him our family’s secret. Based on the tightness of his jaw, Matthew was not feeling as generous.
“I’ll be right here if you need me.” Matthew raised my hand to his lips. There was a warning squeeze, a tiny nip on the knuckle of my ring finger as if to remind me—and him—that we were husband and wife. Matthew reluctantly released me.
Chris and I passed through the house to the keeping room. Once we were inside, I slid the doors shut.
“You’re married to Matthew Clairmont?” Chris exploded. “Since when?”
“About ten months. It all happened very quickly,” I said apologetically.
“I’ll say!” Chris lowered his voice. “I warned you about his reputation with women. Clairmont may be a great scientist, but he’s also a notorious asshole! Besides, he’s too old for you.”
“He’s only thirty-seven, Chris.” Give or take fifteen hundred years. “And I should warn you, Matthew and Fernando are listening to every word we say.” With vampires around, a closed door was no guarantee of privacy.
“How? Did your boyfriend—husband—bug the house?” Chris’s tone was sharp.
“No. He’s a vampire. They have exceptional hearing.” Sometimes honesty really was the best policy.
A heavy pot crashed in the kitchen.
“A vampire.” Chris’s look suggested I had lost my mind. “Like on TV?”
“Not exactly,” I said, proceeding with caution. Telling humans how the world really worked tended to unsettle them. I’d done it only once before—and it had been a huge mistake. My freshman roommate, Melanie, had passed out.
“A vampire,” Chris repeated slowly, as if he were thinking it all through.
“You’d better sit down.” I gestured toward the sofa. If he fell, I didn’t want him to hit his head.
Ignoring my suggestion, Chris plopped himself in the wing chair instead. It was more comfortable, to be sure, but had been known to forcibly eject visitors it didn’t like. I eyed it warily.
“Are you a vampire, too?” Chris demanded.
“No.” I perched gingerly on the edge of my grandmother’s rocking chair.
“Are you absolutely sure that Clairmont is? That’s his child you’re carrying, right?” Chris sat forward, as though a great deal depended on the answer.
“Children.” I held two fingers in the air. “Twins.”
Chris threw his hands in the air. “Well, no vampire ever knocked up a girl on Buffy. Not even Spike.
And God knows he never practiced safe sex.”
Bewitched had provided my mother’s generation with their supernatural primer. For mine it was Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Whichever creatures had introduced Joss Whedon to our world had a lot to answer for. I sighed.
“I’m absolutely positive that Matthew is the father.”
Chris’s attention drifted to my neck.
“That’s not where he bites me.”
His eyes widened. “Where . . . ?” He shook his head. “No, don’t tell me.”
It was, I thought, a strange place to draw the line. Chris wasn’t normally squeamish—or prudish. Still, he hadn’t passed out. That was encouraging.
“You’re taking this very well,” I said, grateful for his equanimity.
“I’m a scientist. I’m trained to suspend disbelief and remain open-minded until something is disproved.” Chris was now staring at the Blasted Tree. “Why is there a tree in the fireplace?”
“Good question. We don’t really know. Maybe you have other questions I could answer, though.” It was an awkward invitation, but I was still worried he might faint.
“A few.” Once again Chris fixed his dark eyes on mine. He wasn’t a witch, but it had been very difficult to lie to him for all these years. “You say Clairmont’s a vampire, but you’re not. What are you,
Diana? I’ve known for some time that you aren’t like other people.”
I didn’t know what to say. How do you explain to someone you love that you’ve failed to mention a defining characteristic of yourself?
“I’m your best friend—or I was until Clairmont came along. Surely you trust me enough to come out to me,” Chris said. “No matter what it is, it won’t change anything between us.”
Beyond Chris’s shoulder a green smudge trailed off toward the Blasted Tree. The green smudge became the indistinct form of Bridget Bishop, with her embroidered bodice and full skirts.
Be canny, daughter. The wind blows from the north, a sign of a battle to come. Who will stand with you, and who will stand against you?
I had plenty of enemies. I couldn’t afford to lose a single friend.
“Maybe you don’t trust me enough,” Chris said softly when I didn’t immediately respond.
“I’m a witch.” My words were barely audible.
“Okay.” Chris waited. “And?”
“And what?”
“That’s it? That’s what you’ve been afraid to tell me?”
“I’m not talking neo-Pagan, Chris—though I am Pagan, of course. I’m talking