“We met by chance. I knew she was a witch, but the bond between us was undeniable,” Matthew said. “Her own people have turned on her—”
A hand that might have been mistaken for a paw rose in a gesture commanding quiet. Philippe returned his attention to his son.
“Matthaios.” Philippe’s lazy drawl had the efficiency of a slow-moving whip, silencing his son immediately. “Am I to understand that you need my protection?”
“Of course not,” Matthew said indignantly.
“Then hush and let the witch speak.”
Intent on giving Matthew’s father what he wanted so that we could get out of his unnerving presence as quickly as possible, I considered how best to recount our recent adventures. Rehearsing every detail would take too long, and the chances that Matthew might explode in the meantime were excellent. I took a deep breath and began.
“My name is Diana Bishop, and my parents were both powerful witches. Other witches killed them when they were far from home, when I was still a child. Before they died, they spellbound me. My mother was a seer, and she knew what was to come.”
Philippe’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. I understood his caution. It was still difficult for me to understand why two people who loved me had broken the witches’ ethical code and placed their only daughter in magical shackles.
“Growing up, I was a family disgrace—a witch who couldn’t light a candle or perform a spell properly. I turned my back on the Bishops and went to university.” With this revelation Matthew began to shift uneasily in his seat. “I studied the history of alchemy.”
“Diana studies the art of alchemy,” Matthew corrected, shooting me a warning glance. But his convoluted half-truths wouldn’t satisfy his father.
“I’m a timewalker.” The word hung in the air between the three of us. “You call it a fileuse de temps.”
“Oh, I am well aware of what you are,” Philippe said in the same lazy tone. A fleeting look of surprise touched Matthew’s face. “I have lived a long time, madame, and have known many creatures. You are not from this time, nor the past, so you must be from the future. And Matthaios traveled back with you, for he is not the same man he was eight months ago. The Matthew I know would never have looked twice at a witch.” The vampire drew in a deep breath. “My grandson warned me that you both smelled very odd.”
“Philippe, let me explain—” But Matthew was not destined to finish his sentences this evening.
“As troubling as many aspects of this situation are, I am glad to see that we can look forward to a sensible attitude toward shaving in the years to come.” Philippe idly scratched his own neatly clipped beard and mustache. “Beards are a sign of lice, not wisdom, after all.”
“I’m told Matthew looks like an invalid.” I drew a tired sigh. “But I don’t know a spell to fix it.”
Philippe waved my words away. “A beard is easy enough to arrange. You were telling me of your interest in alchemy.”
“Yes. I found a book—one that many others have sought. I met Matthew when he came to steal it from me, but he couldn’t because I’d already let it out of my hands. Every creature for miles was after me then. I had to stop working!”
A sound that might have been suppressed laughter set a muscle in Philippe’s jaw throbbing. It was, I discovered, hard to tell with lions whether they were amused or about to pounce.
“We think it’s the book of origins,” Matthew said. His expression was proud, though my calling of the manuscript had been completely accidental. “It came looking for Diana. By the time the other creatures realized what she’d found, I was already in love.”
“So this went on for some time, then.” Philippe tented his fingers in front of his chin, resting his elbows on the edges of the table. He was sitting on a simple four-legged stool, even though a splendid, thronelike eyesore sat empty next to him.
“No,” I said after doing some calculations, “just a fortnight. Matthew wouldn’t admit to his feelings for the longest time, though—not until we were at SeptTours. But it wasn’t safe here either. One night I left Matthew’s bed and went outside. A witch took me from the gardens.”
Philippe’s eyes darted from me to Matthew. “There was a witch inside the walls of SeptTours?”
“Yes,” said Matthew tersely.
“Down into them,” I corrected gently, capturing his father’s attention once more. “I don’t believe any witch’s foot ever touched the ground, if that’s important. Well, mine did, of course.”