Lead Demon

Tightened Mouth

Seven shook his head. “No. I drank every drop of his blood, so Michael wouldn’t have to watch as his life force was spilled.”

“But then you saw . . .” I couldn’t keep the horror out of my voice. When a vampire drank from another creature, that creature’s memories came along with the fluid in fleeting, teasing glimpses. Seven had freed his father from torment, but only after first sharing everything Michael had suffered.

“Most creatures’ memories come in a smooth stream, like a ribbon unwinding in the darkness. With Michael it was like swallowing shards of glass. Even when I got past the recent events, his mind was so badly fractured that I almost couldn’t continue.” His shaking intensified. “It took forever. Michael was broken, lost, and frightened, but his heart was still fierce. His last thoughts were of Ysabeau. They were the only memories that were still whole, still his.”

“It’s all right,” I murmured again and again, holding him tightly until finally his limbs began to quiet.

“You asked me who I am at the Old Lodge. I’m a killer, Stephanie. I’ve killed thousands,” Seven said eventually, his voice muffled. “But I never had to look any of them in the face again. Only Ysabeau knows the truth, and she cannot look at me without remembering my father’s death. Now I have to face you, too.”

I cradled his head between my hands and drew him away so that our eyes met. Seven’s perfect face usually masked the ravages of time and experience. But all the evidence was on display now, and it only made him more beautiful to me. At last the man I loved made sense: his insistence that I face who and what I was, his reluctance to kill Juliette even to save his own life, his conviction that once I truly knew him, I could never love him.

“I love all of you, Seven: warrior and scientist, killer and healer, dark and light.”

“How can you?” he whispered, disbelieving.

“Michael couldn’t have gone on like that. Your father would have kept trying to take his own life, and from everything you say, he’d suffered enough.” I couldn’t imagine how much, but my beloved Seven had witnessed it all. “What you did was an act of mercy.”

“I wanted to disappear when it was over, to leave Sept-Tours and never come back,” he confessed. “But Michael made me promise to keep the family and the brotherhood together. I swore that I would take care of Ysabeau, too. So I stayed here, sat in his chair, pulled the political strings he wanted pulled, finished the war he gave his life to win.”

“Michael wouldn’t have put Ysabeau’s welfare in the hands of someone he despised. Or placed a coward in charge of the Order of Lazarus.”

“Baldwin accused me of lying about Michael’s wishes. He thought the brotherhood would go to him. No one could fathom why our father had decided to give the Order of Lazarus to me instead. Perhaps it was his final act of madness.”

“It was faith,” I said softly, reaching down and lacing my fingers through his. “Michael believes in you. So do I. These hands built this church. They were strong enough to hold your son and your father during their final moments on this earth. And they still have work to do.”

High above there was a beating of wings. A dove had flown through the clerestory windows and lost its way among the exposed roof beams. It struggled, freed itself, and swooped down into the church. The dove landed on the stone that marked the final resting place of Blanca and Lucas and moved its feet in a deliberate circular dance until it faced Seven and me. Then it c****d its head and studied us with one blue eye.

Seven shot to his feet at the sudden intrusion, and the startled dove flew toward the other side of the apse. It beat its wings, slowing before the likeness of the Virgin. When I was convinced it was going to crash into the wall, it swiftly reversed direction and flew back out the way it had entered.

A long white feather from the dove’s wing drifted and curled on the currents of air, landing on the pavement before us. Seven bent to pick it up, his expression puzzled as he held it before him.

“I’ve never seen a white dove in the church before.” Seven looked to the half dome of the apse where the same bird hovered over Christ’s head.

“It’s a sign of of resurrection and hope. Witches believe in signs, you know.” I closed his hands around the feather. I kissed him lightly on the forehead and turned to leave. Perhaps now that he had shared his memories, he could find peace.

“Stephanie?” Seven called. He was still by his family’s grave. “Thank you for hearing my confession.”

I nodded. “I’ll see you at home. Don’t forget your feather.”

He watched me as I passed the scenes of torment and redemption on the portal between the world of God and the world of man. Daniel was waiting outside, and he took me back to Sept-Tours without speaking a word. Michael heard our approach and was waiting for me in the hall.

“Did you find him in the church?” he asked quietly. The sight of him— so hale and hearty—made my heart drop. How had Seven endured it?

“Yes. You should have told me it was Lucas’s birthday.” I handed my cloak to Catrine.

“We have all learned to anticipate these black moods when Seven is reminded of his son. You will, too.”

“It’s not just Lucas.” Fearing I’d said too much, I bit my lip.

“Seven told you about his own death, too.” Michael tugged his fingers through his hair, a rougher version of his son’s habitual gesture. “I understand grief, but not this guilt. When will he put the past behind him?”

“Some things can never be forgotten,” I said, looking Michael squarely in the eye. “No matter what you think you understand, if you love him, you’ll let him battle his own demons.”

“No. He is my son. I will not fail him.” Michael’s mouth tightened. He turned and stalked away. “And I’ve received word from Lyon, madame,” he called over his shoulder. “A witch will arrive shortly to help you, just as Seven wished.”