“You know it?” Danforth asked.
“I, too, attended university,” Matthew replied mildly.
“Then you understand why I must question this woman.” Danforth attempted to advance into the room. Hancock’s low growl brought him to a standstill.
“My wife has no difficulties with her hearing. You needn’t come closer.”
“I told you Mistress Roydon has unnatural powers!” Iffley said triumphantly.
Danforth gripped his book. “Who taught you these things, Mistress Roydon?” he called down the echoing expanse of the hall. “From whom did you learn your witchcraft?”
This was how the madness began: with questions designed to trap the accused into condemning other creatures. One life at a time, witches were caught up in the web of lies and destroyed. Thousands of my people had been tortured and killed thanks to such tactics. Denials burbled up into my throat.
“Don’t.” Matthew’s single word of warning was uttered in an icy murmur.
“Strange things are happening in Woodstock. A white stag crossed Widow Beaton’s path,” Danforth continued. “It stopped in the road and stared until her flesh turned cold. Last night a gray wolf was seen outside her house. Its eyes glowed in the darkness, brighter than the lamps that were hung out to help travelers find shelter in the storm. Which of these creatures is your familiar? Who gifted you with it?” Matthew didn’t need to tell me to keep silent this time. The priest’s questions were following a well-known pattern, one I had studied in graduate school.
“The witch must answer your questions, Mr. Danforth,” Iffley insisted, pulling at his companion’s sleeve. “Such insolence from a creature of darkness cannot be allowed in a godly community.”
“My wife speaks to no one without my consent,” said Matthew. “And mind whom you call witch, Iffley.” The more the villagers challenged him, the harder it was for Matthew to restrain himself.
The minister’s eyes traveled from me to Matthew and back again. I stifled a whimper.
“Her agreement with the devil makes it impossible for her to speak the truth,” Bidwell said.
“Hush, Master Bidwell,” Danforth chided. “What do you wish to say, my child? Who introduced you to the devil? Was it another woman?”
“Or man,” Iffley said under his breath. “Mistress Roydon is not the only child of darkness to be found here. There are strange books and instruments, and midnight gatherings are held to conjure spirits.”
Harriot sighed and thrust his book at Danforth. “Mathematics, sir, not magic. Widow Beaton spotted a geometry text.”
“It is not your place to determine the extent of the evil here,” Iffley sputtered.
“If it’s evil you’re seeking, look for it at Widow Beaton’s.” Though he’d done his best to remain calm, Matthew was rapidly losing his temper.
“Do you accuse her of witchcraft, then?” Danforth asked sharply.
“No, Matthew. Not that way,” I whispered, tugging on his hand to gain his attention.
Matthew turned to me. His face looked inhuman, his pupils glassy and enormous. I shook my head, and he took a deep breath, trying to calm both his fury at the invasion of his home and his fierce instinct to protect me.
“Stop your ears against his words, Mr. Danforth. Roydon might be an instrument of the devil, too,” Iffley warned.
Matthew faced the delegation. “If you have reason to charge my wife with some offense, find a magistrate and do so. Otherwise get out. And before you return, Danforth, consider whether aligning with Iffley and Bidwell is a wise course of action.”
The parson gulped.
“You heard him,” Hancock barked. “Out!”
“Justice will be served, Master Roydon—God’s justice,” Danforth proclaimed as he backed out of the room.
“Only if my version doesn’t resolve the matter first, Danforth,” Walter promised.
Pierre and Charles materialized from the shadows, throwing open the doors to shepherd the wide-eyed warmbloods from the room. Outside, it was blowing a gale. The fierceness of the waiting storm would only confirm their suspicions about my supernatural powers.
Out, out, out! called an insistent voice in my head. Panic flooded my system with adrenaline. I had been reduced to prey once more. Gallowglass and Hancock turned toward me, intrigued by the scent of fear seeping from my pores.
“Stay where you are,” Matthew warned the vampires. He crouched before me. “Diana’s instincts are telling her to flee. She’ll be fine in a moment.”