The World of All Souls Read online

  Domenico hadn’t believed the Templars’ protestations of innocence in the fourteenth century, and he didn’t believe Matthew now. Neither had the witches, nor their present-day descendants within the Hospitallers. And now the de Clermonts had a witch in their possession. It was a dangerous game Matthew was playing.

  “The witches are always looking for an excuse to go to war with your family, Matthew. They have been since Jerusalem. And now you’ve given it to them with this madness over Diana Bishop. Just make her one of us and she will be ours to protect. The witches won’t be able to use your romantic indiscretion as a premise for war, and every vampire will support you.”

  “She is already mine to protect,” Matthew said coldly. “I don’t need to make her a vampire, and I don’t need your support.”

  Domenico bristled. “You are the only creature in the world who thinks she belongs to you. Not even Diana Bishop believes it. And as long as neither you nor the witch herself sees her as a de Clermont, every moment you spend with her puts her in greater danger.”

  Matthew’s eyes flickered.

  Domenico noted it with satisfaction. Ah, he thought. That’s the way to win this battle. Emphasize that the witch is in danger—from Matthew himself. He decided to tip his hand.

  “You cannot keep her with you, kiss her, and sing songs to her in the night without courting war and utter destruction,” Domenico continued. “You know this, brother. I’m not the only vampire on the Congregation. Gerbert has a seat alongside me, and you’ve seen him protect our kind ruthlessly from threats far smaller than the one posed by your dalliance with this witch.”

  “Have you and Gerbert been spying on me?” Matthew looked murderous.

  “Gerbert has. I’ve been too busy.” Domenico sniffed.

  “I’ll make Gerbert apologize for his appalling behavior, then.” Matthew kept his features still, trying not to think what his old neighbor would do to Diana if she came within his power. The prospect was more frightening than his worst fears about Domenico.

  “Don’t worry about Gerbert, Matthew. He’s one of us.” Domenico smothered his exasperation. The de Clermonts and Gerbert were always settling old scores—most of which the Venetian didn’t understand. Domenico didn’t like Gerbert d’Aurillac, but at least he was properly cautious around the other vampire. “It’s the witches you need to worry about. The ones on the Congregation are not the superstitious fools they’ve been in the past. These witches have real power, and they’re not afraid to use it.”

  “What do the daemons of the Congregation think about all of this?” Matthew inquired quietly. “You’ve told me what you and Gerbert think, and the witches. Are the daemons no longer taken seriously?”

  “We’ve never taken them seriously. They’re so unpredictable. You’ve always been fond of daemons, but I wouldn’t pin my hopes on their rallying to your side in this case. Besides, it hardly matters what they think. You couldn’t win a judgment even if all three daemons supported you. The vote would be six to three.”

  “I still don’t believe you’ve issued this warning because a vampire kissed a witch.” Matthew ran his fingers through his hair in an exasperated gesture that Domenico had seen before. “You started hunting her the minute she got her hands on that manuscript, and you won’t stop until she gets it back for you. And we all know what will happen then. The witches will destroy her. I will not stand by and let that happen.”

  “The only one hunting her now is you,” Domenico said bluntly.

  Matthew’s face blazed with anger. But both vampires knew that if de Clermont stopped concentrating on protecting Diana for an instant and let his hunger get the better of him, no one could protect her from his need to possess her.

  Domenico watched as the older vampire wrestled with his feelings. It was fascinating to see how strong this witch’s hold was, even on a powerful and ancient vampire like de Clermont. Domenico wondered idly what it would be like to taste her, knowing that the Frenchman wanted her for himself. Louisa de Clermont had been delicious, and he had enjoyed every drop of blood the two had exchanged in their lovemaking and in the fierce fights that both preceded and followed their nights together. Part of the charm of having Louisa, Domenico knew, was taking something that belonged in some small way to Matthew. But Matthew believed that this witch was his entirely. Not only would her blood be sweet, but every drop he consumed would destroy a part of his former friend’s soul. Domenico’s revenge on Matthew would at last be complete.

  High overhead a canvas flag snapped in the breeze. Domenico looked up, trying to locate the sound, and saw a black flag with a writhing silver serpent flying from the keep’s main tower. He swore under his breath.

  It was only a momentary lapse, but Matthew launched himself with a low roar across the ground that separated them. The force of his body carried his enemy into the trunk of the chestnut tree outside the gate. His fingers closed around Domenico’s face and neck.

  “I don’t know what game you’re playing, brother,” Matthew said with bared teeth, “but I have never trusted you or Gerbert, and I don’t mean to start now. You want Diana for some reason that goes well beyond me and her association with the de Clermonts. And I’m going to find out what that is.”

  In the nearby village, a bell began to toll.

  Domenico had crossed swords with Matthew and with other members of the clannish de Clermont family before, and he recognized what was happening. They were closing ranks around the witch. Even Ysabeau had come like an obedient puppy when Matthew had called her. Now they’d placed the whole damned town on alert.

  “You’ve proven my point, haven’t you, de Clermont?” The Venetian fastened his own iron hands around Matthew’s wrists to break his grip. “You’re a hunter—a killer. You don’t think before you react. What if she makes you angry one day? Will you fly at her as quickly as you have at me?”

  “No one else makes me quite as angry as you, Domenico.” Matthew pressed his fingers deeper into the Venetian’s neck, twisting his head to the side, and bared his teeth further. “And that was before you had the gall to come here and ask me to keep an oath I was forced to make simply because you behaved like a rabid wolf in Jerusalem.”

  “Kill her now, kill her later. But mark me, you will kill her in the end.” Domenico squeezed the words from his constricted throat with effort. “Why add civil war to the burdens already on your conscience?”

  Matthew loosened his fingers and stepped away, touching the ampulla under his sweater.

  The Venetian resisted the urge to examine the places where the French vampire’s fingers had been. His eyes returned to the black flag flying over the tallest of Sept-Tours’ crenellated towers.

  “That would be my mother, warning the village that there is a vampire in the vicinity who cannot be trusted to behave like a civilized creature.” Matthew wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

  “And the lovely Diana is with her, no doubt.”

  Matthew ignored the barb. “I will think about what you’ve said, Domenico. You can assure Gerbert that I’ve heard your words and will not act in haste.”

  Domenico made an impatient gesture. What did it matter whether Matthew thought about it or not? “You must accept this decree, Matthew. If you don’t, the witches won’t be the only creatures you have to worry about.”

  “I don’t follow orders from Gerbert—or from you. The de Clermonts make their own decisions in this world. It’s why we’ve survived so long.”

  “Not all of you have survived, of course,” Domenico said savagely. “Your father, for instance.”

  “I’ve already warned you to be more careful, Domenico. Stop speaking of my family—and that includes Diana Bishop, the living, and the dead.”

  “What does Baldwin think of your new infatuation?” Domenico asked, ignoring Matthew’s challenge. He knew that Philippe de Clermont’s middle son had a particular loathin
g for witches.

  “You’ll have to ask him,” Matthew said through clenched teeth.

  “Baldwin doesn’t yet know. I suspected as much.” Domenico shook his finger at Matthew. “You and your secrets. They always catch up with you in the end—and I would love to be here when they do. Who do you think your brother will kill first—you or the witch?”

  “Baldwin wouldn’t kill anyone in cold blood.”

  “Not even a witch? I’m not as sanguine about that as you seem to be.” Domenico drew a small black phone out of his pocket. “Shall I call him? I have his number.”

  “If you like,” Matthew said calmly.

  “He’s head of the de Clermont family now, and I don’t imagine he’ll be happy to hear that his youngest brother is on the verge of declaring war on every creature on the planet. I think Baldwin deserves to know, don’t you?”

  “Do what you want, Domenico. You always have.” Matthew was itching to get away from the Venetian and his scent.

  “Brave words, Matthew. But Baldwin will put you in your place soon enough. You can strut around here like the king of the castle for a few more days perhaps, but we both know who’s really in charge of your family.”

  Matthew made another impatient sound. “I don’t answer to Baldwin either. It’s not the twelfth century anymore, Domenico. People don’t behave now as they did then.”

  “Vampires do,” Domenico said softly. “And you know it. There’s nowhere on earth you and Diana Bishop will be safe. And Baldwin will be first in line to hunt you down.”

  “This interview is over. Go,” Matthew said evenly.

  Domenico swept a courtly bow that was both mocking and threatening. When he stood again, he kissed his fingers in the direction of the château. “Tell your witch I’ll be seeing her soon.”

  Matthew watched Domenico leave and waited until he could no longer smell the Venetian’s heavy odor of musk and myrrh. When his nose was clear, he looked up at the tower with sharp eyes. Ysabeau and Diana were standing near the wall, locked in conversation. Lord knew what they could be talking about with such intensity. The breeze was blowing in the wrong direction, and he couldn’t hear them.

  The sight of Diana made Matthew’s heart give a sudden, painful beat. What was he going to say to her? He couldn’t tell her about the choices before them. Turning her into a vampire was unthinkable, even if it was the simplest option. Diana would no doubt push up her sleeves, roll down her collar, and offer herself to the nearest vampire in an instant if she thought it would end the creatures’ pursuit of her and the book.

  But Matthew found the idea of leaving her even more unimaginable. She was all he could think about, and when she was out of his sight, he felt empty and restless. When he was restless, he was dangerous. Time and experience had taught him that. If she wasn’t at his side, Matthew would find it impossible not to stalk her until she was within arm’s reach once more. And then Domenico’s words might become prophetic, and Matthew would hurt her despite his feelings for her.

  That left war—war with his mother and Baldwin, with Marthe, and with friends like Hamish. Matthew didn’t care about battling and killing creatures like Gerbert and Domenico. If that was what it took to protect Diana, he would do it willingly. But going to war with his own family was a different matter.

  Caught between the witch he could not live without and the family he loved and to whom he owed so much, Matthew ached to hurt something, someone. He drew the badge of St. Lazarus out from underneath his sweater. The only person who deserved his rage was Domenico, and he was long gone. He couldn’t go back inside and face his mother and Diana without a plan.

  Turning on his heel, he raced to the stables in a blur. Inside, he rammed his feet into his boots and grabbed Balthasar’s massive bridle before hoisting the horse’s saddle and blanket onto his shoulder.

  Balthasar eyed him warily.

  “Don’t try my patience today, my friend.” Matthew threw the reins over the horse’s head and snared him. He opened the stall door, and Balthasar stamped in indignation at the rough treatment. Matthew got the bit into his horse’s mouth and flung the blanket and saddle over his back.

  Balthasar was unacquainted with war, but he knew instinctively that his master meant business. Uncharacteristically, the horse stood still while Matthew tightened the saddle leathers. When the vampire lifted himself into the saddle, Balthasar didn’t protest but flicked his ears back and forth waiting to be told what to do next.

  Matthew kicked him gently, setting off down the center aisle of the stables with a clatter that drew the attention of Dahr and Rakasa, who had hoped to be going out again today.

  As horse and rider broke out of the stable and entered the paddock, Matthew bent over Balthasar’s neck, the silver coffin of the pilgrim’s badge swinging gently. “Run,” he growled.

  The enormous horse shot toward the paddock fence. Improbably, he lifted his bulk into the air and sailed across the bars. His hooves thundered against the ground as he galloped toward the forest at breakneck speed.

  Matthew let loose a roar of frustration when they were out of earshot of the castle, then settled into the saddle.

  He would stay astride Balthasar until he figured out what to do about the witch who awaited him back at Sept-Tours.

  Locations

  To follow the All Souls walking tour of Oxford, go to videos for fans on deborahharkness.com.

  Oxford and Oxfordshire, England

  Oxford

  The City of Dreaming Spires lies at the heart of the All Souls world. This is where Diana discovered Ashmole 782; this is where she and Matthew met and fell in love. The city’s clinging fog, fabulous architecture, and atmosphere of ancient learning and tradition can make the most resolutely ordinary human believe that there is magic just around the corner. Fairy-tale settings combine with a modern market town, full of tourists, students, and residents going about their business on crowded city streets.

  There are all kinds of creatures living in Oxford, drawn to its cultural richness and learning. Daemons and witches are more often found in the libraries and vampires in the research labs. But when Diana first called Ashmole 782 up from the stacks, it brought all three species flocking to the Bodleian in unprecedented numbers, determined to understand the secrets of her discovery.

  Bodleian Library

  The leather-bound volume was nothing remarkable. To an ordinary historian, it would have looked no different from hundreds of other manuscripts in Oxford’s Bodleian Library, ancient and worn.

  Oxford’s famous library is the key location in the story of Ashmole 782—inside and out. From the moment you pass the striking Radcliffe Camera building and enter the gates into the quadrangle, seeing the spires above, the leaded windows and the statue of King James, you will find yourself in a bookish wonderland. The statue at eye level is Mary Sidney’s son, William Herbert. Each of the ancient doors around the quad leads to specific medieval schools, or departments. More than just a visual treat, the library is also a symbol of long-lost secrets, ancient knowledge, and modern scholarship. It’s a place where old books and the latest computers exist side by side, much as magic and science do in this world.

  Entering the library on a typical day, you would see staff at work, readers and scholars poring over priceless books, and exhausted students resting their heads on their desks. Underneath all this activity, there is another library: magical, enchanted, a place where books appear and disappear according to the logic of old spells cast by witches intent on protecting precious information.

  Duke Humfrey’s

  I nodded to the busts of Thomas Bodley and King Charles I that flanked the arched entrance to Duke Humfrey’s and pushed through the swinging gate by the call desk.

  Within the Bodleian Library, the beautiful Duke Humfrey’s is the reading room for Diana. With its ancient wooden desks, Gothic painted ceiling, and sta
ined-glass windows, it is a perfect place to find a witch, a vampire, and a lost manuscript. Here the creatures circled Diana following her discovery of Ashmole 782, and this is where she first felt the icy focus of Matthew’s stare.

  It had been no more than an hour since I’d been with Matthew, but the sight of him stretched out among the first bay of Elizabethan desks in one of the medieval wing’s purgatorial chairs was welcome.

  If you venture to the Arts End of Duke Humfrey’s, you can see the busts of King Charles I and Sir Thomas Bodley flanking the arched entrance, watching over the readers as they did Diana the night she broke into the library to unite the Book of Life with its lost pages.

  As a research student at Oxford, I spent a lot of time in libraries—college libraries like All Souls, Merton, and Corpus Christi, the History Faculty Library, as well as most of the different reading rooms at the Bodleian. When I wasn’t in Duke Humfrey’s looking at rare books and manuscripts, my friends knew they could find me in the Bodleian’s Upper Reading Room surrounded by index cards and notes. The amazing architecture, the painted friezes along the walls, and the collection of portraits atop the bookcases provide plenty of inspiration for any historian—or novelist.

  Upper Reading Room

  I glanced through the small window stuck into the swinging door that led to the Upper Reading Room, and I gasped. The room was full to bursting with creatures.

  Bodleian Library, Broad Street, Oxford OX1 3 BG

  See also: ORGANIZATIONS: Bodleian Library

  Bridge of Sighs

  The vampire sat in the shadows on the curved expanse of the bridge that spanned New College Lane.