him.
“You can’t hide from me, my love,” I said instead, praying to the goddess that my words reached him. “I see you, Matthew. And you will always be perfect in my eyes.”
His breath came out in a ragged gasp, his lungs unable to expand fully because of the pressure from broken ribs. With a herculean effort, Matthew cracked one eye open. It was filmed over with blood, the pupil shot wide and enormous from blood rage and trauma.
“It’s dark.” Matthew’s voice took on a frantic edge, as though he feared that the darkness signaled his death. “Why is it so dark?”
“It’s all right. Look.” I blew on my fingertip, and a blue-gold star appeared on the tip of my finger.
“See. This will light our way.”
It was a risk, and I knew it. He might not be able to see the small ball of fire, and then his panic would only increase. Matthew peered at my finger and flinched slightly as the light came into focus. His pupil tightened a tiny amount in response, which I took as a good sign.
His next breath was less ragged as his anxiety subsided.
“He needs blood,” Baldwin said, keeping his voice level and low. I tried to push my sleeve up without lowering my gleaming finger, which Matthew was staring at fixedly.
“Not yours,” Ysabeau said, stilling my efforts. “Mine.”
Matthew’s agitation rose again. It was like watching Jack struggle to rein in his emotions.
“Not here,” he said. “Not with Diana watching.”
“Not here,” Gallowglass agreed, giving my husband back some small measure of control.
“Let his brothers take care of him, Diana.” Baldwin lowered my hand.
And so I let Gallowglass, Fernando, Baldwin, and Hamish lace their arms together into a sling while Marcus held the iron spike in place.
“My blood is strong, Diana,” Ysabeau promised, gripping my hand tightly. “It will heal him.”
I nodded. But I had told Matthew the truth earlier: In my eyes he would always be perfect. His outward wounds didn’t matter to me. It was the wounds to his heart, mind, and soul that had me worried, for no amount of vampire blood could heal those.
“Love and time,” I murmured, as though trying to figure out the components of a spell, watching from a distance as the men settled an unconscious Matthew into the cargo hold of one of the cars that were waiting for us. “That’s what he needs.”
Janet came up and put a comforting hand on my shoulder.
“Matthew Clairmont is an ancient vampire,” she observed, “and he has you. So I’m thinking love and time will do the trick.”
Sol in Aquarius
When the sun passeth through the water-bearer’s sign, it betokens great fortune, faithful friends, and the aide of princes.
Therefore, do not feare changes that take place when Aquarius ruleth the earth.
—Anonymous English Commonplace Book, c. 1590, Gonçalves MS 4890, f. 15r
40
Matthew said only one word on the flight: “Home.”
We arrived in France six days after the events in Chelm. Matthew still couldn’t walk. He wasn’t able to use his hands. Nothing remained in his stomach for more than thirty minutes. Ysabeau’s blood, as promised, was slowly mending the crushed bones, damaged tissues, and injuries to Matthew’s internal organs. After being initially unconscious due to a combination of drugs, pain, and exhaustion, he now refused to close his eyes to rest.
And he hardly ever spoke. When he did, it was usually to refuse something.
“No,” he said when we turned toward Sept-tours. “Our home.”
Faced with a range of options, I told Marcus to take us to Les Revenants. It was a strangely fitting name given its present owner, for Matthew had returned home more ghost than man after what Benjamin had done to him.
No one had dreamed that Matthew would prefer Les Revenants to Sept-Tours, and the house was cold and lifeless when we arrived. He sat in the foyer with Marcus while his brother and I raced around lighting fires and making up a bed for him. Baldwin and I were discussing which room would be best for Matthew given his present physical limitations when the convoy of cars from Sept-Tours filled the courtyard. Not even the vampires could beat Sarah to the door, she was so eager to see us. My aunt knelt in front of Matthew. Her face was soft with compassion and concern.
“You look like hell,” she said.
“Feel worse.” Matthew’s once-beautiful voice was harsh and grating, but I treasured every terse word. “When Marcus says it’s okay, I’d like to put a salve on your skin that will help you