A Discovery of Witches - Deborah Harkness [108]
The clocks of Oxford struck eight, their familiar, weary tolling reminding Matthew of the call he’d missed. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the messages, quickly thumbing through the automatic notifications from the security systems at the labs and the Old Lodge. There were several messages from Marcus.
Matthew frowned and punched the number to retrieve them. Marcus was not prone to alarm. What could be so urgent?
“Matthew.” The familiar voice held none of its usual playful charm. “I have Diana’s DNA test results. They’re . . . surprising. Call me.”
The recorded voice was still speaking when the vampire’s finger punched another single key on the phone. He raked his hair with his free hand while he waited for Marcus to pick up. It took only one ring.
“Matthew.” There was no warmth in Marcus’s response, only relief. It had been hours since he’d left the messages. Marcus had even checked Matthew’s favorite Oxford haunt, the Pitt Rivers Museum, where the vampire could often be found dividing his attention between the skeleton of an iguanodon and a likeness of Darwin. Miriam had finally banished him from the lab, irritated by his constant questions about where Matthew might be and with whom.
“He’s with her, of course,” Miriam had said in the late afternoon, her voice full of disapproval. “Where else? And if you’re not going to do any work, go home and wait for his call there. You’re in my way.”
“What did the tests show?” Matthew’s voice was low, but his rage was audible.
“What’s happened?” Marcus asked quickly.
A picture lying faceup on the floor of the bathroom caught Matthew’s attention. Diana had been clutching it that afternoon. His eyes narrowed to slits as he took in the image. “Where are you?” he rasped.
“Home,” Marcus answered uneasily.
Matthew picked the photo off the floor and traced its scent to where a piece of paper had slid half under the couch. He read the single word of the message, took a sharp breath. “Bring the reports and my passport to New College. Diana’s rooms are in the garden quadrangle at the top of staircase seven.”
Twenty minutes later Matthew opened the door, his hair standing on end and a ferocious look on his face. The younger vampire had to school himself not to take a step backward.
Marcus held out a manila folder with a maroon passport folded around it, every move deliberate, and patiently waited. He wasn’t about to enter the witch’s rooms without Matthew’s permission, not when the vampire was in this state.
Permission was slow in coming, but at last Matthew took the folder and stepped aside to let Marcus enter.
While Matthew scrutinized Diana’s test results, Marcus studied him. His keen nose took in the old wood and well-worn textiles, along with the smell of the witch’s fear and the vampire’s barely controlled emotions. His own hackles rose at the volatile combination, and a reflexive growl caught in his throat.
Over the years Marcus had come to appreciate Matthew’s finer qualities—his compassion, his conscience, his patience with those he loved. He also knew his faults, anger chief among them. Typically, Matthew’s rage was so destructive that once the poison was out of his system, he disappeared for months or even years to come to terms with what he’d done.
And Marcus had never seen his father so coldly furious as he was now. Matthew Clairmont had entered Marcus’s life in 1777 and changed it—forever. He had appeared in the Bennett farmhouse at the side of an improvised sling that carried the wounded Marquis de Lafayette from the killing fields at the Battle of Brandywine. Matthew towered over the other men, barking orders at everyone regardless of rank.
No one disputed his commands—not even Lafayette, who joked with his friend despite his injuries. The marquis’s good humor couldn’t stave off a tongue-lashing from Matthew, however. When Lafayette protested that he could manage while soldiers with more serious injuries were tended to, Clairmont released a volley