The Book of Life

by Deborah Harkness

  "We didn't find much of a daemonic presence in Ysabeau's genetic sample, or Marcus's either," Miriam added. "That explains why they never manifested the disease like Matthew or Benjamin did."

  "But Stephen Proctor's mother was human," Sarah said. "She was a total pain in the ass--sorry, Diana--but definitely not daemonic."

  "It doesn't have to be an immediate relationship," Miriam said. "There just has to be enough daemon DNA in the mix to trigger the weaver and blood-rage genes. It could have been one of Stephen's distant ancestors. As Chris said, these findings are pretty raw. We'll need decades to understand them completely."

  "One more thing: Baby Margaret is a weaver, too." Chris pointed to the paper in Matthew's hands. "Page thirty. There's no question about it."

  "I wonder if that's why Em was so adamant that Margaret shouldn't fall into Knox's hands," Sarah mused. "Maybe she discovered the truth somehow."

  "This will shake the Congregation to its foundations," I said.

  "It does more than that. The science makes the covenant completely irrelevant," Matthew said. "We're not separate species."

  "So we're just different races?" I asked. "That makes our miscegenation argument even stronger."

  "You need to catch up on your reading, Professor Bishop," Chris said with a smile. "Racial identity has no biological basis--at least none accepted by most scientists." Matthew had told me something like that long ago in Oxford.

  "But that means--" I stopped.

  "You aren't monsters after all. There are no such thing as daemons, vampires, and witches. Not biologically. You're just humans with a difference." Chris grinned. "Tell the Congregation to stick that in their pipe and smoke it."

  *

  I didn't use exactly those words in my cover statement to the enormous dossier that we sent to Venice in advance of the Congregation meeting, but what I did say amounted to the same thing.

  The days of the covenant were done.

  And if the Congregation wanted to continue to function, it was going to have to find something better to do with its time than police the boundaries between daemon, vampire, witch, and human.

  When I went to the library the morning before my departure for Venice, however, I found that something had been left out of the file.

  While we were doing our research, it had been impossible to ignore the sticky traces of Gerbert's fingers. He seemed to lurk in the margins of every document and every piece of evidence. It was hard to pin much on him directly, but the circumstantial evidence was clear: Gerbert of Aurillac had known for some time about the special abilities of weavers. He'd even held one in thrall: the witch Meridiana, who had cursed him as she died. And he had been feeding Benjamin Fuchs information about the de Clermonts for centuries. Philippe had found him out and confronted him about it just before he left on his final mission to Nazi Germany.

  "Why didn't the information about Gerbert go to Venice?" I demanded of Matthew when at last I found him in the kitchen making my tea. Ysabeau was with him, playing with Philip and Becca.

  "Because it's better if the rest of the Congregation doesn't know about Gerbert's involvement," Matthew said.

  "Better for whom?" I asked sharply. "I want that creature exposed and punished."

  "But the Congregation's punishments are so very unsatisfactory," Ysabeau said, her eyes gleaming. "Too much talking. Not enough pain. If it is punishment you want, let me do it." Her fingernails rapped against the counter, and I shivered.

  "You've done enough, Maman," Matthew said, giving her a forbidding glance.

  "Oh, that." Ysabeau waved her hand dismissively. "Gerbert has been a very naughty boy. But he will cooperate with Diana tomorrow because of it. You will find Gerbert of Aurillac entirely supportive, daughter."

  I sat down on the kitchen stool with a thunk.

  "While Ysabeau was being held in Gerbert's house, she and Nathaniel did a bit of snooping," Matthew explained. "They've been monitoring his e-mail and Internet usage ever since."

  "Did you know that nothing you see on the Internet ever dies, Diana? It lives on and on, just like a vampire." Ysabeau looked genuinely fascinated by the comparison.

  "And?" I still had no idea where this was leading.

  "Gerbert isn't just fond of witches," Ysabeau said. "He's had a string of daemon lovers, too. One of them is still living on the Via della Scala in Rome, in a palatial and drafty set of apartments that he bought for her in the seventeenth century."

  "Wait. Seventeenth century?" I tried to think straight, though it was difficult with Ysabeau looking like Tabitha after she'd devoured a mouse.

  "Not only did Gerbert 'consort' with daemons, he turned one into a vampire. Such a thing is strictly forbidden--not by the covenant but by vampire law. For good reason, it turns out now that we know what triggers blood rage," Matthew said. "Not even Philippe knew about her--though he did know about some of Gerbert's other daemon lovers."

  "And we're blackmailing him over it?" I said.

  "'Blackmail' is such an ugly word," Ysabeau said. "I prefer to think that Gallowglass was exceptionally persuasive when he dropped by Les Anges Dechus last night to wish Gerbert safe journey."

  "I don't want some covert de Clermont operation against Gerbert. I want the world to know what a snake he is," I said. "I want to beat him fair and square in open battle."

  "Don't worry. The whole world will know. One day. One war at a time, ma lionne." Matthew softened the commanding edge of his remark with a kiss and a cup of tea.

  "Philippe preferred hunting to warfare." Ysabeau dropped her voice, as though she didn't want Becca and Philip to overhear her next words. "You see, when you hunt, you get to play with your prey before you destroy it. That is what we are doing with Gerbert."

  "Oh." There was, admittedly, something appealing about that prospect.

  "I felt sure you would understand. You are named after the goddess of the chase, after all. Happy hunting in Venice, my dear," Ysabeau said, patting me on the hand.

  Sol in Taurus

  The Bull governeth money, credit, debts, and gifts. While the sun is in Taurus, deal with unfinished business. Settle your affaires, lest they trouble you later. Should you receive an unexpected reward, invest it for the future.

  --Anonymous English Commonplace Book, c. 1590,

  Goncalves Manuscript 4890, f. 7v

  Venice looked very different to my eyes in May than it had in January, and not solely because the sky was blue and the lagoon tranquil.

  When Matthew had been in Benjamin's clutches, the city felt cold and unwelcoming. It was a place I wanted to leave as quickly as possible. When I did, I never expected to return.

  But the goddess's justice would not be complete until the covenant was overturned.

  And so I found myself back at Ca' Chiaromonte, sitting on a bench in the back garden rather than a bench overlooking the Grand Canal, waiting once more for the Congregation's meeting to begin.

  This time Janet Gowdie waited with me. Together we went over our case one last time, imagining what arguments would be made against it while Matthew's precious pet turtles slipped and slid across the gravel paths in pursuit of a mosquito snack.

  "Time to go," Marcus announced just before the bells began to ring four o'clock. He and Fernando would accompany us to Isola della Stella. Janet and I had tried to assure the rest of the family that we would be fine on our own, but Matthew wouldn't hear of it.

  The Congregation's membership was the same as it had been at the January meeting. Agatha, Tatiana, and Osamu gave me encouraging smiles, though the reception that I received from Sidonie von Borcke and the vampires was decidedly frosty. Satu slipped into the cloister at the last moment as if she hoped not to be noticed. Gone was the self-assured witch who had kidnapped me from the garden at Sept-Tours. Sidonie's appraising stare suggested that Satu's transformation had not gone unnoticed, and I suspected that a change in the witches' representatives would soon be made.

  I strolled across the cloister to join t
he two vampires.

  "Domenico. Gerbert," I said, nodding at each in turn.

  "Witch," Gerbert sneered.

  "And a de Clermont, too." I angled my body so that my lips were close to Gerbert's ear. "Don't get too complacent, Gerbert. The goddess may have saved you for last, but make no mistake: Your day of judgment is coming." I drew away and was gratified to see a spark of fear in his eyes.

  When I slid the de Clermont key in the meeting chamber lock, I was overcome by a sense of deja vu. The doors swung open and the uncanny feeling increased. My eyes locked on the the ouroboros--the tenth knot--carved onto the back of the de Clermont seat and the silver and gold threads in the room snapped with power.

  All witches are taught to believe in signs. Happily, the meaning of this one was clear without any need for further magic or complicated interpretation: This is your seat. Here is where you belong.

  "I call this meeting to order," I said, rapping on the table once I'd reached my assigned place.

  My left finger bore a thick ribbon of violet. The goddess's arrow had disappeared after I'd used it to kill Benjamin, but the vivid purple mark--the color of justice--remained.

  I studied the room--the wide table, the records of my people and my children's ancestors, the nine creatures gathered to make a decision that would change the lives of thousands like them all around the world. High above I felt the spirits of those who had come before, their glances freezing and nudging and tingling.

  "Give us justice," they said with one voice, "and remember our names."

  *

  "We won," I reported to the members of the de Clermont and Bishop-Clairmont families who had assembled in the salon to greet us when we returned from Venice. "The covenant has been repealed."

  There were cheers, and hugs, and congratulations. Baldwin raised his wineglass in my direction, in a less effusive demonstration of approval.

  My eyes sought out Matthew.

  "No surprise," he said. The silence that followed was heavy with words that, though unspoken, I heard nonetheless. He bent to pick up his daughter. "See, Rebecca? Your mother fixed everything once again."

  Becca had discovered the pure pleasure of chewing on her own fingers. I was very glad the vampire equivalent of milk teeth had not come in yet. Matthew removed her hand from her mouth and waved it in my direction, distracting his daughter from the tantrum she was planning. "Bonjour, Maman."

  Jack was bouncing Philip on his knee. The baby looked both intrigued and concerned. "Nice work, Mum."

  "I had plenty of help." My throat thickened as I looked not only at Jack and Philip but at Sarah and Agatha, whose heads were bent close together as they gossiped about the Congregation meeting, Fernando, who was amusing Sophie and Nathaniel with tales of Gerbert's stiff demeanor and Domenico's fury, and Phoebe and Marcus, who were enjoying a lingering reunion kiss. Baldwin stood with Matthew and Becca. I approached them.

  "This belongs to you, brother." The de Clermont key rested heavy in the palm of my outstretched hand.

  "Keep it." Baldwin closed my fingers around the cool metal.

  The conversation in the salon died away.

  "What did you say?" I whispered.

  "I told you to keep it," Baldwin repeated.

  "You can't mean--"

  "But I do. Everyone in the de Clermont family has a job. You know that." Baldwin's golden-brown eyes gleamed. "As of today, overseeing the Congregation is yours."

  "I can't. I'm a professor!" I protested.

  "Set the Congregation's meeting schedule around your classes. As long as you answer your e-mail," Baldwin said with mock severity, "you should have no problem juggling your responsibilities. I've neglected the family's affairs long enough. Besides, I'm a warrior, not a politician."

  I looked to Matthew in mute appeal, but he had no intention of rescuing me from this particular plight. His expression was filled with pride, not protectiveness.

  "What about your sisters?" I said, my mind racing. "Surely Verin will object."

  "It was Verin's suggestion," Baldwin said. "And after all, you are my sister, too."

  "That settles it, then. Diana will serve on the Congregation until she tires of the job." Ysabeau kissed me on one cheek, then the other. "Just think of how much it will upset Gerbert when he discovers what Baldwin has done."

  Still feeling dazed, I slid the key back into my pocket.

  "It has turned into a beautiful day," Ysabeau said, looking out into the spring sunlight. "Let us take a walk in the garden before dinner. Alain and Marthe have prepared a feast--without Fernando's help. Marthe is in an extremely good mood because of it."

  Laughter and chatter followed our family out the door. Matthew handed Becca off to Sarah.

  "Don't be long, you two," Sarah said.

  Once we were alone, Matthew kissed me with a sharp hunger that gradually became something deeper and less desperate. It was a reminder that his blood rage was still not fully in check and my being away had taken a toll.

  "Was everything all right in Venice, mon coeur?" he inquired when he had regained his equilibrium.

  "I'll tell you all about it later," I said. "Though I should warn you: Gerbert is up to no good. He tried to thwart me at every turn."

  "What did you expect?" Matthew left my side to join the rest of the family. "Don't worry about Gerbert. We'll figure out what game he's playing, never fear."

  Something unexpected caught my eye. I stopped in my tracks.

  "Diana?" Matthew looked back at me and frowned. "Are you coming?"

  "In a minute," I promised.

  He regarded me strangely but stepped outside.

  I knew you would be the first to see me. Philippe's voice was a whisper of sound, and I could still see Ysabeau's horrid furniture through him. None of that mattered. He was perfect--whole, smiling, his eyes sparkling with amusement and affection.

  "Why me?" I asked.

  You have the Book of Life now. You no longer need my help. Philippe's gaze met mine.

  "The covenant--" I started.

  I heard. I hear most things. Philippe's grin widened. I am proud that it was one of my children that destroyed it. You have done well.

  "Is seeing you my reward?" I said, fighting back the tears.

  One of them, Philippe said. In time you will have the others.

  "Emily." The moment I said her name, Philippe's form began to fade. "No! Don't go. I won't ask questions. Just tell her I love her."

  She knows that. So does your mother. Philippe winked. I am utterly surrounded by witches. Do not tell Ysabeau. She would not like it.

  I laughed.

  And there is my reward for years of good behavior. Now, I want no more tears, do you understand? His finger rose. I am heartily sick of them.

  "What do you want instead?" I wiped at my eyes.

  More laughter. More dancing. His expression was mischievous. And more grandchildren.

  "I had to ask," I said with another laugh.

  But the future will not be all laughter, I fear. Philippe's expression sobered. Your work is not done, daughter. The goddess asked me to give this back to you. He held out the same gold-and-silver arrow that I had shot into Benjamin's heart.

  "I don't want it." I backed away, my hand raised to ward off this unwanted gift.

  I didn't want it either, and yet someone must see that justice is done. His arm extended farther.

  "Diana?" Matthew called from outside.

  I would not be hearing my husband's voice if not for the goddess's arrow.

  "Coming!" I called back.

  Philippe's eyes filled with sympathy and understanding. I touched the golden point hesitantly. The moment my flesh made contact with it, the arrow vanished and I felt its heavy weight at my back once more.

  From the first moment we met, I knew you were the one, Philippe said. His words were a strange echo of what Timothy Weston had told me at the Bodleian last year, and again at his house.

  With a final grin, his ghost began to dissip
ate.

  "Wait!" I cried. "The one what?"

  The one who could bear my burdens and not break, Philippe's voice whispered in my ear. I felt a subtle press of lips on my cheek. You will not carry them alone. Remember that, daughter.

  I bit back a sob at his departure.

  "Diana?" Matthew called again, this time from the doorway. "What's happened? You look like you've seen a ghost."

  I had, but this was not the time to tell Matthew about it. I felt like weeping, but Philippe wanted joy, not sorrow.

  "Dance with me," I said, before a single tear could fall.

  Matthew folded me into his arms. His feet moved across the floor, sweeping us out of the salon and into the great hall. He asked no questions, even though the answers were in my eyes.

  I trod on his toe. "Sorry."

  "You're trying to lead again," he murmured. He pressed a kiss to my lips, then whirled me around. "At the moment your job is to follow."

  "I forgot," I said with a laugh.

  "I'll have to remind you more often, then." Matthew swung me tight to his body. His kiss was rough enough to be a warning and sweet enough to be a promise.

  Philippe was right, I thought as we walked out into the garden.

  Whether leading or following, I would never be alone in a world that had Matthew in it.

  Sol in Gemini

  The signe of Gemini dealeth with the partnership between a husband and wife, and all matters that dependeth likewise upon faith. A man born in this sign hath a good and honest heart and a fine wit that will lead him to learn many things. He will be quick to anger, but soon to reconcile. He is bold of speech even before the prince. He is a great dissimulator, a spreader abroad of clever fantasies and lies. He shall be much entangled with troubles by reason of his wife, but he shall prevail against their enemies.

  --Anonymous English Commonplace Book, c. 1590,

  Goncalves Manuscript 4890, f. 8r

  I'm sorry to disturb you, Professor Bishop."

  I looked up from my manuscript. The Royal Society's reading room was flooded with summer sunshine. It raked through the tall, multipaned windows and spilled across the generous reading surfaces.

  "One of the fellows asked me to give this to you." The librarian handed me an envelope with the Royal Society's insignia on it. Someone had written my name across the front in a dark, distinctive scrawl. I nodded in thanks.