Shadow of Night (69 page)

“Are you up for a climb?” Matthew asked, ducking into the cloister and through a low wooden door.

I nodded, and we began our ascent. We passed by the bells, which were happily not clanging at the moment, and Matthew pushed open a trapdoor in the roof. He scampered through the hole, then reached down and lifted me up to join him. Suddenly we were standing behind the tower’s crenellations, with all of London spread at our feet.

The bonfires on the hills outside the city already burned bright, and lanterns bobbed up and down on the bows of boats and barges crossing the Thames. At this distance, with the darkness of the river as a backdrop, they looked like fireflies. I heard laughter, music, all the ordinary sounds of life I’d grown so accustomed to during the months we’d been here.

“So you’ve met the queen, seen the Royal Exchange at night, and actually
been
in a play instead of just watching one,” Matthew said, ticking items off on his fingers.

“We found Ashmole 782, too. And I discovered I’m a weaver and that magic isn’t as disciplined as I’d hoped.” I surveyed the city, remembering when we’d first arrived and Matthew had to point out the landmarks for fear I’d get lost. Now I could name them myself. “There’s Bridewell.” I pointed. “And St. Paul’s. And the bearbaiting arenas.” I turned toward the quiet vampire standing beside me. “Thank you for tonight, Matthew. We’ve never been on a date-date—out in public like this. It was magical.”

“I didn’t do a very good job courting you, did I? We should have had more nights like this one, with dancing and looking at the stars.” He tilted his face up, and the moon glanced off his pale skin.

“You’re practically glowing,” I said softly, reaching up to touch his chin.

“So are you.” Matthew’s hands slid to my waist, his gesture bringing the baby into our embrace. “That reminds me. Your father gave us a list, too.”

“We’ve had fun. You made magic by taking me to the exchange and then surprising me with this view.”

“That leaves only two more items. Lady’s choice: I can howl at the moon or we can make out.”

I smiled and looked away, strangely shy. Matthew tilted his head up to the moon again, readying himself.

“No howling. You’ll bring out the Watch,” I protested with a laugh.

“Kissing it is,” he said softly, fitting his mouth to mine.

The next morning the entire household was yawning its way through breakfast after staying out until the early hours. Tom and Jack had just risen and were wolfing down bowls of porridge when Gallowglass came in and whispered something to Matthew. My mouth went dry at Matthew’s sad look.

“Where’s my dad?” I shot to my feet.

“He’s gone home,” Gallowglass said gruffly.

“Why didn’t you stop him?” I asked Gallowglass, tears threatening.

“He can’t be gone. I just needed a few more hours with him.” 

“All the time in the world wouldn’t have been enough, Auntie,” Gallowglass said sadly.

“But he didn’t say good-bye,” I whispered numbly.

“A parent should never have to say a final good-bye to his child,” Matthew said.

“Stephen asked me to give you this,” Gallowglass said. It was a piece of paper, folded up into an origami sailboat.

“Daddy sucked at swans,” I said, wiping my eyes, “but he was really good at making boats.” Carefully, I unfolded the note.

You are everything we dreamed you would one day become. Life is the strong warp of time. Death is only the weft. It will be because of your children, and your children’s

Dad

P.S. Every time you read “something is rotten in the state of Denmark” in Hamlet,
think of me..

“You tell me that magic is just desire made real. Maybe spells are nothing more than words that you believe with all your heart,” Matthew said, coming to rest his hands on my shoulders. “He loves you. Forever. So do I.”

His words wove through the threads that connected us, witch and vampire. They carried the conviction of his feelings with them: tenderness, reverence, constancy, hope.

“I love you, too,” I whispered, reinforcing his spell with mine.

M
y father had left London without saying a proper good-bye. I was determined to take my own leave differently. As a result my final days in the city were a complex weaving of words and desires, spells and magic.

Goody Alsop’s fetch was waiting sadly for me at the end of the lane. She trailed listlessly behind me as I climbed the stairs to the witch’s rooms.

“So you are leaving us,” Goody Alsop said from her chair by the fire. She was wearing wool and a shawl, and a fire was blazing as well.

“We must.” I bent down and kissed her papery cheek. “How are you today?”

“Somewhat better, thanks to Susanna’s remedies.” Goody Alsop coughed, and the force of it bent her frail frame in two. When she was recovered, she studied me with bright eyes and nodded. “This time the babe has taken root.”

“It has,” I said with a smile. “I have the sickness to prove it. Would you like me to tell the others?” I didn’t want Goody Alsop to shoulder any extra burdens, emotional or physical. Susanna was worried about her frailty, and Elizabeth Jackson was already taking on some of the duties usually performed by the gathering’s elder.

“No need. Catherine was the one to tell me. She said Corra was flying about a few days ago, chortling and chattering as she does when she has a secret.”

We had come to an agreement, my firedrake and I, that she would limit her open-air flying to once a week, and only at night. I’d reluctantly agreed to a second night out during the dark of the moon, when the risk of anyone’s seeing her and mistaking her for a fiery portent of doom was at its lowest.

“So that’s where she went,” I said with a laugh. Corra found the firewitch’s company soothing, and Catherine enjoyed challenging her to firebreathing contests.

“We are all glad that Corra has found something to do with herself besides clinging to the chimneypieces and shrieking at the ghosts.” Goody Alsop pointed to the chair opposite. “Will you not sit with me? The goddess may not afford us another chance
.
”

“Did you hear the news from Scotland?” I asked as I took my seat.

“I have heard nothing since you told me that pleading her belly did not save Euphemia MacLean from the pyre.” Goody Alsop’s decline began the night I’d told her that a young witch from Berwick had been burned, in spite of Matthew’s efforts.

“Matthew finally convinced the rest of the Congregation that the spiral of accusations and executions had to stop. Two of the accused witches have overturned their testimony and said their confessions were the result of torture.”

“It must have given the Congregation pause to have a
wearh
speak out on behalf of a witch.” Goody Alsop looked at me sharply. “He would give himself away if you were to stay. Matthew Roydon lives in a dangerous world of half-truths, but no one can avoid detection forever. Because of the babe, you must take greater care.”

“We will,” I assured her. “Meanwhile I’m still not absolutely sure my eighth knot is strong enough for the timewalking. Not with Matthew and the baby.”

“Let me see it,” Goody Alsop said, stretching out her hand. I leaned forward and put the cords into her palm. I would use all nine cords when we timewalked and make a total of nine different knots. No spell used more.

With practiced hands Goody Alsop made eight crossings in the red cord and then bound the ends together so that the knot was unbreakable. “That is how I do it.” It was beautifully simple, with open loops and swirls like the stone traceries in a cathedral window.

“Mine did not look like that.” My laugh was rueful. “It wiggled and squiggled around.”

“Every weaving is as unique as the weaver who makes it. The goddess does not want us to imitate some ideal of perfection, but to be our true selves.”

“Well, I must be all wiggle, then.” I reached for the cords to study the design.

“There is another knot I would show you,” Goody Alsop said.

“Another?” I frowned.

“A tenth knot. It is impossible for me to make it, though it should be the simplest.” Goody Alsop smiled, but her chin trembled. “My own teacher could not make the knot either, but still we passed it on, in hope that a weaver such as you might come along.”

Goody Alsop released the just-tied knot with a flick of her gnarled index finger. I handed the red silk back to her, and she made a simple loop. For a moment the cord fused in an unbroken ring. As soon as she took her fingers from it, however, the loop released.

“But you drew the ends together just a minute ago, and with a far more complicated weaving,” I said, confused

“As long as there is a crossing in the cord, I can bind the ends and complete the spell. But only a weaver who stands between worlds can make the tenth knot,” she replied. “Try it. Use the silver silk.”

Mystified, I joined the ends of the cord into a circlet. The fibers snapped together to form a loop with no beginning and no ending. I lifted my fingers from the silk, but the circle held.

“A fine weaving,” Goody Alsop said with satisfaction. “The tenth knot captures the power of eternity, a weaving of life and death. It is rather like your husband’s snake, or the way Corra carries her tail in her mouth sometimes when it gets in her way.” She held up the tenth knot. It was another ouroboros. The sense of the uncanny built in the room, lifting the hairs on my arm. “Creation and destruction are the simplest magics, and the most powerful, just as the simplest knot is the most difficult to make.”

“I don’t want to use magic to destroy anything,” I said. The Bishops had a strong tradition of not doing harm. My Aunt Sarah believed that any witch who strayed away from this fundamental tenet would find the evil coming back to her in the end.

“No one wants to use the goddess’s gifts as a weapon, but sometimes it is necessary. Your
wearh
knows that. After what happened here and in Scotland, you know it, too.”

“Perhaps. But my world is different,” I said. “There’s less call for magical weapons.”

“Worlds change, Diana.” Goody Alsop fixed her attention on some distant memory. “My teacher, Mother Ursula, was a great weaver. I was reminded of one of her prophecies on All Hallows’ Eve, when the terrible events in Scotland began—and when you came to change our world.”

Her voice took on the singsong quality of an incantation.

“For storms will rage and oceans roar

When Gabriel stands on sea and shore.

 And as he blows his wondrous horn,

 Old worlds die, and new be born.”

Not a breeze or a crackle of flame disturbed the room when Goody Alsop finished. She took a deep breath.

“It is all one, you see. Death and birth. The tenth knot with no beginning and no ending, and the
wearh
’s snake. The full moon that shone earlier this week and the shadow Corra cast upon the Thames in a portent of your leaving. The old world and the new.” Goody Alsop’s smile wavered. “I was glad when you came to me, Diana Roydon. And when you go, as you must, my heart will be heavy.”

“Usually Matthew tells me when he is leaving my city.” Andrew Hubbard’s white hands rested on the carved arms of his chair in the church crypt. High above us someone prepared for an upcoming church service. “What brings you here, Mistress Roydon?”

Hubbard’s strange eyes studied me as I pulled a small leather purse from my pocket. It contained five years of wages for each of them.

“I’m leaving London. I would like you to have this, for their care.” I thrust the money in Hubbard’s direction. He made no move to take it.

“That isn’t necessary, mistress.”

“Please. I would take them with me if I could. Since they cannot go, I need to know that someone will be watching out for them.”

“And what will you give me in return?”

“Why . . . the money, of course.” I held the pouch out once more.

“I don’t want or need the money, Mistress Roydon.” Hubbard settled back in his chair, his eyes drifting closed.

“What do you—” I stopped. “No.”

“God does nothing in vain. There are no accidents in His plans. He wanted you to come here today, because He wants to be sure that no one of your blood will have anything to fear from me or mine.”

“I have protectors enough,” I protested.

“And can the same be said for your husband?” Hubbard glanced at my breast. “Your blood is stronger in his veins now than when you arrived. And there is the child to consider.”

My heart stuttered. When I took my Matthew back to our present, Andrew Hubbard would be one of the few people who would know his future—and that there was a witch in it.

“You wouldn’t use the knowledge of me against Matthew. Not after what he’s done—how he’s changed.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Hubbard’s tight smile told me he would do whatever it took to protect his flock. “There is a great deal of bad blood between us.”

“I’ll find another way to see them safe,” I said, deciding to go.

“Annie is my child already. She is a witch, and part of my family. I will see to her welfare. Jack Blackfriars is another matter. He is not a creature and will have to fend for himself.”

“He’s a child—a boy!”

“But not my child. Nor are you. I do not owe either of you anything. Good day, Mistress Roydon.” Hubbard turned away.

“And if I were one of your family, what then? Would you honor my request about Jack? Would you recognize Matthew as one of my blood and therefore under your protection?” It was the sixteenth-century Matthew that I was thinking of now. When we returned to the present, that other Matthew would still be here in the past.

“If you offer me your blood, neither Matthew nor Jack nor your unborn child has anything to fear from me or mine.” Hubbard imparted the information dispassionately, but his glance was touched with the avarice I’d seen in Rudolf’s eyes.

“And how much blood would you need?”
Think. Stay alive.

“Very little—no more than a drop.” Hubbard’s attention was unwavering.

“I couldn’t let you take it directly from my body. Matthew would know—we are mates, after all,” I said. Hubbard’s eyes flickered to my breast.

“I always take my tribute directly from my children’s neck.”

“I’m sure you do, Father Hubbard. But you can understand why that isn’t possible—or even desirable—in this case.” I fell silent, hoping that Hubbard’s hunger—for power, for knowledge of Matthew and me, for something to hold over the de Clermonts if he ever needed it—would win. “I could use a cup.”

“No,” Hubbard said with a shake of his head. “Your blood would be tainted. It must be pure.”

“A silver cup, then,” I said, thinking of Chef’s lectures at Sept-Tours.

“You will open the vein in your wrist over my mouth and let the blood fall into it. We will not touch.” Hubbard scowled at me. “Otherwise I will doubt the sincerity of your offer.”

“Very well, Father Hubbard. I accept your terms.” I loosened the tie at my right cuff and pushed up the sleeve. While I did so, I whispered a silent request to Corra. “Where do you wish to do this? From what I saw before, your children kneel before you, but that will not work if I’m to drip the blood into your mouth.”

“It does not matter to God who kneels.” To my surprise, Hubbard dropped to the floor before me. He handed me a knife.

“I don’t need that.” I flicked my finger at the blue traceries on my wrist and murmured a simple unbinding charm. A line of crimson appeared. The blood welled. “Are you ready?”

Hubbard nodded and opened his mouth, his eyes on my face. He was waiting for me to renege, or cheat him somehow. But I would obey the letter of this agreement, though not its spirit.
Thank you, Goody Alsop,
I said, sending her a silent blessing for showing me how to handle the man.

I held my wrist over his mouth and clenched my fist. A drop of blood rolled over the edge of my arm and began to fall. Hubbard’s eyes flickered closed, as if he wanted to concentrate on what my blood would tell him.

“What is blood, if not fire and water?” I murmured. I called on the wind to slow the droplet’s fall. As the power of the air increased, it froze the falling bead of blood so that it was crystalline and sharp when it landed on Hubbard’s tongue. The vampire’s eyes shot open in confusion.

“No more than a drop.” The wind had dried the remaining blood against my skin in a maze of red streaks over the blue veins. “You are a man of God, a man of your word, are you not, Father Hubbard?”

Corra’s tail loosened from around my waist. She’d used it to block our baby from having any knowledge of this sordid transaction, but now she seemed to want to use it to beat Hubbard senseless.

Slowly I withdrew my arm. Hubbard thought about grabbing it back to his mouth. I saw the idea cross his mind as clearly as I had seen Edward Kelley contemplate clubbing me with his walking stick. But he thought better of it. I whispered another simple spell to close the wound, and turned wordlessly to leave.

“When you are next in London,” Hubbard said softly, “God will whisper it to me. And if He wills it, we shall meet again. But remember this. No matter where you go from now, even unto death, some small piece of you will live within me.”