Sarah said. “She was a total pain in the ass—sorry, Diana—but definitely not daemonic.”
“It doesn’t have to be an immediate relationship,” Miriam said. “There just has to be enough daemon DNA in the mix to trigger the weaver and blood-rage genes. It could have been one of Stephen’s distant ancestors. As Chris said, these findings are pretty raw. We’ll need decades to understand it completely.”
“One more thing: Baby Margaret is a weaver, too.” Chris pointed to the paper in Matthew’s hands.
“Page thirty. There’s no question about it.”
“I wonder if that’s why Em was so adamant that Margaret shouldn’t fall into Knox’s hands,” Sarah mused. “Maybe she discovered the truth somehow.”
“This will shake the Congregation to its foundations,” I said.
“It does more than that. The science makes the covenant completely irrelevant,” Matthew said.
“We’re not separate species.”
“So we’re just different races?” I asked. “That makes our miscegenation argument even stronger.”
“You need to catch up on your reading, Professor Bishop,” Chris said with a smile. “Racial identity has no biological basis—at least none accepted by most scientists.”
“But that means—” I stopped.
“You aren’t monsters after all. There are no such thing as daemons, vampires, and witches. Not biologically. You’re just humans with a difference.” Chris grinned. “Tell the Congregation to stick that in their pipe and smoke it.”
I didn’t use exactly those words in my cover statement to the enormous dossier that we sent to Venice in advance of the Congregation meeting, but what I did say amounted to the same thing.
The days of the covenant were done.
And if the Congregation wanted to continue to function, it was going to have to find something better to do with its time than police the boundaries between daemon, vampire, witch, and human. When I went to the library the morning before my departure for Venice, however, I found that something had been left out of the file.
While we were doing our research, it had been impossible to ignore the sticky traces of Gerbert’s fingers. He seemed to lurk in the margins of every document and every piece of evidence. It was hard to pin much on him directly, but the circumstantial evidence was clear: Gerbert of Aurillac had known for some time about the special abilities of weavers. He’d even held one in thrall: the witch Meridiana, who had cursed him as she died. And he had been feeding Benjamin Fuchs information about the de Clermonts for centuries. Philippe had found him out and confronted him about it just before he left on his final mission to Nazi Germany.
“Why didn’t the information about Gerbert go to Venice?” I demanded of Matthew when at last I found him in the kitchen making my tea. Ysabeau was with him, playing with Philip and Becca.
“Because it’s better if the rest of the Congregation doesn’t know about Gerbert’s involvement,”
Matthew said.
“Better for whom?” I asked sharply. “I want that creature exposed and punished.”
“But the Congregation’s punishments are so very unsatisfactory,” Ysabeau said, her eyes gleaming.
“Too much talking. Not enough pain. If it’s punishment you want, let me do it.” Her fingernails rapped against the counter, and I shivered.
“You’ve done enough, Maman,” Matthew said, giving her a forbidding glance.
“Oh, that.” Ysabeau waved her hand dismissively. “Gerbert has been a very naughty boy. But he will cooperate with Diana tomorrow because of it. You will find Gerbert of Aurillac entirely supportive, daughter.”
I sat down on the kitchen stool with a thunk.
“While Ysabeau was being held in Gerbert’s house, she and Nathaniel did a bit of snooping,”
Matthew explained. “They’ve been monitoring his e-mail and Internet usage ever since.”
“Did you know that nothing you see on the Internet ever dies, Diana? It lives on and on, just like a vampire.” Ysabeau looked genuinely fascinated by the comparison.
“And?” I still had no idea where this was leading.
“Gerbert isn’t just fond of witches,” Ysabeau said. “He’s had a string of daemon lovers, too. One of them is still living on the Via della Scala in Rome, in a palatial and drafty set of apartments that he bought for her in the seventeenth century.”
“Wait. Seventeenth century?” I tried to think straight, though it was difficult with Ysabeau looking like Tabitha after she’d devoured a mouse.
“Not only did Gerbert ‘consort’ with daemons, he turned one into a vampire. Such a thing is strictly forbidden—not by the covenant but by vampire law. For good reason, it turns out now that we know what triggers blood rage,” Matthew said. “Not even Philippe knew about her—though he did know about some of