A Discovery of Witches - Deborah Harkness [47]
“I’m so sorry,” I said, knowing that words were inadequate in the face of such a loss.
He mustered a small smile. “The death was only as terrible as the woman who suffered it. I loved my sister, but she didn’t make that easy. She absorbed every vice of every age she lived through. If there was excess to be had, Louisa found it.” Matthew shook himself free from his sister’s cold, beautiful face with difficulty. “Will you pour?” he asked. He put the tray on a low, polished oak table in front of the fireplace between two overstuffed leather sofas.
I agreed, happy to lighten the mood even though I had enough questions to fill more than one evening of conversation. Louisa’s huge black eyes watched me, and I made sure not to spill a drop of liquid on the shining wooden surface of the table just in case it had once been hers. Matthew had remembered the big jug of milk and the sugar, and I doctored my tea until it was precisely the right color before sinking back into the cushions with a sigh.
Matthew held his mug politely without once lifting it to his lips.
“You don’t have to for my sake, you know,” I said, glancing at the cup.
“I know.” He shrugged. “It’s a habit, and comforting to go through the motions.”
“When did you start practicing yoga?” I asked, changing the subject.
“The same time that Louisa went to Barbados. I went to the other Indies—the East Indies—and found myself in Goa during the monsoons. There wasn’t a lot to do but drink too much and learn about India. The yogis were different then, more spiritual than most teachers today. I met Amira a few years ago when I was speaking at a conference in Mumbai. As soon as I heard her lead a class, it was clear to me that she had the gifts of the old yogis, and she didn’t share the concerns some witches have about fraternizing with vampires.” There was a touch of bitterness in his voice.
“You invited her to come to England?”
“I explained what might be possible here, and she agreed to give it a try. It’s been almost ten years now, and the class is full to capacity every week. Of course, Amira teaches private classes, too, mainly to humans.”
“I’m not used to seeing witches, vampires, and daemons sharing anything—never mind a yoga class,” I confessed. The taboos against mixing with other creatures were strong. “If you’d told me it was possible, I wouldn’t have believed you.”
“Amira is an optimist, and she loves a challenge. It wasn’t easy at first. The vampires refused to be in the same room with the daemons during the early days, and of course no one trusted the witches when they started showing up.” His voice betrayed his own ingrained prejudices. “Now most in the room accept we’re more similar than different and treat one another with courtesy.”
“We may look similar,” I said, taking a gulp of tea and drawing my knees toward my chest, “but we certainly don’t feel similar.”
“What do you mean?” Matthew said, looking at me attentively.
“The way we know that someone is one of us—a creature,” I replied, confused. “The nudges, the tingles, the cold.”
Matthew shook his head. “No, I don’t know. I’m not a witch.”
“You can’t feel it when I look at you?” I asked.
“No. Can you?” His eyes were guileless and caused the familiar reaction on my skin.
I nodded.
“Tell me what it feels like.” He leaned forward. Everything seemed perfectly ordinary, but I felt that a trap was being set.
“It feels . . . cold,” I said slowly, unsure how much to divulge, “like ice growing under my skin.”
“That sounds unpleasant.” His forehead creased slightly.
“It’s not,” I replied truthfully. “Just a little strange. The daemons are the worst—when they stare at me, it’s like being kissed.