A Discovery of Witches: A Novel (All Souls Trilogy)

by Deborah Harkness

  “Are they both daemons?” Matthew asked me.

  “Yes,” I replied, though something made me hesitate.

  “Are you a vampire as well?” Nathaniel asked Marcus.

  Marcus gave him a wolfish grin. “Guilty.”

  Sophie was still nudging me with her characteristic daemonic glance, but there was the faintest tingle on my skin. Her hand crept possessively around her belly.

  “You’re pregnant!” I cried.

  Marcus was so surprised that he loosened his grip on me. Matthew caught me as I went by. The house, agitated by the appearance of two visitors and Matthew’s sudden lunge, made its displeasure clear by banging the keeping room’s doors tightly closed.

  “What you feel—it’s me,” Sophie said, moving an inch closer to her husband. “My people were witches, but I came out wrong.”

  Sarah came into the hall, saw the visitors, and threw up her hands. “Here we go again. I told you daemons would be showing up in Madison before long. Still, the house usually knows our business better than we do. Now that you’re here, you might as well come inside, out of the cold.”

  The house groaned as if it were heartily sick of us when the daemons entered.

  “Don’t worry,” I said, trying to reassure them. “The house told us you were coming, no matter what it sounds like.”

  “My granny’s house was just the same.” Sophie smiled. “She lived in the old Norman place in Seven Devils. That’s where I’m from. It’s officially part of North Carolina, but my dad said that nobody bothered to tell the folks in town. We’re kind of a nation unto ourselves.”

  The keeping-room doors opened wide, revealing my grandmother and three or four more Bishops, all of whom were watching the proceedings with interest. The boy with the berry basket waved. Sophie shyly waved back.

  “Granny had ghosts, too,” she said calmly.

  The ghosts, combined with two unfriendly vampires and an overly expressive house, were too much for Nathaniel.

  “We aren’t staying longer than we have to, Sophie. You came to give something to Diana. Let’s get it over with and be on our way,” Nathaniel said. Miriam chose that minute to step out of the shadows by the dining room, her arms crossed over her chest. Nathaniel took a step backward.

  “First vampires. Now daemons. What next?” Sarah muttered. She turned to Sophie. “So you’re about five months along?”

  “The baby quickened last week,” Sophie replied, both hands resting on her belly. “That’s when Agatha told us where we could find Diana. She didn’t know about my family. I’ve been having dreams about you for months. And I don’t know what Agatha saw that made her so scared.”

  “What dreams?” Matthew said, his voice quick.

  “Let’s have Sophie sit down before we subject her to an inquisition.” Sarah quietly took charge. “Em, can you bring us some of those cookies? Milk, too?”

  Em headed toward the kitchen, where we could hear the distant clatter of glasses.

  “They could be my dreams, or they could be hers.” Sophie gazed at her belly as Sarah led her and Nathaniel deeper into the house. She looked back over her shoulder at Matthew. “She’s a witch, you see. That’s probably what worried Nathaniel’s mom.”

  All eyes dropped to the bump under Sophie’s blue sweater.

  “The dining room,” Sarah said in a tone that brooked no nonsense. “Everybody in the dining room.”

  Matthew held me back. “There’s something too convenient about their showing up right now. No mention of timewalking in front of them.”

  “They’re harmless.” Every instinct confirmed it.

  “Nobody’s harmless, and that certainly goes for Agatha Wilson’s son.” Tabitha, who was sitting next to Matthew, mewled in agreement.

  “Are you two joining us, or do I have to drag you into this room?” Sarah called.

  “We’re on our way,” Matthew said smoothly.

  Sarah was at the head of the table. She pointed at the empty chairs to her right. “Sit.”

  We were facing Sophie and Nathaniel, who sat with an empty seat between them and Marcus. Matthew’s son split his attention between his father and the daemons. I sat between Matthew and Miriam, both of whom never took their eyes from Nathaniel. When Em entered, she had a tray laden with wine, milk, bowls of berries and nuts, and an enormous plate of cookies.

  “God, cookies make me wish like hell I was still warmblooded,” Marcus said reverently, picking up one of the golden disks studded with chocolate and holding it to his nose. “They smell so good, but they taste terrible.”

  “Have these instead,” Em said, sliding him a bowl of walnuts. “They’re covered in vanilla and sugar. They’re not cookies, but they’re close.” She passed him a bottle of wine and a corkscrew, too. “Open that and pour some for your father.”

  “Thanks, Em,” Marcus said around a mouthful of sticky walnuts, already pulling the cork free from the bottle. “You’re the best.”

  Sarah watched intently as Sophie drank thirstily from the glass of milk and ate a cookie. When the daemon reached for her second, my aunt turned to Nathaniel. “Now, where’s your car?” Given all that had happened, it was an odd opening question.

  “We came on foot.” Nathaniel hadn’t touched anything Em put in front of him.

  “From where?” Marcus asked incredulously, handing Matthew a glass of wine. He’d seen enough of the surrounding countryside to know that there was nothing within walking distance.

  “We rode with a friend from Durham to Washington,” Sophie explained. “Then we caught a train from D.C. to New York. I didn’t like the city much.”

  “We caught the train to Albany, then went on to Syracuse. The bus took us to Cazenovia.” Nathaniel put a warning hand on Sophie’s arm.

  “He doesn’t want me to tell you that we caught a ride from a stranger,” Sophie confided with a smile. “The lady knew where the house was. Her kids love coming here on Halloween because you’re real witches.” Sophie took another sip of milk. “Not that we needed the directions. There’s a lot of energy in this house. We couldn’t have missed it.”

  “Is there a reason you took such an indirect route?” Matthew asked Nathaniel.

  “Somebody followed us as far as New York, but Sophie and I got back on the train for Washington and they lost interest,” Nathaniel bristled.

  “Then we got off the train in New Jersey and went back to the city. The man in the station said tourists get confused all the time about which way the train is going. They didn’t even charge us, did they, Nathaniel?” Sophie looked pleased at the warm reception they’d received from Amtrak.

  Matthew continued with his interrogation of Nathaniel. “Where are you staying?”

  “They’re staying here.” Em’s voice had a sharp edge. “They don’t have a car, and the house made room for them. Besides, Sophie needs to talk to Diana.”

  “I’d like that. Agatha said you’d be able to help. Something about a book for the baby,” Sophie said softly. Marcus’s eyes darted to the page from Ashmole 782, the edge of which was peeking from underneath the chart laying out the Knights of Lazarus’s chain of command. He hastily drew the papers into a pile, moving an innocuous-looking set of DNA results to the top.

  “What book, Sophie?” I asked.

  “We didn’t tell Agatha my people were witches. I didn’t even tell Nathaniel—not until he came home to meet my dad. We’d been together for almost four years, and my dad was sick and losing control over his magic. I didn’t want Nathaniel spooked. Anyway, when we got married, we thought it was best not to cause a fuss. Agatha was on the Congregation by then and was always talking about the segregation rules and what happened when folks broke them.” Sophie shook her head. “It never made any sense to me.”

  “The book?” I repeated, gently trying to steer the conversation.

  “Oh.” Sophie’s forehead creased with concentration, and she fell silent.

  “My mother is thrilled about the baby. She said it’s g
oing to be the best-dressed child the world has ever seen.” Nathaniel smiled tenderly at his wife. “Then the dreams started. Sophie felt trouble was coming. She has strong premonitions for a daemon, just like my mother. In September she started seeing Diana’s face and hearing her name. Sophie said people want something from you.”

  Matthew’s fingers touched the small of my back where Satu’s scar dipped down.

  “Show them her face jug, Nathaniel. It’s just a picture. I wanted to bring it, but he said we couldn’t carry a gallon jug from Durham to New York.”

  Her husband obediently took out his phone and pulled up a picture on the screen. Nathaniel handed the phone to Sarah, who gasped.

  “I’m a potter, like my mama and her mother. Granny used witchfire in her kiln, but I just do it the ordinary way. All the faces from my dreams go on my jugs. Not all of them are scary. Yours wasn’t.”

  Sarah passed the phone to Matthew. “It’s beautiful, Sophie,” he said sincerely.

  I had to agree. Its tall, rounded shape was pale gray, and two handles curved away from its narrow spout. On the front was a face—my face, though distorted by the jug’s proportions. My chin jutted out from the surface, as did my nose, my ears, and the sweep of my brow bones. Thick squiggles of clay stood in for hair. My eyes were closed, and my mouth smiled serenely, as if I were keeping a secret.

  “This is for you, too.” Sophie drew a small, lumpy object out of the pocket of her cardigan. It was wrapped in oilcloth secured with string. “When the baby quickened, I knew for sure it belonged to you. The baby knows, too. Maybe that’s what made Agatha so worried. And of course we have to figure out what to do, since the baby is a witch. Nathaniel’s mom thought you might have some ideas.”

  We watched in silence while Sophie picked at the knots. “Sorry,” she muttered. “My dad tied it up. He was in the navy.”

  “Can I help you?” Marcus asked, reaching for the lump.

  “No, I’ve got it.” Sophie smiled at him sweetly and went back to her work. “It has to be wrapped up or it turns black. And it’s not supposed to be black. It’s supposed to be white.”

  Our collective curiosity was now thoroughly aroused, and there wasn’t a sound in the house except for the lapping of Tabitha’s tongue as she groomed her paws. The string fell away, followed by the oilcloth.

  “There,” Sophie whispered. “I may not be a witch, but I’m the last of the Normans. We’ve been keeping this for you.”

  It was a small figurine no more than four inches tall and made from old silver that glowed with the softly burnished light seen in museum showcases. Sophie turned the figurine so that it faced me.

  “Diana,” I said unnecessarily. The goddess was represented exactly, from the tips of the crescent moon on her brow to her sandaled feet. She was in motion, one foot striding forward while a hand reached over her shoulders to draw an arrow from her quiver. The other hand rested on the antlers of a stag.

  “Where did you get that?” Matthew sounded strange, and his face had gone gray again.

  Sophie shrugged. “Nobody knows. The Normans have always had it. It’s been passed down in the family from witch to witch. ‘When the time comes, give it to the one who has need of it.’ That’s what my granny told my father, and my father told me. It used to be written on a little piece of paper, but that was lost a long time ago.”

  “What is it, Matthew?” Marcus looked uneasy. So did Nathaniel.

  “It’s a chess piece,” Matthew’s voice broke. “The white queen.”

  “How do you know that?” Sarah looked at the figurine critically. “It’s not like any chess piece I ever saw.”

  Matthew had to force the words out from behind tight lips. “Because it was once mine. My father gave it to me.”

  “How did it end up in North Carolina?” I stretched my fingers toward the silver object, and the figurine slid across the table as if it wanted to be in my possession. The stag’s antlers cut into my palm as my hand closed around it, the metal quickly warming to my touch.

  “I lost it in a wager,” Matthew said quietly. “I have no idea how it got to North Carolina.” He buried his face in his hands and murmured a single word that made no sense to me. “Kit.”

  “Do you remember when you last had it?” Sarah asked sharply.

  “I remember precisely.” Matthew lifted his head. “I was playing a game with it many years ago, on All Souls’ Night. It was then that I lost my wager.”

  “That’s next week.” Miriam shifted in her seat so that she could meet Sarah’s eyes. “Would timewalking be easier around the feasts of All Saints and All Souls?”

  “Miriam,” Matthew snarled, but it was too late.

  “What’s timewalking?” Nathaniel whispered to Sophie.

  “Mama was a timewalker,” Sophie whispered back. “She was good at it, too, and always came back from the 1700s with lots of ideas for pots and jugs.”

  “Your mother visited the past?” Nathaniel asked faintly. He looked around the room at the motley assortment of creatures, then at his wife’s belly. “Does that run in witches’ families, too, like second sight?”

  Sarah answered Miriam over the daemons’ whispered conversation. “There’s not much keeping the living from the dead between Halloween and All Souls. It would be easier to slip between the past and the present then.”

  Nathaniel looked more anxious. “The living and the dead? Sophie and I just came to deliver that statue or whatever it is so she can sleep through the night.”

  “Will Diana be strong enough?” Marcus asked Matthew, ignoring Nathaniel.

  “This time of year, it should be much easier for Diana to timewalk,” Sarah mused aloud.

  Sophie looked contentedly around the table. “This reminds me of the old days when granny and her sisters got together and gossiped. They never seemed to pay attention to one another, but they always knew what had been said.”

  The room’s many competing conversations stopped abruptly when the dining-room doors banged open and shut, followed by a booming sound produced by the heavier keeping-room doors. Nathaniel, Miriam, and Marcus shot to their feet.

  “What the hell was that?” Marcus asked.

  “The house,” I said wearily. “I’ll go see what it wants.”

  Matthew scooped up the figurine and followed me.

  The old woman with the embroidered bodice was waiting at the keeping room’s threshold.

  “Hello, ma’am.” Sophie had followed right behind and was nodding politely to the old woman. She scrutinized my features. “The lady looks a bit like you, doesn’t she?”

  So you’ve chosen your road, the old woman said. Her voice was fainter than before.

  “We have,” I said. Footsteps sounded behind me as the remaining occupants of the dining room came to see what the commotion was about.

  You’ll be needing something else for your journey, she replied.

  The coffin doors swung open, and the press of creatures at my back was matched by the crowd of ghosts waiting by the fireplace.

  This should be interesting, my grandmother said drily from her place at the head of the ghostly bunch.

  There was a rumbling in the walls like bones rattling. I sat in my grandmother’s rocker, my knees no longer able to hold my weight.

  A crack developed in the paneling between the window and the fireplace. It stretched and widened in a diagonal slash. The old wood shuddered and squeaked. Something soft with legs and arms flew out of the gap. I flinched when it landed in my lap.

  “Holy shit,” Sarah said.

  That paneling will never look the same, my grandmother commented, shaking her head regretfully at the cracked wood.

  Whatever flew at me was made of rough-spun fabric that had faded to an indiscriminate grayish brown. In addition to its four limbs, it had a lump where the head belonged, adorned with faded tufts of hair. Someone had stitched an X where the heart should be.

  “What is it?” I reached my index finger toward the uneven, rusty sti
tches.

  “Don’t touch it!” Em cried.

  “I’m already touching it,” I said, looking up in confusion. “It’s sitting on my lap.”

  “I’ve never seen such an old poppet,” said Sophie, peering down at it.

  “Poppet?” Miriam frowned. “Didn’t one of your ancestors get in trouble over a poppet?”

  “Bridget Bishop.” Sarah, Em, and I said the name at the same moment.

  The old woman with the embroidered bodice was now standing next to my grandmother.

  “Is this yours?” I whispered.

  A smile turned up one corner of Bridget’s mouth. Remember to be canny when you find yourself at a crossroads, daughter. There’s no telling what secrets are buried there.

  Looking down at the poppet, I lightly touched the X on its chest. The fabric split open, revealing a stuffing made of leaves, twigs, and dried flowers and releasing the scent of herbs into the air. “Rue,” I said, recognizing it from Marthe’s tea.

  “Clover, broom, knotweed, and slippery elm bark, too, from the smell of it.” Sarah gave the air a good sniff. “That poppet was made to draw someone—Diana, presumably—but it’s got a protection spell on it, too.”

  You did well by her, Bridget told my grandmother with an approving nod at Sarah.

  Something was gleaming through the brown. When I pulled at it gently, the poppet came apart in pieces.

  And there’s an end to it, Bridget said with a sigh. My grandmother put a comforting arm around her.

  “It’s an earring.” Its intricate golden surfaces caught the light, and an enormous, teardrop-shaped pearl shone at the end.

  “How the hell did one of my mother’s earrings get into Bridget Bishop’s poppet?” Matthew’s face was back to that pasty gray color.

  “Were your mother’s earrings in the same place as your chess set on that long-ago night?” Miriam asked. Both the earring and the chess piece were old—older than the poppet, older than the Bishop house.

  Matthew thought a moment, then nodded. “Yes. Is a week enough time? Can you be ready?” he asked me urgently.