A Discovery of Witches - Deborah Harkness [115]
Matthew wanted to help—I could see that—but he was unsure of me, and the shadow of my own conflicted emotions fell over his face.
Knox’s voice sounded again in my mind, full of poison. Remember who you are.
“Remember?” the note asked.
Without warning, I turned back toward the vampire, closing the distance between me and him in a rush. My parents were gone, but Matthew was here. Tucking my head under his chin, I listened for several minutes for the next pump of blood through his system. The leisurely rhythms of his vampire heart soon put me to sleep.
My own heart was pounding when I awoke again in the dark, kicking at the loosened duvet and swimming to a seated position. Behind me, Matthew turned on the lamp, its shade still angled away from the bed.
“What is it?” he asked.
“The magic found me. The witches did, too. I’ll be killed for my magic, like my parents were killed.” The words rushed from my mouth, panic speeding their passage, and I stumbled to my feet.
“No.” Matthew rose and stood between me and the door. “We’re going to face this, Diana, whatever it is. Otherwise you’ll never stop running.”
Part of me knew that what he said was true. The rest wanted to flee into the darkness. But how could I, with a vampire standing in the way?
The air began to stir around me as if trying to drive off the feeling of being trapped. Chilly wisps edged up the legs of my trousers. The air crept up my body, lifting the hair around my face in a gentle breeze. Matthew swore and stepped toward me, his arm outstretched. The breeze increased into gusts of wind that ruffled the bedclothes and the curtains.
“It’s all right.” His voice was pitched deliberately to be heard above the whirlwind and to calm me at the same time.
But it wasn’t enough.
The force of the wind kept rising, and with it my arms rose, too, shaping the air into a column that enclosed me as protectively as the duvet. On the other side of the disturbance, Matthew stood, one hand still extended, eyes fixed on mine. When I opened my mouth to warn him to stay away, nothing came out but frigid air.
“It’s all right,” he said again, not breaking his gaze. “I won’t move.”
I hadn’t realized that was the problem until he said the words.
“I promise,” he said firmly.
The wind faltered. The cyclone surrounding me became a whirlwind, then a breeze, then disappeared entirely. I gasped and dropped to my knees.
“What is happening to me?” Every day I ran and rowed and did yoga, and my body did what I told it to. Now it was doing unimaginable things. I looked down to make sure my hands weren’t sparkling with electricity and my feet weren’t still being buffeted by winds.
“That was a witchwind,” Matthew explained, not moving. “Do you know what that is?”
I’d heard of a witch in Albany who could summon storms, but no one had ever called it a “witchwind.”
“Not really,” I confessed, still sneaking glances at my hands and feet.
“Some witches have inherited the ability to control the element of air. You’re one of them,” he said.
“That wasn’t control.”
“It was your first time.” Matthew was matter-of-fact. He gestured around the small bedroom: the intact curtains and sheets, all the clothing strewn on the chest of drawers and floor exactly where they’d been left that morning. “We’re both still standing, and the room doesn’t look like a tornado went through it. That’s control—for now.”
“But I didn’t ask for it. Do these things just happen to witches—electrical fires and winds they didn’t summon?” I pushed the hair out of my eyes and swayed, exhausted. Too much had happened in the past twenty-four hours. Matthew’s body inclined toward me as if to catch me should I fall.
“Witchwinds and blue fingers are rare these days. There’s magic inside