A Discovery of Witches - Deborah Harkness [291]
“It depends on when you arrive. If it’s before we left, I’ll be there. If not, I’ll be here.”
“The physics of this don’t make sense.” My head filled with concerns about how the universe would handle multiple Dianas and Ems—not to mention Miriams and Sarahs.
“Stop thinking about physics. What did your dad write in his note? ‘Whoever can no longer wonder, no longer marvel, is as good as dead.’”
“Close enough,” I admitted reluctantly.
“It’s time for you to take a big step into the mysterious, Diana. The magic and wonder that was always your birthright is waiting for you. Now, think about where you want to be.”
When my mind was brimming over with images of it, I picked up my foot.
When I put it down again, there I was in the hop barn with Em.
“It didn’t work,” I said, panicking.
“You were too focused on the details of the room. Think about Matthew. Don’t you want to be with him? Magic’s in the heart, not the mind. It’s not about words and following a procedure, like witchcraft. You have to feel it.”
“Desire.” I saw myself calling Notes and Queries from the shelf at the Bodleian, felt once more the first touch of Matthew’s lips on mine in his rooms at All Souls. The barn dropped away, and Matthew was telling me the story about Thomas Jefferson and Edward Jenner.
“No,” Em said, her voice steely. “Don’t think about Jefferson. Think about Matthew.”
“Matthew.” I brought my mind back to the touch of his cool fingers against my skin, the rich sound of his voice, the sense of intense vitality when we were together.
I picked up my foot.
It landed in the corner of the stillroom, where I was squashed behind an old barrel.
“What if she gets lost?” Matthew sounded tense. “How will we get her back?”
“We don’t have to worry about that,” Sophie said, pointing in my direction. “She’s already here.”
Matthew whipped around and let out a ragged breath.
“How long have I been gone?” I felt light-headed and disoriented, but otherwise fine.
“About ninety seconds,” Sarah said. “More than enough time for Matthew to have a nervous breakdown.”
Matthew pulled me into his arms and tucked me under his chin. “Thank God. How soon can she take me with her?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Sarah warned. “One step at a time.”
I looked around. “Where’s Em?”
“In the barn.” Sophie was beaming. “She’ll catch up.”
It took more than twenty minutes for Em to return. When she did, her cheeks were pink from concern as well as the cold, though some of the tension left her when she saw me standing with Matthew.
“You did good, Em,” Sarah said, kissing her in a rare public display of affection.
“Diana started thinking about Thomas Jefferson,” Em said. “She might have ended up at Monticello. Then she focused on her feelings, and her body got blurry around the edges. I blinked, and she was gone.”
That afternoon, with Em’s careful coaching, I took a slightly longer trip back to breakfast. Over the next few days, I went a bit farther with each timewalk. Going back in time aided by three objects was always easier than returning to the present, which required enormous concentration as well as an ability to accurately forecast where and when you wanted to arrive. Finally it was time to try carrying Matthew.
Sarah had insisted on limiting the variables to accommodate the extra effort required. “Start out wherever you want to end up,” she advised. “That way all you have to worry about is thinking yourself back to a particular time. The place will take care of itself.”
I took him up to the bedroom at twilight without telling him what was in store. The figure of Diana and the golden earring from Bridget Bishop’s poppet were sitting on the chest of drawers in front of a photograph of my parents.
“Much as I’d like to spend a few hours with you in here—alone—dinner is almost ready,” he protested, though there was a calculating gleam in his eyes.
“There’s plenty of time. Sarah said I’m ready to take you timewalking. We’re going back to our first night in the house.”
Matthew thought for a moment, and his eyes brightened further. “Was that