Fernando recalled.

“Only ten wagons were lost. The other six arrived in perfect condition. As for the money, it was merely reinvested,” Ysabeau said, her voice dripping with hauteur. “Pay no attention, Jack. I will tell you about my adventures as we drive. It will keep your mind off the traffic.”

Phoebe and Marcus set out in one of his trademark blue sports cars—this one British and looking as though James Bond should be driving it. I was beginning to appreciate the value of two-seat automobiles and thought longingly of spending the next nine hours with only Matthew for company.

Given the speed at which Marcus and Phoebe traveled and the fact they wouldn’t have to stop en route for bathroom breaks, diaper changes, and meals, it was not surprising that the couple were waiting for us when we arrived at Sept-Tours, standing at the top of the torchlit stairs along with Alain and Victoire, welcoming us home.

“Milord Marcus tells me we will have a full house for the ceremonies, Madame Ysabeau,” Alain said, greeting his mistress. His wife, Victoire, danced with excitement when she spied the baby carriers and rushed over to lend a hand.

“It will be like the old days, Alain. We will set up cots in the barn for the men. Those who are vampires will not mind the cold, and the rest will get used to it.” Ysabeau sounded unconcerned as she handed Marthe her gloves and turned to help with the babies. They were swaddled within an inch of their lives to protect them from the freezing temperatures. “Are not Milord Philip and Milady Rebecca the most beautiful creatures you have ever seen, Victoire?”

Victoire was incapable of more than oohs and aahs, but Ysabeau seemed to find her response sufficient.

“Shall I help with the babies’ luggage?” Alain asked, surveying the contents of the overstuffed cargo space.

“That would be wonderful, Alain.” Matthew directed him to the bags, totes, portable playpens, and stacks of disposable diapers.

Matthew took a baby carrier in each hand and, with much input from Marthe, Sarah, Ysabeau, and Victoire on the icy state of the stairs, climbed to the front door. Inside, the magnitude of where he was, and why, struck him. Matthew was bringing the latest in a long line of de Clermonts back to their ancestral home. It didn’t matter if our family was only a lowly scion of that distinguished lineage. This was, and would always be, a place steeped in tradition for our children.

“Welcome home.” I kissed him.

He kissed me back, then gave me one of his dazzling, slow smiles. “Thank you, mon coeur.”

Returning to Sept-Tours had been the right decision. Hopefully, no mishaps would darken our otherwise pleasant homecoming.

In the days leading up to the christening, it seemed as though my wishes would be granted.

Sept-Tours was so busy with the preparations for the twins’ christening that I kept expecting Philippe to burst into the room, singing and telling jokes. But it was Marcus who was the life of the household now, roaming all over the place as if he owned it—which I suppose he technically did—and jollying everybody into a more festive mood. For the first time, I could see why Marcus reminded Fernando of Matthew’s father.

When Marcus ordered that all the furniture in the great hall be replaced with long tables and benches capable of seating the expected hordes, I had a dizzying sense of déjà vu as Sept-Tours was transformed back to its medieval self. Only Matthew’s rooms remained unchanged. Marcus had declared them off-limits, since the guests of honor were sleeping there. I retreated to Matthew’s tower at regular intervals to feed, bathe, and change the babies—and to rest from the constant crush of people employed to clean, sort, and move furniture.

“Thank you, Marthe,” I said upon my return from a brisk walk in the garden. She had happily left the crowded kitchen in favor of nanny duty and another of her beloved murder mysteries.

I gave my sleeping son a gentle pat on the back and picked Rebecca up from the cradle. My lips compressed into a thin line at her low weight relative to her brother’s.

“She is hungry.” Marthe’s dark eyes met mine.

“I know.” Rebecca was always hungry and never satisfied. My thoughts danced away from the implications. “Matthew said it’s too early for concern.” I buried my nose in Rebecca’s neck and breathed in her sweet baby smell.

“What does Matthew know?” Marthe snorted. “You are her mother.”

“He wouldn’t like it,” I warned.

“Matthew would like it less if she dies,” Marthe said bluntly.

Still I hesitated. If I followed Marthe’s broad hints without consulting him, Matthew would be furious. But if I asked Matthew for his input, he would tell me that Rebecca was in no immediate danger. That might be true, but she certainly wasn’t brimming over with health and wellness. Her frustrated cries broke my heart.

“Is Matthew still hunting?” If I were going to do this, it had to be when Matthew wasn’t around to fret.

“So far as I know.”

“Shh, it’s all right. Mommy’s going to fix it,” I murmured, sitting down by the fire and undoing my shirt with one hand. I put Rebecca to my right breast, and she latched on immediately, sucking with all her might. Milk dribbled out of the corner of her mouth, and her whimper turned into an outright wail.

She had been easier to feed before my milk came in, as though colostrum were more tolerable to her system.

That was when I’d first started to worry.

“Here.” Marthe held out a sharp, thin knife.

“I don’t need it.” I swung Rebecca onto my shoulder and patted her back. She let out a gassy belch, and a stream of white liquid followed.

“She cannot digest the milk properly,” Marthe said.

“Let’s see how she handles this, then.” I rested Rebecca’s head on my forearm, flicked my fingertips toward the soft, scarred skin at my left elbow where I’d tempted her father to take my blood, and waited while red, life-giving fluid swelled from the veins.

Rebecca was instantly alert.

“Is this what you want?” I curled my arm, pressing her mouth to my skin. I felt the same sense of suction that I did when she nursed at my breast, except that now the child wasn’t fussy—she was ravenous.

Freely flowing venous blood was bound to be noticed in a house full of vampires. Ysabeau was there in moments. Fernando was nearly as quick. Then Matthew appeared like a tornado, his hair disheveled from the wind.

“Everyone. Out.” He pointed to the stairs. Without waiting to see if they obeyed him, he dropped to his knees before me. “What are you doing?”

“I’m feeding your daughter.” Tears stung my eyes.

Rebecca’s contented swallowing was audible in the quiet room.

“Everybody’s been wondering for months what the children would be. Well, here’s one mystery solved: Rebecca needs blood to thrive.” I inserted my pinkie gently between her mouth and my skin to break the suction and slow the flow of blood. “And Philip?” Matthew asked, his face frozen.

“He seems satisfied with my milk,” I said. “Maybe, in time, Rebecca will take to a more varied diet. But for now she needs blood, and she’s going to get it.”

“There are good reasons we don’t turn children into vampires,” Matthew said.

“We have not turned Rebecca into anything. She came to us this way. And she’s not a vampire.

She’s a vampitch. Or a wimpire.” I wasn’t trying to be ridiculous, though the names invited laughter.

“Others will want to know what kind of creature they’re dealing with,” Matthew said.

“Well, they’re going to have to wait,” I snapped. “It’s too soon to tell, and I won’t have people forcing Rebecca into a narrow box for their own convenience.”

“And when her teeth come in? What then?” Matthew asked, his voice rising. “Have you forgotten Jack?”

Ah. So it was the blood rage, more than whether they were vampire or witch, that was worrying Matthew. I passed the soundly sleeping Rebecca to him and buttoned my shirt. When I was finished, he had her tucked tightly against his heart, her head cradled between his chin and shoulder. His eyes were closed, as if to block out what he had seen.

“If Rebecca or Philip has blood rage, then we will deal with it—together, as a family,” I said, brushing the hair from where it had tumbled over his forehead. “Try not to worry so much.”

“Deal with it? How? You can’t reason with a two-year-old in a killing rage,” Matthew said.

“Then I’ll spellbind her.” It wasn’t something we’d discussed, but I’d do it without hesitation. “Just as I’d spellbind Jack, if that was the only way to protect him.”

“You will not do to our children what your parents did to you, Diana. You would never forgive yourself.”

The arrow resting along my spine pricked my shoulder, and the tenth knot writhed on my wrist as the cords within me snapped to attention. This time there was no hesitation.

“To save my family, I’ll do what I must.”

“It’s done,” Matthew said, putting down his phone.

It was the sixth of December, one year and one day since Philippe had marked Diana with his blood vow. On Isola della Stella, a small island in the Venetian lagoon, a sworn testament of her status as a de Clermont sat on the desk of a Congregation functionary waiting to be entered into the family pedigree.

“So Aunt Verin came through in the end,” Marcus said.

“Or Gallowglass.” Fernando hadn’t given up hope that Hugh’s son would return in time for the christening.

“Baldwin did it.” Matthew sat back in his chair and wiped his hands over his face.

Alain appeared with an apology for the interruption, a stack of mail, and a glass of wine. He cast a worried glance at the three vampires huddled around the kitchen fire and left without comment.

Fernando and Marcus looked at each other, their consternation evident.

“Baldwin? But if Baldwin did it . . .” Marcus trailed off.

“He’s more worried about Diana’s safety than the de Clermonts’ reputation,” Matthew finished.

“The question is, what does he know that we don’t?”

The seventh of December was our anniversary, and Sarah and Ysabeau baby-sat the twins to give Matthew and me a few hours on our own. I prepared bottles of milk for Philip, mixed blood and a bit of milk for Rebecca, and brought the pair down to the family library. There Ysabeau and Sarah had constructed a wonderland of blankets, toys, and mobiles to entertain them and were looking forward to the evening with their grandchildren.

When I suggested we would simply have a quiet dinner in Matthew’s tower so as to be within calling distance if there was a problem, Ysabeau handed me a set of keys.

“Dinner is waiting for you at Les Revenants,” she said.

“Les Revenants?” It was not a place I’d heard of before.

“Philippe built the castle to house Crusaders coming home from the Holy Land.” Matthew explained. “It belongs to Maman.

“It’s your house now. I’m giving it to you,” Ysabeau said. “Happy anniversary.”

“It’s too much, Ysabeau,” I protested.

“Les Revenants is better suited to a family than this place is. It is really quite cozy.” Ysabeau’s expression was touched with wistfulness. “And Philippe and I were happy there.”

“Are you sure?” Matthew asked his mother.

“Yes. And you will like it, Diana,” Ysabeau said with a lift of her eyebrows. “All the rooms have doors.”

“How could anyone describe this as cozy?” I asked when we arrived at the house outside Limousin.

Les Revenants was smaller than Sept-Tours, but not by much. There were only four towers, Matthew pointed out, one on each corner of the square keep. But the moat that surrounded it was large enough to qualify as a lake, and the splendid stable complex and beautiful interior courtyard rather took away from any claims that this was more modest than the official de Clermont residence. Inside, however, there was an intimate feeling to the place, in spite of its large public rooms on the ground floor.

Though the castle had been built in the twelfth century, it had been thoroughly renovated and was now fully updated with modern conveniences such as bathrooms, electricity, and even heat in some of the rooms. Despite all that, I was just winding myself up to reject the gift and any idea that we would ever live here when my clever husband showed me the library.

The Gothic Revival room with its beamed ceiling, carved woodwork, large fireplace, and decorative heraldic shields was tucked into the southwest corner of the main building. A large bank of windows overlooked the inner courtyard while another, smaller window framed the Limousin countryside. Bookcases lined the only two straight walls, rising to the ceiling. A curved walnut staircase led up to a gallery that gave access to the higher shelves. It reminded me a bit of Duke Humfrey’s Reading Room, with its dark woodwork and hushed lighting.

“What is all this stuff?” The walnut shelves were filled with boxes and books arranged higgledypiggledy.

“Philippe’s personal papers,” Matthew said. “Maman moved them here after the war. Anything having to do with official de Clermont family business or the Knights of Lazarus is still at Sept-Tours, of course.”

This had to be the most extensive personal archive in the world. I sat with a thunk, suddenly sympathetic to Phoebe’s plight among all the family’s artistic treasures, and I covered my mouth with my hand.

“I suppose you’ll want to sort through them, Dr. Bishop,” Matthew said, planting a kiss on my head.

“Of course I do! They could tell us about the Book of Life and the early days of the Congregation.

There may be letters here that refer to Benjamin and to the witch’s child in Jerusalem.” My mind reeled with the possibilities.

Matthew looked doubtful. “I think you’re more likely to find Philippe’s designs for siege engines and instructions about the care and feeding of horses than anything about Benjamin.”

Every historical instinct told me that Matthew was grossly underestimating the significance of what was here. Two hours after he’d shown me into the room, I was still there, poking among the boxes while Matthew drank wine and humored me by translating texts when they were in ciphers or a language I didn’t know. Poor Alain and Victoire ended up serving the romantic anniversary dinner they’d prepared for us on the library table rather than down in the dining room.

We moved into Les Revenants the next morning, along with the children, and with no further complaints from me about its size, heating bills, or the number of stairs I would be required to climb to take a bath. The last worry was moot in any event, since Philippe had installed a screw-drive elevator in the tall tower after a visit to Russia in 1811. Happily, the elevator had been electrified in 1896 and no longer required the strength of a vampire to turn the crank.

Only Marthe accompanied us to Les Revenants, though Alain and Victoire would have preferred to join us in Limousin and leave Marcus’s house party in other, younger, hands. Marthe cooked and helped Matthew and me get used to the logistical demands of caring for two infants. As Sept-Tours filled up with knights, Fernando and Sarah would join us here—Jack, too, if he found the crush of strangers overwhelming—but for now we were on our own.

Though we rattled around Les Revenants, it gave us a chance to finally be a family. Rebecca was putting on weight now that we knew how to nourish her tiny body properly. And Philip weathered every change of routine and location with his usual thoughtful expression, staring at the light moving against the stone walls or listening with quiet contentment to the sound of me shuffling papers in the library.

Marthe watched over the children whenever we asked her to, giving Matthew and me a chance to reconnect after our weeks of separation and the stresses and joys of the twins’ birth. During those precious moments on our own, we walked hand in hand along the moat and talked about our plans for the house, including where I would plant my witch’s garden to take best advantage of the sunshine and the perfect spot for Matthew to build the twins a tree house.

No matter how wonderful it was to be alone, however, we spent every moment we could with the new lives we had created. We sat before the fire in our bedroom and watched Rebecca and Philip inch and squirm closer, staring at each other with rapt expressions as their hands clasped. The two were always happiest when they were touching, as though the months they’d spent together in my womb had accustomed them to constant contact. They would soon be too large to do so, but for now we put them to sleep in the same cradle. No matter how we arranged them, they always ended up with their tiny arms wrapped tightly around each other and their faces pressed together.

The twins were usually with us when Matthew and I worked in the library, looking for clues about Benjamin’s present whereabouts, the mysterious witch in Jerusalem and her equally mysterious child, and the Book of Life. Philip and Rebecca were soon familiar with the smell of paper and parchment.

Their heads turned to follow the sound of Matthew’s voice reading aloud from documents written in Greek, Latin, Occitan, Old French, ancient German dialects, Old English, and Philippe’s unique patois. Philippe’s linguistic idiosyncrasy was echoed in whatever organizational scheme he had used for storing his personal files and books. Concerted efforts to locate Crusade-era documents, for example, yielded a remarkable letter from Bishop Adhémar justifying the spiritual motives for the First Crusade, bizarrely accompanied by a 1930s shopping list that enumerated the items Philippe wanted Alain to send from Paris: new shoes from Berluti, a copy of La Cuisine en Dix Minutes, and the third volume of The

Science of Life by H. G. Wells, Julian Huxley, and G. P. Wells.

Our time together as a family felt miraculous. There were opportunities for laughter and song, for marveling in the tiny perfection of our children, for confessing how anxious we had both been about the pregnancy and its possible complications.

Though our feelings for each other had never faltered, we reaffirmed them in those quiet, perfect days at Les Revenants even as we braced for the challenges the next weeks would bring.

“These are the knights who have agreed to attend.” Marcus handed Matthew the guest list. His father’s eyes raced down the page.

“Giles. Russell. Excellent.” Matthew flipped the page over. “Addie. Verin. Miriam.” He looked up.

“Whenever did you make Chris a knight?”

“While we were in New Orleans. It seemed right,” Marcus said a touch sheepishly.

“Well done, Marcus. Given who will be in attendance at the children’s christening, I wouldn’t imagine anyone from the Congregation would dare to cause trouble,” Fernando said with a smile. “I think you can relax, Matthew. Diana should be able to enjoy the day as you’d hoped.”

Matthew didn’t look relaxed, however.

“I wish we’d found Knox.” Matthew gazed out the kitchen window at the snow. Like Benjamin, Knox had disappeared without a trace. What this suggested was too terrifying to put into words.

“Shall I question Gerbert?” Fernando asked. They had discussed the possible repercussions if they acted in a way to suggest that Gerbert was a traitor. It could bring the vampires in the southern half of France into open conflict for the first time in more than a millennium.

“Not yet,” Matthew said, reluctant to add to their troubles. “I’ll keep looking through Philippe’s papers. There must be some clue there as to where Benjamin is hiding.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. There cannot be anything more we need to pack for a thirty-minute drive to my mother’s house.” For the past week, Matthew had been making sacrilegious references to the Holy Family and their December journeys, but it was all the more striking today, when the twins were to be christened. Something was bothering him, but he refused to tell me what it was.

“I want to be sure Philip and Rebecca are completely comfortable, given the number of strangers they’ll be meeting,” I said, bouncing Philip up and down in an attempt to get him to burp now rather than spit up halfway through the trip.

“Maybe the cradle can stay?” Matthew said hopefully.

“We have plenty of room to take it with us, and they’re going to need at least one nap. Besides, I’ve been reliably informed that this is the largest motorized vehicle in Limousin, with the exception of Claude Raynard’s hay wagon.” The local populace had bestowed upon Matthew the nickname Gaston Lagaffe after the lovably inept comic book character, and had gently teased him about his grande

guimbarde ever since he ran to the store for bread and got the Range Rover wedged between a tiny Citroën and an even more minuscule Renault.

Matthew slammed the rear hatch shut without comment.

“Stop glowering, Matthew,” Sarah said, joining us in front of the house. “Your children are going to grow up thinking you’re a bear.”

“Don’t you look beautiful,” I commented. Sarah was dressed to the nines in a deep green tailored suit and a luscious cream silk blouse that set off her red hair. She looked both glamorous and festive.

“Agatha made it for me. She knows her stuff,” Sarah said, turning around so we could admire her further. “Oh, before I forget: Ysabeau called. Matthew should ignore all the cars parked along the drive and come straight up to the door. They’ve saved a place for you in the courtyard.”

“Cars? Parked along the drive?” I looked at Matthew in shock.

“Marcus thought it might be a good idea to have some of the knights present,” he said smoothly.

“Why?” My stomach somersaulted as my instincts warned me that all was not as it seemed.

“In case the Congregation decides to take exception to the event,” Matthew said. His eyes met mine, cool and tranquil as a summer sea.

In spite of Ysabeau’s warning, nothing could possibly have prepared me for the enthusiastic welcome we received. Marcus had transformed Sept-Tours into Camelot, with flags and banners twisting in the stiff December breeze, their bright colors standing out against both the snow and the dark local basalt. Atop the square keep, the de Clermont family’s black-and-silver standard with the ouroboros on it had been topped by a large square flag bearing the great seal of the Knights of Lazarus.

The two pieces of silk flapped on the same pole, extending the height of the already tall tower by nearly thirty feet.

“Well, if the Congregation didn’t know something was happening before, they do now,” I said, looking at the spectacle.

“There didn’t seem much point in hiding it,” Matthew said. “We shall start as we intend to go on.

And that means we aren’t going to hide the children from the truth—or the rest of the world.”

I nodded and took his hand in mine.

When Matthew pulled in to the courtyard, it was filled with well-wishers. He carefully navigated the car among the throngs, occasionally stopping by an old friend who wanted to shake his hand and congratulate us on our good fortune. He slammed on the brakes hard, however, when he saw Chris Roberts standing with a large grin on his face and a silver tankard in his hand.

“Hey!” Chris banged on the window with the tankard. “I want to see my goddaughter. Now.”

“Hello, Chris! I didn’t realize you were coming,” Sarah said, lowering the window and giving him a kiss. “I’m a knight. I have to be here.” Chris’s grin grew.

“So I’ve been told,” Sarah said. There had been other warmblooded members before Chris—Walter Raleigh and Henry Percy to name just two—but I had never thought to count my best friend among them.

“Yep. I’m going to make my students call me Sir Christopher next semester,” Chris said.

“Better that than St. Christopher,” said a piercing soprano voice. Miriam grinned, her hands on her hips. The pose showed off the T-shirt she was wearing under a demure navy blazer. It, too, was navy and had SCIENCE: RUINING EVERYTHING SINCE 1543 spelled out across the chest along with a unicorn, an Aristotelian depiction of the heavens, and the outline of God and Adam from Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel. A red bar sinister obliterated each image.

“Hello, Miriam!” I waved.

“Park the car so we can see the sprogs,” she demanded.

Matthew obliged, but when a crowd started to form, he said that the babies needed to be out of the cold and beat a hasty retreat into the kitchen, armed with a diaper bag and using Philip as a shield.

“How many people are here?” I asked Fernando. We had passed dozens of parked cars.

“At least a hundred,” he replied. “I haven’t stopped to count.”

Based on the feverish preparations in the kitchen, there were more than a few warmbloods in attendance. I saw a stuffed goose go into the oven and a pig come out of it, ready to be basted with wine and herbs. My mouth watered at the aromas.

Shortly before eleven in the morning, the church bells in Saint-Lucien pealed. By that time Sarah and I had changed the twins into matching white gowns made of silk and lace and little caps sewn by Marthe and Victoire. They looked every inch sixteenth-century babies. We bundled them into blankets and made our way downstairs.

It was then that the ceremonies took an unexpected turn. Sarah climbed into one of the family’s ATVs with Ysabeau, and Marcus directed us to the Range Rover. Once we were strapped in, Marcus drove us not to the church but to the goddess’s temple on the mountain.

My eyes filled at the sight of the well-wishers gathered beneath the oak and cypress. Only some of the faces were familiar to me, but Matthew recognized far more. I spotted Sophie and Margaret, with Nathaniel by their side. Agatha Wilson was there, too, looking at me vaguely as though she recognized but wasn’t able to place me. Amira and Hamish stood together, both looking slightly overwhelmed by all the ceremony. But it was the dozens of unfamiliar vampires present who surprised me most. Their stares were cold and curious, but not malicious.

“What is this about?” I asked Matthew when he opened my door.

“I thought we should divide the ceremony into two parts: a pagan naming ceremony here, and a Christian baptism at the church,” he explained. “That way Emily could be a part of the babies’ day.”

Matthew’s thoughtfulness—and his efforts to remember Em—rendered me temporarily mute. I knew he was always hatching plans and conducting business while I slept. I hadn’t imagined his nocturnal work included overseeing the arrangements for the christening.

“Is it all right, mon coeur?” he asked, anxious at my silence. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“It’s perfect,” I said when I was able. “And it will mean so much to Sarah.”

The guests formed a circle around the ancient altar dedicated to the goddess. Sarah, Matthew, and I took our places within it. My aunt had anticipated that I wouldn’t remember a single word of any baby naming ritual that I had ever witnessed or taken part in, and she was prepared to officiate. The ceremony was a simple but important moment in a young witch’s life, since it was a formal welcome into the community. But there was more to it than that, as Sarah knew.

“Welcome, friends and family of Diana and Matthew,” Sarah began, her cheeks pink with cold and excitement. “We are gathered here today to bestow upon their children the names that they will take with them as they go into the world. Among witches to call something by name is to recognize its power. By naming these children, we honor the goddess who entrusted them to our care and express gratitude for the gifts she has given them.” Matthew and I had used a formula to come up with the babies’ names—and I had vetoed the vampire tradition of five first names in favor of an elemental foursome. With a hyphenated last name, that seemed ample. Each of the babies’ first names came from a grandparent. Their second name honored the de Clermont tradition of bestowing the names of archangels on members of the family. We took their third name from yet another grandparent. For the fourth and final name, we selected someone who had been important to their conception and birth.

No one knew the babies’ full names until now—except for Matthew, Sarah, and me.

Sarah directed Matthew to hold Rebecca up so that her face was turned to the sky.

“Rebecca Arielle Emily Marthe,” Sarah said, her voice ringing through the clearing, “we welcome you into the world and into our hearts. Go forth with the knowledge that all here will recognize you by this honorable name and hold your life sacred.”

Rebecca Arielle Emily Marthe, the trees and the wind whispered back. I was not the only one to hear it. Amira’s eyes widened, and Margaret Wilson cooed and waved her arms in joy.

Matthew lowered Rebecca, his expression full of love as he looked down on the daughter who resembled him so much. Rebecca reached up and touched his nose with her delicate finger in return, a gesture of connection that filled my heart to bursting.

When it was my turn, I lifted Philip to the sky, offering him to the goddess and the elements of fire, air, earth, and water.

“Philip Michael Addison Sorley,” Sarah said, “we also welcome you into the world and into our hearts. Go forth knowing that all present will recognize you by this honorable name and hold your life sacred.”

The vampires exchanged glances when they heard Philip’s last given name and searched the crowd for Gallowglass. We had chosen Addison because it was my father’s middle name, but Sorley belonged to the absent Gael. I wished he had been able to hear it echo through the trees.

“May Rebecca and Philip bear their names proudly, grow into their promise in the fullness of time, and trust that they will be cherished and protected by all those who have borne witness to the love their parents have for them. Blessed be,” Sarah said, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

It was impossible to find a dry eye in the clearing or to know who was the most moved by the ceremony. Even my normally vocal daughter was awed by the occasion and sucked pensively on her lower lip.

From the clearing we decamped to the church. The vampires walked, beating everybody down the hill. The rest of us used a combination of ATVs and cars with four-wheel drive, which led to much self congratulation on Matthew’s part as to the wisdom of his automotive preferences.

At the church the crowd of witnesses swelled to include people from the village, and, as on the day of our marriage, the priest was waiting for us at the door.

“Does every Catholic religious ceremony take place in the open air?” I asked, tucking Philip’s blanket more firmly around him.

“A fair few of them,” Fernando replied. “It never made any sense to me, but I am an infidel, after all.”

“Shh,” Marcus warned, eyeing the priest with concern. “Père Antoine is admirably ecumenical and agreed to pass lightly over the usual exorcisms, but let’s not push him. Now, does anyone know the words of the ceremony?”

“I do,” Jack said.

“Me, too,” Miriam said.

“Good. Jack will take Philip, and Miriam will hold Rebecca. You two can do the talking. The rest of us will look attentive and nod when it seems appropriate,” Marcus said, his bonhomie unwavering.

He gave the priest a thumbs-up. “Nous sommes prêts, Père Antoine!”

Matthew took my arm and steered me inside.

“Are they going to be okay?” I whispered. The godparents included only one lonely Catholic, accompanied by a converso, a Baptist, two Presbyterians, one Anglican, three witches, a daemon, and three vampires of uncertain religious persuasion.

“This is a house of prayer, and I beseeched God to watch over them,” Matthew murmured as we took our places near the altar. “Hopefully, He is listening.”

But neither we—nor God—needed to worry. Jack and Miriam answered all the priest’s questions about their faith and the state of the children’s souls in perfect Latin. Philip chortled when the priest blew on his face to expel any evil spirits and objected strenuously when salt was put in his tiny mouth.

Rebecca seemed more interested in Miriam’s long curls, one of which was clenched in her fist.

As for the rest of the godparents, they were a formidable group. Fernando, Marcus, Chris, Marthe, and Sarah (in place of Vivian Harrison, who could not be there) served with Miriam as godparents for Rebecca. Jack, along with Hamish, Phoebe, Sophie, Amira, and Ysabeau (who stood up for her absent grandson Gallowglass) promised to guide and care for Philip. Even for a nonbeliever such as myself, the ancient words spoken by the priest made me feel that these children were going to be looked after and cared for, no matter what might happen.

The ceremony drew to a close, and Matthew visibly relaxed. Père Antoine asked Matthew and me to come forward and take Rebecca and Philip from their godparents. When we faced the congregation for the first time, there was one spontaneous cheer, then another.

“And there’s an end to the covenant!” a unfamiliar vampire said in a loud voice. “About bloody time, too.”

“Hear, hear, Russell,” several murmured in reply.

The bells rang out overhead. My smile turned to laughter as we were caught up in the happiness of the moment.

As usual, that was when everything started to go wrong.

The south door opened, letting in a gust of cold air. A man stood silhouetted against the light. I squinted, trying to make out his features. Throughout the church, vampires seemed to vanish only to reappear in the nave, barring the new arrival from coming any further inside. I drew closer to Matthew, holding Rebecca tight. The bells fell silent, though the air still reverberated with their final echoes.

“Congratulations, sister.” Baldwin’s deep voice filled the space. “I’ve come to welcome your children into the de Clermont family.”

Matthew drew himself up to his full height. Without a backward look, he handed Philip to Jack and marched down the aisle to his brother.

“Our children are not de Clermonts,” Matthew said coldly. He reached into his jacket and thrust a folded document at Baldwin. “They belong to me.”

33

The creatures gathered for the christening let out a collective gasp. Ysabeau signaled to Père Antoine, who quickly shepherded the villagers from the church. Then she and Fernando took up watchful positions on either side of Jack and me.

“Surely you don’t expect me to acknowledge a corrupt, diseased branch of this family and give it my blessing and respect?” Baldwin crumpled the document in his fist.

Jack’s eyes blackened at the insult.

“Matthew entrusted Philip to you. You are responsible for your godson,” Ysabeau reminded Jack.

“Do not let Baldwin’s words provoke you to ignore your sire’s wishes.”

Jack drew a deep, shaky breath and nodded. Philip cooed for Jack’s attention, and when he received it, he rewarded his godfather with a frown of concern. When Jack looked up again, his eyes were green and brown once again.

“This hardly seems like friendly behavior to me, Uncle Baldwin,” Marcus said calmly. “Let’s wait and discuss family business after the feast.”

“No, Marcus. We’ll discuss it now and get it over with,” Matthew said, countermanding his son.

In another time and place, Henry VIII’s courtiers had delivered the news of his fifth wife’s infidelity in church so that the king would think twice before killing the messenger. Matthew apparently believed it might keep Baldwin from killing him, too.

When Matthew suddenly appeared behind his brother, having only a moment before been in front, I realized that his decision to remain here was actually intended to protect Baldwin. Matthew, like Henry, would not shed blood on holy ground.

That did not mean, however, that Matthew was going to be entirely merciful. He had his brother in an unbreakable hold, with one long arm wrapped around Baldwin’s neck so that Matthew was grasping his own right bicep. His right hand drove into Baldwin’s shoulder blade with enough force to snap it in two, his expression devoid of emotion and his eyes balanced evenly between gray and black.

“And that is why you never let Matthew Clairmont come up behind you,” one vampire murmured to another.

“Soon it will hurt like hell, too,” his friend replied. “Unless Baldwin blacks out first.”

Wordlessly I passed Rebecca to Miriam. My hands were itching with power, and I hid them in the pockets of my coat. The arrow’s silver shaft felt heavy against my spine, and Corra was on high alert, her wings ready to spring open. After New Haven my familiar didn’t trust Baldwin any more than I did.

Baldwin almost succeeded in overcoming Matthew—or at least I thought he had. Before I could cry out in warning, it became evident that Baldwin’s seeming advantage was only a clever trick by Matthew to lull him into changing his position. When he did, Matthew used Baldwin’s own weight and a quick, bone-cracking kick to his brother’s leg to drop him to his knees. Baldwin let out a strangled grunt.

It was a vivid reminder that though Baldwin might be the bigger man in height and heft, Matthew was the killer.

“Now, sieur.” Matthew’s arm lifted slightly so that his brother hung by his chin, putting more pressure on his neck. “It would please me if you would reconsider my respectful request to establish a de Clermont scion.”

“Never,” Baldwin gurgled out. His lips were turning blue from lack of oxygen.

“My wife tells me that the word ‘never’ is not to be used where the Bishop-Clairmonts are concerned.” Matthew’s arm tightened, and Baldwin’s eyes began to roll back into his head. “I’m not going to let you pass out, by the way, nor am I going to kill you. If you’re unconscious or dead, you can’t agree to my request. So if you’re determined to keep saying no, you can look forward to many hours of this.”

“Let. Me. Go.” Baldwin struggled to get each word out. Deliberately Matthew let him take a short, gasping breath. It was enough to keep the vampire going but not to permit him to recover.

“Let me go, Baldwin. After all these years, I want to be something more than the de Clermont family’s black sheep,” Matthew murmured.

“No,” Baldwin said thickly.

Matthew adjusted his arm so that his brother could get out more than a word or two at a time, though this still didn’t remove the bluish cast from his lips. Matthew took the wise precaution of driving the heel of his shoe into his brother’s ankle in case Baldwin planned on using the extra oxygen to fight back. Baldwin howled.

“Take Rebecca and Philip back to Sept-Tours,” I told Miriam, pushing up my sleeves. I didn’t want them to see their father like this. Nor did I want them to see their mother use magic against a member of their family. The wind picked up around my feet, swirling the dust in the church into miniature tornadoes. The flames in the candelabrum danced, ready to do my bidding, and the water in the baptismal font began to bubble.

“Release me and mine, Baldwin,” Matthew said. “You don’t want us anyway.”

“Might . . . need . . . you. My. . . . killer . . . after . . . all,” Baldwin replied.

The church erupted into shocked exclamations and whispered exchanges as this de Clermont secret was openly mentioned, though I was sure that some present knew the role Matthew had played in the family.

“Do your own dirty work for a change,” Matthew said. “God knows you’re as capable of murder as I am.”

“You. Different. Twins. Have blood rage. Too?” Baldwin bit out.

The assembled guests fell silent.

“Blood rage?” A vampire’s voice cut through the quiet, his Irish accent slight but noticeable. “What is he talking about, Matthew?” The vampires in the church traded worried glances as the murmur of conversation resumed. Blood rage was clearly more than they had bargained for when they’d accepted Marcus’s invitation. Fighting the Congregation and protecting vampire-witch children was one thing. A disease that might transform you into a bloodthirsty monster was quite another.

“Baldwin told you true, Giles. My blood is tainted,” Matthew said. His eyes locked with mine, the pupils slightly enlarged. Leave while you can, they silently urged.

But this time Matthew would not be alone. I pushed my way past Ysabeau and Fernando and headed for my husband’s side.

“That means Marcus . . .” Giles trailed off. His eyes narrowed. “We cannot allow the Knights of Lazarus to be led by someone with blood rage. It is impossible.”

“Don’t be such a bloody lobcock,” the vampire next to Giles said in a crisp British accent.

“Matthew’s already been Grand Master, and we were none the wiser. In fact, if memory serves, Matthew was an uncommonly good commander of the brotherhood in more than one tricky situation. I believe that Marcus, though a rebel and a traitor, shows promise as well.” The vampire smiled, but his nod toward Marcus was respectful.

“Thank you, Russell,” Marcus said. “Coming from you, that’s a compliment.”

“Terribly sorry about the brotherhood slip, Miriam,” Russell said with a wink. “And I’m no physician, but I do believe that Matthew is about to render Baldwin unconscious.”

Matthew adjusted his arm slightly, and Baldwin’s eyeballs returned to their normal position.

“My father’s blood rage is under control. There’s no reason for us to act out of fear and superstition,” Marcus said, addressing everyone in the church. “The Knights of Lazarus were founded to protect the vulnerable. Every member of the order swore an oath to defend all his or her fellow knights to the death. I needn’t remind anyone here that Matthew is a knight. So, too, are his children.”

The need for an infant investiture for Rebecca and Philip made sense now.

“So what do you say, Uncle?” Marcus strode down the aisle to stand before Baldwin and Matthew. “Are you still a knight, or have you become a coward in your old age?”

Baldwin turned purple—and not from lack of oxygen.

“Careful, Marcus,” Matthew warned. “I will have to let him go eventually.”

“Knight.” Baldwin looked at Marcus with loathing.

“Then start behaving like one and treat my father with the respect he’s earned.” Marcus looked around the church. “Matthew and Diana want to establish a scion, and the Knights of Lazarus will support them when they do. Anybody who disagrees is welcome to formally challenge my leadership.

Otherwise the matter is not up for discussion.”

The church was absolutely silent.

Matthew’s lips lifted into a smile. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Marcus said. “We’ve still got the Congregation to contend with.”

“An unpleasant task, to be sure, but not an unmanageable one,” Russell said drily. “Let Baldwin go, Matthew. Your brother has never been very fast, and Oliver is at your left elbow. He’s been longing to teach Baldwin a lesson ever since your brother broke his daughter’s heart.”

Several of the guests chuckled and the winds of opinion began to blow in our favor.

Slowly Matthew did as Russell suggested. He made no attempt to get away from his brother or to shield me. Baldwin remained on his knees for a few moments, then climbed to his feet. As soon as he did, Matthew knelt before him.

“I place my trust in you, sieur,” Matthew said, bowing his head. “I ask for your trust in return.

Neither I nor mine will dishonor the de Clermont family.”

“You know I cannot, Matthew,” Baldwin said. “A vampire with blood rage is never in control, not absolutely.” His eyes flickered to Jack, but it was Benjamin he was thinking of—and Matthew.

“And if a vampire could be?” I demanded.

“Diana, this is no time for wishful thinking. I know that you and Matthew have been hoping for a cure, but—”

“If I gave you my word, as Philippe’s blood-sworn daughter, that any of Matthew’s kin with blood rage can be brought under control, would you recognize him as the head of his family?” I was inches away from Baldwin, and my power was humming. My suspicion that my disguising spell had burned away was borne out by the curious looks I received.

“You can’t promise that,” Baldwin said.

“Diana, don’t—” Matthew began, but I cut him off with a look.

“I can and I do. We don’t have to wait for science to come up with a solution when a magical one already exists. If any member of Matthew’s family acts on their blood rage, I will spellbind them,” I said. “Agreed?”

Matthew stared at me in shock. And with good reason. This time last year I was still clinging to the belief that science was superior to magic.

“No,” Baldwin said with a shake of his head. “Your word is not good enough. You would have to prove it. Then we would all have to wait and see if your magic is as good as you think it is, witch.”

“Very well,” I said promptly. “Our probation starts now.”

Baldwin’s eyes narrowed. Matthew looked up at his brother.

“Queen checks king,” Matthew said softly.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, brother.” Baldwin hoisted Matthew to his feet. “Our game is far from over.”

“It was left in Père Antoine’s office,” Fernando said. “No one saw who brought it.”

Matthew looked down at the preserved stillborn fetus. A girl.

“He’s even more insane than I thought.” Baldwin looked pale, and not just because of what had happened in the church.

Matthew read the note again.

“Congratulations on your children’s birth,” it said. “I wanted you to have my daughter, since I will soon possess yours.” The note was signed simply “Your son.”

“Someone is reporting your every move to Benjamin,” Baldwin said.

“The question is who.” Fernando put his hand on Matthew’s arm. “We won’t let him take Rebecca—or Diana.”

The prospect was so chilling that Matthew could only nod.

In spite of Fernando’s assurances, Matthew would not know another moment’s peace until Benjamin Fuchs was dead.

After the drama of the christening, the rest of the winter holiday was a quiet family affair. Our guests departed, except for the extended Wilson family, who remained at Sept-Tours to enjoy what Agatha Wilson described as “very merry mayhem.” Chris and Miriam returned to Yale, still committed to reaching a better understanding of blood rage and its possible treatment. Baldwin took off for Venice at the earliest opportunity to try to manage the Congregation’s response to any news trickling in from France.

Matthew flung himself into Christmas preparations, determined to banish any lingering sourness after the christening. He went off into the woods on the other side of the moat and came back with a tall fir tree for the great hall, which he draped with tiny white lights that shone like fireflies.

Remembering Philippe and his decorations for Yule, we cut moons and stars out of silver and gold paper. With the combination of a flying spell and a binding charm, I swirled them into the air and let them settle onto the branches, where they winked and sparkled in the firelight.

Matthew went to Saint-Lucien for mass on Christmas Eve. He and Jack were the only vampires in attendance, which pleased Père Antoine. After the christening he was understandably reluctant to have too many creatures in his pews.

The children were fed and sleeping soundly when Matthew returned, stomping the snow from his shoes. I was sitting by the fire in the great hall with a bottle of Matthew’s favorite wine and two glasses. Marcus had assured me that a single glass every now and again wouldn’t affect the babies, provided I waited a couple of hours before I nursed.

“Peace, perfect peace,” Matthew said, cocking his head for signs that the babies were stirring.

“Silent night, holy night,” I agreed with a grin, leaning over to switch off the baby monitor. Like blood-pressure cuffs and power tools, such equipment was optional in a vampire household.

While I fiddled with the controls, Matthew tackled me. Weeks of separation and standing up to Baldwin had brought out his playful side.

“Your nose is freezing,” I said, giggling as he drew its tip along the warm skin of my neck. I gasped. “Your hands, too.”

“Why do you think I took a warmblood for a wife?” Matthew’s icy fingers rummaged around underneath my sweater.

“Wouldn’t a hot-water bottle have been less trouble?” I teased. His fingers found what they sought, and I arched into his touch.

“Perhaps.” Matthew kissed me. “But not nearly so much fun.”

The wine forgotten, we marked the hours until midnight in heartbeats rather than minutes. When the bells of the nearby churches in Dournazac and Châlus rang to celebrate the birth of a child in long ago and far-away Bethlehem, Matthew paused to listen to the solemn yet still-exuberant sound.

“What are you thinking?” I asked as the bells died away.

“I was remembering how the village celebrated Saturnalia when I was a child. There were not many Christians, apart from my parents and a few other families. On the last day of the festival—the twenty-third of December—Philippe went to every house, pagan and Christian, and asked the children what they wished for the New Year.” Matthew’s smile was wistful. “When we woke up the next morning, we discovered that our wishes had been granted.”

“That sounds like your father,” I observed. “What did you wish for?”

“More food, usually,” Matthew said with a laugh. “My mother said the only way to account for the amount I ate was hollow legs. Once I asked for a sword. Every boy in the village idolized Hugh and Baldwin. We all wanted to be like them. As I recall, the sword I received was made of wood and broke the first time I swung it.”

“And now?” I whispered, kissing his eyes, his cheeks, his mouth.

“Now I want nothing more than to grow old with you,” Matthew said.

The family came to us on Christmas Day, saving us from having to bundle up Rebecca and Philip yet again. From the changes to their routine, the twins were aware that this was no ordinary day. They demanded to be part of things, and I finally took them to the kitchen with me to keep them quiet. There I constructed a magical mobile out of flying fruit to occupy them while I helped Marthe put the finishing touches on a meal that would make both vampires and warmbloods happy.

Matthew was a nuisance, too, picking at the dish of nuts I’d whipped up from Em’s recipe. At this point if any of them lasted till dinner, it was going to be a Christmas miracle.

“Just one more,” he wheedled, sliding his hands around my waist.

“You’ve eaten half a pound of them already. Leave some for Marcus and Jack.” I wasn’t sure if vampires got sugar highs, but I wasn’t eager to find out. “Still liking your Christmas present?”

I’d been trying to figure out what to get the man who had everything ever since the children were born, but when Matthew told me his wish was to grow old with me, I knew exactly what to do for his present.

“I love it.” He touched his temples, where a few silver strands showed in the black.

“You always said I was going to give you gray hairs.” I grinned.

“And I thought it was impossible. That was before I learned that impossible n’est pas Diana,” he said, paraphrasing Ysabeau. Matthew grabbed a handful of nuts and went to the babies before I could react. “Hello, beauty.”

Rebecca cooed in response. She and Philip shared a complex vocabulary of coos, grunts, and other soft sounds that Matthew and I were trying to master.

“That’s definitely one of her happy noises,” I said, putting a pan of cookies in the oven. Rebecca adored her father, especially when he sang. Philip was less sure that singing was a good idea.

“And are you happy, too, little man?” Matthew picked Philip up from his bouncy seat, narrowly missing the flying banana I’d tossed into the mobile at the last minute. It was like a bright yellow comet, streaking through the other orbiting fruit. “What a lucky boy you are to have a mother who will make magic for you.”

Philip, like most babies his age, was all eyes as he watched the orange and the lime circle the grapefruit I’d suspended in midair.

“He won’t always think that having a witch for a mommy is so wonderful.” I went to the fridge and searched for the vegetables I needed for the gratin. When I closed the door, I discovered Matthew waiting for me behind it. I jumped in surprise.

“You have to start making a noise or giving me some other clue to warn me that you’re moving,” I complained, pressing my hand against my hammering heart.

Matthew’s compressed lips told me that he was annoyed.

“Do you see that woman, Philip?” He pointed to me, and Philip directed his wiggling head my way.

“She is a brilliant scholar and a powerful witch, though she doesn’t like to admit it. And you have the great good fortune to call her Maman. That means you are one of the few creatures who will ever learn this family’s most cherished secret.” Matthew drew Philip close to him and murmured something in his ear.

When Matthew finished and drew away, Philip looked up at his father—and smiled. This was the first time either of the babies had done so, but I had seen this particular expression of happiness before.

It was slow and genuine and lit his entire face from within.

Philip might have my hair, but he had Matthew’s smile.

“Exactly right.” Matthew nodded at his son with approval and returned Philip to his bouncy chair. Rebecca looked at Matthew with a frown, slightly irritated at having been left out of the boys’ discussion. Matthew obligingly whispered in her ear as well, then blew a raspberry on her belly.

Rebecca’s eyes and mouth were round, as though her father’s words had impressed her—though I suspected that the raspberry might have something to do with it, too.

“What nonsense have you told them?” I asked, attacking a potato with a peeler. Matthew removed the two from my fingers.

“It wasn’t nonsense,” he said calmly. Three seconds later the potato was entirely without skin. He took another from the bowl.

“Tell me.”

“Come closer,” he said, beckoning to me with the peeler. I took a few steps in his direction. He beckoned again. “Closer.”

When I was standing right next to him, Matthew bent his face toward mine.

“The secret is that I may be the head of the Bishop-Clairmont family, but you are its heart,” he whispered. “And the three of us are in perfect agreement: The heart is more important.”

Matthew had already passed over the box containing letters between Philippe and Godfrey several times.

It was only out of desperation that he riffled through the pages.

“My most reverend sire and father,”Godfrey’s letter began.

“The most dangerous among The Sixteen have been executed in Paris, as you

ordered. As Matthew was unavailable for the job, Mayenne was happy to oblige, and

thanks you for your assistance with the matter of the Gonzaga family. Now that he feels

secure, the duke has decided to play both sides, negotiating with Henri of Navarre and

Philip of Spain at the same time. But cleverness is not wisdom, as you are wont to say.”

So far the letter contained nothing more than references to Philippe’s political machinations.

“As for the other matter,” Godfrey continued,“I have found Benjamin Ben-Gabriel

as the Jews call him, or Benjamin Fuchs as the emperor knows him, or Benjamin the

Blessed as he prefers. He is in the east as you feared, moving between the emperor’s

court, the Báthory, the Drăculeşti, and His Imperial Majesty in Constantinople. There are

worrying tales of Benjamin’s relationship with Countess Erzsébet, which, if circulated

more widely, will result in Congregation inquiries detrimental to the family and those we

hold dear.

“Matthew’s term on the Congregation is near an end, as he will have served his half

century. If you will not involve him in business that so directly concerns him and his

bloodline, then I beg you to see to it yourself or to send some trusted person to Hungary

with all speed.

“In addition to the tales of excess and murder with Countess Erzsébet, the Jews of

Prague similarly speak of the terror Benjamin caused in their district, when he

threatened their beloved rabbi and a witch from Chelm. Now there are impossible tales of

an enchanted creature made of clay who roams the streets protecting the Jews from those

who would feast on their blood. The Jews say Benjamin seeks another witch as well, an

Englishwoman who they claim was last seen with Ysabeau’s son. But this cannot be true,

for Matthew is in England and would never lower himself to associate with a witch.”

Matthew’s breath hissed from between tight lips.

“Perhaps they confuse the English witch with the English daemon Edward Kelley,

whom Benjamin visited in the emperor’s palace in May. According to your friend Joris

Hoefnagel, Kelley was placed in Benjamin’s custody a few weeks later after he was

accused of murdering one of the emperor’s servants. Benjamin took him to a castle in

Křivoklát, where Kelley tried to escape and nearly died. “There is one more piece of

intelligence I must share with you, father, though I hesitate to do so, for it may

be nothing more than the stuff of fantasy and fear. According to my informants,

Gerbert was in Hungary with the countess and Benjamin. The witches of Pozsony have

complained formally to the Congregation about women who have been taken and tortured

by these three infamous creatures. One witch escaped and before death took her was

able only to say these words: ‘They search within us for the Book of Life.’”

Matthew remembered the horrifying image of Diana’s parents, split open from throat to groin.

“These dark matters put the family in too much danger. Gerbert cannot be allowed

to fascinate Benjamin with the power that witches have, as he has been. Matthew’s son

must be kept away from Erzsébet Báthory, lest your mate’s secret be discovered. And we

must not let the witches pursue the Book of Life any further. You will know how best to

achieve these ends, whether by seeing to them yourself or by summoning the brotherhood.

“I remain your humble servant and entrust your soul to God in the hope that He will

see us safe together so we might speak more of these matters than present circumstances

make wise.”

“Your loving son, Godfrey

“From the Confrérie, Paris this 20th day of December 1591”

Matthew folded the letter carefully.

At last he had some idea where to look. He would go to Central Europe and search for Benjamin himself. But first he had to tell Diana what he’d learned. He had kept the news of Benjamin from her as long as he could.

The babies’ first Christmas was as loving and festive as anyone could wish. With eight vampires, two witches, one human vampire-in-waiting, and three dogs in attendance, it was also lively.

Matthew showed off the half dozen strands of gray hair that had resulted from my Christmas spell and explained happily that every year I’d give him more. I had asked for a six-slice toaster, which I had received, along with a beautiful antique pen inlaid with silver and mother-of-pearl. Ysabeau criticized these gifts as insufficiently romantic for a couple so recently wed, but I didn’t need more jewelry, had no interest in traveling, and wasn’t interested in clothes. A toaster suited me to the ground.

Phoebe had encouraged the entire family to think of gifts that were handmade or hand-me-down, which struck us all as both meaningful and practical. Jack modeled the sweater Marthe had knit for him and the cuff links from his grandmother that had once belonged to Philippe. Phoebe wore a pair of glittering emeralds in her ears that I’d assumed had come from Marcus until she blushed furiously and explained that Marcus had given her something handmade, which she had left at Sept-Tours for safety’s sake. Given her color, I decided not to inquire further. Sarah and Ysabeau were pleased with the photo albums we’d presented that documented the twins’ first month of life.

Then the ponies arrived.

“Philip and Rebecca must ride, of course,” Ysabeau said as though this were self-evident. She supervised as her groom, Georges, led two small horses off the trailer. “This way they can grow accustomed to the horses before you put them in the saddle.” I suspected she and I might have different ideas on how soon that blessed day might occur.

“They are Paso Finos,” Ysabeau continued. “I thought an Andalusian like yours might be too much for a beginner. Phoebe said we are supposed to give hand-it-overs, but I have never been a slave to principle.” Georges led a third animal from the trailer: Rakasa.

“Diana’s been asking for a pony since she could talk. Now she’s finally got one,” Sarah said. When Rakasa decided to investigate her pockets for anything interesting such as apples or peppermints, Sarah jumped away. “Horses have big teeth, don’t they?”

“Perhaps Diana will have better luck teaching her manners than I did,” Ysabeau said.

“Here, give her to me,” Jack said, taking the horse’s lead rope. Rakasa followed him, docile as a lamb.

“I thought you were a city boy,” Sarah called after him.

“My first job—well, my first honest job—was taking care of gentlemen’s horses at the Cardinal’s Hat,” Jack said. “You forget, Granny Sarah, cities used to be full of horses. Pigs, too. And their sh—”

“Where there’s livestock, there’s that,” Marcus said before Jack could finish. The young Paso Fino he was holding had already proved his point. “You’ve got the other one, sweetheart?”

Phoebe nodded, completely at ease with her equine charge. She and Marcus followed Jack to the stables.

“The little mare, Rosita, has established herself as head of the herd,” Ysabeau said. “I would have brought Balthasar, too, but as Rosita brings out his amorous side I’ve left him at Sept-Tours—for now.”

The idea that Matthew’s enormous stallion would try to act upon his intentions with a horse as small as Rosita was inconceivable.

We were sitting in the library after dinner, surrounded by the remains of Philippe de Clermont’s long life, a fire crackling in the enormous stone fireplace, when Jack stood and went to Matthew’s side.

“This is for you. Well, for all of us, really. Grand-mère said that all families of worth have them.”

Jack handed Matthew a piece of paper. “If you like it, Fernando and I will have it made into a standard for the tower.”

Matthew stared down at the paper.

“If you don’t like it—” Jack reached to reclaim his gift. Matthew’s arm shot out and he caught Jack by the wrist.

“I think it’s perfect.” Matthew looked up at the boy who would always be like our firstborn child, though I had nothing to do with his warmblooded birth and Matthew was not responsible for his rebirth.

“Show it to your mother. See what she thinks.”

Expecting a monogram or a heraldic shield, I was stunned to see the image Jack had devised to symbolize our family. It was an entirely new orobouros, made not of a single snake with a tail in its mouth but two creatures locked forever in a circle with no beginning and no ending. One was the de Clermont serpent. The other was a firedrake, her two legs tucked against her body and her wings extended. A crown rested on the firedrake’s head.

“Grand-mère said the firedrake should wear a crown because you’re a true de Clermont and outrank the rest of us,” Jack explained matter-of-factly. He picked nervously at the pocket of his jeans.

“I can take the crown off. And make the wings smaller.”

“Matthew’s right. It’s already perfect.” I reached for his hand and pulled him down so I could give him a kiss. “Thank you, Jack.”

Everyone admired the official emblem of the Bishop-Clairmont family, and Ysabeau explained that new silver and china would have to be ordered, as well as a flag.

“What a lovely day,” I said, one arm around Matthew and the other waving farewell to our family as they departed, my left thumb prickling in sudden warning.

“I don’t care how reasonable your plan is. Diana’s not going to let you go to Hungary and Poland without her,” Fernando said. “Have you forgotten what happened to you when you left her to go to New Orleans?”

Fernando, Marcus, and Matthew had spent most of the hours between midnight and dawn arguing over what to do about Godfrey’s letter.

“Diana must go to Oxford. Only she can find the Book of Life,” Matthew said. “If something goes wrong and I can’t find Benjamin, I’ll need that manuscript to lure him into the open.”

“And when you do find him?” Marcus said sharply.

“Your job is to take care of Diana and my children,” Matthew said, equally sharp. “Leave Benjamin to me.”

I watched the heavens for auguries and plucked at every thread that seemed out of place to try to foresee and rectify whatever evil was abroad.

But the trouble did not gallop over the hill like an apocalyptic horseman, or cruise into the driveway, or even call on the phone.

The trouble was already in the house—and had been for some time.

I found Matthew in the library late one afternoon a few days after Christmas, several folded sheets of paper before him. My hands turned every color in the rainbow, and my heart sank.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“A letter from Godfrey.” He slid it in my direction. I glanced at it, but it was written in Old French.

“Read it to me,” I said, sitting down next to him.

The truth was far worse than I had allowed myself to imagine. Benjamin’s killing spree had lasted centuries. He’d preyed on witches, and very probably weavers in particular. Gerbert was almost certainly involved. And that one phrase—“They search within us for the Book of Life”—turned my blood to fire and ice.

“We have to stop him, Matthew. If he finds out we’ve had a daughter . . .” I trailed off. Benjamin’s final words to me in the Bodleian haunted me. When I thought of what he might try to do to Rebecca, the power snapped through my veins like the lash of a whip.

“He already knows.” Matthew met my eyes, and I gasped at the rage I saw there.

“Since when?”

“Sometime before the christening,” Matthew said. “I’m going to look for him, Diana.”

“How will you find him?” I asked.

“Not by using computers or by trying to find his IP address. He’s too clever for that. I’ll find him the way I know best: tracking him, scenting him, cornering him,” Matthew said. “Once I do that, I’ll tear him limb from limb. If I fail—”

“You can’t,” I said flatly.

“I may.” Matthew’s eyes met mine. He needed me to hear him, not reassure him.

“Okay,” I said with a calmness I didn’t feel, “what happens if you fail?”

“You’ll need the Book of Life. It’s the only thing that may lure Benjamin out of hiding so he can be destroyed—once and for all.”

“The only thing besides me,” I said.

Matthew’s darkening eyes said that using me as bait to catch Benjamin was not an option.

“I’ll leave for Oxford tomorrow. The library is closed for the Christmas vacation. There won’t be any staff around except for security,” I said.

To my surprise, Matthew nodded. He was going to let me help.

“Will you be all right on your own?” I didn’t want to fuss over him, but I needed to know. Matthew had already suffered through one separation. He nodded.

“What shall we do about the children?” Matthew asked.

“They need to stay here, with Sarah and Ysabeau and with enough of my milk and blood to feed them until I return. I’ll take Fernando with me—no one else. If someone is watching us and reporting back to Benjamin, then we need to do what we can to make it look as though we’re still here and everything is normal.”

“Someone is watching us. There’s no doubt about it.” Matthew pushed his fingers through his hair.

“The only question is whether that someone belongs to Benjamin or to Gerbert. That wily bastard’s role in this may have been bigger than we thought.”

“If he and your son have been in league all this time, there’s no telling how much they know,” I said.

“Then our only hope is to possess information they don’t yet have. Get the book. Bring it back here and see if you can fix it by reinserting the pages Kelley removed,” Matthew said. “Meanwhile I’ll find Benjamin and do what I should have done long ago.”

“When will you leave?” I asked.

“Tomorrow. After you go, so I can make sure that you aren’t being followed,” he said, rising to his feet.

I watched in silence as the parts of Matthew I knew and loved—the poet and the scientist, the warrior and the spy, the Renaissance prince and the father—fell away until only the darkest, most forbidding part of him remained. He was only the assassin now.

But he was still the man I loved.

Matthew took me by the shoulders and waited until I met his eyes. “Be safe.”

His words were emphatic, and I felt the force of them. He cupped my face in his hands, searching every inch as though trying to memorize it.

“I meant what I said on Christmas Day. The family will survive if I don’t come back. There are others who can serve as its head. But you are its heart.”

I opened my mouth to protest, and Matthew pressed his fingers against my lips, staying my words.

“There is no point in arguing with me. I know this from experience,” he said. “Before you I was nothing but dust and shadows. You brought me to life. And I will do whatever it takes to keep my heart safe from further harm.”