Lead Demon

So Long

I faltered as we came to the church. The entire village had assembled outside its doors, along with the priest. I searched for Seven and found him standing at the top of the short flight of stairs. Through the transparent veil, I could feel his regard. Like sun and moon, we were unconcerned at this moment with time, distance, and difference. All that mattered was our position relative to each other.

I gathered my skirts and went to him. The brief climb felt endless. Did time misbehave this way for all brides, I wondered, or only for witches?

The priest beamed at me from the door but made no effort to admit us to the church. He was clutching a book in his hands but didn’t open it. I frowned in confusion.

“A ll right, mon coeur?” Seven murmured.

“Aren’t we going inside?”

“Marriages take place at the church door to avoid b****y disputes later over whether or not the ceremony took place as reported. We can thank God there isn’t a blizzard.”

“Commencez!” the priest commanded, nodding at Seven.

My entire role in the ceremony was to utter eleven words. Seven was charged with fifteen. Michael had informed the priest

that we would then repeat our vows, in English, because it was important that the bride fully understand what she was promising. This brought the total number of words necessary to make us husband and wife to fifty-two.

“Maintenant!” The priest was shivering and wanted his supper.

“Je, Seven, donne mon corps à toi, Stephanie, en loyal mariage.” Seven took my hands in his. “I, Seven, give my body to you, Stephanie, in faithful matrimony.”

“Et je le reçois,” I replied. “And I receive it.”

We were halfway through. I took a deep breath and kept going.

“Je, Stephanie, donne mon corps à toi, Seven.” The hard part over, I quickly said my final line. “I, Stephanie, give my body to you, Seven.”

“Et je le reçois, avec joie.” Seven drew the veil over my head. “And I receive it, with joy.”

“Those aren’t the right words,” I said fiercely. I had memorized the vows, and there was no “avec joie” anywhere in them.

“They are,” Seven insisted, lowering his head.

We’d been married by vampire custom when we mated and again by common law when Seven had put Ysabeau”s ring on my finger in Madison. Now we were married a third time.

What happened afterward was a blur. There were torches and a long walk up the hill surrounded by well-wishers. Chef’s feast was already laid out, and people tucked into it with enthusiasm. Seven and I sat alone at the family table, while Michael strolled about serving wine and making sure the children got their fair share of spit-roasted hare and cheese fritters. Occasionally he cast a proud look in our direction, as if we’d slain dragons that afternoon.

“I never thought I would see this day,” Michael told Seven as he placed a slice of custard tart before us.

The feast seemed to be winding down when the men started shoving the tables to the sides of the hall. Pipes and drums sounded from the minstrels’ gallery above.

“By tradition the first dance belongs to the bride’s father,” Michael said with a bow to me. He led me to the floor. Michael was a good dancer, but even so I got us tangled.

“May I?” Seven tapped on his father’s shoulder.

“Please. Your wife is trying to break my foot.” Michael’s wink took the sting out of his words, and he withdrew, leaving me with my husband.

Others were still dancing, but they drew away and left us in the center of the room. The music deliberately slowed as a musician plucked on the strings of his lute, and the sweet tones of a wind instrument piped an accompaniment. As we parted and came together, once, twice, again, the distractions of the room faded.

“You’re a far better dancer than Michael, no matter what your mother says,” I told him, breathless even though the dance was measured.

“That’s because you’re following my lead,” he teased. “You fought Michael every step of the way.”

When the dance brought us together once more, he took me by the elbows, pulled me tight against his body, and kissed me. “Now that we’re married, will you keep forgiving my sins?” he asked, swinging back into the regular steps.

“That depends,” I said warily. “What have you done now?”

“I’ve crushed your ruff beyond redemption.”

I laughed, and Seven kissed me again, briefly but emphatically. The drummer took it as a cue, and the music’s tempo increased. Other couples whirled and hopped their way across the floor. Seven drew us into relative safety near the fireplace before we were trampled. Michael was there a moment later.

“Take your wife to bed and finish this,” Michael murmured.

“But the guests . . .” Seven protested.

“Take your wife to bed, my son,” Michael repeated. “Steal away now, before the others decide to accompany you upstairs and make sure you do your duty. Leave everything to me.” He turned, kissing me formally on both cheeks before murmuring something in Greek and sending us to Seven’s tower.

Though I knew this part of the château in my own time, I had yet to see it in its sixteenth-century splendor. The order of Seven’s apartments had changed. I expected to see books in the room off the first landing, but instead there was a large canopied bed. Catrine and Jehanne brought out a carved box for my new jewels, filled up the basin, and bustled around with fresh linens. Seven sat before the fire and pulled off his boots, taking up a glass of wine when he was through.

“Your hair, madame?” Jehanne asked, eyeing my husband speculatively.

“I’ll take care of it,” Seven said gruffly, his eyes on the fire.

“Wait,” I said, pulling the moon-shaped jewels free from my hair and putting them in Jehanne’s upturned palm. She and Catrine removed the veil and departed, leaving me standing near the bed and Seven lounging fireside with his feet on one of the clothing chests.