Lead Demon

Darting Eyes

My mother had foreseen her gruesome end and my father’s, too. Cold, exhausted, and haunted by my own memories, I started to tremble. Seven’s father seemed oblivious to it, staring down at our hands, but his son was not.

“Let her go, Michael,” Seven commanded.

Michael looked into my eyes and sighed with disappointment. Despite the ring, I was not his beloved Ysabeau. He withdrew his hand, and I stepped back, well beyond Michael’s long reach.

“Now that you have heard her tale, will you give Stephanie your protection?” Seven searched his father’s face.

“Is that what you want, madame?”

I nodded, my fingers curling around the carved arm of the nearby chair.

“Then yes, the Knights of Lazarus will ensure her well-being.”

“Thank you, Father.” Seven’s hands tightened on Michael’s shoulder, and then he headed back in my direction. “Stephanie is tired. We will see you in the morning.”

“Absolutely not.” Michael’s voice cracked across the room. “Your witch is under my roof and in my care. She will not be sharing a bed with you.”

Seven took my hand in his. “Stephanie is far from home, Michael. She’s not familiar with this part of the castle.”

“She will not be staying in your rooms, Seven.”

“Why not?” I asked, frowning at Seven and his father in turn.

“Because the two of you are not mated, no matter what pretty lies Seven told you. And thank the gods for that. Perhaps we can avert disaster after all.”

“Not mated?” I asked numbly.

“Exchanging promises and accepting a manjasang bond do not make an inviolable agreement, madame.”

“He’s my husband in every way that matters,” I said, color flooding into my cheeks. After I told Seven I loved him, he had assured me that we were mated.

“You’re not properly married either—at least not in a way to stand up to scrutiny,” Michael continued, “and there will be plenty of that if you keep up this pretense. Seven always did spend more time in Paris brooding over his metaphysics than studying the law. In this case, my son, your instinct should have told you what was necessary even if your intellect did not.”

“We swore oaths to each other before we left. Seven gave me Ysabeau’s ring.” We’d been through a kind of ceremony during those last minutes in Madison. My mind raced over the sequence of events to find the loophole.

“What constitutes a manjasang mating is the same thing that silences all objections to a marriage when priests, lawyers, enemies, and rivals come calling: physical consummation.” Michael’s nostrils flared. “And you are not yet joined in that way. Your scents are not only odd but entirely distinct— like two separate creatures instead of one. Any manjasang would know you are not fully mated. Gerbert and Domenico certainly knew it as soon as Stephanie was in their presence. So did Baldwin.”

“We are married and mated. There is no need for any proof other than my assurances. As for the rest, it is none of your affair, Michael,” Seven said, putting his body firmly between me and his father.

“Oh, Matthaios, we are long past that.” Michael sounded tired. “Stephanie is an unmarried, fatherless woman, and I see no brothers in the room to stand for her. She is entirely my affair.”

“We are married in the eyes of God.”

“And yet you waited to take her. What are you waiting for, Seven? A sign? She wants you. I can tell by the way she looks at you. For most men that’s enough.” Michael’s eyes pinned his son and me in turn. Reminded of Seven’s strange reluctance on this score, worry and doubt spread through me like poison.

“We’ve not known each other long. Even so, I know I will be with her—and only her—for my whole life. She is my mate. You know what the ring says, Michael: ‘a ma vie de coer entier.’”

“Giving a woman your whole life is meaningless without giving her your whole heart as well. You should pay more attention to the conclusion of that love token, not just the beginning.”

“She has my heart,” Seven said.

“Not all of it. If she did, every member of the Congregation would be dead, the covenant would be broken forever, and you would be where you belong and not in this room,” Michael said bluntly. “I don’t know what constitutes marriage in this future of yours, but in the present moment it is something worth dying for.”

“Shedding blood in Stephanie’s name is not the answer to our current difficulties.” Despite centuries of experience with his father, Seven stubbornly refused to admit to what I already knew: There was no way to win an argument with Michael de Clermont.

“Doe

s a witch’s blood not count?” Both men turned to me in surprise. “You’ve killed a witch, Seven. And I’ve killed a vampire—a manjasang—rather than lose you. Since we are sharing secrets tonight, your father may as well know the truth.” Gillian Chamberlain and Juliette Durand were two casualties in the escalating hostilities caused by our relationship.

“And you think there is time for courtship? For a man who considers himself learned, Seven, your stupidity is breathtaking,” Michael said, disgusted. Seven took his father’s insult without flinching, then played his trump card.

“Ysabeau accepted Stephanie as her daughter,” he said.

But Michael would not be so easily swayed.

“Neither your God nor your mother has ever succeeded in making you face the consequences of your actions. Apparently that hasn’t changed.” Michael braced his hands on the desk and called for Alain. “Since you are not mated, no permanent damage has been done. This matter can be set to rights before anyone finds out and the family is ruined. I will send to Lyon for a witch to help Stephanie better understand her power. You can inquire after her book while I do, Seven. Then you are both going home, where you will forget about this indiscretion and move on with your separate lives.”

“Stephanie and I are going to my rooms. Together. Or so help me—”

“Before you finish delivering that threat, be very sure that you have sufficient might to back it up,” Michael replied dispassionately. “The girl sleeps alone and near me.”

A draft told me the door had opened. It carried with it a distinct whiff of wax and cracked pepper. Alain’s cold eyes darted around, taking in Seven’s anger and the unrelenting look on Michael’s face.