A Discovery of Witches (All Souls, #1)

by Deborah Harkness

Humans outnumbered us and found our power frightening, my mother explained, and fear was the strongest force on earth.

“Mommy’s got a firecracker inside her,” was the way my father explained it with his wide, indulgent grin. But firecrackers, I learned, were not simply bright and lively. They were unpredictable, and they could startle and frighten you, too.

“They were bound to attract attention—even without studying ancient ceremonial religion.” This was enough to make me blame my parents’ death on the supernatural power they wielded and to search for a different way of life.

He realized he’d been standing for several hours, motionless, watching the witch dream while her power rose and fell in waves.

The notion of pulling an illegal maneuver and crossing the river so that I could smack the vampire upside his beautiful head with whatever piece of boat equipment was handy was very tempting.

I worked my fleece pullover up above my shoulders and yanked it off. Clairmont’s eyes flickered to my collarbones, over my bare arms, and down to my fingertips. I felt uncharacteristically naked in my familiar rowing clothes.

“Think, Diana.” Clairmont’s voice was intense. A ripple of something that wasn’t fear passed across my skin when he said my first name. “What have you been reading?”

“It’s uncommon these days for a witch to have so much . . . potential.” Clairmont’s voice dropped to a purr that vibrated in the back of his throat. “Not everyone can see it—yet—but I can. You shimmer with it when you concentrate. When you’re angry, too. Surely the daemons in the library will sense it soon, if they haven’t already.”

“Don’t be too sure of that. Be careful. Please.” Clairmont hesitated, his face shaken out of its perfect lines as he wrestled with something. “Especially if you see that wizard again.”

He stopped short, and a polite smile shaped his lips. “Dr. Bishop. Good morning.” He raked his fingers through his hair, which only made it look more artfully tousled. I patted my own hair self-consciously and tucked a stray strand behind my ear.

“He’s not my vampire.” I flushed. “Are you sure?” she asked, staring into the chrome on the espresso machine as if it were a magic mirror.

Matthew’s nose flared delicately. His smile grew a bit wider. Whatever my body was doing, he had smelled it. What’s more, he seemed to have identified it.

I was going to ask why you walk with your eyes closed.” I laughed. “What—you don’t?” Matthew shook his head. “Vampires have only five senses. We find it best to use all of them,” he said sardonically. “There’s nothing magical about it, Matthew. It’s a game I’ve played since I was a child. It made my aunt crazy. I was always coming home with bruised legs and scratches from running into bushes and trees.”

He deliberately shortened his stride to keep in step with me, and he seemed more relaxed outdoors than he had in the library.

We didn’t talk, and his stillness made me realize how much I moved, constantly blinking, breathing, and rearranging myself. Not Clairmont. He never blinked and seldom breathed, and his every turn of the steering wheel or push of the pedals was as small and efficient as possible, as if his long life required him to conserve energy. I wondered again how old Matthew Clairmont was.

“I am capable of opening my own door,” I said, getting out of the car. “Why do today’s women think it’s important to open a door themselves?” he said sharply. “Do you believe it’s a testament to your physical power?”

“You’re impossibly old-fashioned,” I said with a sigh, deciding not to fight it. He could open doors for me this morning so long as he was prepared to buy me a hot breakfast.

“Can you get this lady some tea when you have a chance? She’s threatened to kill for it.” “Won’t be necessary, dearie,” Mary told me with a smile. “We serve tea without bloodshed.”

He was much more comfortable when the two of us were alone.

“Just who do you think poses a threat, Matthew? I told you I could take care of myself.” My voice came out a little more tartly than I had intended. “Yes, I’m sure you can,” he said doubtfully. “Look,” I said, trying to keep my tone even, “you’ve managed to keep . . . them away from me so I could get some work done.” The tables were too close together for me to include any more details. “I’m grateful for that. But this café is full of humans. The only danger now would come from your drawing their attention. You’re officially off duty.” Clairmont cocked his head in the direction of the cash register. “That man over there told his friend that you looked ‘tasty.’” He was trying to make light of it, but his face darkened. I smothered a laugh. “I don’t think he’s going to bite me,” I said. The vampire’s skin took on a grayish hue. “From what I understand of modern British slang, ‘tasty’ is a compliment, not a threat.” Clairmont continued to glower.

The vampire watched me eat with the same acute attention he’d devoted to watching me make my tea.

All you have to do is be a good listener. Nobody really wants to keep secrets, not even the dead. People leave clues everywhere, and if you pay attention, you can piece them together.”

“Have I done something wrong?” His gray-green eyes were wide and guileless. He opened the car door, taking a deep breath as I slid past. My temper flared. “Are you smelling me?” After yesterday I suspected that my body was giving him all kinds of information I didn’t want him to have. “Don’t tempt me,” he murmured, shutting me inside. The hair on my neck rose slightly as the implication of his words sank in.

The vampire held my hand lightly and tugged on it gently to help me out of the car. Before releasing me, he gave a soft encouraging squeeze. Surprised, I glanced at him and caught him doing the same thing. Both of us looked away in confusion.

Matthew turned toward me and opened his eyes. His face softened, and my own did the same. There was movement all around us, but the socially correct had no pull on me. I stayed where I was, staring into a vampire’s eyes. Matthew waited, utterly still, watching me watch him.

Normal’ is a bedtime story—a fable—that humans tell themselves to feel better when faced with overwhelming evidence that most of what’s happening around them is not ‘normal’ at all.”

“The scent is like an electrical storm about to break, or summer lightning. There are times when I can see it, too. Diana shimmers when she’s angry or lost in her work.” And when she’s asleep, he thought, frowning. “Christ, there are times when I think I can even taste it.”

“Not exactly. Diana was frightened at first, even though she met my eyes without flinching. Her eyes are extraordinary—blue and gold and green and gray,” Matthew mused. “Later she wanted to hit me. She smelled so angry.”

I’m . . . craving her.” Even saying the word made the hunger spread. When his hunger focused, grew insistent like this, not just any blood would do. His body demanded something more specific. If only he could taste it—taste Diana—he would be satisfied and the painful longing would subside.

A vampire had to desire another creature more than anyone or anything else in order to mate, and cravings were rooted in desire.

“You do realize you’re hunting her?” The vampire exhaled, relieved that it had been said aloud. “I know. I climbed into her window when she was sleeping. I follow her when she’s running. She resists my attempts to help her, and the more she does, the hungrier I feel.”

“I want what I shouldn’t want, and I crave someone I can never have.”

“Especially around Diana. Not even Eleanor made me feel this way.” The mere thought of Diana brought the craving back, the tightness spreading from his heart to his abdomen.

“Is she worth the cost, Matt?” he asked softly. “Yes,” Matthew said without a moment of hesitation, lifting the white queen from the board and holding it between his fingers.

“I never thought I’d see the day when a Bishop relied on a vampire for protection, rather than her own power,” she said. “My mother must be turning in her grave. This is what comes from avoiding who you are, Diana. You’ve got a mess on your hands, and it’s all because you thought you could ignore your heritage. It doesn’t work that way.”

When Matthew came into the Selden End, without warning or sound, no icy patches announced his arrival. Instead there were touches of snowflakes all along my hair, shoulders, and back, as if he were checking quickly to make sure I was all in one piece. My fingers gripped the table in front of me. For a few moments, I didn’t dare turn in case it was simply Miriam. When I saw it was indeed Matthew, my heart gave a single loud thump.

But the vampire was no longer looking in my direction. He was staring at Peter Knox, his face ferocious.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” He raked his hand through his hair and looked down the drive. My heart was beating irregularly, and the reduced blood flow slowed my mental processes. Finally, though, I understood.

We can be protective—possessive, even. You might not like it.” “A little protectiveness sounds pretty good to me about now.” My answer brought a look of raw vulnerability to Matthew’s eyes. “I’ll remind you of that when you start complaining,” he said, the rawness quickly replaced with wry amusement.

“I expect I’ve spent too much time in England. Can you really eat this?” I blurted, unable to stand it anymore. He laughed. “Yes, I happen to like smoked salmon.”

“If food doesn’t taste good, why do you keep inviting me out to eat?” I asked. Matthew’s eyes flicked over my cheeks, my eyes, and lingered on my mouth. “It’s easier to be around you when you’re eating. The smell of cooked food nauseates me.” I blinked at him, still confused. “As long as I’m nauseated, I’m not hungry,” Matthew said, his voice exasperated. “Oh!” The pieces clicked together. I already knew he liked the way I smelled. Apparently that made him hungry. Oh. I flushed.

“I thought you knew that about vampires,” he said more gently, “and that’s why you invited me for dinner.”

The strongest distinguishing characteristic of humans is their power of denial.

“Humans are with us all the time. They just refuse to acknowledge our existence because we don’t make sense in their limited world. Once they allow us in—see us for who we really are—then we’re in to stay, just as someone you’ve invited into your home can be hard to get rid of. They can’t ignore us anymore.”

“How did you decide what to serve for dinner tonight?” He gestured at the berries and nuts that were left from the meal. “Well, it wasn’t magic. The zoology department helped a lot,” I explained. He looked startled, then roared with laughter. “You asked the zoology department what to make me for dinner?” “Not exactly,” I said defensively. “There were raw-food recipes on the Net, but I got stuck after I bought the meat. They told me what gray wolves ate.”

“You can taste the sunshine,” I said, earning myself another beautiful smile.

My face softened at his beautiful, ancient features. How could people walk by him on the street and not gasp? Before I could stop myself, my toes were gripping the old rug and I was stretching up to kiss him quickly on the cheek. His skin felt smooth and cold like satin, and my lips felt unusually warm against his flesh.

Matthew studied me. When I showed no sign of hysteria or an inclination to make a run for it, he leaned toward me and kissed me slowly once, twice in the French manner. His face skimmed over mine, and he drank in my scent of willow sap and honeysuckle. When he straightened, Matthew’s eyes looked smokier than usual.

Matthew had used the term “reborn” last night, but I’d never heard the word “maker” in connection with vampires before.

“Before you do this, I want you to think about it,” Matthew said, bending over me protectively as he had when Peter Knox had approached me at the Bodleian. “We have no way of predicting what the tests will reveal. It’s your whole life, and your family’s history, all laid out in black and white. Are you absolutely sure you want that scrutinized?”