A Discovery of Witches - Deborah Harkness [249]
“You didn’t get very far, did you?” Her snort carried clear across the field. “That hardly qualifies as exercise.”
Feeling like a schoolgirl caught necking in the driveway, I pulled my sweatshirt into the proper position and headed back to the house. Matthew chuckled and followed.
“You look pleased with yourself,” Sarah said when he stepped into the kitchen. Standing under the bright lights, he was every inch a vampire—and a self-satisfied one, at that. But his eyes were no longer restless, and for that I was grateful.
“Leave him alone.” Em’s voice was uncharacteristically sharp. She handed me the salad and pointed me to the table in the family room where we usually ate. “We saw a fair amount of that apple tree ourselves while Diana was growing up.”
“Hmph,” Sarah said. She picked up three wineglasses and waved them in Matthew’s direction. “Got any more of that wine, Casanova?”
“I’m French, Sarah, not Italian. And I’m a vampire. I always have wine,” Matthew said with a wicked smile. “There’s no danger of running out either. Marcus will bring more. He’s not French—or Italian either, alas—but his education compensated for it.”
We sat around the table, and the three witches proceeded to demolish Em’s roast chicken and potatoes. Tabitha sat next to Matthew, her tail swishing flirtatiously across his feet every few minutes. He kept the wine flowing into Sarah’s glass, and I sipped at my own. Em asked repeatedly if he wanted to taste anything, but Matthew declined.
“I’m not hungry, Emily, but thank you.”
“Is there anything at all that you would eat?” Em wasn’t used to people refusing her food.
“Nuts,” I said firmly. “If you have to buy him food, get him nuts.”
Em hesitated. “What about raw meat?”
Matthew grabbed my hand and squeezed it before I could reply. “If you want to feed me, uncooked meat would be just fine. I like broth, too—plain, no vegetables.”
“Is that what your son and colleague eat, too, or are these just your favorite foods?”
Matthew’s impatience with my earlier questions about his lifestyle and dining habits made sense to me now.
“It’s pretty standard vampire fare when we’re among warmbloods.” Matthew released my hand and poured himself more wine.
“You must hang out at bars a lot, what with the wine and nuts,” Sarah observed.
Em put her fork down and stared at her.
“What?” Sarah demanded.
“Sarah Bishop, if you embarrass us in front of Matthew’s son, I’ll never forgive you.”
My resulting fit of giggles quickly turned into full-blown laughter. Sarah was the first to join in, followed by Em. Matthew sat and smiled as if he’d been dropped into a lunatic asylum but was too polite to mention it.
When the laughter subsided, he turned to Sarah. “I was wondering if I could borrow your stillroom to analyze the pigments used in the picture of the chemical wedding. Maybe they can tell us where and when it was made.”
“You’re not going to remove anything from that picture.” The historian in me rose up in horror at the thought.
“It won’t come to any harm,” Matthew said mildly. “I do know how to analyze tiny pieces of evidence.”
“No! We should leave it alone until we know what we’re dealing with.”
“Don’t be so prim, Diana. Besides, it’s a bit late for that when it was you who sent the book back.” Sarah stood, her eyes brightening. “Let’s see if the cookbook can help.”
“Well, well,” Em said under her breath. “You’re one of the family now, Matthew.”
Sarah disappeared into the stillroom and returned holding a leather-bound book the size of a family Bible. Within its covers was all the learning and lore of the Bishops, handed down from witch to witch for nearly four hundred years. The first name in the book was Rebecca, accompanied by the date 1617 in an ornate, round hand. Other names were sprawled down the first page in two columns, each one in a slightly different ink with a different date attached to it. The names continued onto the back of the sheet as well, with Susannahs, Elizabeths, Margarets, Rebeccas, and Sarahs dominating the list. My aunt never showed anybody this book—not even