an abracadabra, spell-casting, potion-making witch.” In this case Chris’s love of prime-time TV might actually prove useful.
“Do you have a wand?”
“No. But I do have a firedrake. That’s a kind of dragon.”
“Cool.” Chris grinned. “Very, very cool. Is that why you’ve stayed out of New Haven? Were you taking it to dragon obedience class or something?”
“Matthew and I had to get out of town quickly, that’s all. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
“Where were you?”
“In 1590.”
“Did you get any research done?” Chris looked thoughtful. “I suppose that would cause all kinds of citation problems. What would you put in your footnotes? ‘Personal conversation with William Shakespeare’?” He laughed.
“I never met Shakespeare. Matthew’s friends didn’t approve of him.” I paused. “I did meet the queen.”
“Even better,” Chris said, nodding. “Equally impossible to footnote, however.”
“You’re supposed to be shocked!” This was not at all what I’d expected. “Don’t you want proof?”
“I haven’t been shocked by anything since the MacArthur Foundation called me. If that can happen, anything is possible.” Chris shook his head. “Vampires and witches. Wow.”
“There are daemons, too. But their eyes don’t glow and they’re not evil. Well, no more so than any other species.”
“Other species?” Chris’s tone sharpened with interest. “Are there werewolves?”
“Absolutely not!” Matthew shouted in the distance.
“Touchy subject.” I gave Chris a tentative smile. “So you’re really fine with this?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? The government spends millions searching for aliens in outer space, and it turns out you’re right here. Think of all the grant money this could free up.” Chris was always looking for a way to diminish the importance of the physics department. “You can’t tell anybody,” I said hastily. “Not many humans know about us, and we need to keep it that way.”
“We’re bound to find out eventually,” Chris said. “Besides, most people would be thrilled.”
“You think? The dean of Yale College would be thrilled to know that they’d tenured a witch?” I raised my eyebrows. “My students’ parents would be happy to discover that their beloved children are learning about the Scientific Revolution scientific revolution from a witch?”
“Well, maybe not the dean.” Chris’s voice dropped. “Matthew isn’t going to bite me to keep me quiet?”
“No,” I assured him.
Fernando inserted his foot between the keeping-room doors and nudged them open.
“I’d be happy to bite you instead, but only if you ask very nicely.” Fernando put a tray on the table.
“Sarah thought you might like coffee. Or something stronger. Call me if you need anything else. No need to shout.” He gave Chris the kind of dazzling smile he’d bestowed on the coven’s female membership at the Lughnasadh potluck.
“Saddling the wrong horse, Fernando,” I warned as he departed.
“He’s a vampire, too?” Chris whispered.
“Yep. Matthew’s brother-in-law.” I held up the whiskey bottle and the coffeepot. “Coffee?
Whiskey?”
“Both,” said Chris, reaching for a mug. He looked at me in alarm. “You haven’t kept this witch business from your aunt, have you?”
“Sarah’s a witch, too. So was Em.” I poured a healthy slug of whiskey in his mug and topped it off with a bit of coffee. “This is the third or fourth pot of the day, so it’s mostly decaf. Otherwise we have to scrape Sarah off the ceiling.”
“Coffee makes her fly?” Chris took a sip, considered a moment, and added more whiskey.
“In a manner of speaking,” I said, uncapping the water and taking a swig. The babies fluttered, and I gave my abdomen a gentle pat.
“I can’t believe you’re pregnant.” For the first time, Chris sounded amazed.
“You’ve just learned that I spent most of last year in the sixteenth century, I have a pet dragon, and that you’re surrounded by daemons, vampires, and witches, but it’s my pregnancy that you find implausible?”
“Trust me, honey,” Chris said, pulling out his best Alabama drawl. “It’s way more implausible.”
13
When the phone rang, it was pitch black outside. I shook myself from sleep, reaching across the bed to jostle Matthew awake. He wasn’t there.
I rolled over and picked up his mobile from the bedside table. The name MIRIAM was displayed, along with the time. Three o’clock Monday morning. My heart thudded in alarm. Only an emergency would have induced her to call at such an hour.
“Miriam?” I said after pushing the answer button.
“Where is he?” Miriam’s voice shook. “I need to speak with Matthew.”
“I’ll find him. He must be downstairs, or outside hunting.” I threw off the covers. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes,” Miriam said abruptly. Then she switched to another language, one I didn’t understand. The cadence was unmistakable, though. Miriam Shephard