The Book of Life

  "Matthew! You've shaved." It had been some time since I'd seen him without his Elizabethan beard and mustache. Though Matthew's appearance would be striking no matter the era or its fashions, this was the clean-cut, elegant man I'd fallen in love with last year.

  "Since we're going back to Oxford, I thought I might as well look the part of the university don," he said, his fingers moving over his smooth chin. "It's a relief, actually. Beards really do itch like the devil."

  "I love having my handsome professor back, in place of my dangerous prince," I said softly.

  Matthew shrugged a charcoal-colored jacket made of fine wool over his shoulders and pulled at his pearl gray cuffs, looking adorably self-conscious. His smile was shy but became more appreciative when I stood up.

  "You look beautiful," he said with an admiring whistle. "With or without the pearls."

  "Victoire is a miracle worker," I said. Victoire, my vampire seamstress and Alain's wife, had made me a midnight blue pair of trousers and a matching silk blouse with an open neckline that skimmed the edges of my shoulders and fell in soft pleats around my hips. The full shirt hid my swelling midriff without making me look like I was wearing a maternity smock.

  "You are especially irresistible in blue," Matthew said.

  "What a sweet talker you are." I smoothed his lapels and adjusted his collar. It was completely unnecessary--the jacket fit perfectly, and not a stitch was out of place--but the gestures satisfied my proprietary feelings. I lifted onto my toes to kiss him.

  Matthew returned my embrace with enthusiasm, threading his fingers through the coppery strands that fell down my back. My answering sigh was soft and satisfied.

  "Oh, I like that sound." Matthew deepened the kiss, and when I made a low, throaty hum, he grinned. "I like that one even more."

  "After a kiss like that, a woman should be excused if she's late to dinner," I said, my hands sliding between the waistband of his trousers and his neatly tucked shirt.

  "Temptress." Matthew nipped softly at my lip before pulling away.

  I took a final look in the mirror. Given Matthew's recent attentions, it was a good thing Victoire hadn't curled and twisted my hair into a more elaborate arrangement, since I'd never have been able to set it to rights again. Happily, I was able to tighten the low ponytail and brush a few hairs back into place.

  Finally I wove a disguising spell around me. The effect was like pulling sheer curtains over a sunny window. The spell dulled my coloring and softened my features. I had resorted to wearing it in London and had kept doing so when we returned to the present. No one would look at me twice now--except Matthew, who was scowling at the transformation.

  "After we get to Oxford, I want you to stop wearing your disguising spell." Matthew crossed his arms. "I hate that thing."

  "I can't go around the university shimmering."

  "And I can't go around killing people, even though I have blood rage," Matthew said. "We all have our crosses to bear."

  "I thought you didn't want anyone to know how much stronger my power is." At this point I was worried that even casual observers would be drawn to me because of it. In another time, when there were more weavers about, I might not have been so conspicuous.

  "I still don't want Baldwin to know, or the rest of the de Clermonts. But please tell Sarah as soon as possible," he said. "You shouldn't have to hide your magic at home."

  "It's annoying to weave a disguising spell in the morning and then take it off at night only to weave it again the next day. It's easier to just keep it on." That way I'd never be caught off guard by unexpected visitors or eruptions of undisciplined power.

  "Our children are going to know who their mother truly is. They are not going to be brought up in the dark as you were." Matthew's tone brooked no argument.

  "And is that sauce good for the gander as well as the goose?" I shot back. "Will the twins know their father has blood rage, or will you keep them in the dark like Marcus?"

  "It's not the same. Your magic is a gift. Blood rage is a curse."

  "It's exactly the same, and you know it." I took his hands in mine. "We've grown used to hiding what we're ashamed of, you and I. It has to end now, before the children are born. And after this latest crisis with the Congregation is resolved, we are going to sit down--as a family--and discuss the scion business." Marcus was right: If forming a scion meant we wouldn't have to obey Baldwin, it was worth considering.

  "Forming a scion comes with responsibilities and obligations. You would be expected to behave like a vampire and function as my consort, helping me control the rest of the family." Matthew shook his head. "You aren't suited to that life, and I won't ask it of you."

  "You're not asking," I replied. "I'm offering. And Ysabeau will teach me what I need to know."

  "Ysabeau will be the first to try to dissuade you. The pressure she was under as Philippe's mate was inconceivable," Matthew said. "When my father called Ysabeau his general, only the humans laughed. Every vampire knew he was telling the gospel truth. Ysabeau forced, flattered, and cajoled us into doing Philippe's bidding. He could run the whole world because Ysabeau managed his family with an iron fist. Her decisions were absolute and her retribution swift. No one crossed her."

  "That sounds challenging but not impossible," I replied mildly.

  "It's a full-time job, Diana." Matthew's irritation continued to climb. "Are you ready to give up being Professor Bishop in order to be Mrs. Clairmont?"

  "Maybe it's escaped your attention, but I already have."

  Matthew blinked.

  "I haven't advised a student, stood in front of a classroom, read an academic journal, or published an article in more than a year," I continued.

  "That's temporary," Matthew said sharply.

  "Really?" My eyebrows shot up. "You're ready to sacrifice your fellowship at All Souls in order to be Mr. Mom? Or are we going to hire a nanny to take care of our doubtless exceptionally challenging children while I go back to work?"

  Matthew's silence was telling. This issue had clearly never occurred to him. He'd simply assumed I would somehow juggle teaching and child care with no trouble at all. Typical, I thought, before plunging on.

  "Except for a brief moment when you ran back to Oxford last year thinking you could play knight in shining armor and this moment of nerves, which I forgive you for, we've faced our troubles together. What makes you think that would change?" I demanded.

  "These aren't your troubles," Matthew replied.

  "When I took you on, they became my troubles. We already share responsibility for our own children--why not yours as well?"

  Matthew stared at me in silence for so long that I became concerned he'd been struck dumb.

  "Never again," he finally murmured with a shake of his head. "After today I will never make this mistake again."

  "The word 'never' is not in our family vocabulary, Matthew." My anger with him boiled over and I dug my fingers into his shoulders. "Ysabeau says 'impossible' isn't French? Well, 'never' is not Bishop-Clairmont. Don't ever use it again. As for mistakes, how dare you--"

  Matthew stole my next words with a kiss. I pounded on his shoulders until my strength--and my interest in beating him to a pulp--subsided. He pulled away with a wry smile.

  "You must try to allow me to finish my thoughts. Never"--he caught my fist before it made contact with his shoulder--"never again will I make the mistake of underestimating you."

  Matthew took advantage of my astonishment to kiss me more thoroughly than before.

  "No wonder Philippe always looked so exhausted," he said ruefully when he was through. "It's very fatiguing pretending you're in charge when your wife actually rules the roost."

  "Hmph," I said, finding his analysis of the dynamics of our relationship somewhat suspect.

  "While I have your attention, let me make myself clear: I want you to tell Sarah about being a weaver and what happened in London." Matthew's tone was stern. "After that, there will be no more disguising spells at home.
Agreed?"

  "Agreed." I hoped he didn't notice my crossed fingers.

  Alain was waiting for us at the bottom of the stairs, wearing his usual look of circumspection and a dark suit.

  "Is everything ready?" I asked him.

  "Of course," he murmured, handing me the final menu.

  My eyes darted over it. "Perfect. The place cards are arranged? The wine was brought up and decanted? And you found the silver cups?"

  Alain's mouth twitched. "All of your instructions were followed to the letter, Madame de Clermont."

  "There you are. I was beginning to think you two were going to leave me to the lions." Gallowglass's efforts to dress for dinner had yielded only combed hair and something leather in place of his worn denims, though I supposed cowboy boots qualified as formalwear of a sort. He was, alas, still wearing a T-shirt. This particular garment instructed us to KEEP CALM AND HARLEY ON. It also revealed a staggering number of tattoos.

  "Sorry about the shirt, Auntie. It is black," Gallowglass apologized, tracking my glances. "Matthew sent over one of his shirts, but it split down the back when I did up the buttons."

  "You look very dashing." I searched the hall for signs of our other guests. I found Corra instead, perched on the statue of a nymph like an oddly shaped hat. She'd spent the whole day flying around Sept-Tours and Saint-Lucien in exchange for promises of good behavior tomorrow while we were traveling.

  "What were you two doing up there all this time?" Sarah emerged from the salon and gave Matthew a suspicious once-over. Like Gallowglass, Sarah took a limited view of formalwear. She was wearing a long lavender shirt that extended past her hips and a pair of ankle-length beige trousers. "We thought we were going to have to send up a search party."

  "Diana couldn't find her shoes," Matthew said smoothly. He slid an apologetic glance toward Victoire, who was standing by with a tray of drinks. She had, of course, left my shoes next to the bed.

  "That doesn't sound like Victoire." Sarah's eyes narrowed.

  Corra squawked and chattered her teeth in agreement, blowing her breath through her nose so that a rain of sparks fell down onto the stone floors. Thankfully, there was no rug.

  "Honestly, Diana, couldn't you have brought home something from Elizabethan England that wasn't so much trouble?" Sarah looked at Corra with a sour expression.

  "Like what? A snow globe?" I asked.

  "First I was subjected to witchwater falling from the tower. Now there is a dragon in my hallway. This is what comes of having witches in the family." Ysabeau appeared in a pale silk suit that perfectly matched the color of the Champagne in the glass she took from Victoire. "There are days when I cannot help thinking the Congregation is right to keep us apart."

  "Drink, Madame de Clermont?" Victoire turned to me, rescuing me from the need to respond.

  "Thank you," I replied. Her tray held not only wine but also glasses filled with ice cubes containing blue borage flowers and mint leaves, topped up with sparkling water.

  "Hello, sister." Verin sauntered out of the salon behind Ysabeau wearing knee-high black boots and an exceedingly short, sleeveless black dress that left more than a few inches of her pearly white legs exposed, as well as the tip of the scabbard strapped to her thigh.

  Wondering why Verin thought she needed to dine armed, I reached up with nervous fingers and drew the golden arrowhead from where it had fallen inside the neck of my blouse. It felt like a talisman, and it reminded me of Philippe. Ysabeau's cold eyes latched on to it.

  "I thought that arrowhead was lost forever," she said quietly.

  "Philippe gave it to me on my wedding day." I started to lift the chain from my neck, thinking it must belong to her.

  "No. Philippe wanted you to have it, and it was his to bestow." Ysabeau gently closed my fingers around the worn metal. "You must keep this safe, my child. It is very old and not easily replaced."

  "Is dinner ready?" Baldwin boomed, arriving at my side with the suddenness of an earthquake and his usual disregard for a warmblood's nervous system.

  "It is," Alain whispered in my ear.

  "It is," I said brightly, plastering a smile on my face.

  Baldwin offered me his arm.

  "Let us go in, Matthieu," Ysabeau murmured, taking her son by the hand.

  "Diana?" Baldwin prompted, his arm still extended.

  I stared up at him with loathing, ignored his proffered arm, and marched toward the door behind Matthew and Ysabeau.

  "This is an order, not a request. Defy me and I will turn you and Matthew over to the Congregation without a second thought." Baldwin's voice was menacing.

  For a few moments, I considered resisting and to hell with the consequences. If I did, Baldwin would win. Think, I reminded myself. And stay alive. Then I rested my hand atop his rather than taking his elbow like a modern woman. Baldwin's eyes widened slightly.

  "Why so surprised, brother?" I demanded. "You've been positively feudal since the moment you arrived. If you're determined to play the role of king, we should do it properly."

  "Very well, sister." Baldwin's fist tightened under my fingers. It was a reminder of his authority, as well as his power.

  Baldwin and I entered the dining room as though it were the audience chamber at Greenwich and we were the king and queen of England. Fernando's mouth twitched at the sight, and Baldwin glowered at him in response.

  "Does that little cup have blood in it?" Sarah, seemingly oblivious to the tension, bent over and sniffed at Gallowglass's plate.

  "I did not know we still had these," Ysabeau said, holding up one of the engraved silver beakers. She gave me a smile as Marcus settled her into the spot to his left while Matthew rounded the table and did the honors for Phoebe, who sat opposite.

  "I had Alain and Marthe search for them. Philippe used them at our wedding feast." I fingered the golden arrowhead. Courtly Ernst pulled out my chair. "Please. Everybody sit."

  "The table is beautifully arranged, Diana," Phoebe said appreciatively. But she wasn't looking at the crystal, the precious porcelain, or the fine silver. Instead Phoebe was taking careful note of the arrangement of creatures around the gleaming expanse of rosewood.

  Mary Sidney had once told me that the order of table precedence at a banquet was no less complex than the arrangement of troops before a battle. I had observed the rules I'd learned in Elizabethan England as strictly as possible while minimizing the risk of outright war.

  "Thank you, Phoebe, but it was all Marthe and Victoire's doing. They picked out the china," I said, deliberately misunderstanding her.

  Verin and Fernando stared at the plates before them and exchanged a look. Marthe adored the eye-popping Bleu Celeste pattern Ysabeau had commissioned in the eighteenth century, and Victoire's first choice had been an ostentatious gilded service decorated with swans. I couldn't imagine eating off either and had selected dignified black-and-white neoclassical place settings with the de Clermont ouroboros surrounding a crowned letter C.

  "I believe we are in danger of being civilized," Verin muttered. "And by warmbloods, too."

  "Not a moment too soon," Fernando said, picking up his napkin and spreading it on his lap.

  "A toast," Matthew said, raising his glass. "To lost loved ones. May their spirits be with us tonight and always."

  There were murmurs of agreement and echoes of his first line as glasses were lifted. Sarah dashed a tear from her eye, and Gallowglass took her hand and gave it a gentle kiss. I choked back my own sorrow and gave Gallowglass a grateful smile.

  "Another toast to the health of my sister Diana and to Marcus's fiancee--the newest members of my family." Baldwin raised his glass once more.

  "Diana and Phoebe," Marcus said, joining in.

  Glasses were lifted around the table, although I thought for a moment that Matthew might direct the contents of his at Baldwin. Sarah took a hesitant sip of her sparkling wine and made a face.

  "Let's eat," she said, putting the glass down hastily. "Emily hated it when the food got c
old, and I don't imagine Marthe will be any more forgiving."

  Dinner proceeded seamlessly. There was cold soup for the warmbloods and tiny silver beakers of blood for the vampires. The trout served for the fish course had been swimming along in the nearby river without a care in the world only a few hours before. Roast chicken came next out of deference to Sarah, who couldn't abide the taste of game birds. Some at the table then had venison, though I abstained. At the end of the meal, Marthe and Alain put footed compotes draped with fruit on the table, along with bowls of nuts and platters of cheese.

  "What an excellent meal," Ernst said, sitting back in his chair and patting his lean stomach.

  There was a gratifying amount of agreement around the room. Despite the rocky start, we'd enjoyed a perfectly pleasant evening as a family. I relaxed into my chair.

  "Since we're all here, we have some news to share," Marcus said, smiling across the table at Phoebe. "As you know, Phoebe has agreed to marry me."

  "Have you set a date?" Ysabeau asked.

  "Not yet. We've decided to do things the old-fashioned way, you see," Marcus replied.

  All the de Clermonts in the room turned to Matthew, their faces frozen.

  "I'm not sure old-fashioned is an option," Sarah commented drily, "given the fact the two of you are already sharing a room."

  "Vampires have different traditions, Sarah," Phoebe explained. "Marcus asked if I would like to be with him for the rest of his life. I said yes."

  "Oh," Sarah said with a puzzled frown.

  "You can't mean . . ." I trailed off, my eyes on Matthew.

  "I've decided to become a vampire." Phoebe's eyes shone with happiness as she looked at her once-and-forever husband. "Marcus insists that I get used to that before we marry, so yes, our engagement may be a bit longer than we'd like."

  Phoebe sounded as though she were contemplating minor plastic surgery or a change of hairstyle, rather than a complete biological transformation.

  "I don't want her to have any regrets," Marcus said softly, his face split into a wide grin.

  "Phoebe will not become a vampire. I forbid it." Matthew's voice was quiet, but it seemed to echo in the crowded room.