Lead Demon

Choking Waves

“And stay alive. You did that admirably,” Michael replied.

“He’s dead?” I croaked.

Seven removed his mouth from the witch’s neck.

“Resolutely so,” Michael said. “Well, I suppose that’s one less nosy Calvinist to worry about. Had he told any of his friends he was coming here?”

“Not as far as I could determine,” Seven said. Slowly his eyes turned gray again as he studied me. “Stephanie. My love. Let me have the dagger.” Somewhere in the distance, something metal clattered to the floor, followed by the softer thud of André Champier’s mortal remains. Mercifully cool, familiar hands cupped my chin.

“He discovered something in Stephanie that surprised him,” said Michael.

“I saw as much. But the blade reached his heart before I could find out what.” Seven drew me gently into his arms. My own had gone boneless, and I offered no resistance.

“I didn’t—couldn’t—think, Seven. Champier was going to take my memories—extract them from the root. Memories are all I have of my parents. And what if I’d forgotten my historical knowledge? How could I go back home and teach after that?”

“You did the right thing.” Seven had one arm wrapped around my waist. The other circled my shoulders, pressing the side of my face against his chest. “Where did you get the knife?”

“My boot. She must have seen me pull it out yesterday,” Michael replied.

“See. You were thinking, ma lionne.” Seven pressed his lips against my hair. “What the hell drew Champier to Saint-Lucien?”

“I did,” replied Michael.

“You betrayed us to Champier?” Seven turned on his father. “He’s one of the most reprehensible creatures in all of France!”

“I needed to be sure of her, Matthaios. Stephanie knows too many of our secrets. I had to know that she could be trusted with them, even among her own people.” Michael was unapologetic. “I don’t take risks with my family.”

“And would you have stopped Champier before he stole her thoughts?” Seven demanded, his eyes blacker by the second.

“That depends.”

“On what?” Seven exploded, his arms tightening around me.

“Had Champier arrived three days ago, I would not have interfered. It would have been a matter between witches, and not worth the trouble to the brotherhood.”

“You would have let my mate suffer.” Seven’s tone revealed his disbelief.

“As recently as yesterday, it would have been your responsibility to intervene on your mate’s behalf. Had you failed to do so, it would have proved that your commitment to the witch was not what it should be.”

“And today?” I asked.

Michael studied me. “Today you are my daughter. So no, I would not have let Champier’s attack go much further. But I didn’t need to do anything, Stephanie. You saved yourself.”

“Is that why you made me your daughter—because Champier was coming?” I whispered.

“No. You and Seven survived one test in the church and another in the hay barn. The blood swearing was simply the first step in making you a de Clermont. And now it’s time to finish it.” Michael turned toward his second-in-command. “Fetch the priest, Alain, and tell the village to assemble at the church on Saturday. Milord is getting married, with book and priest and all of Saint-Lucien to witness the ceremony. There will be nothing hole-in-corner about this wedding.”

“I just killed a man! This isn’t the moment to discuss our marriage.”

“Nonsense. Marrying amid bloodshed is a de Clermont family tradition,” Michael said briskly. “We only seem to mate creatures who are desired by others. It is a messy business.”

“I. Killed. Him.” Just to be sure my message was clear, I pointed to the body on the floor.

“Alain, Daniel, please remove Monsieur Champier. He is upsetting madame. The rest of you have too much to do to remain here gawking.” Michael waited until the three of us were alone before he continued.

“Mark me well, Stephanie: Lives will be lost because of your love for my son. Some will sacrifice themselves. Others will die because someone must, and it will be for you to decide if it is you or them or someone you love. So you must ask yourself this: What does it matter who deals the deathblow? If you do not do it, then Seven will. Would you rather he had Champier’s death on his conscience?”

“Of course not,” I said quickly.

“Daniel, then? Or Thomas?”

“Thomas? He’s just a boy!” I protested.

“That boy promised to stand between you and your enemies. Did you see what he clutched in his hands? The bellows from the stillroom. Thomas filed its metal point into a weapon. If you hadn’t killed Champier, that boy would have shoved it through his guts at the first opportunity.”

“We’re not animals but civilized creatures,” I protested. “We should be able to talk about this and settle our differences without bloodshed.”

“Once I sat at a table and talked for three hours with a man—a king. No doubt you and many others would have considered him a civilized creature. At the end of our conversation, he ordered the death of thousands of men, women, and children. Words kill just as swords do.”

“She’s not accustomed to our ways, Michael,” Seven warned.

“Then she needs to become so. The time for diplomacy has passed.” Michael’s voice never rose, nor did it lose its habitual evenness. Seven might have tells, but his father had yet to betray his deeper emotions.

“No more discussion. Come Saturday, you and Seven will be married. Because you are my daughter in blood as well as name, you will be married not only as a good Christian but in a way that will honor my ancestors and their gods. This is your last chance to say no, Stephanie. If you have reconsidered and no longer want Seven and the life—and death—that marrying him entails, I will see you safely back to England.”

Seven set me away from hi

m. It was only a matter of inches, but it was symbolic of so much more. Even now he was giving me the choice, though his was long since made. So was mine.

“Will you marry me, Seven?” Given that I was a murderer, it seemed only right to ask.

Michael gave a choking cough.