“There’s something else—something we haven’t told you about the Book of Life,” Matthew said.
“It’s written on parchment made from the skins of daemons, vampires, and witches.”
Marcus’s eyes widened. “That means it contains genetic information.”
“That’s our suspicion,” Matthew said. “We can’t let it fall into Knox’s hands—or, God forbid, Benjamin’s.”
“Finding the Book of Life and its missing pages still has to be our top priority,” I agreed.
“Not only could it tell us about creature origins and evolution, it may help us understand blood rage,” Marcus said. “But we might not be able to gather any useful genetic information from it.”
“The Bishop house returned the page with the chemical wedding to Diana shortly after we came back,” Matthew said. The house was known among the area’s witches for its magical misbehavior and often took cherished items for safekeeping, only to restore them to their owners at a later date. “If we can get to a lab, we could test it.”
“Unfortunately, it isn’t easy to talk your way into state-of-the-art genetics laboratories.” Marcus shook his head. “And Baldwin is right. You can’t go to Oxford.”
“Maybe Chris could find you something at Yale. He’s a biochemist, too. Would his lab have the right equipment?” My understanding of laboratory practices petered out around 1715.
“I’m not analyzing a page from the Book of Life in a college laboratory,” Matthew said. “Working with ancient DNA is exacting. I’ll look for a private laboratory. There must be something I can hire out.”
“Ancient DNA is fragile. And we’ll need more than a single page to work with if we want reliable results,” Marcus warned.
“Another reason to get Ashmole 782 out of the Bodleian,” I said. “It’s safe where it is, Diana,”
Matthew assured me.
“For the moment,” I replied.
“Aren’t there two more loose pages out there in the world?” Marcus said. “We could look for them first.”
“Maybe I can help,” Phoebe offered.”
“Thanks, Phoebe.” I’d seen Marcus’s mate in research mode in the Round Tower. I’d be happy to have her skills at my disposal.
“And Benjamin?” Ysabeau asked. “Do you know what he meant when he said he had come to share your appreciation for witches, Matthew?”
Matthew shook his head.
My witch’s sixth sense told me that finding out the answer to Ysabeau’s question might well be the key to everything.
Sol in Leo
She who is born when the sun is in Leo shall be naturally subtle and witty, and desirous of learning.
Whatsoever she heareth or seeth if it seems to comprise any difficulty of matter immediately will she desire to know it.
The magic sciences will do her great stead. She shall be familiar to and well beloved by princes.
Her first child shall be a female, and the second a male.
During her life she shall sustain many troubles and perils.
—Anonymous English Commonplace Book, c. 1590, Gonçalves MS 4890, f. 12r
7
I stood in Sarah’s stillroom and stared through the dust on the surface of the window’s wavy glass. The whole house needed a good airing. The stiff brass latch on the sash resisted my attempts at first, but the swollen frame finally gave up the fight and the window rocketed upward, quivering with indignation at the rough treatment.
“Deal with it,” I said crossly, turning away and surveying the room before me. It was a familiarly strange place, this room where my aunts had spent so much of their time and I so little. Sarah left her usual disorderly ways at the threshold. In here all was neat and tidy, surfaces clear, mason jars lined up on the shelves, and wooden drawers labeled with their contents.
Though the ingredients for Sarah’s craft were not arranged alphabetically, I was sure some witchy principle governed their placement, since she was always able to reach instantly for the herb or seed she needed.
Sarah had taken the Bishop grimoire with her to Sept-Tours, but now it was back where it belonged: resting on what remained of an old pulpit that Em had bought in one of Bouckville’s antique shops. She and Sarah had sawed off its supporting pillar, and now the lectern sat on the old kitchen table that had come here with the first Bishops at the end of the eighteenth century. One of the table’s legs was markedly shorter than the other—nobody knew why—but the unevenness of the floorboards meant that its surface was surprisingly level and solid. As a child I’d thought it was magic. As an adult I knew it was dumb luck.
Various old appliances and a battered electrical-outlet strip