I returned the bound manuscripts I’d been consulting to the attendant on the desk and thanked him for their help. It was the end of my first full week back in the archives—a trial run to see how my magic responded to repeated contact with so many ancient texts and brilliant, though dead, intellects. Matthew was not the only one struggling for control, and I’d had a few tricky moments when it seemed it might be impossible for me to return to the work I loved, but each additional day made that goal more achievable.
Since facing the Congregation in April, I had come to understand myself as a complicated weaving and not just a walking palimpsest. My body was a tapestry of witch, daemon, and vampire. Some of the threads that made me were pure power, as symbolized by Corra’s shadowy form. Some were drawn from the skill that my weaver’s cords represented. The rest were spun from the knowledge contained in the Book of Life. Every knotted strand gave me the strength to use the goddess’s arrow for justice rather than the pursuit of vengeance or power.
Matthew was waiting for me in the foyer when I descended the grand staircase from the library to the main floor. His gaze cooled my skin and heated my blood, just as it always had. I dropped the coin into his waiting palm.
“All right, mon coeur?” he asked after kissing me in greeting.
“Fine.” I tugged on the lapel of his black jacket, a small sign of possessiveness. Matthew had dressed the part of the distinguished professor today with his steel gray trousers, crisp white shirt, and fine wool jacket. I’d picked out his tie. Hamish had given it to him this past Christmas, and the green and-gray Liberty print picked up the changeable colors of his eyes. “How did it go?”
“Interesting discussion. Chris was brilliant, of course,” Matthew said, modestly giving my friend center stage.
Chris, Matthew, Miriam, and Marcus had been presenting research findings that expanded the limits of what was considered “human.” They showed how the evolution of Homo sapiens included DNA from other creatures, like Neanderthals, previously thought to have been a different species.
Matthew had been sitting on most of the evidence for years. Chris said Matthew was as bad as Isaac Newton when it came to sharing his research with others.
“Marcus and Miriam performed their usual charmer-and-curmudgeon routine,” Matthew said, releasing me at last.
“And what was the fellows’ reaction to this bit of news?” I unpinned Matthew’s name tag and slipped it into his pocket. PROFESSOR MATTHEW CLAIRMONT, it read, FRS, ALL SOULS （OXON）， YALE UNIVERSITY （USA）。 Matthew had accepted a one-year visiting research appointment in Chris’s lab.
They’d received a huge grant to study noncoding DNA. It would lay the groundwork for the revelations they would one day make about other hominid creatures who were not extinct like the Neanderthals but were hiding in plain sight among humans. In the fall we would be off to New Haven again.
“They were surprised,” Matthew said. “Once they heard Chris’s paper, however, their surprise turned to envy. He really was impressive.”
“Where is Chris now?” I said, looking over my shoulder for my friend as Matthew steered me toward the exit.
“He and Miriam left for Pickering Place,” Matthew said. “Marcus wanted to pick up Phoebe before they all go to some oyster bar near Trafalgar Square.”
“Do you want to join them?” I asked.
“No.” Matthew’s hand settled on my waist. “I’m taking you out to dinner, remember?”
Leonard was waiting for us at the curb. “Afternoon, sieur. Madame.”
“‘Professor Clairmont’ will do, Leonard,” Matthew said mildly as he handed me into the back of the car.
“Righty-ho,” Leonard said with a cheerful grin. “Clairmont House?”
“Please,” Matthew said, getting into the car with me.